Who I am with you

 

The days I get to spend in the pasture and sunshine are very important to me.  I get to spend time with the herd, and though the opportunity is often there, I usually end up taking advantage of it during those times in life that I really need it. When I need a good recharging, my favorite grounding space is in the grass or hay, on a warm sunny spot in the pasture, next to a snoozing horse.

 

Today I was enjoying the sunshine next to my snoozing Isis,  who has been a joy in my life for about a year and a half. So we haven't gotten too many pasture snoozing sessions in yet.  As I was enjoying her grounding company,  I thought of my other wonderful horses and wondered how I got so lucky. When I brought Isis home, I had no idea she would be an incredible therapy horse, or be willing to do anything I asked of her, or trust me so much. It was strange how that seemed so much like my other horses.

 

I realized that though my horses have all been completely different in personality, who they are in relationship to me is quite similar, because who I am in relationship to them is exactly the same. I notice this as well in my relationships with friends and family.  They behave in a very similar way towards me. Because, well, that's how I've trained them.

 

We often say in experiential therapy that wherever you go, there you are. This is why experiential therapy works, particularly equine therapy. Our behaviors and skills that we use in one area of life, we use in all areas. It's who we are. And when we can become aware of it, we have opportunity to choose how to be.

 

I didn't know what kind of horse Isis was going to be for me, but I guess I should have. Because I knew who I was going to be for her. Relationships aren't 50-50, and they aren't 100-100 either. They are more like this constant intermingling flow. Like a trickle of rain that creates a small rivulet, and in a million years looks like the grand canyon. 

 

I'm not saying that my horse human relationships are perfect. There are those things I see in my mirrors that I don't like too. Supposedly, if we see how we are enough, and it makes a deep enough impact on us,  we are willing to change. Then who we are is different, and our relationships will be different. And the people in our lives will be different.

 

Who we are actually creates the world around us.  You may think that you don't matter, but who you are makes an impact. Everything from the smile you give your coworkers in the morning to being there for your kids at night. It matters. This, to me is one of the most powerful and humbling lessons there is to learn.  It's actually scary to realize the responsibility we have in our lives, our relationships,  and the world.

 

Simply by recognizing and acknowledging who we are and the impact it has, our world changes. Power lies in knowing that who we are is exactly who we choose to be.

The Shape of a Cowgirl

There are songs that are written about angels on earth,
And a magical thing called a cowgirl.
But those stories and songs are just stringing along
Those that don't know the shape of a Cowgirl.

For there's something that happens between heaven and earth
When a Cowgirl loses a pony.
I wouldn't deny, there's tears to be cried,
Though the songs say she's tougher than nails.
But what happens next, some may not expect, but those know the shape of a Cowgirl.

A smile on her lips shows up through her woe,
As though there's a secret that only she knows.
The reason is that- that good pony left
A space in her heart and her soul.
And since that pony has gone, her heart stretches on, beyond horizons and hills.

To reach for her friend whose wings take him on takes a big stretch of her stride.
And arms reach out longer, past fences and borders,
And her feet take on something like flying.

So there's the shape of a Cowgirl if didn't you know:
A Cowgirl's heart and a Cowgirl's soul expand to wherever her partner goes.
For the piece of her soul that her pony owns,
That is the reason the Cowgirl roams.
And the depths of her heart that her pony has filled- the size of the space that he's left- how high and how long that love is,

Well that is the shape of a Cowgirl.

Lead Mare in the Making

The old mare watched the tractor work,
A thing of rubber and steel,
Ready to follow the slightest wish,
Of the man who held the wheel.
She said to herself as it passed by,
You gave me an awful jolt.
But there's still one thing you cannot do,
You cannot raise a colt.
Source unknown

If someone were to ask your definition of leadership, how would you answer? Perhaps the picture includes someone intelligent, confident,  organized, high energy, and with a five year plan. Maybe it's someone with charisma, all the right words, and a three piece suit.  I might answer that I see more leadership in a scruffy mane across the fence everyday, than I see anywhere else.

Horses are splendid examples of group dynamics, which is why they are used so widely these days in the therapeutic realm. The role of lead mare has been something I have cherished and respected since meeting the tall dark warm blood in our herd at least 7 years ago. But what I have noticed lately about lead mares has knocked me off my toes.
They all are.

