“So tell me, “ the horse said, “what is it that you want from me. If you had to say it in just one sentence.”
The girl didn’t hesitate. “Friendship,” she answered. “I want to be friends.”
The look on the horse’s face was impossible to read. After a moment of silence, he finally spoke.
“I wasn’t planning on this subject right away, but we might as well dwell into it, because – “the horse turned his head and looked longingly over the fields. “Well, let's say it will help us reach the core of the real subject.” He chewed for a moment and then sighed.
“Can you tell me more about friendship?” he asked. “What does it mean to be friends?”
Now it was the girl’s turn to look over the fields.
“Well – when you are friends, you share secrets. A friend is always there to listen to you, to be on your side and to help you. And you do the same for your friend, of course.”
The horse snorted, but it sounded more like a scoff, as if he was laughing at her. The girl blushed, realizing how naïve she must have sounded, how stupid it was to even start to talk about mutual friendship with this horse she had so much trouble with.
“Okay, let’s stop there. My next question is: do you think we are friends?”
The girl looked down at her shoes. She pushed a rock around with her toe and wondered how she had gotten herself into this predicament.
The horse snorted again. “Does my question make you uncomfortable?”
“No.” The girl rolled her eyes. There was no point of lying if the horse really could read her mind like she thought it could. “I mean yes, but it’s not just that…” She didn’t know what to say, she could barely understand her own thoughts.
“No, I don’t think we are friends." She finally said. "But it’s not like I didn’t try, you know. I really wanted it. You have to believe me.”
“Oh, I believe you, don’t worry. I was there, remember.” The horse looked kind again and the girl felt the tears behind her eyes resurface.
“I just don’t think you really know what friendship is, my dear.”
“What do you mean?”
The horse shifted his weight and rested his left hind, the gesture made his body contort sideways.
“Do you have human friends?”
“Yes, of course I do.” She knew she sounded defensive, but she couldn’t help it.
“Do you lock your human friends in boxes the size of a phone booth and keep them there all their life separated from their other friends so you can then visit them for an hour or two a day, let them out and expect them to bend to your will and do what you want?”
“Of course not, that’s not friendship, that’s – “ She thought of a proper word, but failed.
“Imprisonment?” the horse suggested lightly. The girl looked up from her shoes. She felt the hair on her arms raise up and she shivered.
“Yes.” She said slowly, her brow wrinkling. The realization of the horse’s words crept into her consciousness and she gasped. The horse looked at her, his face was grave.
“You never thought about that before, did you?”
The girl was apologetic. “No, I didn’t.” She peered at the horse. “I thought you liked your box. You have a window to look outside and it’s right by the door where you see lots of activity.”
The horse nodded in agreement. “Yes, you are right, I have the window and - it is my home. The only one I have. But -”
“But what?” The girl was truly curious now.
“But in the end of the day, it is a prison cell.”
They looked at each other for a long time and a certain sadness hung between them, like a scent of something very old. The horse was the first to break the silence.
“Let me explain.”
“No, you don’t have to, I get it.” The girl was crying now.
“But I want to, to make sure you understand. You humans tend to think of everything from your point of view. Like for instance, you think horses like the deep, soft straw bedding but mostly we don’t really care of soft beds. Humans care and because they care, they think we care, too.”
“I thought you liked the bedding!” The girl wiped her face.
“My point exactly.”
They looked at each other again. For the first time the horse looked welcoming and the girl wanted to touch him, but didn’t dare.
“Tell me more.” She said.
“Horses would rather live outside, together. And with together I really mean that, together in a heard.”
“But –“ The girl found an old tissue in her coat pocket and blew her nose.
“But it rains outside? Is cold? Is that what you are wondering about?”
“Yeah.” She didn’t like the way he read her mind, as if he knew her every move.
“We have hair, we don’t care. Again, it’s just humans who care, because humans would never want to live outside like that, you like to live in a house.”
“That’s true. And I suppose you could use blankets.”
“Blankets?” the horse laughed.
“What’s so funny?” The girl felt left out and wondered if he was laughing at her.
“Oh, it’s just that blankets are the running joke in the barn. Between us horses, that is.”
The girl stared at the horse. “You joke about things?”
The horse continued, as if he had not heard the last comment.
“Why do you suppose you use blankets on horses?”
The girl shrugged. “To keep you warm?”
“But we have hair, why would we need the blankets?”
“Well, if we didn’t use the blankets, your hair would grow really long.”
“So?”
“Then we would need to clip the hair.” The girl was not sure where this was going. She thought they were supposed to be talking about friendship.
“And why would you do that?”
“To keep the hair short, of course.” She was starting to get frustrated, it seemed like the horse didn’t understand what she was saying and the conversation was running in circles.
“It just makes things easier, like then you horses don’t sweat so much when we ride and it doesn’t take so long to cool you down.”
The horse moved his feet and started resting his right hind in turn.
“Clipping the horse’s hair makes life easier.” The horse looked at the girl and she nodded. “Easier for whom?”
The girl looked down. “Easier for us humans, I suppose.”
“You suppose?” There was a trace of irony in the horse’s voice. The girl felt like she wanted to get up and leave, like she was on trial over something she had done unintentionally.
“Sorry,” the horse said and she knew he meant it. “Let’s go back to the blankets. Don’t you think it’s a lot of work to blanket us? How many blankets does an average horse have? Three? Five?”
The girl laughed. “I get your point. My mom thinks you have too many. They’re expensive, you know.”
“So, what’s the point?”
The girl thought about it for a while and then she said: “I think ultimately we just don’t like to see a really hairy horse, we like the hair short because it looks better, prettier.” Somehow she felt ashamed, but was not quite sure why. The horse looked at her quizzically.
