We Fell in Love in October by Girl in Red.
When I was 12 years old, I had a heart horse.
She was never really 'mine,' but her owner was happy to indulge me my dreams of Her and allow me to care for her as my own. Brandy. My Girl. She was, and still is, the most beautiful horse I have ever laid my eyes on. A 10 year old dark bay quarter horse mare, born and raised to be a barrel racer. She was powerful in her own right, a true love for speed. Opinionated. Bold. Perfect. It was my plan to buy her in a few years when I could get a job, take her to university with me. Live the perfect life I always wanted with just me and My Horse. I wanted to be just like Eva Roemaat, my idol at the time, playing at liberty and having this deep heart-connection. War-horse music playing in the background as we cantered over the lush green hills of the back 40. Going out on long rides and collecting the wild raspberries that grew around the apple trees. Everything a horse-hearted child could ever want.
Those dreams were soon cut short. The Mare's original owner asked to buy her back, coming out of a period of financial hardship. I knew that I had to let her go. I knew the home she shared with me wasn't able to provide her with the care I knew she deserved. My parents couldn't afford her and I wasn't old enough to get a job. I knew what the right thing to do was. And so I did it. At least this new owner let me part-board her for a few months after the sale.
The 'new-old' owner came in and took over. And she was a much 'better' rider than me. She was a big barrel racer, who had at one point taken Brandy down to the states and won some amount of money on the rodeo circuit. She was an adult, she had better balance than me, knew how to coerce a horse into the shape she wanted.
You see, this whole time, I kind of had a problem. Brandy wouldn't really 'listen' to me. Circles couldn't be sustained without falling onto the inside shoulder. She would sometimes run away from me on trail rides. She wouldn't stay with me at liberty. She could get ridiculously hot and wouldn't stand still while I tried to tack her up. Honestly, I was really over-horsed. She took care of me in the ways she knew how, but we were struggling.
I was so confused at why she 'didn't like me.' I couldn't understand why she wouldn't listen to what I said. Why couldn't I live my fairytale fantasy dreams with sunsets and flower crowns? During this time, I also had to witness this new perceived horror of the way in which she was treated. The new owner rode her in a twisted wire bit, and rode her HARD. I mean, she loved to run, but that was a lot of running. A lot of leg. A lot of circles. A lot of yanking and rein. I somehow thought that because she 'listened' to this woman, this meant that I wasn't good enough. I was the one who treated her nicely and took care of her and loved her. So why wasn't I rewarded for it?
In hindsight, I can see more clearly what was going on. Brandy wasn't listening, she was forced. I couldn't realize that her clear and consistent no's towards me were actually a result of the relative safety she felt with me. She knew that I wouldn't hurt her, that she could have her autonomy. But I didn't understand how to really cope with these no's. I would be really upset when she wouldn't listen to me, but I never took it out on her. She was Perfect, how could I ever hurt her? I didn't realize that she didn't want to be snuggly with me not because she didn't like me, but because that's not Her. I was trying to fit her into a box that wasn't made for her. To tame the wild spirit that drew me to her in the first place.
I didn't realize that the way she moved with me was who she really was. She lacked the body development to make those consistent circles, to carry me with an engaged posture, and to balance herself without the need for high levels of speed. That's where her body really was, without micro-shaping or coercion. That was her true movement reality. Every bit of 'connection' in her body with this other rider was forced, tense, and fake.
A few months pass and I decide to leave that barn for many reasons I choose not to elaborate on here. A piece of my heart is still buried there, under the hoof prints of the soggy sand arena and floating away through the crystal clear river water. It would be years until I would rediscover the gentle wholeness that I found there with her. A lot of pain would follow me.
The Sun is in Your Eyes by Jacob Collier.
Time passes, and I began again to experiment with liberty. I had never been given another opportunity to play with that mode of horse-work that I had craved for so long, but somehow, I found the courage to carve those opportunities out for myself. This was when I found Robin.
Robin was the complete opposite of Brandy. He was a big chestnut OTTB gelding with a heart of gold, but whose fire was left dwindling after years of overuse in the racing industry. He was shy and loving, but in that space-holding gentleness kind of way. I really prefer not to play into horse-as-therapist or horse-as-teacher dynamics, but really, it was through working with this horse that I was able to get out of my head, and back into the body that I lived separate from for so long.
