A whirlpool. Imagine it. The water swirls in a funnel the water blue-grey-green, mixing and flashing as it spins to the bottom. Looking at the bottom there is a patch of ground, like the eye of the storm, you drop a stone in to this eye. And it thuds, then sits in serenity. With the waters crashing around it and above it.
I am that stone. Every time I cross the panel into Gatsby's round pen.
Gatsby is not used to people, as much as say JB, my 23 year old gelding. So when I'm having a bad day and randomly burst into tears in Jb's stall, he thinks nothing of it. But Gatsby would probably run away.  So I've been careful to turn off  everything I'm feeling when I climb in there. No frustration, from him or anyone else, No sadness because I can't watch for ques through tears, No real bubbly happiness, because I can't afford to goof off with him. Just relaxed and calm. Concentrated.

I haven't been writing because I've been too sucked in to my whirlpool. I manage to climb out of the roaring waters to Gatsby everyday, but I'm still soaking wet when I'm in there with him. Which isn't fair to him, none of this is his fault. He's been making leaps and bounds. And I'm starting to see him open up. Gatsby learns but he still hasn't gave me the moment I'm looking for. All the horses I own have given me this moment where they really change. They listen to what your doing, your body, picking up on every heart beat, every rein twitch. I've heard people call it a good ride, or a billion other things but for me in my head, its just the moment that the horse trusts you. You can feel it too, you get a random burst of happiness, and you feel like your vibrating with energy. Gatsby hasn't gave me that, he comes so close, then just snaps shut like and oyster protecting it's pearl. I am going to give him his time.
Gatsby has became alittle more playful. I wanted to see if I could get him out of his little comfort zone the other day so I introduced a main brush. He didn't even care and continued to act like I wasn't there. I thought to my self- "This horse is basically giving you the silent treatment..do something that will MAKE him look." I went up to the house and grabbed a bottle of bubbles. I climbed to my favorite spot on the round pen. Gatsby stood on the other side, looking across the pasture, swatting his tail lazily. I pulled the slimy wand out  of the pink plastic jar. I inhaled the sweet afternoon air and blew. A school of bubbles filled the air, they wiggled and knocked into each other like colts learning to walk. As the scores of blue , pink and green orbs assaulted him. Gatsby wheeled around and snorted. One bubble bounced happily across his rump. Gatsby's hooves flashed up as he tried to kick the offending bubble. Another floated lazily to his nose, as he snuffed at it, it burst leaving it's sticky residue on his nose. He licked it of the sneezed at the taste.
I continued to play with him and the bubbles for a few more days.
I came out later one cool morning and found him racing around his pen like a lunatic. I caught him and worked a little on leading. I found him ignoring me again. So I went and grabbed the lunge whip. I let him smell in and see it wasn't anything to be scared of. Then sent him out into a large circle. He protested a little, so I placed the lunge whip across his hocks (The knee on the back legs of a horse.) he drove his but under him and went for three really nice circles at a beautiful flowing working trot. I let him stop.
He has also learned to back up using only body ques. Now if I can just get him to open up with me.
I'll write soon
Raime.
PS; Here is a picture of Gatsby & the bubbles.

"I wanted to get out and walk eastward toward the park through the soft twilight, but each time I tried to go I became entangled in some wild, strident argument which pulled me back, as if with ropes, into my chair. Yet high over the city our line of yellow windows must have contributed their share of human secrecy to the casual watcher in the darkening streets... I saw him too, looking up and wondering. I was within and without."
- F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby, Ch. 2