"There is an entryway. Once you go through it, you will never again be able to distance yourself from the concerns of horses. You will no longer be deaf to their language. You will no longer be unreceptive to their feelings."
(Imke Spilker, “Empowered Horses”)
What leads us to that entryway?
What propels us through?
Sometimes one thing just leads inexorably to another and without knowing precisely how or why we got “here” from “there”, we just look around one day and realize that our perspective has completely changed and we no longer see things as we once did.
Sometimes we can point to “decisive moments” that shaped the course of our journey. These “decisive moments”, these moments of insight with respect to horses, can come from many sources -- including books, films, websites, blogs, conversations with human friends and lessons from human teachers. We read a book or article, or message-board post, or blog entry that makes us reflect deeply, or question an assumption we’ve always held. We see a film that moves to feel differently about what we’ve been doing. A teacher broadens the scope and depth of our knowledge and our thinking, or leads us to experience something in a way we never thought possible.
One example from my journey was reading Dr. Strasser’s “Lifetime of Soundness”. It changed our lives -- the horses’, my husband’s, mine. In the fall of 2000, I stayed up all night (on a work night) reading the book and the next morning, called my farrier to pull the shoes he had newly reset a few days before. Within a few months the horses had left the boarding barn where they had lived for over 10 years and were staying on a friend’s farm -- much farther away from me -- so that they could have the 24/7 freedom of movement and herd life that a healthy barefoot lifestyle requires. We had bought the place in the country that was to become our new home. Within 18 months the tumbledown old house had been re-done, the horse barn had been built, the paddocks fenced, and my husband and I (both “city folks” for whom a prior move to suburbia had been radical) had moved ourselves and the horses there. This was no small move -- it meant a much longer, less convenient commute to our jobs, and, for me the move meant much more physical labor and responsibility than I had been accustomed to when I was boarding the horses.
Reading “Lifetime of Soundness” led me to deep insights and a new level of awareness of what a horse needs to be healthy and happy. It’s fair to say that that book changed my life. The “side effects” of that change are still rippling. Certainly it was a decisive moment. But in this blog entry I’d like to talk about a very particular kind of decisive moment, a very special class of insight: a Pasture Moment. Reading Lifetime of Soundness was NOT a Pasture Moment.
After she had read“Selbstbewusste Pferde” (the original German of “Empowered Horses”), a friend of mine coined the term “Pasture Moments” to refer to certain pivotal events that irrevocably change our point of view with respect to horses. She was alluding to Imke Spilker’s own turning point which did, indeed, occur in a pasture.
For those of you who have not read “Empowered Horses”, the book opens with a “Prelude” in which the author goes to the pasture, tack in her arms, prepared to get her horse and saddle-up as usual. Something stops her -- a question pops into her mind: “What would I think, were I my horse, about me, the one who demands to ride?”
She puts the saddle in the grass, sits down next to it and contemplates her relations with horses from an entirely different perspective -- theirs! Looking at herself from her horse’s point of view, she sees herself in a rather unflattering light. She realizes that what she has been doing with horses is not what she had set out to do. She had wanted to be friends, but somehow she has “messed it up.” As her reflections come to an end, Imke, having given up the idea of riding at least for that day, empties her pockets, giving her horse all the treats she finds there, and prepares to leave,. Her horse stops her from going by blocking her path with his large body. Imke hears an instruction that seems to come from him: “Listen to me. You cannot simply walk away from this.” At a loss, Imke asks what she can possibly do....
“And that is how this book came to be.”
********
What distinguishes “Pasture Moments” from the other decisive moments, or moments of great insight on our path with horses, is that they take place in direct communication with a horse. That communication can occur with the horse physically present (as Reno was in the pasture with Imke Spilker), -- or present in spirit, as in a certain kind of dream or meditative state. What is crucial is that the realization or insight that comes to the human comes about directly because of the connection with the horse in the moment. The communication that occurs during a “Pasture Moment” is so strong and so clear that the human being cannot ignore or disregard it; the horse (finally) gets through to him.