“How do you feel about that?”
“I don’t know.” The girl looked over the fields. “I think I’m embarrassed now.”
“Why?”
“Because I just realized that a lot of what we do here at the barn is based on… I don’t even know what to call it.” She looked at the horse for help, but he said nothing. They were silent for a while, then he spoke.
“I think you know the word.”
The girl nodded. She did know what she wanted to say, but the word was stuck in her throat. She stood up.
“I think I should leave now.”
The horse nodded. The girl wondered if he was disappointed in her.
“We can continue some other time, if you want.“ His voice was soft; as if he understood how she was feeling. She took a tentative step towards him.
“I’ll be back soon.”
The horse looked tired.
“It is up to you,” he said and the girl knew he was right, it was all up to her as far as he was concerned.
Monday, August 31, 2009
Friday, August 21, 2009
Prince of Fear
Fear is no stranger to any of us; everyone feels worried or afraid sometimes. Most people who live in the so called Western culture, however, live their lives relatively fear free. Perhaps there are short moments of worry or panic here and there, but generally speaking our environment is safe and we don’t have to deal with intense terror or fright. Our lives are, in fact, so boring that we actually seek fear by watching scary movies, taking intense amusement park rides or performing extreme activities such as sky diving.
For example, last week I did something completely out of character: I went to an adventure climbing park set high in the trees. This doesn’t sound like an extraordinary event; after all, am I not a person who is always up for a challenge, especially if it involves a physical activity of some sorts? I certainly am confident of my own abilities. And the park was more than safe; between the harness and cables I was hooked to at all times, there was little danger of falling.
What made this experience extraordinary was that I am absolutely and utterly horrified of heights: I get vertigo.
I have to admit, during the first 30 minutes, I didn’t think I would be able to get through it. It is amazing how gripping fear can be. There I was, 40 feet up on a platform, literally hugging the tree as I stared at the task, a wobbly wooden bridge, which would get me to the next platform. My friend, who equally suffers from heart-stopping vertigo, smiled nervously, as I attempted to crack a joke. But the situation wasn’t funny; I was paralyzed with alarm, my mouth was dry from terror. I didn’t want to move.
Yet, with an encouraging friend on my side, I managed to push myself beyond my mental capacity and step on the bridge. And somehow, despite my terror-stricken legs and my white knuckles gripping on the safety wire, I managed to get to the other side to hug a new tree. And then another tree, and another.
After three hours of climbing and facing our fears over and over again, my friend and I were wiped out, and I don’t mean only physically. I could hardly think straight, let alone perform another complex task in the trees. When we called it a day and sat down in the shade to eat our well deserved ice creams, I could still feel my muscles twitching from the constant state of alertness I had been experiencing for the past three hours. My brain was equally fried; I was exhausted.
But what if we had to live with real fear on a daily basis? There certainly are people in this world who have to face the worst case scenario on a daily basis.
And then, of course, there are horses.
Recently, I have had the privilege to work with a little palomino pony called Prince. Prince is the cutest little thing, at barely 13 hands he looks more like a miniature horse than a real pony. He is very polite and sensitive, and apparently jumps beautifully. But Prince has one problem: he is very, very fearful of everyone who walks on two legs.
It is hard to say if he has been abused, but it is definitely clear that he has not been trained properly. He is afraid of human touch, of objects in your hand, quick movements, and sometimes just the presence of a person. If you try to pick up his hind feet, he nearly collapses and then tries to kick you. If you go into his box with the fly spray bottle, he spins around and hides in the corner shaking.
Despite all this, he allows kids to ride him, to brush him, to walk him around. If you cross tie him, adults can pick his front feet and brush him as well. You can catch him from the field if you have a carrot and some patience. You can lunge him at walk, trot and canter and although he tries to occasionally run off, he mostly tries to stay with you on the circle. You can coax him to the wash rack using gentle force and hose his legs down all the while as he trembles on the end of the lead rope.
The interesting thing is that most people find nothing wrong with these scenarios, after all, Prince is doing what he is told. “Sure, he is afraid, but he’ll get over it. Look how well he’s doing compared to last month! He is dealing with it, right?”
I agree, he is “dealing” with it. But the fact that he is allowing the daily activities to take place does not mean he is no longer afraid, it just means he has discovered that it is better to comply, rather than bolt and run since no matter what he does, the riding and grooming is not going to go away. Life is certainly easier if you obey, no matter how scared you are.
What does this mentality imply of our culture, our way of thinking? That it is alright to overwhelm another being without taking into consideration the emotional and mental health of that individual?
The difference between what I felt and what Prince feels on a daily basis is the fact that I had a choice: I could have stopped climbing those trees at any time; I could have walked away from the situation. Nobody was standing behind me, breathing down my neck, telling me to get over it and to get on with it. And certainly if someone had, I would have not been able to climb those trees, I would have quit before even the first attempt.
The positive environment and the fact that I was able to choose to continue made it possible for me to face my fear. And because it was my choice, because I took the initiative despite my fear, it was a highly empowering experience. I may have felt exhausted afterwards, but I also felt like the biggest winner. How, in comparison, does Prince feel at the end of each day? Does he feel only exhaustion and apprehension of the next day? He certainly has not had many choices in his life; so far he has had no other option but face his fear every time humans decide they want to handle him.
The big question now is: how can we help fearful horses feel confident, how can we give them the same feeling of empowerment I felt in those trees? How can we help them feel like they are in control of their emotions? How can we provide them an environment where they can choose to participate, choose to conquer their fears? How can we provide such a positive environment for horses that they feel compelled to try new things with confidence?
