Pasture Moments

"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.

Our Lyin' Eyes

“I can’t believe my eyes!”

Who knew?

That expression is literally true.

I’d complete this blog in rhyme,

if I had the talent...

and the time.

But I don’t.

So I won’t.

(End of bad poetry section.)

Our eyes deceive us all the time in large ways and small, even if our vision is 20-20, even when we are making a real effort to see clearly.

For a short video by two psychologists on this very subject, see here: http://viscog.beckman.illinois.edu/flashmovie/15.php

The phenomenon of "lyin' eyes" first became painfully evident to me around 35 years ago when I began studying photography, taking some classes at the School of Visual Arts in New York. It was frustrating, exasperating, discouraging, etc., to again and again discover what I thought had been a great shot ruined by something to which my eyes had been blind, that the camera “saw” with perfect clarity.

This was of course in the days before digital photography. There was no instant feedback. A captured imaged lay dormant inside the camera until film was developed and the negative printed. Hours, days, sometimes weeks, would pass before I would see the negatives, or proof sheets of the photos I had taken. So, much of my photography practice in those days consisted of learning to see as a camera “sees”, in order to improve my odds of producing photos that actually expressed what I wanted to show. I learned to visually translate colors to shades of gray, to account for the distortion of the various focal lengths of the lenses I used, and to focus precisely. Most importantly though, I practiced noticing what was actually framed in my viewfinder. I practiced being aware of what was there, rather than seeing only what I wanted to see.

My passion for my photography hobby cooled as other interests -- among them making a living and building a career -- consumed my time and energy. For many years I rarely picked up a camera, and when I did, I was not photographing mindfully, just taking “snapshots” on automatic. The camera was on “automatic”, too. When it comes to mindfulness, it is easy to get out of practice.

About six years ago, when I decided to take responsibility for trimming my horses‘ hooves myself under the guidance of a talented and experienced trimmer who lived half a country away, I had to get on intimate terms with a camera once more. The necessity of having to take accurate photographs of the horses' hooves brought home to me again the truth of the statement, “I can’t believe my eyes”.

When my horses were due for a trim, I would email photos to my teacher -- 3 very specific views of each hoof as well as a few “big picture” shots. With the photos in front of us, my teacher and I would get on the phone together to discuss the state of the hooves and what was going on with the horses and in their environment. I would get my trim instructions and go out to do the work within a day of our conversation. Immediately after trimming each horse, I would take another complete set of photos to send to my teacher for her feedback. We’d talk again, looking at the "after" photos together.

Then I’d make corrections. For a long time there were *always* corrections to be made to my trims.

It was a shock to look closely at the after-trim photos. A hoof that had appeared perfectly trimmed when I was holding it in my hands looking at it with my own eyes, was revealed by the camera to be in need of quite a bit of additional work. This was particularly true when it came to hoof balance. The camera showed me honestly when a bit of heel or toe needed to come off to balance the hoof -- my eyes lied. They automatically corrected the error so that I could see the balance that I wanted to see.

If our eyes can deceive us about the reality of a single hoof, held steady in our hand -- how much greater is the deception when we are looking at the whole horse, in motion, in an environment -- like a horse show or expo, for example -- where many things are happening all at once?

My friend Miek has provided us with an interesting illustration of how even well-intentioned people can look at something without seeing what is actually there.

Miek and her husband are both animal lovers. Their dogs and Miek’s horse are considered members of the family, and much effort is made to assure that the four-legged ones have healthy and happy lives. Last year, Miek attended an “Animal Event” accompanied by her husband. The photos below were taken by Miek at that event. (Thank you Miek, for letting me use them here.)

Miek wrote to me that the Animal Event is not a competition -- just a series of demonstrations for the enjoyment of the public. There are no prizes to be won, and there are lots of children watching. The horses and riders are there purely for the entertainment, and perhaps “education” of the audience.

One of the riders in these photos is an Olympic contestant on a high-ranking team, so we are not looking at untrained, unskilled horsemanship. Two other horses are ridden by students from a famous training center, a place where people who want to make a career of working with horses go to learn.

While she was photographing the horses, Miek noticed that her husband was paying close attention to the riders (particularly one good looking blond woman) and horses; he was entranced by the “whole shining picture”. After the event, when Miek showed her husband the photos she had taken, this kind-hearted, animal-loving man was stunned. Even though he was looking right at these horses, he simply did not see the expressions of tension and pain. He told Miek he felt as if he had seen a different demo than the one she photographed.

Look at the spectators visible in some of the pictures. Their expressions show rapt attention. How much of what is actually going on right before their eyes do they actually see?

What do you see in Miek’s photos?

