The Mark

What can a horse teach a person who doesn’t know what they need to learn? With the guidance of a true horseman many years ago, I learned to soften my action and learn how to make my mark on life. Here is my story…

Several years ago, I was giving a demonstration to an instructor who was sharing his knowledge of horses with the class.  I was working really hard at making this gelding that I was riding complete a maneuver, expecting perfection because I knew what the instructor was asking for. I knew my horse could do it because we had done it several times at home and now it was my chance to show off my capabilities as a trainer in front of the whole class. But my horse refused to give or even offer what I was wanting. After several attempts I was frustrated near to tears. Ival came and put a hand on my leg as I set upon the gelding.

“But he does it at home.” I stated, to share my bit of wisdom to a horseman and teacher.

Ival went to move my leg, I held tight and stiff as a board. I was so frustrated, I knew this horse could do better, I had done this work a thousand times at home, but right now I could not get this animal to hardly move. Ival again put subtle pressure on the calf of my leg, as he talked to me, again I held steady.  I complained that my horse was not doing as I asked. I felt embarrassed and ashamed, for some reason he had sulled up on me and refused to move his shoulders over and do a spin as I expected.

Again, I felt Ivals hand on my calf of my leg. My horse as I: held fast to my belief and ridged posture. When I finished defending myself for the third time, Ival looked up at me with clear bright blue eyes and gentle tone, he said, “Kathy, you are a writer right?”

I nodded.

“Close your eyes and think for a moment how hard do you have to press pen to paper to make your mark?”

I thought what? We are riding horses, not writing on paper. But I closed my eyes and did as he asked.

First I thought, well it depends on if the pen will write. I think I was getting a little defensive and embarrassed. Then I thought of what it took to make a mark on paper.

He said, “Breathe and think about it.”

I did as he asked, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath in and let it out. I began to imagine how I would write on a piece of paper, how I would form a word letter by letter. How each word formed a sentence and each sentence created a story. In the quietness Ival taught me through subtle pressure what I was searching for. In that moment I felt my leg move with Ivals gentle hand, I felt my horse sigh.  I had opened my mind in consideration and possibilities and began writing a story with my horse.

I thought of what it takes to move my pen across the paper and make a mark there. Felt the pen actually glide across the paper with only strokes of imagination. How hard do I have to press to make a mark?

I opened my eyes and Ival was gone, although I still felt his hand on my leg and my leg soft and relaxed … I adjusted my leg and my horse moved freely under me. I wanted to call Ival back to share, but in that instant I realized he had left his mark on me. I closed my eyes and once again gave my horse the same gift with subtle softness and again received understanding and softness as together we wrote our story. I was the writer and he was my pen, through soft action communication was formed into a story of one girl and one horse.

I had been expecting perfection from my horse as if I was trying to get a stick to write on paper. As soon as I understood the concept, a gift from a quiet horseman, my horse moved effortlessly and easily under me. His motions were as fluid as the ink flows on paper, when ever I got tight or restrictive he would hesitate.

As I go through life I think of Ival and the mark. How hard do I have to press to make my mark? I soften more easily with more of an idea instead of expectation, it is given back ten fold.

No matter how many years pass or how tough things get, those words bring softness and possibilities to my mind.  Just thinking of how my fingers move with imagination and my writing flows without effort. Just setting my intention on how I want the words to look and form each letter with ease, grace and style of its very own. My story is written, not only on paper and horseback, but in my life.

So I invite you to close your eyes and breathe. Then ask yourself…  How hard do you press to make your mark? 

When is Enough, Enough?

“When do we say I am done?” “No More!” I have taken on a little rescue horse whos name is now Joey

Joey a 20 year old rescued horse 

Normally I feel that a name should follow the animal for their life, and try to respect that. But this little guy, seemed to need a new begining. I met him through a friend who has had him for 6 years. He had been released to her. His history is not known for sure but what ever it was, he has put his foot down and says “Never Again!”

When they told me about this little guy, I was expecting a hard to catch saddle horse… but what was offered when I walked through the gate was borderline mustang. As soon as he seen me, he was pressing the fences. And they are barbed wire. At fifty yards was his comfort place… not one inch closer and no corral, so I followed my instinct and allow the bubble to settle. Within an hour and a half, I am four feet from him and can move around freely at that point.

With the scars on his nose, and his reaction to life in general, he has faced and felt a misunderstood  war. My little war pony and I wanted him to have a happy ending from the internal demons he has been packing for the last twenty years. So to release them and to look forward to tomorrow I named him Joey as in the movie.  He did what he had to and is ready to move on..

Which while standing with him brings up the question, when is enough enough?

