Caballo De Los Dioses
By H.L. Dowless
The old man turned his weather grizzled face to toward Juan as he sat with attentiveness in the outdoor bamboo cafe. The diner had been a local gathering spot for well over fifty years in the little boarder town of El Obregon. People came here to talk, gossip, eat, drink and to play friendly gambling games of cards.
The local specialty was tres Tostitose con queso y guacomole, all served up nicely with the best in local ice cold Pulque’ cerveza. The dust covered handmade alpaca hair, Navaho styled sombrero appeared as if it had wilted in the sweltering heat and sweat that rolled down the old gent’s face from underneath the Spanish styled wide brimmed hat as he spoke..
“Si mi joven amigo, many great men have tried to seize him through the ages, but no one has accomplished the feat, as of yet. The wind is in his mane, my gentle son, and El Diablo flows with power in his blood.”
“What motivates him, Mi Senor? What force serves to propel his determination in direction,” asked the youth?
“ The spirit of freedom, my son.. That fierce determination to prevail in one’s own choice of direction.. That motivation into action that precipitates one’s rise into glittering prosperity..,; or the determination to posses that enlightened spirit propels one to choose destruction when that precious breath is callously denied and the choices to be taken are only one,” spoke the old man in a low pitched, raspy voice, that carried the feeling of great experience and a life soon to end that had been lived out to the fullest.
“So then, good sir, why do men bother to even pursue? Why can’t they just not leave him alone, allowing him to drift along upon the high plains, taking his abode in the sheltered cave scattered valleys of the Sierra Madre?”
“Oh..my dear son,” spoke the elder as he leaned closer to the astonished face of the youth . “There is another spirit that posses the soul of men, and that is the spirit of possession…the spirit of absolute control and repressive authority. This evil phantom is the sworn enemy of all freedom and positive pursuit, conjured up by the specter of creative industrious endeavor; and by its horrible basic nature the free may only choose to submit, or destruct by doing battle in the name of liberating determination.”
As the elder sat beside the boy speaking his words of aged wisdom, the boy gazed out from the seat of the cafe. He could see across the borderline of the small town, far out into the shimmering desert horizon beyond. In the yon distance he heard the wind sweep the standing cactus and mesquite scrub with sand, soon to pat his browning cheeks, and toss his unkempt hair across his forehead. With each puff of the wind he thought that he perceived the sound of a proud stallion, racing abroad into the wind, bearing the strength of youth and in full possession of freedoms delightful breath, determined to live according to his own will at all costs..
“Yes my dear one,” spoke the grizzled elder. “Thine ears hath not deceived you, for his voice hath now whispered it’s sweet enrapturing song into thine ear, and that same spirit shall infect thy own heart along the way…It is presently infecting…possessing thy heart, thy impressionable mind, thy inexperienced body.., and very soon.., even thy innermost soul. Once ye lay thine eyes upon him, then ye shall never again be free from his spell. You shall be his, and him.., thine own obsession, until the very end.”
Visit: http://www.Shakespir.com/books/view/723512 to purchase this book to continue reading. Show the author you appreciate their work!
This work is a an account a the fabled "devil horse" of the Sierra Madre. Tales of his existence date all the way back to the earliest years of the Spanish conquest. So the story goes, he is eternal and rides the high plains, even into our present day. Many have attempted to ensnare him, but none have managed to succeed. He is the embodiment of complete liberty, some say the very spirit of lady liberty herself. He is born to live free, or die, forever free.