‘Stang
Leigh Shambo,
MSW
People
come to study at HEAL (Human-Equine Alliances for Learning) for
a variety of reasons, but one urge is so widely experienced that
I might call it a “symptom” of living in modern society. It is
a yearning that is at once utterly simple and almost unbearably
complex, and it could simply be called “the urge to connect”. I am no stranger to this yearning, and neither are my horses.
Have you heard the plaintive whinnies of a horse fenced away
from its companions?
....
I recall my own specific moment of understanding my fear of and
need to connect, on a particular day with a particular horse.
He was a mustang gelding who was simply called “Stang”. Stang
had been by himself with no other horses, for seven of his nine
years. In those years, Stang had virtually no close human
contact either. After being captured, gelded and sold through
the BLM, the new owner had turned Stang loose on their large
ranch and—guess what?—he was never willingly caught again.
Until me, that is… but it took me quite awhile. And longer than
that to actually touch him.
Getting
him to my farm was the first challenge, but we were able to herd
him into my roomy trailer once he understood we were not going
to try to touch him while he was in there. I hauled him to my
farm, and I unloaded him into a paddock with shelter and food, a
paddock small enough to start negotiating a more connected
relationship. I worked with Stang every day. He was very sure
of himself, sure he wanted no part of any connecting! He’d
gotten along completely on his own, “just fine”, for seven
years.
And the
particular moment that made such an impression on me came the
first time I saw him question whether he might really choose
connection, with all of its complexities. A moment in the round
pen when this horse, who had done nothing but run from me,
turned toward me and fully considered me for a moment. All of
a sudden I saw the whole situation from his point of view, and I
literally felt my heart energy center open wide and connect with
his vulnerable, precious and independent spirit. Stang as a
survivor, Stang in need.
So the
first wave of illumination I experienced was personal, and it
allowed me to see Stang in his pride and his isolation. The
second wave of illumination was seeing myself, in my own pride
and… isolation. In the moment following, I was struck
by a profound sadness as I realized that my heart was only
rarely open to my fellow humans in the way it was to that horse
at that moment. A particular horse, on a particular day, who
only a moment before had seemed particularly defiant—until he
turned and looked at me from 30 feet away, and told me who he
was, a soul at once simple and complicated.
That moment happened 15 years ago,
and it changed my life. I thought, “It would be a miracle
if I could see people this truly, if I could feel such a deep
acceptance for each person’s difficult, intricate and particular
life.” I made a commitment to myself that day, and it led me to
study in depth a body of knowledge called
The Course in Miracles,
which further changed the way I see horses and people (and the
nature of reality).
At its
poignant center, the urge to connect is not about the horse,
although the horse time fulfills the yearning in the moment (and
in such engaging and delightful ways!). It’s about being able
to connect with each other, and connect with the human
environments we live in, in ways that illuminate our true
understanding. I think it is safe to say that most of the
time, it’s much easier with horses than with people to establish
the mutual attentiveness and respect that make authentic
connection possible. One HEAL student recently wrote to me, “I
wish people were more like horses! Navigating around people
proves to be challenging more often than not, so I retreat to my
horses and then get lonely for human conversation!”
Another
HEAL student, “Beth” (not her real name), came to a HEAL
workshop called “Understanding Fear: Finding the Silver
Lining”. Beth wasn’t sure why she felt drawn to that particular
workshop, since she is an accomplished horsewoman who
experiences a deep connection with the horses in her herd. She
handles and rides them without any problems, experiencing a
grand sense of mutual communication most of the time. So I had
Beth work with the most difficult workshop horse, a reactive and
previously traumatized Thoroughbred named Nikki.
As the
other workshop participants and I witnessed, Beth began some
groundwork with this gelding. Beth’s face was transformed by
reverence and complete absorption as timeless moments unfolded
in the round pen. Beth’s abilities as a horse whisperer left us
all in awe, and fairly quickly she established between herself
and Nikki a palpable mood of unconditional attentiveness and
trust.
Just at
the moment that Nikki granted her full trust to Beth, Beth’s
tears started to flow, and she was shaking so hard she had to
sit down. Beth was feeling fear—and it was not of the
horses! Beth was feeling fear of us—of any
humans—witnessing her in what we could only call “her
sacredness”. As Beth talked through her feelings, she
confessed that her fear of judgment from other people was what
most hampered her riding and her life in general: she could only
enjoy her horses in complete privacy, and it had taken
tremendous courage for her to attend the workshop. The heart
of the work horses do at HEAL is not about teaching us how to
love them, which we already do so easily, but how to love each
other, and how to make our human circles safe for our souls to
come forward.
Author
Parker Palmer
likens the deepest parts of the human soul to an animal, not
just any animal, but a wild animal, who will only come
close when it can assure itself of safety. Maybe that is why
Stang was able to teach me so much about my human spirit. He
continued to be a wild one, and sharp, very sharp. With his
mustang hypervigilance (in the wild, I think that’s a valued
trait!) he was a bit of a one-person horse. You had to know
what he was thinking, and you had to respect it. Our proudest
moment came when he trusted me enough for us to ride in a little
4th of July parade in my town. Quite an
accomplishment for a mustang who was completely alone most of
his life!
But
this story has an interesting footnote that illustrates the
challenges of non-judgment among humans. I was paid to ride
Stang, and within six months I knew that horse would do almost
anything for me, including walk among drums, fire engines, flags
and other human silliness. Unfortunately for Stang, his owners
underestimated the challenges of continuing to own such a horse,
although we discussed it on many occasions. They did not handle
him much, and he never granted his full trust. Soon, they could
not catch him. Stang had returned to a wild condition and I
found out the next spring that he had foundered and died, out on
their ranch, alone.
And so
the lessons of non-judgment with people are indeed difficult to
master. I really loved that little horse, and I thought bitter
thoughts against the owners, although I had very little
understanding of their side of the picture. I have to believe
that they were doing the best they could, and I have to trust
that Stang valued the connection we made and the adventures we
shared. I have spent as many hours on forgiveness of his owners
as I originally spent working with Stang, and I guess both took
me longer than I thought they would! The hours spent with our
horses are indeed a course in miracles.
Note: Leigh
incorporates principles from The Course in Miracles into her
workshop for enhancing intimate and family relationships called
“Into-Me-See”: Exploring Authentic Intimacy. See Equus
Spirit
event listing for details.
