Repeating an old and painful pattern in my life has awoken the memory of my very first equine facilitated experience. It was in 2006 in the North Island of New Zealand and my partner and I were travelling around the country in a camper van. I had just read the Tao of Equus by Linda Kohanov and was reeling from the discovery that this modality existed. I recognised that this way of being with horses was medicine for me and at the same time believed I had no access to finding it, let alone training in it. Spirit obviously had different ideas for me.
With three days left before we flew to Australia, I booked a ride with a guy recommended by a healer and intuitive I had met in the South Island (and in hindsight, this should have been a clue). I found myself dropping the reins and cantering up a hill with my arms outstretched on a horse I’d never ridden before because this man with penetrating dark eyes told me that he knew that I could, and he knew that I knew it. He saw something in me that I didn’t believe was possible, but was searching for anyway. I discovered that his main passion was developing his equine facilitated learning practice and during the two days I had left in the country I spent as much time with him as possible.
The first official session was mounted and the task was to use my intention and energy to ask the horse to go to a certain spot in the school without using the reins. I remember the horse turning in the opposite direction a number of times and I only made an effort to correct direction when the horse was already facing the wrong direction. He asked me why I didn’t try and do something when I noticed the first step and I burst into tears. I realise now that a big part of me didn’t register the shift of weight, the first step in the wrong direction and not because I couldn’t feel that movement in the horse beneath me.
I wanted to have a magic connection with a horse. I wanted that level of connection to just show up in every horse relationship. I wanted so much for it to be true and to be seen that part of me checked out as soon as there was the first sign it wasn’t happening. What might I have had to feel if I’d noticed that first shift of weight, that first step? Disappointment, the shattering of a dream, the onslaught of the wounded self, reminding me that this is the “real” world, and it isn’t possible to feel that level of connection with another being. I might have had to feel powerless, a failure, perhaps angry at myself and the horse. The list could go on, but the deeper truth is that I didn’t feel that level of connection with myself and with Spirit and the longing for it was so massive that I wasn’t able to recognise it, let alone bear it. The vocalised longing that came out in that first session was to do this work with horses and I actualised that dream. Nearly 17 years later I’m still working with the existential longing to feel connected at a much deeper level, to trust that it exists, and that I can find my way back home when I’m lost.
I wonder how life might have been different if I hadn’t missed the first step so many times? Course correction is so much harder and more painful when you’re already facing in the opposite direction. The trauma therapist in me has compassion and understanding for why we have our blind spots, for why we dissociate or deny our reality (in big and small ways) because the feelings are too much, too uncomfortable or just too big to hold alone. Learning not to disconnect from the discomfort and pain of that first step is a life journey. See you down the road!
This blog is dedicated to Ikey, the horse I had the privilege of working with in Tasmania in 2007. He gifted me with the most profound connection I’ve ever had with any horse. Ikey taught me that the first shift of weight happens as a quiet voice, a body sensation, a soft breath and a knowing. I found out this week that he has left his body aged 28. May I honour his gift by remembering that sometimes the first step we don’t see can also be beautiful.