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Mustang Therapy
By Jan Loveless
I read The Mustangs by J. Frank Dobie while
I was growing up, but I didn’t meet my first breathing mustang until
early June, 2004, when I attended a “Horse-Human Connection” workshop
led by Leigh Shambo (www.humanequinealliance.org)
and Denise Moody at The Batti Ranch(www.afewgoodhorses.com). The
workshop was already an adventure for me, since it was the first of a
series of experiences that I hope will enable me to host similar
equine-assisted learning workshops on my own ranch. These are not
riding workshops or even groundwork training, but horse therapy. What’s
more, this is therapy not for the obviously handicapped, but for people
like me, who want to grow.
....
I’d read about this work in two books by
Linda Kohanov, The Tao of Equus: A Woman’s Journey of Healing and
Transformation Through the Way of the Horse and Riding
Between the Worlds. Linda’s basic idea, developed with rich
examples, is that horses are thinking/feeling beings, prey animals whose
survival depends on their awareness of their surroundings. Their gift
of reading surroundings includes linking to the true emotions of the
humans they encounter. They react positively to
“authenticity”—behavior that honestly reflects a person’s emotions—and
negatively to behavior that isn’t authentic, when a person is trying to
“fake out” fellow people or horses by denying real feelings.
I’d always known that you couldn’t
fool a horse into thinking you weren’t afraid when you were—but I’d
never thought about the horse’s ability to read all sorts of thoughts
and emotions until I dipped into Linda’s books. Those books, plus
meeting Sue Newman, owner of a Tucson horse bed and breakfast and a fan
of Linda’s, inspired me to sign up for the workshop I attended in June.
That workshop changed my life. I am certain now
that horses are stellar judges of character, but I’m equally convinced
that mustangs are the best of the best. Dawn and Val Batti offered four
mustangs and an Appaloosa mare for our use in the workshop. We met in
their barn, ten women sitting in a circle on lawn chairs, sharing
our issues at this crossroads of our lives.
Several of us were in transition in relationships, or life stage or
role. Until the last woman introduced herself, we’d all had some
connection with horses from childhood, even if that meant riding a stick
horse through an orchard or devouring the Black Stallion books
and dreaming of ownership.
The last woman to introduce
herself—I’ll call her Tina--admitted that she knew nothing about
horses. She’d never been through a horse phase as a child, and she’d
never touched a horse as an adult. She’d come because she’d heard of
the power of horses for helping people, and she needed help. For 17
years, she told us, she’d suffered from chronic fatigue syndrome. Now
that she appeared to be recovering from that debilitating condition, she
felt certain she was losing her marriage. Her hope was that the
workshop would point her in a new direction.
Once we’d introduced ourselves, we separated and
stood outside the pens of the horses, writing notes about what we felt.
The next morning began with sharing those notes and learning to do body
scans so that we could better use emotion
as information.
As we worked during the morning, two
of the mustangs appeared regularly at the doors of their stalls,
apparently intrigued by our presence. A gelding we all called “Fabio”
(for his handsome flowing mane and forelock) seemed especially
solicitous of a woman who had come suffering from flu-like symptoms.
When she sat with her back to his door, he reached out repeatedly to
snuffle her hair.
Before lunch, we again stood outside
the horses’ pens, recording our perceptions. One mustang mare “locked
onto” one of the women, a therapist herself. Their eye contact produced
an almost visible electricity that lasted 10 or 15 minutes. Something
had “clicked” between them. After lunch, we shared our perceptions and
selected horses for reflective round pen sessions.
During a reflective session in the
round pen, a participant was to do the body scan, then enter the round
pen to interact with the horse of her choice--without an agenda. That
“agendalessness” felt awkward to those of us who typically have training
goals for all round pen work. But Tina, who had never trained a horse,
had no such hangups. She said later that she was frightened about her
session with a mustang mare named Kotate, but Kotate put her at ease
right away by walking gently forward and laying her head on Tina’s
chest. Kotate appeared to be reaching out to Tina, reassuring her that
this time with horses would be both safe and healing.
The next day, we shared our
experiences, then spent the morning examining predator-prey analogies,
the yang and yin of life. Our goal was to work toward the “Way of the
Horse,” focusing away from competition, aggression and force (predatory
characteristics) and moving toward cooperation and peace, the attitude
of prey animals like the horse. The session culminated with active
round pen work, a “dance” with a horse. Before lunch, we were again to
stand outside the pens and record our reactions to the horses, then
choose both a horse and music. Tina had had such a good experience with
Kotate that she selected her again.
After lunch, our instructions, were
to enter the round pen, and while “our” music played, to ask the horse
to move, and to do so in as cooperative a fashion as possible. We were
to let our interactions with the horse develop naturally, without a set
agenda. Those of us not in the round pen had the task of observing
closely. The “performances” varied from humorous to lovely, but each
woman left the round pen with a renewed respect for these large
creatures, so willing to work with strangers.
Tina was the last of us to enter the
round pen. She told us later that she wondered how this thing would go,
whether she’d be able to get the mare to do anything she asked, whether,
at the end of a hot day, she’d even have the energy to do this work.
Again, Kotate made the first move, walking up to Tina and gracefully
touching her chest. We’d been given a “handy stick” to use to ask the
horse to move, but all Tina did was look and point, and Kotate began to
trot with her in the direction Tina had indicated. Throughout the
instrumental selection, Kotate matched her strides and direction to
Tina’s, watching Tina’s body language and moving perfectly with her.
I’d give anything for a videotape of their session. Their partnership
called up synchronized swimming, Olympic figure skating, ballet dancers
who’d practiced years for this moment. Somehow, that little mare knew
just what to do.
In the midst of her session, Tina
glanced at us in the audience. Our faces streamed tears, but hers
beamed surprise and joy. By the end of her music, she walked toward us,
radiating a new confidence. Kotate came with her. Together, they
“debriefed” their experience—a miraculous instant partnership of a
complete novice, a mid-life woman who knew nothing of horses but a lot
about physical ailments and doubt, and a small mare captured from the
wild.
How did Kotate know what to do? Was
it intuition? Energy transfer? Magic? I have no answer. I can only
say that Kotate consciously gave herself to Tina for the duration of
that instrumental piece. Logic tells me that all horses, especially
mustangs, live intensely in the moment. But that’s where logic ends. I
witnessed something greater. When a horse’s moment connects with a
person’s moment, the result can be stunning. Kotate and her fellow
mustangs showed us their potential for four-legged therapy—for personal
growth guidance far greater than we’d have gained from years of
one-on-one sessions with the best we humans have to offer. I’d rather
have spent 5 minutes watching Kotate and Tina than a year of sessions
with a personal trainer, life management coach, or PhD clinician.
As a postscript, I can report that in
the month since the workshop, one of the participants has already
adopted a mustang. Others have signed up for more workshops and are
considering mustang adoption.
Tina’s life still reverberates with
that “dance.” She just sent e-mail that she’s on her way to Washington
state for more horse-human healing. I can hardly wait to hear what she
learns. Her e-mail crackled with excitement. Chronic fatigue? That’s
history. I’d be willing to bet that mustang ownership is not far over
her horizon.
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
Editor's note:
The author reports that the woman
in this article called "Tina" gave her encouragement and full permission
for her experience to be published. Equus Spirit does not usually
publish articles about third person experiences, excepting the
parent/guardian of a minor child, illustrative anecdotes within
articles, case studies or similar articles.
For all articles and
submitted material, the responsibility for permissions, disguising the identity of persons mentioned,
confidentiality, accuracy and all article content rests solely with the
article author; Equus Spirit accepts no responsibility or liability. ~
VH
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