I will leave you with these vital questions in hopes of perhaps igniting something in your own thinking. At this moment I certainly do not have all the answers myself, but I without doubt have an urgent need to find solutions. When there is a will, there is also always a way.
Take care of your animals – and yourselves,
K
For example, last week I did something completely out of character: I went to an adventure climbing park set high in the trees. This doesn’t sound like an extraordinary event; after all, am I not a person who is always up for a challenge, especially if it involves a physical activity of some sorts? I certainly am confident of my own abilities. And the park was more than safe; between the harness and cables I was hooked to at all times, there was little danger of falling.
What made this experience extraordinary was that I am absolutely and utterly horrified of heights: I get vertigo.
I have to admit, during the first 30 minutes, I didn’t think I would be able to get through it. It is amazing how gripping fear can be. There I was, 40 feet up on a platform, literally hugging the tree as I stared at the task, a wobbly wooden bridge, which would get me to the next platform. My friend, who equally suffers from heart-stopping vertigo, smiled nervously, as I attempted to crack a joke. But the situation wasn’t funny; I was paralyzed with alarm, my mouth was dry from terror. I didn’t want to move.
Yet, with an encouraging friend on my side, I managed to push myself beyond my mental capacity and step on the bridge. And somehow, despite my terror-stricken legs and my white knuckles gripping on the safety wire, I managed to get to the other side to hug a new tree. And then another tree, and another.
After three hours of climbing and facing our fears over and over again, my friend and I were wiped out, and I don’t mean only physically. I could hardly think straight, let alone perform another complex task in the trees. When we called it a day and sat down in the shade to eat our well deserved ice creams, I could still feel my muscles twitching from the constant state of alertness I had been experiencing for the past three hours. My brain was equally fried; I was exhausted.
But what if we had to live with real fear on a daily basis? There certainly are people in this world who have to face the worst case scenario on a daily basis.
And then, of course, there are horses.
Recently, I have had the privilege to work with a little palomino pony called Prince. Prince is the cutest little thing, at barely 13 hands he looks more like a miniature horse than a real pony. He is very polite and sensitive, and apparently jumps beautifully. But Prince has one problem: he is very, very fearful of everyone who walks on two legs.
It is hard to say if he has been abused, but it is definitely clear that he has not been trained properly. He is afraid of human touch, of objects in your hand, quick movements, and sometimes just the presence of a person. If you try to pick up his hind feet, he nearly collapses and then tries to kick you. If you go into his box with the fly spray bottle, he spins around and hides in the corner shaking.
Despite all this, he allows kids to ride him, to brush him, to walk him around. If you cross tie him, adults can pick his front feet and brush him as well. You can catch him from the field if you have a carrot and some patience. You can lunge him at walk, trot and canter and although he tries to occasionally run off, he mostly tries to stay with you on the circle. You can coax him to the wash rack using gentle force and hose his legs down all the while as he trembles on the end of the lead rope.
The interesting thing is that most people find nothing wrong with these scenarios, after all, Prince is doing what he is told. “Sure, he is afraid, but he’ll get over it. Look how well he’s doing compared to last month! He is dealing with it, right?”
I agree, he is “dealing” with it. But the fact that he is allowing the daily activities to take place does not mean he is no longer afraid, it just means he has discovered that it is better to comply, rather than bolt and run since no matter what he does, the riding and grooming is not going to go away. Life is certainly easier if you obey, no matter how scared you are.
What does this mentality imply of our culture, our way of thinking? That it is alright to overwhelm another being without taking into consideration the emotional and mental health of that individual?
The difference between what I felt and what Prince feels on a daily basis is the fact that I had a choice: I could have stopped climbing those trees at any time; I could have walked away from the situation. Nobody was standing behind me, breathing down my neck, telling me to get over it and to get on with it. And certainly if someone had, I would have not been able to climb those trees, I would have quit before even the first attempt.
The positive environment and the fact that I was able to choose to continue made it possible for me to face my fear. And because it was my choice, because I took the initiative despite my fear, it was a highly empowering experience. I may have felt exhausted afterwards, but I also felt like the biggest winner. How, in comparison, does Prince feel at the end of each day? Does he feel only exhaustion and apprehension of the next day? He certainly has not had many choices in his life; so far he has had no other option but face his fear every time humans decide they want to handle him.
The big question now is: how can we help fearful horses feel confident, how can we give them the same feeling of empowerment I felt in those trees? How can we help them feel like they are in control of their emotions? How can we provide them an environment where they can choose to participate, choose to conquer their fears? How can we provide such a positive environment for horses that they feel compelled to try new things with confidence?
I will leave you with these vital questions in hopes of perhaps igniting something in your own thinking. At this moment I certainly do not have all the answers myself, but I without doubt have an urgent need to find solutions. When there is a will, there is also always a way.
Take care of your animals – and yourselves,
K
Monday, July 13, 2009
Selfish
Sometimes there are days when I actually believe none of us deserve to have anything to do with horses, and those are the days when pain fills me up to the brim and I think to myself: “I should just stop this, stop it right now; no riding, no teaching, no grooming, no nothing.”
No going to the barn, no spending time with horses – at all? If you know me, you know this thought is nearly unthinkable. Horses are my life source, my inspiration, the air I breathe. How could I even think of walking away?
………..
A month ago I took my family to a show jumping competition. In my heart I knew what it would be like, but I guess I had to go there to see it for myself. For the sake of clarity, I realize now.
It was clear alright. There was a time when I paid money to see international stars jump their horses, and that time was not so long ago. But emotionally it has been light years.