Today if I look out over the pasture, I will see each of the five mares clear about their role, but confidently challenging it. Each one from the mature sensitive mare to the one who has given birth and mothered, the big one no one can ignore, and the young filly in a constant state of learning. But the mare that's caused me to notice all of this is my mare Lucy. Over the past 7 years I have watched a horse who I would diagnose as "passive" show up today as a mare that I am sure secretly runs the herd. She's not the first one at the hay bale, and she's not the one to show the new gelding where to stand. But she is the peacemaker of the herd. And the troublemaker.  Everyone misses her when she's gone. The herd is provided with a steadiness because of who she is. She's taught people and horses in a way that makes them think they are doing it all themselves. I even watched her make baby faces at the new gelding the other day, for a reason unknown to me,  this mare that regularly dishes out nasty faces to other horses on trail rides and in the ring.

I've watched her growth through the years not only in what we have done together but who she's been in the herd. I can't help but notice the mirror reflection on my own growth as well. Growth ranging from confidence and learning to self respect and self restraint. Mostly I hope the skill I can posess that I see in this lead mare is the graciousness and openness of heart that she has cultivated. The ability to be ok with everything as it is, and yet know that there is a way to make a powerful difference. 

Every mare in that pasture is a lead mare. Some have more dominance traits, and some have more experience.  But with a mare as with a leader, there is a driving purpose to be fulfilled that will never be satisfied.  The purpose is the herd. It's safety, it's togetherness, it's serenity. A leader is someone who knows his purpose is the herd, and plays whatever part is necessary to make it work.

I used to think that some horses were leaders and the rest just followers in their own regard.  Perhaps my definition of leadership has been very humanized. In a world of bullies and indentured servants, when someone tries to fulfill a calling, we label them "entrepreneurs". We call women who raise families "stay at home moms", as though location is needed for definition.  We think leadership is what you do and accomplish,  rather than what you provide and who you are. Leadership is something that can be present at any moment,  simply by doing what you know there is to do, and by offering what you have to the herd, to the situation. It might mean backing away, or fighting, or a calm steady presence. As I see it from the mares, it's not what you do, it's for what you do. For the herd.

The Dark Horse

It was a little hard to have a productive therapy session with the high pitched screaming and thunk of hooves hitting the boards that was coming from the barn. Smoke, the handsome black horse that had come to the farm about three months ago had been steadily making his presence known to the herd, and the gelding in the stall next to him was getting an earful. Though the aura of terror in the stalls was irritating, I could understand his point. Horses have dominance conversations all the time. It's just that it seemed to be gettin worse, rather than resolving. So I was thankful when it was time for Smoke to go out to the field, with his pasturemate Buddy, who he had been getting along with nicely. As I turned Smoke loose in the night and fumbled with Buddy's halter, I was nearly knocked over by a blast of black hide and hair flying towards the innocent paint horse. And before I could regroup, it happened again. I was on my toes the third time around,  however,  and after the two were successfully turned out, the drama appeared over as quickly as it started. A couple days later, Smoke gave a lovely therapeutic riding lesson, like a trustworthy mount with a true calling.

I have been finding myself the victim of a dark horse lately. It rears it's ugly head mostly when I am alone. It sounds like grumbling, complaining,  anger, greed. It assumes something negative before anything is present.  The dark horse has a very limited focus, and generally feeds itself. And then, just when I an afraid it will swallow me up, something happens,  and the dark horse is brought out into the light. It gets held up to reality. To connection, to feedback, to a smile and truth. And shakes out its mane and it simmers down.

So I wonder at myself and this dark horse I have. How does one navigate between the waves of dark and light that show up? How can you tell the difference between the horse in the stall next to you that you just met, and the one you've been friends with for weeks, and not attack the wrong one?

Wait and see.

Night turns into day. Shadows turn into evidence. Hold your dark horse up to the light, you might find him warm and happy in the sun, ready to nuzzle your chest and lick your hand. Maybe just hold those thoughts for a while and see if they change. Our problem often is that we believe everything we think. Have you ever noticed that you tend to think the same things over and over? Same gripes, complaints and problems?  Brains are very programmable, but we often don't pay any attention to what we are programming. We don't leave any room for creative process in our thoughts. No room for possibility.

Taking your dark horse to the light might look different for everyone.  It might mean sharing your feelings with a trusted friend. It might mean excersizing to get out of your head. It might mean therapy, or just taking a break. Once the light has cracked in, make room with it. Create. And know that the dark horse will come again. You just may know better than to believe it this time.

