The Man Who Wanted to Steer the Wind

Once upon a time, there was a rider who dreamed of riding as one dances with the sea: free, fluid, flawless.

He had read all the books, mastered every technique, studied the champions.

His horse, a tall chestnut with dark eyes, seemed built for glory.

Every morning, the rider sat tall, tightened the reins, and placed his hands as one arranges chess pieces.

And every morning, the chestnut looked at him as one looks at a riddle.

One day, frustrated that his horse didn’t “obey fast enough,” the rider said:

— I’ve given you every perfect cue. Why do you hesitate?

The horse chewed his bit and replied calmly:

— You’re trying to steer the wind with grammar rules.

The rider blinked.

— What do you mean?

— I feel your hands, your legs, your posture… but they’re not all saying the same thing. Your body speaks, but your heart whispers something else. I’m not a mechanism — I’m a mirror. And if I see your doubt, I’ll reflect it.

Stung, the rider squeezed his legs and tried to force the pace.

But the horse stopped cold.

— Before telling me where to go, be certain you’re already there within yourself. Otherwise, I’ll have to guess. And I’m not here to guess.

The rider dismounted, took a few steps into the grass, and for the first time felt the weight of his own breath.

He closed his eyes, imagined a clear, strong trot, felt his shoulders open, his hands soften, his heart settle on one clear intention.

When he mounted again, he gave almost no command.

And yet, the chestnut moved into a trot, then into a gallop, as if the wind itself had leapt into the saddle.

From that day on, the rider no longer tried to “command” his horse.

He learned to align himself first with what he truly wanted.

And the horse, true to his word, always responded with the same clarity.

Moral: You do not guide a free being with perfect gestures, but with a true intention.