Early Dark

When I went out to the barn last night at 6 pm, it was pitch black. There’s something about feeding the horses in the dark that is always unsettling. Now that it’s light in the morning, the dread I feel has shifted with the time change to their dinner hour. Once I’ve turned on the lights and started bustling around in the barn, I don’t mind it. The fear is in that moment of leaving the warm glow of my house and heading out into the total darkness. I sometimes feel like a little kid who is afraid something is going to jump out and get me. I know that’s ridiculous, so recently I’ve been exploring what makes me react this way.

It was probably no coincidence that a friend of mine lent me one of her favorite books this week. It’s called “True Nature” by Barbara Bash, and it’s really a gem. Barbara records, in beautiful drawings and watercolors and handwritten pages, four retreats that she goes on alone at a cabin in the Adirondacks. She is there for one week during each season of the year. It is such an honest and thought-provoking book. One of the big issues that she confronts is her fear of going into the dark woods at night.

“Being here by myself feels like a pause, a break in a pattern. The habitual knitting together of schedules and demands is beginning to unravel. The tight secure knots of my life loosening, relaxing. And then, that raw aloneness rushes in, and with it, the impulse to turn away, run back home.”

I was thinking about the years that I spent living alone, and the nights I woke up, scared by who knows what. When I lived in Los Angeles, in the Hollywood Hills, sometimes the police helicopters would suddenly erupt through the black silence with the beams of their searchlights and the sharp noise of their blades. It was impossible to settle back into a relaxed sleep after that, and I’d sit up running through all the problems and worst-case scenarios in my life until the sun came up. When I got my big yellow dog, Cosmo, back in those lonely LA days, I re-discovered the great consolation I find in the presence of animals, and I continue to appreciate their ability to calm me.

So, I should have guessed that Silk would be sending me a message about my anxiety. As I turned on the lights in the barn and opened her stall door last night, in my head, I heard this very clear voice telling me, “When you take care of your horses, you are taking care of yourself.” I realized that last winter, this same lack of being able to see clearly in the night had felt soft and mysteriously re-assuring to me. The silence, the stars and the moon and the sounds of the horses were all gifts that I looked forward to since my life back then was on more settled ground. Right now, in so many aspects of my day-to-day existence, I feel like I’m never sure what’s going to happen next.

In Barbara Bash’s book, she quotes Pema Chodron: “Exercise your willingness to rest in the uncertainty of the present moment over and over again.” Going into the dark each night is a concrete way for me to do that. The point at which I am able to welcome the uncertainty instead of fear it will be a big step towards taking better care of myself. I joke that feeding the horses is a sacred ritual for me, but in fact, it might also be the path that leads me through these un-nerving times.

For the Sake of the Horse

I wonder if you’ve been following the excellent posts from Billie at Camera Obscura about the Rollkur issue and a video that was shot by Epona TV of dressage rider Patrik Kittel. If you haven’t, please check out Billie’s thorough, thoughtful coverage of this tragic situation that is occurring in the dressage world and follow the links to sign the petitions to the FEI to stop this inhumane treatment of horses. Thank you, Billie, for providing us with all the information we need to make an educated effort to try to help right a serious wrong.

Briefly, Rollkur is a training technique used by some dressage riders that creates hyper-flexion of the horse’s neck. It is supposed to teach the horse to lower its head and round its neck as it works. In some cases, the horse’s mouth touches the middle of its chest, and this state of hyper-flexion is held for over ten minutes. The video shows the horse that Kittel is riding sticking out its tongue, which has turned blue, an indication that the blood flow has been cut off. The Federation Equestre Internationale is the sole controlling authority for all international events governing Dressage, Driving, Endurance, Eventing, Jumping, Reining, and Vaulting. It establishes the rules for the Olympics, as well as Championships, Regional and Continental Games. In 2006, the FEI decided that it would allow the use of hyper-flexion by experienced riders. Now, they are reconsidering their position. Anything that we can do to convince them that Rollkur should be banned is needed at this critical moment.