We had been on the competition grounds for less than ten seconds when I saw the first person hit their horse. The horse had denied a jump, undoubtedly for several reasons ranging from the severe bit in its mouth, the unbalanced rider on its back yanking on that said bit, the noisy people in the stands, the huge colorful Grand Prix jump, his long warm up and the emotional states of everyone involved. The horse denied and punishment followed. He still didn’t jump, though.
We watched six riders go through the course and out of these six, two hit their horses. After the second incident we decided to leave, but not before I explained to my seven year old son that hitting animals was not alright. He looked at me solemnly, rolled his eyes and said: “Mom, I know.”
But it was not just the whipping that wrenched my heart; it was also the yanking, the kicking, the forcing. It was about using a horse as means to gain something; fame, glory, money, a title. It was about getting to that goal by all means, ruthlessly, one track mindedly and at the expense of another living being. It was about human selfishness, it was about inhumanity.
Inhumanity: the quality of lacking compassion or consideration for others. This word derives from the Latin word inhumanus: in = “not”, humanus = “human”, but I find it more fitting to look at the word from the point of view of the English language: In-humane, as if this quality only lived inside a human and nowhere else. But isn’t it exactly so? Ironically it seems to be only us humans who know how to demonstrate this “not human” quality.
Where is the threshold of humanity? When exactly do we cross over to the dark side? Am I, too, using horses to fulfill my own wants and needs, to get pleasure and enjoyment for myself and myself only, to inflate my own ego? Am I only a step away from those riders I saw at the competition? Is it possible that deep down we all foster the same seed of selfishness?
I am not like those riders I saw at the competition, I would like to believe I’m nowhere near as inhumane as they are. I try to be kind to animals; I listen to their hopes and desires. I would not use pain to force a horse against its will. But at the same time, I am riding them in the arena and in the country side, I am teaching others how to ride, how to train horses, I am longing, long lining. I am asking for obedience kindly, but persistently, but I am asking.
……..
Sometimes there are days when I actually believe none of us deserve to have anything to do with horses, and those are the days when pain fills me up to the brim. And I think to myself: “I should stop this, stop it right now; no riding, no teaching, no grooming, no nothing.”
No going to the barn, no spending time with horses – at all? If you know me, you know this thought is nearly unthinkable. Horses are my life source, my inspiration, the air I breathe.
How could I even think of walking away?
~K, as always
No going to the barn, no spending time with horses – at all? If you know me, you know this thought is nearly unthinkable. Horses are my life source, my inspiration, the air I breathe. How could I even think of walking away?
………..
A month ago I took my family to a show jumping competition. In my heart I knew what it would be like, but I guess I had to go there to see it for myself. For the sake of clarity, I realize now.
It was clear alright. There was a time when I paid money to see international stars jump their horses, and that time was not so long ago. But emotionally it has been light years.
We had been on the competition grounds for less than ten seconds when I saw the first person hit their horse. The horse had denied a jump, undoubtedly for several reasons ranging from the severe bit in its mouth, the unbalanced rider on its back yanking on that said bit, the noisy people in the stands, the huge colorful Grand Prix jump, his long warm up and the emotional states of everyone involved. The horse denied and punishment followed. He still didn’t jump, though.
We watched six riders go through the course and out of these six, two hit their horses. After the second incident we decided to leave, but not before I explained to my seven year old son that hitting animals was not alright. He looked at me solemnly, rolled his eyes and said: “Mom, I know.”
But it was not just the whipping that wrenched my heart; it was also the yanking, the kicking, the forcing. It was about using a horse as means to gain something; fame, glory, money, a title. It was about getting to that goal by all means, ruthlessly, one track mindedly and at the expense of another living being. It was about human selfishness, it was about inhumanity.
Inhumanity: the quality of lacking compassion or consideration for others. This word derives from the Latin word inhumanus: in = “not”, humanus = “human”, but I find it more fitting to look at the word from the point of view of the English language: In-humane, as if this quality only lived inside a human and nowhere else. But isn’t it exactly so? Ironically it seems to be only us humans who know how to demonstrate this “not human” quality.
Where is the threshold of humanity? When exactly do we cross over to the dark side? Am I, too, using horses to fulfill my own wants and needs, to get pleasure and enjoyment for myself and myself only, to inflate my own ego? Am I only a step away from those riders I saw at the competition? Is it possible that deep down we all foster the same seed of selfishness?
I am not like those riders I saw at the competition, I would like to believe I’m nowhere near as inhumane as they are. I try to be kind to animals; I listen to their hopes and desires. I would not use pain to force a horse against its will. But at the same time, I am riding them in the arena and in the country side, I am teaching others how to ride, how to train horses, I am longing, long lining. I am asking for obedience kindly, but persistently, but I am asking.
……..
Sometimes there are days when I actually believe none of us deserve to have anything to do with horses, and those are the days when pain fills me up to the brim. And I think to myself: “I should stop this, stop it right now; no riding, no teaching, no grooming, no nothing.”
No going to the barn, no spending time with horses – at all? If you know me, you know this thought is nearly unthinkable. Horses are my life source, my inspiration, the air I breathe.
How could I even think of walking away?
~K, as always
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
I come from
I come from cream colored ponies in English saddles,
dusty outdoor arenas with weathered jumps sprawled in the middle,
brushes and bridles, hoof picks and halters, and the smell of saddle soap and leather and oil.
I come from grooming boxes and hairy Islandics with coats thicker
than the rug on my grandmothers wall and the Draft crosses that
won’t turn until they come to the corner and see the fence.
I come from the thrill of riding bareback for the first time, and mucking stalls
at seven in the morning while the horses are munching down the hay
and snorting through their noses into water buckets.