A “Pasture Moment” is a turning point, a point of radical change in how we see things. It dramatically shifts our perspective. Before a “Pasture Moment” we either do not notice something, or we perceive it from an egocentric human point of view. After a pasture moment our eyes and ears have been opened. We see/hear/feel things that were invisible/inaudible/imperceptible to us before. Sometimes it is as though we’ve been given a new organ of perception altogether. Something that we once unquestioningly accepted as a normal, natural part of horse-human interaction now strikes us as “off,” abnormal, unnatural, wrong, or even, perhaps, downright cruel.
A“Pasture Moment” is irreversible. After a Pasture Moment we can never go back to perceiving things as we did before.
A“Pasture Moment” provokes a change not only in how we see something, but in what we do, how we do it -- or the spirit in which we do things. Its effect on us is so powerful that we have to act on it. A Pasture Moment affects not only our thoughts and feelings, but our actions and behavior. We are different as a result of the experience.
Here come some examples of“Pasture Moments”. The first one comes from Miek (regular readers will remember Miek as the photographer of the pictures included with the June 22nd post, “Our Lyin’ Eyes”:
“I remember my own moment of insight very well. I had just had a private lesson with Rudolf at the riding school where he was boarded. He wasn’t mine yet. The riding lesson was hard work, but in the end Rudolf did everything I asked (ordered) him to do. The instructor was firm and I had used the whip one or two times (not hitting, just waving, but still).
When the lesson was over I got a compliment from my instructor. I remember feeling very good about that lesson. I really felt I had made progress. We were outside, the weather was nice and I felt on top of the world. In fact I was still on top of Rudolf.
As I was dismounting, suddenly a little voice in my head said: “So, do you think Rudolf enjoyed this lesson just as much as you did?” I hit the ground with the whip in one hand, the reins in the other, and turned to look at Rudolf’s face. I was still smiling.... right until the moment Rudolf turned his head and bit me in my arm. I knew right away this was his way of telling me what he thought of this “wonderful” lesson and me.
Instead of punishing him for his “rudeness”, I looked at him and apologized. I have never felt so guilty as I did right at that moment. Enjoying myself at his expense -- what was I thinking? From that moment on my attitude changed dramatically. I was no longer willing to enjoy myself at the horse’s expense. And that is how my journey towards a real relationship with my horse started. I made a lot of errors along the way, of course, but I will never forget that moment Rudolf bit me after our “wonderful” lesson.”
This next Pasture Moment is one of mine, experienced about 16 years ago, but still as clear to me as though it happened this morning:
“Khemo had been in my life for about two years and in that time I had been on a continuing search for a riding teacher. By this time I was on instructor #3. I had not been taking lessons from her for very long, maybe a couple of months. She was a well-respected breeder of warmbloods and had quite a list of credentials as a rider and teacher. Certainly in terms of knowledge and experience she was a vast improvement over her predecessor (see ). In relative terms 3 was an “expert”, an authority.... at the very least, she was someone who knew much more about “dressage” than I did.
One particular day we were about 15 minutes into an hour-long lesson. 3 had asked me to have Khemo do something -- I think it was a correct transition into canter. We had tried several times without success. Each time I could feel us almost getting it and then something blocking the movement. 3 told me that Khemo had to be sharper on the “aids”, she told me to “get after him with that whip.”
Even though I was brought up to be a “good student” and to be obedient to authority figures, at that moment I could not follow instructions. I felt Khemo’s “try” so strongly, and I had an equally strong feeling that I was doing something wrong; I felt that I was somehow blocking his movement with my unskilled riding.
I explained this to my “teacher.”
She responded that, though my riding was not perfect, Khemo was being “lazy” and that I could not let him get away with that. She told me again to “get after him with that whip.” I again replied that I felt our problem was my fault. #3 then gave me an ultimatum: she was going to leave the arena for a brief break. While she was gone I should decide whether I wanted to continue taking lessons with her. If I was still mounted when she came back in, she would continue with the lesson and she would expect me to follow her instructions. If I had gotten off my horse, she would leave and she would no longer teach me.
