Wild Horses
There is a place in North Carolina where long sandy finger islands stretch miles from the mainland, naturally protecting shoreline from the more severe Atlantic Ocean weather. These remote sandy dunes—accessible only with some crafty 4x4 beach driving and aired-down tires at low tide—offer a glimpse into an old wild place: The Outer Banks.
I spent a week there recently with my girlfriend.
In addition to the remote location—and the momentary departure from life’s usual story— if you so choose to make the trek and stay a while—is the presence of a pure, wild, herd of Spanish mustang horses. Horses that are uninfluenced by modern man, left to be, and thus are not only truly wild, they are the vestiges of an uninterrupted evolutionary timeline. The presence of such a phenomena is rare. What does an equine species look like sans the influence of man?
The appeal of such places is otherworldly to me. The horses are a treat sure, but additionally, buried in the action of leaving my life and rules behind momentarily—to be in a wild place with wild rules—is the chance to feel into my own primal senses. There is something in the remoteness, and the necessary preparations for such a journey, and then knowing the way back takes equal effort and preparedness, that primes a person to confront parts of self that are usually ignored. Somewhere in that forgotten internal space is room to ask myself what I need, what I can live without, and what is truly necessary for a happy life.
One late afternoon my girlfriend and I found our way down an empty sandy road of The Outer Banks. There, in the subdued light of a setting sun, were two wild mustangs quietly grazing. We slowed our truck, keeping our distance, and sat in silence for a moment, simply observing. As a photographer I can not resist the beauty of a transitioning sky, knowing the colors I can pull will be magical, so I aimed my telephoto lens through the truck window at the horses and clicked off a few shots.
In the midst of shooting however, I was aware of subtle shifts around me—both human and animal—and in a heartbeat everything changed. If I hadn’t already had my camera in my hands and trained in the right direction, I would have missed it entirely. Suddenly the ground was alive, and the horses’ heads shot up, ears alert. My girlfriend’s body tensed in wordless anticipation beside me, with a knowing that I don’t possess about horses.
I saw the glint of sun off the stirring sand cloud first, a split second before I caught the charge of a stallion leading his harem in a full wild gallop directly towards us. The moment caught me in such awe—the sound, the energy, the chaos—that if I wasn’t trained to react quickly, I would have nothing for show and tell at all!
My breath caught at the beauty in front of me, at these surreal moments where I was gifted a different story to live in temporarily. One that was wild and beautiful. Compelling and drunkenly immersive and everything I want to feel every single day of my life.
Desire looks something like that, I think.
Like wild horses running at full tilt. Passionate. Deep needs and reactions and instant movement. Fast and furious. Glorious and heartfelt and beautiful in its unexpected origins. Pure desire offers no apology, not to anyone, and receives no judgement. It’s just there, waiting for us to see it and react to it. It lives outside of our intellect and our choices. You can not chase away deep seated primal desires. Simply best you just try to see them.
Yes, there, in the wild horses, was the beauty of primal desire on full display.
Simply stated. Simply met. Running wild and free. May we always feel the wild horses.