I come from jumping over cavalettis that turn into oxers
and steering from A to C in a straight line
with a perfect halt in the middle.
I come from cantering down the field and falling off
into the bush where the thorns scratch my face and the mud
sticks to my breeches, but don’t stop me from getting back on.
I come from clinging to the saddle with my thighs
as I attempt my first medium down the diagonal
without stirrups and the horse weighs seven tons in my hand.
I come from braiding the mane at five in the morning and
driving across the country just to have a go
at winning the championships and loosing it by a fraction.
I come from wrapping the front hoof with duct tape
twice a day for a whole two weeks
to take care of the abscess that developed over night.
I come from holding onto the horn and chasing down a calf in California
letting the horse take over because
he knows more about cows than his English trained rider.
I come from galloping over the moor in Sussex on
an old racehorse that suddenly remembers its past
and hoping it will know how to stop on its own.
I come from warming my fingers under the bareback pad
in the midst of a cold winter and the fresh snow
that sticks to the bottom of the hooves giving the horse five inch heels.
I come from watching a baby horse walk for the first time
and then three days later sprint like a pro while I hand walk
a gelding for the third month wishing his tendons are healing faster than possible.
I come from the vet saying that nothing much can be done
what already has not been and leaning into my
thousand pound friend trying to make sense of what is happening.
I come from trying so hard not to cry because
you know you are losing something you
can barely understand yourself but must address anyhow.
I come from just once trading money for a horse but
trading my heart more often and the love that always
seems to find me in the form of a four-legged animal.
I come from friendship and kinship, respect and gratitude,
and the incredible beauty, healing, understanding and peace that
was not only given as a gift, but was also achieved together.
I come from horses.
~K
dusty outdoor arenas with weathered jumps sprawled in the middle,
brushes and bridles, hoof picks and halters, and the smell of saddle soap and leather and oil.
I come from grooming boxes and hairy Islandics with coats thicker
than the rug on my grandmothers wall and the Draft crosses that
won’t turn until they come to the corner and see the fence.
I come from the thrill of riding bareback for the first time, and mucking stalls
at seven in the morning while the horses are munching down the hay
and snorting through their noses into water buckets.
I come from jumping over cavalettis that turn into oxers
and steering from A to C in a straight line
with a perfect halt in the middle.
I come from cantering down the field and falling off
into the bush where the thorns scratch my face and the mud
sticks to my breeches, but don’t stop me from getting back on.
I come from clinging to the saddle with my thighs
as I attempt my first medium down the diagonal
without stirrups and the horse weighs seven tons in my hand.
I come from braiding the mane at five in the morning and
driving across the country just to have a go
at winning the championships and loosing it by a fraction.
I come from wrapping the front hoof with duct tape
twice a day for a whole two weeks
to take care of the abscess that developed over night.
I come from holding onto the horn and chasing down a calf in California
letting the horse take over because
he knows more about cows than his English trained rider.
I come from galloping over the moor in Sussex on
an old racehorse that suddenly remembers its past
and hoping it will know how to stop on its own.
I come from warming my fingers under the bareback pad
in the midst of a cold winter and the fresh snow
that sticks to the bottom of the hooves giving the horse five inch heels.
I come from watching a baby horse walk for the first time
and then three days later sprint like a pro while I hand walk
a gelding for the third month wishing his tendons are healing faster than possible.
I come from the vet saying that nothing much can be done
what already has not been and leaning into my
thousand pound friend trying to make sense of what is happening.
I come from trying so hard not to cry because
you know you are losing something you
can barely understand yourself but must address anyhow.
I come from just once trading money for a horse but
trading my heart more often and the love that always
seems to find me in the form of a four-legged animal.
I come from friendship and kinship, respect and gratitude,
and the incredible beauty, healing, understanding and peace that
was not only given as a gift, but was also achieved together.
I come from horses.
~K
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Lessons from a horse's heart
The first time I met Kapia, I didn’t know who she was. She stood in the middle of the pasture as if she owned it. And I suppose in many ways she did. She certainly was the equine boss of that particular grassy meadow; this chestnut horse knew her place in the world, and it was not behind someone else. But at that moment, when I watched her over the fence, she was still just another horse to me.
I was in Belgium and about to take part in the workshop titled “Reclaiming Your Authentic Self – An introductory workshop to the Epona Approach”. Before the three day course started, however, I was scheduled to have a private session with therapist and life coach Kathleen Barry Ingram and, well, with a few horses.
Kathleen started the session by asking what it was that I wanted to “work” on. I replied that I felt I had some underlying guilt and sadness of unknown origin; I was not exactly sure where this emotion was pooling from, but wanted to explore it further. Kathy suggested we head to the horses and ask for some answers.
At this point I didn’t know what to expect. Maybe I was a little skeptical; what could horses tell me about myself that I didn’t know yet? And how would they even do that? On the other hand, I was eager to discover something new. I was also nervous; I was used to “working” horses, but to just be with them and feel? This was somehow intimidating. What if I failed?
There were two horses in the pasture: Kapia, the undeniable leader I had been watching from afar and Luna Nour, a small and delicate looking Arab mare. Both were grazing peacefully as we sat down. I watched the horses for a while and Kathy asked me to describe the thoughts coming to my mind. I said that I didn’t feel like I ever had enough space to be sad, that I was always the one to hold everyone else afloat, to support them through life’s ups and downs. This thought led me to thinking about my life over ten years ago, when I had ovarian cancer, something that had obviously been very hard for me, but had been even harder for the people close to me, I felt.