Not the Breaths We Take

     "Life's not the breaths we take, but the moments that take our breath away."

As I stared at the frail shadow laying before me of the man who I always remember towering over me with an easy air of vigor, wit  and  a grounded worldlessness, I was stunned. This was not how I thought it would be. The gasping and struggling,  the cruel uncomfortable moaning spoke nothing of the mystery and myth that I imagined sending a loved one to the other side would hold. This was mean. I could not even say unfair,  as the man had lived a generous and glorious 92 years. I could not argue with the need to pass after ones long work is done, but wouldn't it be better if he was just handed a gold watch and ushered into glory? It was mean. Mean in the fashion of it being common. Gutteral. Natural like bodily fluids and stench. Noone tells you this. Noone tells you that one day the patriarch of the family will be at the mercy of you,  to move his arms and legs, clean away the mess, tend to whether he is cold or warm, and decipher grunts and groans to decide how comfortable it can be.

A strange irony to me was that this great now fallen man was resting on a sheet covered in cartoon dalmatians. Perhaps to anyone else it may have seemed inappropriate for the scene,  but to me it brought comfort. I sensed the presence of my sweet dalmatian partner of over a decade who not two years ago I held as I felt her spirit leave her body. I still hadn't healed that hole in my heart, but that didn't matter. Not here at this mortal scene.

Each loved one that I have lost in the moments of their death has given me something.  My horse Buster who I stayed with through the rain until making the decision to send him on still drives me on. Great equine friends who gave all they had made me who I am. Their loss is significant.  But their leaving is something else. 

After the morphine kicked in, and my family had spent several rounds singing Bangala hymns around my grandad's  bedside, in the quiet bustle of preparing dinner and chatting about the next day, my father called us in. We held his hands and quietly offered him into heaven. I felt his spirit rise. But in a subtle, peaceful way. There were no angels or trumpets. It was like he had just walked into the other room. But I'm clear that I saw him kick up his heels on the way.

I know that this story is old. And I know that it's not mine. I know that the humanity we share means that we share these griefs. They say death is the great equalizer. Then our grief must be the most equal and common thing we have. Though it doesn't usually feel that way.

Through this experience I began to imagine what grief must look like. Based of course, on what it feels like. I imagine a big cannonball, chained to a leg. It feels really heavy and impossible at first,  but after a while you tend to get used to having it there. And like it would be lugging around a big cannonball,  I suppose that you may even gain some strength from having it drag behind you so long.  Perhaps you take it upon yorself to pick up the cannonball, so that it is easier for you to move around. And then sometimes you can put it down and leap and play and be happy, but all within the limits of your chain. Many people start looking at their grief ball a little differently, break out their hammer and anvil and work on reshaping it to a figure of their choosing. Some people make beautiful works of art out of their grief. But like all art, it is personal, and sacred. And no matter what it looks like, it is a blessing when shared.

Transitions

If there is anything in life that can cause stress for people across the board, it is change. Transitions are something that we have many of in life, but often dread and resist. But the one thing that a good horseman is always seeking is how to ride a nice transition. Walk to trot, trot to canter, canter to halt. I've spent many hours in the saddle practicing transitions. Riding these waves of the dance can teach us do much about riding the waves in our life.

* Plan ahead, and be in the moment - A rider prepares for his transition.  Whether it be a half an arena away or on the fly, a rider prepares his body before he asks his horse to transition. Preparing mentally  and physically are important for a good transition.  However, there is a moment when preparation must turn into presence. The canter does not happen in the future, it happens now. The mental capacity that we put in to planning can often turn to worry, which is a hugely counterproductive emotion. A horse looks for clarity from his rider. Clarity is never about knowing the future, it is only about knowing now.

* Sit deep, and fly a little - In a transition,  a rider must connect with his seat to be effective.  Understanding that sometimes transitions can provide a bit of a rocky ride, the rider has worked for hundreds of hours at finding and using his seat effectively. This happened long before a flying lead change was even thought of. When we are faced with a transition in life,  whether it is of our own making or not, one of the things we can do is find our seat, our center, and rely on it. It's important that we know our strengths and skills. We can consciously use them, though we are likely unconsciously using them already.  These are things that we have brought with us to this moment, and will carry us through.  Though a rider will sit deep and secure, there is a moment in every transition where everything is up in the air. This moment of suspension is needed for the horse to move from one gait into another. It is the only thing that can make the transition happen. Walking out of your job for the last time with 100 dollars in your bank account. Standing at the brink of your loved ones grave and facing what life will be like from there. These are moments of not knowing. But they are moments of faith. Trusting in a higher power, trusting in the process, trusting in yourself.