In life we all get hurt, we all cry, we all suffer. In our life we face change, fight change, question change and sadly fear change. In our life we can call a friend, talk to a parent, councilor,  pay some one to help with change, and eventually get through it.

But what about our animals? A dog, cat or this horse for instance. How do they cope and adjust. I am not talking of your beloved pet Fido, or maybe I am… I am mainly talking of the animals on the other side of the tracks. The ones who are shuffled and tested to their wits end. The one that , like this horse looks at a two legged being and says, “I am better off staying away from them.”

I have worked many horses in my life, and I will forever be a student of the horse… With his silent language he has firmly said “never again”, but I quietly attempt to soften that edge little by little, hoping in my attempts that I can help erase twenty years of history in a few hours… days…

I have to take myself out of my busy life and stop for a while, see what he sees, breathe what he breathes and the most painful, feel what he feels.

This is only for the moments needed, because as he realizes I am here for him, and he no longer needs to be alone, as herd animals usually don’t like being. But he is afraid to let me in, he stands straight and tall, ears up, head up, a statue of stone.

The wind pelts us with rain, slushy snow, soaking our bodies as I wait. Joey oblivious to the cold, he blinks a snow flake off his eye lashes, while a loafing shed is thirty yard’s from us, he has no interest in shelter.  We are different species. My hands jammed in my pockets, fingers tingling, my toes frozen  I wait. I wait for that sigh, that blink. That tip of the nose in my direction with a softness that says I see you. I wait.

I recite poetry, talk of things no one else knows, I watch the deer as he brings awareness to their camouflage beds, they had quietly rested not ten feet from us.I wait.

My breath visible, my back aches with cold and I start to tremble. I wait. The day is fading to sunset, if there was a sun to set, hidden deep behind the clouds, darkness settling in my heart that maybe I should go, but I wait next to the stone statue, showing no sign of life. Waiting.

He is within touching distance, yet I do not offer touch, I only offer my time at this point. His nose twitches, I see him blink out of the corner of my eye. I know he is alive.

Then out of the blue beyond the hope of acceptance,  he turns to me smells my coat, takes a sigh and licks his lips, as if to say, Enough.

I remain as still as he had for the last hour. I wait, he drops his head, I walk away. Enough

To be continued

Fear of a Goal

In growing up pretty much everything we did as a family was out of necessity, so the definition of a goal or even the word goal was never talked about. We got up in the morning, milked the cows, strained the milk, fed the horses, gathered the eggs, ate breakfast and went to school, at night we would, milk the cows, skim the milk, make butter, bring in the wood, feed the horses etc.. I think you get the idea. There was not a whole lot of down time to sit and wonder what to do next, we already knew.

As I grew up and moved into town I realized I had nothing to do… When I got up in the morning it was totally different, because I had no cows, horses, or chickens to guide my life or my activities. That was when the word goal came into my life and I had no idea how to handle it. “They” said set a goal and do it… So as I worked through this, I figured goal was this huge life long chore that had no end. Or my expectation of setting a goal was insane. I found my mind could not wrap around the idea, with out the feeling of judgment or fear or understand the idea or even begin to believe I could achieve a goal beyond my current circumstance.

As years went on I found for me that a goal is not a chore or an undoable wish that I could never achieve, it is a stair step of adventures that lead me to an achievement beyond where I had been before. In a sense I look at it as everything I do is a goal I achieve. A goal is choice. Such as getting out of bed in the morning is a goal, getting the dishes done, or getting to work on time. I have found that sometimes my mind works at achieving not to achieve.  If I look at the clock and see it is time to get up, yet I roll over and go back to sleep, that was my goal and I accomplished it. If I am getting ready for work and think of one more thing to do before I leave and am late, then I apparently set my goal to be late for work.

And I give myself permission to do so. There are other days where I decide “I will be on time.” and nothing gets in my way. In writing my first novel, Unspoken, was the same exact way, I wrote it with the intent or goal of not publishing it, because in the back of my mind I didn’t know or was not looking for a way to get it done. I knew I wanted to write but I didn’t know what to do with the writing. Until I began to understand that when I was a kid getting up in the morning and milking the cows was a goal I did every morning with out thought, gathering eggs, feeding horses, making breakfast. I did it because it needed done and I took steps to make it happen. When I began to think of publishing my book in the same way everything began to line up and the fear of accomplishing gradually faded away into an adventure of trial and error without judgment.

When I look at goals now I believe I look at them with a feeling of every choice I make is a goal, so if I do it or not is the goal in my mind and I make it happen, positive or negative. It is a goal in my mind to take on a new adventure and achieve or to hold myself in a pattern and stay where I am comfortable, and right now I enjoy playing back and forth between the two of them, learning what my habits are and what goals I am afraid of and what goals I want to change. I choose everyday and am becoming happy with the results.