Now, I had not come to the session thinking I would talk about my bout with cancer, I had long time ago dealt with that part of my life and felt it was behind me, in every sense. But there I was, talking about it again as if it had happened recently. I looked at the two horses and they both blew air out of their nostrils and shook flies off their heads before settling back to eat. Was this coming from them?
Kathleen asked me to elaborate on the subject and I became very emotional as I admitted that during my illness I had dealt with feelings ranging from fear of dying to worrying about my loved ones, but I still vividly remembered the deep sorrow I had felt when I realized that I would never be able to have biological children. And even though years later I had been, with the help of modern medicine, blessed with a child, I still somehow felt “childless” in my heart; despite motherhood, the feeling had never left me completely.
“What do you want from the horses?” Kathleen asked. I looked at her quizzically. Was I allowed to want something?
“Support, I suppose,” I said.
Kathleen sent me into the pasture to “talk” to the horses. I stood in the middle of the field with my eyes closed and when I opened them Luna, the younger mare, came close to me. Without being pushy in any way she wrapped herself around me, bringing her delicate horse body literally into my lap. I had never been hugged by a horse before and was choking with tears when I felt the love that radiated from this little mare. She was so incredibly pure and honest and undamaged, and it was refreshing to be close to a horse of that quality, her innocence reminding me of my seven year old son at home.
Then Kapia walked over. She pushed the little mare out of the way and marched right to me, settling her large head in my arms. “Scratch my head” she seemed to say and as I lay my hand on her wise forehead I was filled with a sense of motherhood radiating from this strong mare, as if she was there to take care of me, to show me the way. I could feel my own emotions whirling around in my body and there is was again, the “childless” feeling. Why was I even dwelling over that? Why did I feel so sad? I had a child, I was a mother and loving every minute of it.
Kathleen, who was standing along the fence with the owner of the two horses, called me back for a brief discussion.
“I think you need to know something about Kapia,” she said. “Because of a structural problem, the mare cannot have babies.”
I glanced at the brown mare grazing in the pasture and let the words sink in. This was no coincidence, I knew it then and there. This is why I was digging so deep for these long lost emotions of childlessness; Kapia had brought me to the edge of these questions because they were not just my questions, they were hers as well. Because she knew what was inside me even when I didn’t.
Kathleen sent me back to talk to the mare and as I walked towards her, my body was shaking with emotion. Kapia sighed and touched my hand with her nose and then suddenly there it was – the truth. I started crying quietly next to the horse that had opened up my very soul. Kathleen looked at me from over the fence.
“I know what it is now,” I said. “I know where the guilt is coming from.” I choked on my own words. “I feel guilty that I have my son.” I paused, shocked by what I had just said, what I was about to say. “I feel like I don’t deserve him.”
Just to say the words was hard enough, but to think them, feel them… I could see my beautiful son waiting for me at home, his sunshine eyes, the ripple of his laughter. How could I even begin to feel guilt? Why could I not accept this miracle, this gift that had been given to me after all the hardship I had endured? With the tears came a wave of relief, an ocean of understanding. Kapia leaned into me and our hearts touched. You deserve him, you deserve happiness, you deserve the world. I could hear the words the old, wise mare told me; you deserve every bit of it.
Luna appeared from behind and crept quietly to my other side. And soon I was surrounded by two warm horse bodies, their hearts and spirits opening up a sacred space of possibility for me, just for me. Here was the not only the answers I had been looking for, but the support I had asked for, as well. I was receiving it tenfold.
What I walked away with from the session with Kathleen and the two horses is the realization that I need to support myself more, we all need to support ourselves more. Like Kathleen says: “Healing begins when you reclaim and embrace yourself.” Yes, we all need to do that more.
Since, I have spent a lot of time reflecting on the teachings of Kapia. My relationship with my son has changed from good to even better. Every moment in his company fills me with light. I am working on liberating all the guilt I did not even realize was affecting my relationship with him and other people. I am learning to accept life’s gifts as they come; I am letting the horses in my life teach me that I deserve them all.
My relationship with horses has changed as well. They are no longer just my animal friends, they are more than that; living and breathing and feeling beings with a deeper consciousness we could ever imagine. I am no longer looking to teach a horse how to be in this world, I am looking at the horse to teach me.
Thank you Kathleen for leading me to the water, and to Kapia for showing me how to drink. This experience opened up a passage in me I never knew existed.
K
PS. To learn more about Kathleen Barry Ingram go to her website www.sacredplaceofpossibility.com
I was in Belgium and about to take part in the workshop titled “Reclaiming Your Authentic Self – An introductory workshop to the Epona Approach”. Before the three day course started, however, I was scheduled to have a private session with therapist and life coach Kathleen Barry Ingram and, well, with a few horses.
Kathleen started the session by asking what it was that I wanted to “work” on. I replied that I felt I had some underlying guilt and sadness of unknown origin; I was not exactly sure where this emotion was pooling from, but wanted to explore it further. Kathy suggested we head to the horses and ask for some answers.
At this point I didn’t know what to expect. Maybe I was a little skeptical; what could horses tell me about myself that I didn’t know yet? And how would they even do that? On the other hand, I was eager to discover something new. I was also nervous; I was used to “working” horses, but to just be with them and feel? This was somehow intimidating. What if I failed?
There were two horses in the pasture: Kapia, the undeniable leader I had been watching from afar and Luna Nour, a small and delicate looking Arab mare. Both were grazing peacefully as we sat down. I watched the horses for a while and Kathy asked me to describe the thoughts coming to my mind. I said that I didn’t feel like I ever had enough space to be sad, that I was always the one to hold everyone else afloat, to support them through life’s ups and downs. This thought led me to thinking about my life over ten years ago, when I had ovarian cancer, something that had obviously been very hard for me, but had been even harder for the people close to me, I felt.
