Horse Whispers

I’m just going to say it. People drive me crazy. Now don’t get me wrong, that doesn’t mean I don’t love people; I do.

They just drive me crazy.

They drive me crazy specifically when I ask them to do something and they don’t, or it comes back as something else, or they somehow “screw it up.”

As my father used to say, “It burns my Irish ass.”

So I am thinking that maybe in my last life I was Henry VIII or Cleopatra or George W friggin' Bush. Or maybe all three because I certainly have my lion’s share of arrogance and need to control.

When I was a kid I volunteered at a public riding stable near my home every weekend for years. I arrived at 6 in the morning, helped gunk out the stalls, and groomed and saddled the horses for the day’s paying riders. I did whatever I was asked to do because just being around horses made me high. My parents couldn’t afford lessons, so every spare minute I had, I stood at the rail, watched the lessons in progress, and tried to access the muscles my horseless body needed to develop to become a proper English rider. The icing on the cake was that when it was one hour from closing time, I was allowed to choose whatever horse I wanted and ride on the beach for an hour…for free!

I hadn’t had my rear in a saddle for over 30 years when, about two years ago, I started riding with a friend on two amazing mares. They are sisters, half draft and half thoroughbred, very big, very muscular and very fast. They are, in equestrian terms, "a lot of horse."

What I eventually noticed was that my friend and I had very different riding styles. I rode from a “control” position, always alert to correct a move I did not want my horse to do. I also noticed a churning in my stomach, a clenching of my legs, and a lack of forgiveness in the way I held the reins. My friend, on the other hand, rode from a “collaborative” position, always ready to respond to what her horse was telling her. My friend and her horse were living in the power of a fully embodied, like-minded, mutually sacred union.

It humbled me.

It blew my mind.

So I asked her to teach me.

I gradually moved from Commander to Communicator. I began to feel how the slightest shifts and changes in my body position affected not only my horse’s response but, more importantly, her level of trust with me. I released my legs so I could give her more gentle yet clearer and more powerful cues. I let her have her head, and she stopped fighting for it. My body heard her when she told me things, and it responded back.

I let go of my need to control, and my horse taught me relational skills and capacities that were somatic and divine.

But in the two legged world, how do I collaborate, really listen, and release the death grip of control and the lack of forgiveness in my heart? If I could do that, I know the churning in my stomach would take care of itself.

I am told that awareness is the first step, but what exactly is the second one? When I feel that churning start to happen, should I do what I did watching riding lessons from the rails? Should I imagine myself mounting people one by one, gently disengaging my thigh muscles, and letting loose on the reins? No, I don’t think so.

I learned that collaboration creates relational magic with my horses. Collaboration gives me access to an experience that is more beautiful, more fulfilling, and more sacred than I could ever have imagined.

Now if I could just learn how to do it with humans.