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Alotta Healing for Mom
Courtney Marchesani
Rivers of tears washed down my face
as I stepped through the doorway, falling in a heap on the front stoop.
I found little hope that there would be a day or a time when we could
connect again. I looked over at my new husband and said, “Is this how
it’s always going to be?” My eight year old daughter had struck every
nerve. She had prodded, begged, cajoled and threw tantrums during our
entire Alaskan summer vacation. While planning the trip I thought to
myself, this will be great bonding or it will be a nightmare. By
the time I had registered for the HEAL workshop (a month later), my
emotional storehouse was depleted.
.... Any innate mothering abilities had
been crushed so completely that when my daughter entered a room I felt
like an elephant was pinned on my chest squashing me. Constant changes
like my new marriage, struggling from the pressure to read, and
accepting a stepfather were a hailstorm around her. The maelstrom had
taken its toll, eroding our relationship.
Sometimes when you think you’re in
control, planning out the days, and ordering your life in a normal
fashion, fate turns around and kicks you in the butt. After Alaska, I
promised myself I would regroup. Find my center. Cement our foundation
with love. It seemed impossible to climb out of the bleak hole we had
dug. Everything was a negative action, then a knee jerk reaction. The
bad dynamics, impossible gut emotions, and an angry ex-husband with an
axe to grind had built the slide and welcomed us to the pit. I wanted a
new beginning. Oddly, instead of group therapy, my searching led me to
the bookstore. Sitting in stacks of books on dogs, ethnobotany, and
world travel opened a cathartic portal to look outside a desperate
situation and envision how it could be. Peering at pictures of
Thoroughbred horses brought smiles to my face. My husband sat on the
floor and explored the section with me. Horses. Pictures books,
Veterinary How To’s, and Equestrian histories neatly stacked before us.
He reached up to the top shelf and pulled out The Tao of Equus.
“Maybe you’d like this one?”
I skimmed the first chapter, then the
second. It hit me quick as lightening. A chapter on the Centaur. I
speed read it, tucked it under my arm, and replied, “lets go.” I had
been studying the Centaur voraciously and, I’ll admit, obsessively for
two years. He is etched in my memory as if by carbon copy, like a
rubber stamp imprinting my subconscious; just as the evening he came to
me (through a dream) over an emerald field, and shot an arrow from his
bow into my heart, releasing a suffocating hand, that was choking the
life out of me. I always thought the clenched hand a metaphor for my
fear. I read the Tao in two days. It occurred to me the author might
have a website. She did. I searched it and zeroed in on a workshop in
Olympia.
With wonder, I sifted through all the
information, resources, and links to a network very near my backyard.
I called Leigh Shambo at HEAL and reserved a spot for Energy and Grace.
I wanted to bring my daughter, Bailey, but the class work and focus
required throughout the three days would be too much for her enormous
energy. I decided to go alone.
I stood there the first day on the
dirt roadway of Balance Farms not knowing a soul. There were women in
groups that obviously knew each other laughing, communicating, and
relishing a flurry of excitement. Leigh and Kathleen Ingram stood in a
circle while two friends stood side-by-side. Horses gazed out from the
barn quizzically. Horses in the pasture looked over steadily, not
lifting their gaze from the throng of giggling. As we commenced,
whinnies rang out loudly and Leigh informed us of our task: to reach
our authentic selves. That might sound simple. It’s not.
Exercises began with full intent to
tune into the self. Meanwhile, horses peered over the fence gates
watching our group discussions. Were they listening as specifically to
the instructions as I was? Vicky the horse farm owner said, “They were
up early this morning ready to go to work.” I had no idea how
sensitive horses are. The only way they can interact with people is
through an emotional field, body cues, and the language of energetic
states (nervousness, anxiety, or calm). These sensitivities allow them
to trust or not.
The Epona approach used at HEAL
teaches techniques using Yin and Yang modes of energy. This means
finding the balance between active (Yang) and receptive (Yin) states.
Horses sense these states and react accordingly to keep themselves
safe. We worked with human partners, did warm ups in the group, and met
the horses. The women at the workshop ranged from expert horsewoman to
novice horse lover from a far. I was somewhere in between. One Epona
student stated with conviction and reverence, “you have no idea where
this journey will lead.” I thought it a bit numinous at the time. By
the end of the work I understood completely.
