• Vol. 03
  • Chapter 11
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Horse Sense

Warrior learning from a sure-footed-friend.
Walk me, groom me, ride me, see me, and hear me whisper to you:
If they say you have "only PTSD" they're not listening.
Even I can see you're damaged at the brain level.
wounded, not invisible, not treated.
Blasted, probably. Not a "blast." An injury, to you and them.
That 's why you come to me. For what they don't/can't provide.
I feel your pain, I can sense your fear, the disruption in your force.
We can walk and whisper and be together as pals, but it's a palliative.
I will be your equine therapist...... but your need a doctor who will fix your wound, not hope you get better.
The war within continues, you're battling the enemy, perhaps real visions of death, but surely the festering brain-blast needs to be healed. Look into my eyes, feel me breathe, put your ear against my flank and listen to life: oxygen can heal you.
You are starved for understanding and love and hope.
They tell you that there's nothing more they can do: take your drugs, MAN UP, welcome to your new normal.
Look at me: they're lying if they haven't told you everything you need to know.
Their silence is a crime, ours is a gift. The pain screams out to you. I feel it with you. What I know, you can know.
I tell you, listen: there is hope. There is healing.
There is hope.