I realized that I am quite sensitive to this issue because of the abuse Silk suffered before I bought her. This kind of extreme treatment exists in many disciplines of riding. As a Western Pleasure horse, Silk had the misfortune to be ridden by a man who was relentlessly aggressive in training her to bend her neck and put extreme pressure on her mouth with the bit. It is amazing to me that she forgave humans for what they did to her, and that she is my loving and willing partner today.

I went out to the barn after reading the links that Billie posted and watching the video. If the neighbors had heard me, they would have thought that I was crazy, but I told Silk the whole sad story. She just kept eating her hay, with one ear turned in my direction. I said that we would keep trying to make life better for horses, and that over 4000 people had already signed petitions protesting to the FEI. Years ago, I promised Silk that no one would ever hurt her again, and I am sorry that so many other horses continue to be abused by people under the guise of “training”. I know she listened to me.

Billie quoted Paul Belasik's “A Search for Collection - Science and Art in Riding”, and what he said had such an impact on me that I can’t stop thinking about it. I feel compelled to quote it again here:

"The reason why you can’t pull a horse’s head down to his knees and hold it there day after day, hour after hour, is the same reason why you can’t pull a man’s head down to his knees and hold it there. The reason is that it is demeaning to the ...dignity of the horse or man. It is an ethical, philosophical problem, as well as a scientific one. When you act this way toward a horse with this unprovoked, irrational and unrelenting constant aggression, you demean everything: the horse, nature, yourself, the art and the observer. In the wild, no horse would accept this demonic control. Leaders lead because they prove they have the capacity to lead, and they are good at it. The whole herd has a better life. If the leaders choose badly… they will be replaced."

Three Breaths

It rained and rained yesterday. Then, it rained some more. The horses chose to stay in the barn all day. Siete was like a kid who was bored and looking for trouble. I never bothered to put the halters on or open the gate to the pasture. I would wait until it stopped raining for a few minutes to run out to give the girls more hay. Each time I did, another deluge would begin just as I got to their stalls, and I would end up soaking wet by the time I got back to the house.

So, on the third time that the skies opened up on me, I decided to just hang out with the horses and pick their feet. Silk was glad for my company, as usual. She’s been really anxious the last couple of days, staring into the woods like there’s something out there that might try to get her. I can’t see anything, but she’s acted like this before. I know it will pass eventually, and for now, I just try to give her a little extra attention to reassure her that everything is okay.

Siete let me pick out her front left foot, but as I reached for the front right, she grabbed my jacket and tried to bite me. I threw my arms up over my head, said “Quit!” in my deepest most I-mean-it-no-kidding voice, and stepped into her space, making her back up. She put her head down, but she was still thinking about challenging me.

That’s the point at which I tried something I’d read about called “The Three Breaths Practice”. Ezra Bayda, a Buddhist meditation teacher from San Diego, writes about it in his book, “Zen Heart”. It’s very simple. When something goes wrong, you simply stop, and for three breaths, stay completely present in the moment. You feel what your body is doing, not changing anything, just bringing your awareness to the overall feeling of being in this place at this exact time.

He points out that often, the resistance we are feeling and trying to avoid is making our difficult experiences even more difficult. Sometimes, what we are resisting are only deeply entrenched thoughts and strong physical reactions."The more often we enter into and feel these moments of discomfort, the more we understand that it’s more painful to push away the experience than it is to actually feel it.” Bayda explains.

So, I took my three breaths, while Siete pinned her ears and stood braced for what I was going to do next. And by the end of the third breath, I felt different. My mind wasn’t racing through all the options of what I should do to punish her for trying to bite me, and freaking out about whether this was a big new behavior problem that was only going to get worse. I noticed that my body was way too tense, so before breath number three, I loosened everything up. Then, I just stepped over and picked up her hoof and cleaned it like I normally would. Everything inside me was calm and yet alert, observing what would happen next. Nothing happened. Siete stood watching me until I left the stall, and she started eating her hay. Walking away, I made sure I didn’t take the incident with me and chew on it. I just let it go.

