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“Elf” Speaks: “Horse and Writer” Emerges
Jan Butler Loveless, PhD
Horses and
writing. For me, they’ve always been paired. My first “professionally”
published article appeared in Texas Horseman Magazine when I was
17, a high school senior. I received a $36 check. Flush with riches, I
decided to be a writer when I grew up.
Seventeen was four
decades ago. Here’s what I know now: I’ll never quit growing up. To
discover my purpose for the next phase of my life, I need to do a
spiritual inventory, a spring cleaning of the soul. I intend to pitch
all activities that no longer fit my mission.
So where do horses
come in? At the core. When I saw “Cheaper Than A Shrink,” a registered
American Paint Horse name, in a recent Paint Horse Journal, I
chuckled--but thought “My Shrink” would be more accurate.
....
With their
talent for reflecting our emotions back to us, horses can help us
“connect the dots” of our lives. Their sensitivity, coupled with
writing, can fuel flashes of insight about ourselves that we might have
taken years to come to…or never reached at all.
A two-year-old
line-backed dun Quarter Horse filly named “Elf” taught me a powerful
lesson about my own life last September, in a reflective round pen
session at a HEAL workshop taught by Leigh Shambo. A new workshop,
“Horse and Writer,” will soon be offered because Elf practically hit me
over the head with a two-by-four.
My husband and I
were hosting the September 2005 workshop and using our horses for the
first time. Frankly, I was so caught up in the logistics of the
event--so concerned about buying food, counting our lawn chairs,
cleaning the bathrooms and setting up temporary pens--that I didn’t
expect to learn much. I just wanted to make the workshop a great
experience for our guests. Elf had other ideas.
When I stood in
front of our horses’ pens with the other workshop participants, I felt
drawn to Elf. She tracked me, walking with me as I passed her pen. She
followed me with her eyes when I moved away. She seemed to be shouting,
“Me, me, me!” when I considered which horse to engage in a reflective
round pen session.
Someone else led
Elf to the round pen. I stood outside with my back to Elf and did a
body scan with Leigh, feeling more than a little distracted. Even then,
I was wondering if our guests were having a good day. This was an
advanced workshop for those of us who hoped to lead such workshops
ourselves. Seven participants, all women in life transitions, had
responded to our invitation. As we did reflective sessions, participants
were asking ourselves versions of the same question: “What can I bring
to this work?”
Elf pawed the sand
inside the gate of the round pen when I turned to face her. She nuzzled
my hand when I entered and walked with me to the center, standing
quietly for a moment while I stroked her shoulder. Then, in a
heartbeat, she tossed her black forelock, spun on her hindquarters,
kicked back toward my head with both hind legs, and took off, mane and
tail flying, in an energetic circle of the pen.
Elf loped right up
to me in the center, slid to a stop inches in front of my boots and
tapped my chest, hard, with her muzzle. Then she paused, stepping
beside me again, while I stroked her shoulder for two or three seconds.
Again she spun, kicked back, then raced around the pen in the opposite
direction. While I watched in surprise, Elf repeated this pattern
exactly, eight or ten times.
I’d expected Elf
to be docile, to follow me around the pen, puppy-dog-style. After all,
I’d imprinted her at birth, handled her daily, trained her to compete in
an in-hand trail class at a local foundation Quarter Horse show. I knew
this filly. What was this behavior?
I picked up a
“handy stick” to hold in front of me if Elf ran in too fast. Some
members of my audience squirmed. One woman shouted, “How do you feel
when she’s charging you like that?” Leigh just asked the group to hold
their comments until I’d finished the experience.
I wasn’t worried
about my safety. Elf and I trust one another. She’d aimed those
high-flying kicks in my direction, but well away from me, and she
applied the brakes when she ran into the center. Ever the hostess, what
I worried about was boring my audience; I wanted to take no longer than
my fair share of time. I finally turned and walked back to the gate,
still struggling with what Elf was saying. She jogged beside me, then
paced around the round pen to stick her head between the bars, greeting
the observers. While the group talked, Elf walked to the shade of a
small tree, and stood, one hind foot cocked, ears flicking in our
direction. Her eyelids drooped to half-mast.
