There is a Pony, There is a Pony

“Then Jesus said to the centurion, ‘Go, and it will be done for you just as you have believed.’ And his servant was healed that very hour.” (Matthew 8:13)

I hadn’t realized that the story of the little pessimist and the little optimist was so familiar. Now I’ve discovered that it was one of Ronald Reagan’s favorite yarns—barnyard story it’s called by some. Say, “There must be a pony in there somewhere,” and lots of people know what you’re talking about. The moral of this tale is clear.

Christmas came for the two young brothers. Under the tree gifts abundant were placed for the little pessimist. After tearing through the pile, he asked with signature disappointment, “Is this all”? Then the brother was taken to the backyard for his gift. In the corner of the yard was a mound of horse manure. The boy jumped up and down with glee, leading the father to say, “I don’t understand. We’ve given you a pile of horse manure for Christmas, and you are delighted. Why?” The boy replies enthusiastically, “There must be a pony in there somewhere.” So how is it that some people see the glass half empty and others see it half full? We’re often asked to count our blessings, as if we don’t remember to do so on our own. A well-placed nudge here and there has merit, for sure.

Recently, I’ve started participating in a group that meets weekly for an hour and half. During this time our processes include a little meditation, visioning, and setting our intentions. I’ll be the first to say that had someone told me a couple of years ago I would be giving even moderately serious effort to self help, I would have said, “Not really.” About 18 months ago the landlady from whom I rented for the first four months here in Santa Fe gave me a copy of “The Secret” on CD. I’d never heard of it, but then I discovered that its law of attraction precepts are fairly well known, with historical roots in the New Thought movement of the late 19th century. I guess I wasn’t amazed to discover that lots of people are making serious money from teaching others to ask, believe, and receive. “Woo-woo,” many say about all this new age stuff.

Woo-woo, well, I don’t know. What I do know is that I look forward to our Thursday early evening sessions. It’s simple. We meet, and we go around the circle letting each other know what’s going on for us. We meditate for a few minutes, breathing to empty ourselves of that which stands in the way of awareness and possibility. We end with setting our intentions. All of this is so new to me that I honestly don’t understand it well enough to explain it. Someone has described the process as training ourselves to hear, feel, see and catch God’s plan for us. The plan already exists, and our challenge is to open ourselves so that it can be realized. As we move around the circle in the final activity of our weekly meeting, we are each invited to talk for about a minute—in the present tense as if it is already realized—about where we want to be in our lives, where we indeed intend to be, soon. We might already have one foot in the door of this intended place.

The intentions are real. Maybe the place is one of resolution with a sister facing serious health challenges. Maybe the place is a more satisfying professional life. Maybe the place is allowing oneself to embrace an intimate relationship. Maybe the place is growing out of behaviors that have long crippled any one of us, proving that the old dog absolutely can learn new tricks.

A friend who joined me for dinner at my place last night gave me a gift as he was leaving. We had been talking about business, friends and lovers, relationships woven, sometimes torn, mendable, resilient. He honored my hopes. He breathed life onto the fire of my efforts to be in relationship. I am ever the one trying to figure out things, although I’ve been advised, “Harold, you don’t have to understand everything,” when I try so hard to get at the root of the whys of conflict and find a solution. I want to be understood, not misunderstood, and I want to understand. Ah, but then there’s this matter of accepting. The notion that I can create my own destiny mystifies and intrigues me. Woo-woo, blessings, yards of manure—what do they all have in common? If it’s really so simple as asking, trusting in the goodness of one’s intent, embracing and giving thanks, then what are we waiting for?

There is a Pony, There is a Pony—Santa Fe New Mexico (May 12, 2009)
R. Harold Hollis