This morning, I asked Siete to step back and wait while I put the flake of hay in her stall. When I told her it was okay to eat, she came forward with her head lowered, not the least bit aggressive. I thought about how we all have our grumpy moments where we lash out, only people usually use their words and tone of voice. I resolved to try this three breaths thing again next time one of my two-legged family members gets mad at me. If I snap back out of fear or frustration or a need to control, it only escalates. If I don’t instantly react, it creates a space that allows each of us an opportunity to consider the consequences. Even though she doesn’t actually live inside my house, Siete is doing a pretty good job of mirroring and leading me through some relevant life lessons.

Lighting the Night With Hope

I have some new heroes. For two nights this week, my husband and I videotaped the Leukemia-Lymphoma Society’s “Light the Night” walk in Manhattan and Queens to raise money for a cure and treatment of blood cancer. At the South Street Seaport, in pouring rain, thousands of people turned out to walk on the Brooklyn Bridge and show their support. I was soaked to the bone, but it was worth it. What an inspiring sight! Saturday night, we were in Forest Park, Queens, with another huge group carrying balloons with little lights inside. Red balloons for supporters, white balloons for survivors and gold balloons in memory for those who have died. It’s very moving to look at these enormous rivers of people, holding their balloons high, carrying banners that honor their loved ones and tell their stories.

One man, whose daughter is in her 20’s and has leukemia, told me that despite the Recession, more people gave money this year than in all the eight years that his family have been participating in this walk. They say that every step saves lives. It also reminds me of the generosity and compassion we have for each other.

I’ve been watching the news these past few months, seeing large groups of disgruntled Americans protesting various things. It struck me that being in a crowd of people who were filled with love and courage and hope is a great antidote to all that negativity boiling around us. It puts everything in perspective.

Centering

I was just standing outside as the sun was rising, listening to the horses munch their breakfast and appreciating a V of geese that honked their way across the sky. This morning is the first truly cold frost that we’ve had. It’s so clear and quiet except for the sound of the rooster crowing, the geese calling to one another and the girls chewing contentedly. I felt very centered.

Late last night, I spoke to an old friend who lives in Los Angeles. We had lost touch for about ten years, and I’m so happy that she tracked me down again. We immediately fell into a comfortable conversation catching up so that it seemed like it was only ten days ago that we spoke, not ten years. It gave me cause to reflect on how many changes I’ve been through since those days when we would walk our dogs together in the Hollywood Hills every evening. I had only one animal and one man in my life at that time. Now, my world is full of family and creatures that sometimes seem to all need my attention every waking minute. It makes it harder to stay balanced and remember what it takes to be true to myself.

I thought about a moment of chaos that happened yesterday as the sun was setting. My daughter was having a teenage meltdown in the house because the computer wasn’t printing out her science project correctly. My husband was thousands of miles away in an airport, having missed a very important connecting flight, so the airline was sending him in the completely opposite direction to a different city in hopes of connecting there to a new flight that could get him to where he needs to be today. My mother was stressing out because she was hungry, and I wasn’t even close to making dinner for us. And the horses’ stalls had never been mucked because I’d been too busy all day to get to it.

To get some space and fresh air, I left the humans to fend for themselves and headed to the barn. Instead of feeding the horses and tucking them in for the night, I turned them out. Silk stood by the pasture gate, patiently waiting for me to let her back inside. Siete freaked out and exploded, bucking and squealing and giving voice and motion to all the frustrated, chaotic energy that was swirling around me. It was such a perfect visual for what I’d been feeling that I had to stop and laugh.

In that moment, I remembered something I read from author Lynn Andrews: “All of the distractions and pandemonium of your life are of your own choosing.”