Meanwhile, Leigh
and the group helped me tease apart what I’d learned. Was the message
about boundary-setting? To several observers, Elf had appeared
threatening, invading my space with her vigorous approaches and
high-kicking spins. But she’d kept a cautious distance from my body.
One watcher mused,
“As I watched those kicks, I wondered what you need to knock out of your
head.” Leigh added that Elf had literally thumped my heart with her
muzzle when she came into the center, again and again. In a
split-second, I had it: Get out of my head and into my heart. Trust my
intuition. Quit rushing around in circles, as Elf had demonstrated. Be
quiet and listen to my soul. And yes, I’d need to write about what I’d
learned.
Elf licked and
chewed, dropping her head, as I reached that conclusion. Had I imagined
this lesson? I often find myself questioning, but this time, I
couldn’t. Elf’s behavior had been so dramatic, her reflection of my
psyche “right-on.” She’d responded to the question I’d asked, even when
I’d been too addle-brained to state it clearly. I hung out next to the
round pen, stunned by the whole experience. Processing Elf’s message
after the group left, I almost missed lunch. Our guests were on their
own.
When the workshop
ended and the participants went home, I wrote a short “fairy tale” that
Elf had inspired. Writing the fairy tale helped me define life themes
that I need to explore further. And I began to plan our first “Horse
and Writer” workshop, an idea I’d shared with the group (to enthusiastic
response) before they’d left.
Rationale for the
workshop had crystallized. Horses can help us understand ourselves.
Several brain researchers, notably Dr. Daniel J. Siegel, UCLA
psychiatrist, have shown the importance of stepping back and doing the
cognitive, intuitive work it takes to create “coherent” life stories.
Those who do become better parents, Dr. Siegel says. I believe that
combining horses and autobiographical writing could help us accomplish
other goals as well.
Elf had helped me
reach a deeper understanding of my own mid-life transition. I know now
that my “second half” purpose will be guided by Spirit, and it will
involve horses, writing and learning. These threads have run through my
life in previous decades. Now the threads are weaving into new cloth.
I’m hoping that
the “Horse and Writer” workshop, which I will co-facilitate this summer
with Leigh Shambo of HEAL, will help others weave their own
metamorphoses.
Jan Butler Loveless, PhD
and
Leigh Shambo, MSW,
founder of
HEAL
(Human-Equine Alliances for Learning), will co-facilitate a two-weekend
workshop called
“Horse and Writer”,
June 23-25 and August 3-6, 2006, at J-Bar Ranch, LLC, in Visalia, CA.
Participants will work with horses on the ground as inspiration for
writing about their own lives. They will complete an autobiographical
narrative over the summer. The workshop fee will be $1880, and will
include use of J-Bar Ranch horses, materials, snacks and daily lunches.
No previous horse experience is necessary. Continuing Education Units
are available through the CA Board of Behavioral Sciences;
three elective graduate credits
are available through Chapman University, for an additional fee of
$120.
Jan and Leigh believe the workshop will be helpful
for teachers, therapists, those who work with youth, and anyone
interested in doing productive introspection for personal growth. More
information about the workshop is available at
www.jbar.com
and www.humanequinealliance.org.
Jan Butler Loveless,
PhD,
grew up loving horses and riding with her dad in College Station, TX.
She taught in the public schools of multiple states, worked in
industry, and eventually earned her doctorate in English. Her most
exciting growth, though, has been in The
Epona Center’s program
in equine-assisted learning. Now Jan offers equine-assisted
therapy/learning workshops with Leigh Shambo,
MSW,
at J-Bar Ranch (www.jbar.com ) in
Visalia, CA. Essential
partners in this venture are Jan’s husband Buzz and an intuitive family
of horses that sprang from her dad’s mares.
Contact Jan at
jan@jbar.com
or visit
www.jbar.com
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