I felt that Khemo had been doing his best. How could I hit him for my lack of skill? If I was right and he was doing his best, what would it do to our relationship if I punished him for my mistakes?
I had been brought up to respect authority rather than my inner voice; I had been brought up to be obedient and to be a good, diligent student. It wasn’t as though I had never hit Khemo -- I am ashamed to say I had indeed lost my temper with him in our time together and had lashed out at him in fear and anger.... and ignorance. And I had more than once blindly followed someone’s instruction of “more leg, more leg” by thumping on Khemo with my legs or “tapping” him with the whip. Good riding instructors were not exactly thick on the ground. I so wanted to be a good rider. I so wanted to learn haute ecole. I wanted a teacher. Who would work with me if I ran through one trainer after another?
I was frozen in indecision.
As these thoughts were racing through my mind, Khemo stood quietly, just waiting for me to come to my senses. We were at one end of the dark, dusty indoor arena, near the wide double doors to the outside. I felt him breathing..... I looked outside and saw what a lovely day it was. The sunshine, the cool, fresh air, the rye field with its tasty grass -- they all beckoned. How nice it would be to walk in that field together, to be in harmony with each other....
In that moment, the fog of indecision cleared. Just like that I knew that my friendship with Khemo mattered far more to me than my reputation as a “good student” or my desire to learn haute ecole. I simply *had* to honor our relationship.... every single moment. Even if my hired expert was right and Khemo was being “disobedient” or “lazy”, the reality was that I had major doubt about the rightness of her instructions. It was blindingly clear to me at that moment that it was my responsibility to ALWAYS give Khemo the benefit of any doubt. It was my responsibility to trust him and to trust my feelings... even over the “expertise” of the hired expert.
So, I dismounted and untacked. Khe and I waited until 3 returned. I tried once more to explain why I felt it was so important to listen to Khemo in this case, but she had no interest in hearing me out. We said good-bye, and by the time 3‘s car was pulling out of the driveway, Khemo and I were in the rye field, enjoying the day and each other’s company.”
It would be great to say that from that day forward I never again hit Khemo or even considered hitting him. But, it would not be true. I’m ashamed to say that I did subsequently hit Khemo again... -- never again because someone instructed me to, but simply because I lost my temper. It took time and effort and patient practice to improve my self-control and there was some backsliding along the way. However, each time, the instant I had lost control of myself and lashed out in anger, I felt terrible. Absolutely awful. I acutely felt the wrongness of my action. And, I immediately apologized to Khemo, stopped what we were doing, and did something to try to “make amends” for my misbehavior.
That’s one change that was permanent after this “Pasture Moment”. Before, I had of course known and felt that beating a horse to really hurt him, to cause him injury was wrong. But I considered the “mild” tapping of a riding crop or slap with an open hand a “normal” part of horse-human interaction. After, I felt in the core of my being that it was absolutely wrong to hit a horse. Whether with a whip, my legs, or my hands; whether an “expert” told me to or whether I was feeling angry and frustrated and just could not stop myself from “acting out” -- I now *knew* it was absolutely wrong. I could never again delude myself into thinking it was “necessary” or “justified” or “deserved” or in any way appropriate or right.
I wish I could truthfully say that after this “Pasture Moment” I was always open to the horses in my life, that I always listened to them. I wish I could say that I was always aware of my feelings and trusted what I felt, despite what some expert or authority figure was saying. That was true in my relationship with Khemo.... but, to my great regret, the lesson did not fully carry over to my relationship with other horses, particularly Kochet (but that’s another story).
Here is another, more recent, one of my Pasture Moments. It was the basis of my April 3oth post -- “Not Always All True” :
......On the day I got my lesson that even the best things are not always “all true” I let Khe-Ra out of the paddock to graze in the unfenced area around the barn while I sat down on my bench under an ash tree where my cat friend, I.C., and a book were waiting for me. I started to read. Before long, there was Khe-Ra, chasing I.C. away, nuzzling me, trying to rub her itchy lower jaw on my head, grabbing my book... She grudgingly, but obediently moved off when I shooed her away but was back again in a few moments. After a few repetitions of me shooing her away and her returning, a thought came clearly, “loudly,” and fully formed into my mind:
“What’s the point of hanging out together if we’re just going to pretend to ignore each other?”