I took the hint that Brandy gave me, and I spent our first week together just-being with him. Getting to know him in his whole self. Starting to read into the story that his movement told me, and listening into the wisdom of the collective herd-body and earth-bodies that held him in real time. To start from a place from who-are-you instead of what-you-do-for-me.
From this baseline, I found ways of asking him to move that meant something to him, that felt good to him. I never tried to shape his emotions or coerce him into feeling any way. I rooted back into myself when he spiked into freeze if we went too far, instead of putting the pressure on him to be the one to change.
Even with all this, Robin, no matter what I did, would still constantly and consistently deny me access to his time, his space, and to his body.
And oh, what a joy it is to be Denied.
I never rode him. I never sat on his back.
When I first met him I still believed in the magic of love and horsemanship to fix all. To bring him back into 'perfect' health and transform him into the fire-blooded horse of my dreams. There was one frigid, chilly, ice-lightning night I knew I could have sat on him. I could have clambered onto his back using the snowy fence as a mounting block, and he would have carried me. But I didn't, because I knew that would mean taking advantage. Nowadays I know that some wounds will never be fully 'healed.' I mean, they will absolutely 'heal,' but they will never be able to go back to how they were before these horses' baby-bodies were stolen by impatience and greed. Bone asymmetries in the legs are set mostly in stone by the time they are adults. Robin will never have 4 symmetrical feet or even-set shoulders. But that's okay, he doesn't need to. Biomechanists can't hurt us if we don't let them. The body isn't a machine. It doesn't need to run with zero friction to stay Alive.
Robin taught me how to move while standing still. How to alchemize emotion and flow with another being. He didn't want to move with me one day. He refused. But moments later he walked up to me and stood, sinking into the embrace of the spring's warmth. I took my fingertips and traced his spine from the tip of his poll down to the end of his tail, and he relaxed at my touch. His Presence was his gift to me that day. In that moment, I felt the Presence of all the horses who came before him surrounding me. And I started to cry. In his breath I felt the exhalation of every horse I have ever loved, and I had the strength to remember them along with all the pain their stories brought me. I understood that moving together doesn't have to mean speed or power or anything much at all, it can start and end with the understanding that, even in stillness, our breath continues to move us.
He walked away moments later. He found a soft patch of dirt to lie down on and fell asleep. And I sat with him as he rested easily, surrounded by Love. So much movement happened in that tiny moment. Entire orchestras of reverberation moved through our bodies. After all, music is movement too. We danced, and we dreamed, and we Felt. That was the most Whole I have ever been in my entire life. I cried non-stop for an entire week.
It is only within the space of no that we can truly feel into the depths of our relating. What is the point of having all the picture perfect experiences of connected horsemanship if they aren't real? If they are a masquerade of Care and of Truth? The horse must be given a choice if we are to create anything that's worth being together.
Bridge Over Troubled Water by Jacob Collier, YEBBA, John Legend, and Tori Kelly.
Eventually I had to move on from Robin too.
It was this goodbye that ultimately convinced me it was time to stop working with other people's horses. I am at a stage in my development as a horse-person where I need the long-term companionship of a Heart Horse, who will walk beside me for years to come. I crave the stability. Now I'm leaning deeper into a coaching role within my practice, to help facilitate fair relating between horses and their people, without the need for me to meddle in-between the relationship. This is where the true change for the horse-human dynamic will happen, in the lives of everyday people.
Last night I went looking online for any trace of where Brandy ended up. I found photos of her this summer at a barrel race. Shank bit gagging her mouth open. Rounded eyes. Tied down head, strap raised in the air to beat her as they ran home. This is the same owner that took her from me all those years ago, but her daughter is the one riding. This mare is her Heart Horse. How do you teach a child to hit a horse? How do you teach your child to hit your Heart Horse? How do you post photos of that on the internet with a caption about winning, or 'hard work?' There's no need to whip her. She loves to run, and she's fast enough, she's enough, why isn't that good enough?
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