Now, I had not come to the session thinking I would talk about my bout with cancer, I had long time ago dealt with that part of my life and felt it was behind me, in every sense. But there I was, talking about it again as if it had happened recently. I looked at the two horses and they both blew air out of their nostrils and shook flies off their heads before settling back to eat. Was this coming from them?
Kathleen asked me to elaborate on the subject and I became very emotional as I admitted that during my illness I had dealt with feelings ranging from fear of dying to worrying about my loved ones, but I still vividly remembered the deep sorrow I had felt when I realized that I would never be able to have biological children. And even though years later I had been, with the help of modern medicine, blessed with a child, I still somehow felt “childless” in my heart; despite motherhood, the feeling had never left me completely.
“What do you want from the horses?” Kathleen asked. I looked at her quizzically. Was I allowed to want something?
“Support, I suppose,” I said.
Kathleen sent me into the pasture to “talk” to the horses. I stood in the middle of the field with my eyes closed and when I opened them Luna, the younger mare, came close to me. Without being pushy in any way she wrapped herself around me, bringing her delicate horse body literally into my lap. I had never been hugged by a horse before and was choking with tears when I felt the love that radiated from this little mare. She was so incredibly pure and honest and undamaged, and it was refreshing to be close to a horse of that quality, her innocence reminding me of my seven year old son at home.
Then Kapia walked over. She pushed the little mare out of the way and marched right to me, settling her large head in my arms. “Scratch my head” she seemed to say and as I lay my hand on her wise forehead I was filled with a sense of motherhood radiating from this strong mare, as if she was there to take care of me, to show me the way. I could feel my own emotions whirling around in my body and there is was again, the “childless” feeling. Why was I even dwelling over that? Why did I feel so sad? I had a child, I was a mother and loving every minute of it.
Kathleen, who was standing along the fence with the owner of the two horses, called me back for a brief discussion.
“I think you need to know something about Kapia,” she said. “Because of a structural problem, the mare cannot have babies.”
I glanced at the brown mare grazing in the pasture and let the words sink in. This was no coincidence, I knew it then and there. This is why I was digging so deep for these long lost emotions of childlessness; Kapia had brought me to the edge of these questions because they were not just my questions, they were hers as well. Because she knew what was inside me even when I didn’t.
Kathleen sent me back to talk to the mare and as I walked towards her, my body was shaking with emotion. Kapia sighed and touched my hand with her nose and then suddenly there it was – the truth. I started crying quietly next to the horse that had opened up my very soul. Kathleen looked at me from over the fence.
“I know what it is now,” I said. “I know where the guilt is coming from.” I choked on my own words. “I feel guilty that I have my son.” I paused, shocked by what I had just said, what I was about to say. “I feel like I don’t deserve him.”
Just to say the words was hard enough, but to think them, feel them… I could see my beautiful son waiting for me at home, his sunshine eyes, the ripple of his laughter. How could I even begin to feel guilt? Why could I not accept this miracle, this gift that had been given to me after all the hardship I had endured? With the tears came a wave of relief, an ocean of understanding. Kapia leaned into me and our hearts touched. You deserve him, you deserve happiness, you deserve the world. I could hear the words the old, wise mare told me; you deserve every bit of it.
Luna appeared from behind and crept quietly to my other side. And soon I was surrounded by two warm horse bodies, their hearts and spirits opening up a sacred space of possibility for me, just for me. Here was the not only the answers I had been looking for, but the support I had asked for, as well. I was receiving it tenfold.
What I walked away with from the session with Kathleen and the two horses is the realization that I need to support myself more, we all need to support ourselves more. Like Kathleen says: “Healing begins when you reclaim and embrace yourself.” Yes, we all need to do that more.
Since, I have spent a lot of time reflecting on the teachings of Kapia. My relationship with my son has changed from good to even better. Every moment in his company fills me with light. I am working on liberating all the guilt I did not even realize was affecting my relationship with him and other people. I am learning to accept life’s gifts as they come; I am letting the horses in my life teach me that I deserve them all.
My relationship with horses has changed as well. They are no longer just my animal friends, they are more than that; living and breathing and feeling beings with a deeper consciousness we could ever imagine. I am no longer looking to teach a horse how to be in this world, I am looking at the horse to teach me.
Thank you Kathleen for leading me to the water, and to Kapia for showing me how to drink. This experience opened up a passage in me I never knew existed.
K
PS. To learn more about Kathleen Barry Ingram go to her website www.sacredplaceofpossibility.com
Sunday, June 7, 2009
Separation
My good friend tells me how she often grooms her horse in liberty on the barn aisle. Most of the time he agrees to stand there without being restrained, but one day he decided to visit his friends with whom he goes out with. Except this time those friends were in their boxes behind bars and he was on the barn aisle, loose.
My friend quickly interrupted the sniffing between the horses and pushed her horse back into his place. Because… (she said to me) she had been taught to do so. And it is true. When I walk Little Love through the barn to the indoor arena and she stops to sniff another horse who is greeting her from his box, I urge her forward, pulling her away from the situation. If there was something I learned as a child, it was that horses should not touch each other when humans are handling them - ever. And this habit is engrained in my brain, etched into my behavior permanently, almost as if chiseled in stone. It is the unwritten rule of all barns.
So what is so bad about letting horses touch and say hello?
I guess someone would argue that horses could get excited, they could hurt each other or themselves or even the human holding them. Obviously letting two stallions touch might result in some sort of a commotion, but to let a gelding sniff a mare through the bars of a box – why not?
