Prancing Horse

And when I was to mount my wildest horse, then doth my spear always help me up best: it is my foot's ever ready servant -- Nietzsche

This winter just past has been the most sedentary (physically, but not otherwise) of my 71 years. There are reasons for this, but when have reasons ever mattered?

There are some facts involved, however.

Fact: I like to stroll instead of dash headlong. I like to feel the changes in air temperature. I like to see what is around me, immerse myself within it.

Fact: I am no longer in a hurry to do anything. I regard that as one of the great benefits of reaching this hallowed age.

Fact: I am not the driven man I used to be. I have found contentment and ever-increasing understanding.

Fact: In a sense I expect few to understand, I have already "died" and gone beyond. This is not defeatist nor depressive, but an awareness with great elation.

Yes, yes, I know, I am supposed to prance my horse around. Make it break a sweat. Power walk it. Run it. Swing my arms vigorously. Be in a big hurry for at least a half hour at a time.

Yes, yes, I know. Prancing my horse will increase the quality of my life and perhaps its duration.

Yes, yes, I know.

I will grab my spear as Nietzsche said and mount up.
The body, however, is not my wildest horse.