The question seemed to come from Khe-Ra... a puzzled, somewhat frustrated Khe-Ra. In that instant of hearing that question, the “rules” of First Ritual seemed oppressive and artificial to me -- not at all in alignment with what I was feeling in the moment. After all, I *do* come out to spend time with the horses, to be closer to them... not to ignore them or pretend to ignore them while we share territory. I want them to initiate communication with me, to let me know what they need and want.
In the process of trying to follow some rules, I had become disconnected from my feelings. In labeling Khe-Ra’s efforts to get my attention as “dominant”, “aggressive”, “pushy” according to an external standard, I had become disconnected from her. In shooing her away every time she tried to get me to interact with her, I had been acting from that external standard, responding according to a formula, rather than from my own feelings in the moment. Labeling certain actions of horses as “dominant” or “aggressive” or “wrong”, and thinking that there is a certain one-size-fits-all set of actions to deal with such behaviors is a very common habit of human beings, a Very Bad Habit.
It is a habit that makes me lose touch with reality, the reality of what is happening right here, right now, with me, and with Horse. I did not shoo Khe-Ra away because of a genuine emotion I felt -- that would have made some sense to her. I shooed Khe-Ra away because I thought I should do xyz when a horse does abc. That’s crazy -- unless what I want is a surefire recipe for misunderstanding, separation, and alienation.
That day my Very Bad Habit almost trapped me into closing myself off to Khe-Ra. Almost. But First Ritual had worked its magic -- at least part of me was in listening mode and open to the horse with whom I was sharing space. And that horse was very persistent about trying to get her point across, thank goodness.
Regardless of what the rules said, what FELT authentic and true and right in the moment with this particular young horse, with Khe-Ra, was to engage with her. So... finally .... that’s what I did.
Before that Pasture Moment with Khe-Ra I would have wholeheartedly agreed with you had you said something like: “In an authentic relationship, there are no rules or systems or methods or procedures that apply to every horse in every situation. You have to be with the horse in the moment.” I would have agreed that this was a basic truth. But, as is shown by my “before” actions, part of me was still (unconsciously) ignoring the horse at my side in favor of following rules. In being so ready to rely on a “one size fits all” set of instructions, I was not fully “walking the walk” of my beliefs.
What has irrevocably changed since that Pasture Moment is that I am more fully present for “conversations” with the horses. This is true not only in my interactions with Khe-Ra but with Kochet and Desna as well. I am no longer relying on a script prepared by someone else, nor am I “rehearsing” interactions in advance of going to see the horses (another Very Bad Habit of mine). We are just there together in the moment seeing what comes up between us.
I’m having a hard time finding words to convey the depth of this change in me or to describe how different it feels to be with the horses since that Pasture Moment. A human observer who had been there “before” and “after” might not notice anything had shifted. But, this thought or belief of mine that once was only an idea, a mental construct with which I agreed, has now become a living reality, part of the fabric of every interaction between the horses and me.
If you have a Pasture Moment, or several, that you would like to share -- perhaps for inclusion in a book of Pasture Moments from horses and people all over the world -- please email me at khemofan@aol.com, using “Pasture Moment” as the subject.
For convenience I'll summarize the "definition "once more: A Pasture Moment is a turning point, a decisive moment, a moment of deep insight occurring directly in communicative connection with a horse (or horses) that irreversibly shifts our perspective. The insights and realizations that occur during a “pasture moment” are profound and affect us at our core. They compel us to act on them. It is not only our thinking that changes; we are affected so deeply that our actions and behavior change as well. While a Pasture Moment does mark an irreversible change, it does not necessarily change “everythingallatonce.” In other words, one particular aspect of our perspective and behavior can change completely and permanently, while other aspects are unaffected.... or at least appear to be unaffected for the time being.
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