Does everything we do with these animals have to be about control, separation, deprivation of freedom?
Humans have put a lot of effort into imprisoning horses. Not only do we separate these herd animals into small boxes, we often also deny any contact whatsoever. I have seen barns where boxes are constructed of solid walls made out of wood or rock or cement, and horses cannot even see each other, let alone touch. I believe in the human world we call this solitary confinement, reserved only for convicts who have committed heinous crimes.
The barn where Little Love lives has beautiful green pastures, but each horse has their own and never under any circumstances do horses go out together. But fortunately they are able to see and touch with their neighbors through the metal bars of the box, which obviously is not much, but better than nothing. They can also stick their heads out of the small window on their door, at least the ones whose owners have not decided to keep the window closed to prevent accidents.
Most horses accept this order, either retreating to the privacy of their stall or occasionally sticking their heads out to look around. But there are some horses, that have learned how to bend the rules.
For example, there is a gelding, I’ll call him M for short, who hates his box with a passion. He also has a small window through which he can poke his head into the aisle, but because he likes to let everyone know loud and clear what he thinks about living in that jail of his, this window often has to be closed to stop him from kicking the door, not to mention all the halters and other reachable equipment he has destroyed with his teeth.
When you take M out of his stall, however, he doesn’t try to run outside, but instead pushes towards the mare that lives opposite to him. And almost as if planned ahead, she quickly meets him at her window and immediately, almost frantically, the two horses start to groom each other on the shoulder. This happens fast, with an air of madness as if to say “hurry before they break us up. Hurry, hurry!” So this is how they get their ten seconds of closeness before the gelding is torn away.
One day when I arrived at the barn, I discovered Little Love longing for the touch of another equine as well. She stretched her neck out as far as she could (and she has a long one, to her advantage) and reached with her nose towards Chispero, the gentle stallion across the aisle. And as I watched him meet her in the middle and kiss her softly on the nose, my heart broke a little bit more.
~K
My friend quickly interrupted the sniffing between the horses and pushed her horse back into his place. Because… (she said to me) she had been taught to do so. And it is true. When I walk Little Love through the barn to the indoor arena and she stops to sniff another horse who is greeting her from his box, I urge her forward, pulling her away from the situation. If there was something I learned as a child, it was that horses should not touch each other when humans are handling them - ever. And this habit is engrained in my brain, etched into my behavior permanently, almost as if chiseled in stone. It is the unwritten rule of all barns.
So what is so bad about letting horses touch and say hello?
I guess someone would argue that horses could get excited, they could hurt each other or themselves or even the human holding them. Obviously letting two stallions touch might result in some sort of a commotion, but to let a gelding sniff a mare through the bars of a box – why not?
Does everything we do with these animals have to be about control, separation, deprivation of freedom?
Humans have put a lot of effort into imprisoning horses. Not only do we separate these herd animals into small boxes, we often also deny any contact whatsoever. I have seen barns where boxes are constructed of solid walls made out of wood or rock or cement, and horses cannot even see each other, let alone touch. I believe in the human world we call this solitary confinement, reserved only for convicts who have committed heinous crimes.
The barn where Little Love lives has beautiful green pastures, but each horse has their own and never under any circumstances do horses go out together. But fortunately they are able to see and touch with their neighbors through the metal bars of the box, which obviously is not much, but better than nothing. They can also stick their heads out of the small window on their door, at least the ones whose owners have not decided to keep the window closed to prevent accidents.
Most horses accept this order, either retreating to the privacy of their stall or occasionally sticking their heads out to look around. But there are some horses, that have learned how to bend the rules.
For example, there is a gelding, I’ll call him M for short, who hates his box with a passion. He also has a small window through which he can poke his head into the aisle, but because he likes to let everyone know loud and clear what he thinks about living in that jail of his, this window often has to be closed to stop him from kicking the door, not to mention all the halters and other reachable equipment he has destroyed with his teeth.
When you take M out of his stall, however, he doesn’t try to run outside, but instead pushes towards the mare that lives opposite to him. And almost as if planned ahead, she quickly meets him at her window and immediately, almost frantically, the two horses start to groom each other on the shoulder. This happens fast, with an air of madness as if to say “hurry before they break us up. Hurry, hurry!” So this is how they get their ten seconds of closeness before the gelding is torn away.
One day when I arrived at the barn, I discovered Little Love longing for the touch of another equine as well. She stretched her neck out as far as she could (and she has a long one, to her advantage) and reached with her nose towards Chispero, the gentle stallion across the aisle. And as I watched him meet her in the middle and kiss her softly on the nose, my heart broke a little bit more.
~K
Monday, June 1, 2009
When the black horse sings (talking to Lilo)
When the black horse sings…
she sings a melody
so powerful, so profound,
even the sky bows in silence.
When the black horse sings…
she sings a tune
so vulnerable, so exposed
a single note can split open the earth’s core.
When the black horse sings
she hums a tune
so deep, so dark
that all humankind vibrates
to its core.
Human child,
she sings.
Human child of all origins,
why are you so afraid?
Do you fear you have not
enough control
or---
that you might
accidentally
surrender to
love?
~K
she sings a melody
so powerful, so profound,
even the sky bows in silence.
When the black horse sings…
she sings a tune
so vulnerable, so exposed
a single note can split open the earth’s core.
When the black horse sings
she hums a tune
so deep, so dark
that all humankind vibrates
to its core.
Human child,
she sings.
Human child of all origins,
why are you so afraid?
Do you fear you have not
enough control
or---
that you might
accidentally
surrender to
love?
~K
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