*Don't forget to exhale, and keep focused on the goal- One thing that will make every transition smoother is breathing. Specifically,  breathing out. There is something about exhaling that lets go. Exhaling is a bodily function that releases the toxic gas in our blood, and it causes our bodies to be more relaxed, releasing tension. In life we are often called to let go of things. I personally am not one to do this easily,  and it is evident in my riding as well. I have had to exhale a LOT to counteract being a "ride by the seat of my pants" kind of girl. In riding we all want to hang on. No, let go. Let go of those relationships that hurt you,  those places that tax you, those things that eat you alive.  Sometimes the cords can be more emotional than physical. We can only move forward if we let go of what holds us back. That being said, a rider always focuses on his goal. Look where you are going. A posture of focus holds you up during a choppy change.

* Keep moving forward,  but remember it's not about speed - Transitions, yes, even to a halt, require forward motion. Can you imagine the pile of legs and tack on the arena footing should your horse stop moving forward at any point during the transition?  However, it's not about speed. Transitions are never, ever, ever about going faster. The goal of every great horseman is to be able to ask his horse to transition into any gait, and keep the same tempo. This, my friends, requires practice, self control, and presence of mind. Just like managing our emotions and actions through these times of change.

My favorite aspect of practicing transitions with my horse is the feeling of lightness and responsiveness that comes through it. Many transitions make one light. I also enjoy the look back over the many transitions that I have had in my life, and feel a little lighter, more prepared, and eager to engage in the next one.

The Trail Less Traveled

As I pick up my old Grey gelding's hooves to trim them and know that I have the honor of owning this part in keeping his health and soundness, I think about the first time I tried to trim a hoof. I had lost my farrier, and clumsily attempted to wield my tools and wrestle with my horse, realizing quickly the difficulty of the task, I shortly gave up and looked in the phone book again. When I think about my  lack of ability and knowledge at the time, I am amazed that I know and do what I do now. Of course I believe it was this very awkward attempt that led me to the woman who taught me so much about hoof trimming. 

So many things in my life have impacted the path I have found myself on. And there is constantly a choice and a crossroads. 

Recently the new barn and indoor have been completed,  and plans and wheels have been turning to organize the facility to offer therapeutic services that use horses to help people. I came to learn about this work and gained friends and associates that have guided me on this path about 7 years ago. Somewhere I probably never envisioned myself to be, but yet somehow always knew.

One of the first events held here was a clinic taught by a man who promotes assisting the horse with learning how to release his body in order to use it more efficiently and powerfully. As I worked with him and my young horse, he guided me in using my energy to release her back and emotional blocks. He gave me confirmation in using a skill that I knew that I had but haven't really practiced. One of the things that he stated was that the kidney area where she was holding tension is the area that fear is held in our bodies. The next day I took my pony for a walk out in the back field and suddenly felt a sharp pain in my left kidney. I recognized that this was probably not my pain, rather I was empathizing with her on a physical level. I cleared the energy from her back and loin and had the thought that it might result in urination. Then there was that space.  That space of following a gut instinct and not knowing whether it really made any difference.  This space was so familiar and I know it is the space I had been wallowing in. Doubting, hiding, and falling back on old habits. We took a few strides further into our walk and my mare squatted to pee.

Strange story, I know. But what it left me with was confirmation.  There are places that I can make a difference in ways that I am meant to make difference.  There are lessons to learn and voices to hear on a path that you can't ignore just because they may not sound like everyone else's. Or because you can't find them in school or the parameters of the office.

People don't learn and grow the same. And there are so many places on the path to get stuck, to doubt,  to get fouled up by what someone else says or thinks. And the path continues to bring new things to light. A path is something that is meant to keep you moving. Loitering about is against the rules.

My hope is to bring to this beautiful new space that I am working in the possibility that people get to find themselves.  Their true selves. Through psychotherapy, and trauma work, and horses.  And through whatever it takes. Because to me, that is what therapy is. It's the opportunity to get connected to oneself in a way that you can heal yourself. Through being whole. And I can't offer this to people unless I'm willing to take the path I have set out on. Maybe it's less traveled,  but I know there are plenty of guides along the way.