The first exercise allowed us to meet
the herd. We were asked not to touch, just stand and feel the energy
between human and horse. Nerves aggravated from looking directly into a
nostril like a periscope, an avoidant stare, or a push on the belly
forced tension to rise in my chest, unsettling me. The horses watched
every move.
I approached the round pen. A gray
roan cantered inside. Then, as I came closer, she halted to an
exaggerated dust-filled stop, her long spotty legs stood firmly in the
dirt. Sweat glistened and shone on her underbelly from torturous heat,
penetrating every crevice of her. The mare was an elegant beauty named
Alotta. My feet dug deeply into the dirt by the pen gate as she lunged
forth. Her quick stride brought her near in seconds. She stood forward
leaning with nose perched up over the gate latch to investigate my
brow. I wanted to touch her, stroke that long sticky neck, and feel
softness. She shook her head wildly and and stepped backwards
purposely. I thought to myself, something’s wrong with me. Two
steps back, two steps forward.
She was in front of me again nodding
her head up and down vigorously, agitated. I wanted to run away from
the animal and the strange people and come home safely. But I didn’t.
I stood there and looked back into her eyes. Her gaze was an invasion
now, such direct intention. It was unmistakable. I thought again,
is everything going to be all right? She stepped back again, then
forward, and without hesitation poked her nose through the fence and
pushed on my abdomen. It was immediate sensation. A flood of memories.
I thought about all the trouble I’d been having with my insides. The
painful hospitalization a summer ago. The diagnosis- a cyst. A
generalized discomfort, sometimes pain, and stagnation had rested
squarely in my gut ever since. I looked in Alotta’s eyes and then said,
“thank you.” She moved toward my face again, put her soft wet nose over
the top rail, and kissed my head.
The next day I shared my experience with the
group. Conveying details of my mother’s recent call harping on me to
follow up on tests that would zero in on a diagnosis. A constant
fear sucking on
my gut prevented me from aggressive follow up. I did not want
confirmation of my worst suspicion-
that I would be unable to conceive. We had been trying for months.
Alotta stood in the background in the pen grazing on Chamomile and
looking over periodically. Glances and head tilts as though she was
silently listening. Vicky began to tell Alotta’s story. Her mother was
a racer. She suffered injury and was soon retired. She had been
branded unable to conceive. I listened in awe as Vicky narrated the
story about Alotta the miracle baby. And the subsequent challenges
between mother and daughter. It was so oddly related to my experience I
could not write it off as coincidence. The group members listened and
supported me as I discussed my mistaken beliefs about being a failure.
The second day was the reflective
work. I got to interact directly with Alotta. We danced around the
pen. I led, she followed. I heard music as we moved effortlessly about
the ring. Memories floated to the surface from my childhood of playing
and dancing with my sister. As I drove home that evening a flood of
tears welled up as I found my answer. I came home and hugged Bailey
ferociously.
“Is there something wrong mommy?”
“Let me tell you a story about Aunt
Heather and me.”
She just cocked her head
inquisitively.
“We used to dance in the living room
while on summer vacation to music on her boom box and I had broken it.
She was so upset.”
“What happened mommy?”
“I thought she was going to hit me.
She kept yelling and blaming. Calling me horrible names.”
“Did she?”
“No. But she was very angry. I knew
she would never forgive me. That was worse than being hit.”
“What’d she do mom?”
“She took me for a long walk on the
country road. There was just silence. She was rarely silent. I
thought she was plotting my death.”
“Oh, my.”
She turned to me by our mailbox at
the end of our driveway and said,
”No matter what I ever do or say
I’ll always love you.”
I looked at Bailey the way Heather
and Alotta looked at me, with such directness.
“I want you to know Bailey, no matter
what I ever say or do, I love you. No matter what.”
She was crying. We both were.
“I love you too mom. NO matter what
I ever say or do WRONG. No matter what.”
Courtney Marchesani
is an author and the editor of PureEonline women's magazine. Contact her
at
courtney@pureEonline.com
and visit
www.PureEonline.com .
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