Then, I also thought of a quote I saw earlier from Cesar Millan, the dog whisperer. He was talking about dogs, but it could have been horses: “They accept you as who you are - one leg, two legs, no eyes, no problem,” he says, “But they won’t accept unstable energy. That’s how much integrity they have.”

Thanks, Siete, for once again, bringing me back down to earth.

Game of the Week

We’ve got a new team sport going on in our yard. It’s the Wild Turkeys vs. the Chickens. The front lawn is the playing field.

You may recall from an earlier post this summer that a white rooster, known around here as the Chief, is the Quarterback for the chickens who live across the road. Our yard is their “free range”, and my mother feeds them liberally with all our leftover chips and bagels and grain products. Starting last fall, the wild turkeys discovered our property, and the mother birds enjoy trooping around like Girl Scout leaders with babies of all sizes. They teach them to sit on the fence rails and find goodies in our garden and sleep in the hidden island of our forsythia bushes. This year, they’ve got a new leader, Big Mama, and she is going to give those chickens a run for their chips and bagels.

The wild turkeys are very bold. They come right next to me when I weed the garden without any fear. When the horses are in the pasture, all the turkeys, including the smallest babies, march right around them like they own the place. On sunny days, the ladies like to roost on our fences and work on their tans.

The chickens are not pleased. Since Big Mama and her band are much larger than even the Chief, the skirmishes are few and quick. The turkeys chase them across the front yard, return to their position by the big pine tree and then, the chickens gradually peck their way back to the center of the field. As soon as the turkeys realize that their opponents have gained ground, they race towards them, pushing the chickens back towards the road. Silk and Siete are the official umpires, but if there’s a new flake of hay dropped in the pasture, they let the game run wild while they chow down. Our two cats provide play-by-play coverage, running back and forth between the windows inside the house with their teeth positively chattering with excitement. It keeps my mother entertained endlessly, which is such a good thing.

I’m wondering if ESPN would be interested.

Intention Instead of Outcome

Today is the Fall Equinox, a time when we harvest what we’ve raised and yet experience the death of green all around us. I’m having mixed emotions, so I turned to some of my spirit guides for advice.

First, I checked in with one of my favorite wise women, Sandra Ingerman. She suggests:
“This time of year is a great time to let drop from you what is no longer needed to return to the earth to be composted creating new life. For with all types of death – the little deaths we experience through life as well as physical death – something new is reborn from what dies. The cycle of life and death is one unbroken circle…”

She recommends creating a ceremony to release expectations.” I find for some of us letting go of expectations feels like giving up. But what if it is giving up to something better? What if we hold an intention of what we want to experience while at the same time we trust that the way our desires and intentions manifest is greater than what we allowed ourselves to imagine? The key is don’t let go of your intentions and focus. But sometimes we have to let go of the outcome. Try working with this in the time of fall where the plants and trees are giving back to the earth the old so that the new can be born.”

I’ve been expending a lot of energy worrying about the outcome of several things in my life recently, so this idea really hit home for me. While I cleaned the barn today, I took some time to really think about what my expectations were and how they cause pain and self-doubt when I don’t get what I want. If the outcome isn’t something I can control, than there’s no point in trying to hold on to it. It’s kind of like the maple tree that I was standing under. Even though the weather is still warm, its leaves are turning brown and falling faster and sooner than usual this year. Maybe Sandra Ingerman is right: My soul and the soul of the world is working to give me greater gifts than I can imagine.

It reminded me of Mary Oliver’s poem, “Song For Autumn”:
“In the deep fall
don't you imagine the leaves think how
comfortable it will be to touch
the earth instead of the
nothingness of air and the endless
freshets of wind? And don't you think
the trees themselves, especially those with mossy,
warm caves, begin to think
of the birds that will come - six, a dozen - to sleep
inside their bodies?”

And thinking of that eloquent wisdom stirred up my sense of anticipation of all the enjoyable activities that will come with colder weather and shorter days. After all, with each ending comes a new beginning.