“When we cause insane chaos, horses will not vocalize their opinions or protest by making sounds. Even when in terrible pain, a horse does not scream or whimper. That is why a human observer is perhaps not able to recognize a horse’s suffering –he cannot “hear” it. A horse remains mute, he does not “speak up” because he communicates on a totally different level.” ("Empowered Horses" by Imke Spilker)

Experience, Experts, Beginners

This is a confession.... I am about to publicly own up to allowing horses to do something that nearly all experts advise against or strictly forbid.

This "dangerous" and forbidden-by-experts act is a close cousin of scratching an itch and a form of mutual grooming, namely, the horse rubbing his face and head on the human’s body.

Khemo and I discovered the pleasures of extreme head rubbing very early in our time together. One hot humid day, after we had finished a trail ride and were un-tacking in the barn aisle, Khemo briefly rubbed his head on my upper arm. I took it as a sign that he was itchy and wanted his bridle off RIGHT NOW. So, I pulled the bridle off, leaving the reins still looped around his neck, and before putting on his halter preparatory to bringing him to the wash stall for a shower, I offered him my back so that he could give his naked, sweaty face a thorough rubbing. The polo shirts I was in the habit of wearing were perfect for this, made of a dense cotton mesh that was textured and slightly rough to the touch, but not irritatingly abrasive.

After that first time, this face rubbing became a ritual for us. Though Khemo would sometimes rub quite vigorously, so that I was leaning into him with all my might, he never pushed me off balance or hurt me in any way.

The experts say that allowing a horse to take such “liberties” encourages disrespect. Perhaps I’m deluding myself, but I think Khemo genuinely appreciated this gesture of mine. It was a way of expressing my affection for him, something I could do to make him feel a little bit better.

Not only did I engage in this “subversive” activity for many years, I actually enjoyed every minute of it. I have many fond memories of laughing out loud as I stood with my back to Khemo leaning into him, as our combined actions gave him a thorough face rub. I liked feeling exactly how much pressure to offer Khe. I loved his huge sigh and full-body shake when all the itchiness has been rubbed away.

From emails I received after some of my blog entries ( particularly the various “scratching an itch” ones), I gather that I am not alone in this subversion of all that traditional horsemanship holds sacred. It seems there are a quite a few of us flagrantly violating this particular rule... and loving it. But, we’re very low key in talking about this, almost as though we are sharing a guilty secret.

Why? Because, in the eyes of “experts” we’re doing so many things wrong.

First, there’s the hierarchy thing. The cornerstone of traditional horsemanship -- natural, classical, or otherwise -- is a strict hierarchy, with the human being always maintaining a position superior to the horse. Call it “dominant”, “a sovereign demeanor”, “leader,” “seniority” -- the human must always be on a higher rung of the hierarchal ladder than the horse.

If scratching an itch and “mutual grooming” between horse and human undermine hierarchy as Imke Spilker observes, “head rubbing” of the sort in which I gleefully participated with Khemo, absolutely obliterates it.

According to the “experts”, the horse is behaving disrespectfully when he initiates an action. So, in allowing Horse to request or demand a head rubbing -- and complying with it -- I am, according to conventional wisdom, encouraging and rewarding bad behavior.

Allowing intimacy and equality into a relationship with a horse flies in the face of tradition. It marks those of us who do this as “amateurs”, “not serious”, ..... “beginners.”

“Beginner.” Just a beginner. It is almost an insult, isn’t it?

Beginner is the opposite of “expert.”

How does it make you feel to think of yourself as a beginner?

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Very often when people want to convince us of their expert credentials, they begin by citing their many years of experience with whatever-it-is. How many times have you heard or read something like: “Well, I’ve been around horses -- riding, training, and caring for them -- for 50+ years and I can tell you that ________” (fill in the blank).

When we’re new to something -- horses, for example, someone’s 10 or 20 or 50 years of experience usually impress us and inspire respect. Do we not automatically assume that the person touting those credentials is an authority on the subject, an expert?

Certainly in some fields, sheer longevity *is* a reliable indicator of expertise. However, when it comes to horses, the mere fact that a person has spent a long time around them doing something a certain way, does not necessarily mean he has attained wisdom, or deep understanding of his subject.... at least not in the way I have come to view wisdom and understanding.

It could mean that he’s just stuck in a rut and does not even know he’s stuck.

Just because a person has trained horses “successfully” for a long time does not mean that what he is doing, or the spirit in which he is doing it, is right or good from the horse’s point of view. For all we know, the “expert” with the 50+ years of experience might well have been repeating mistakes or committing atrocities the entire time -- using violence, pressure, dominance, intimidation, force, pain, etc. to get horses to do his bidding.

Or, he might have been deluding himself (and his paying students) into thinking he had awesome communication with horses when, in reality, he was little more than an “electric fence” or an “apple tree” as far as the horses were concerned. (For the meaning of the terms “electric fence” and “apple tree” see the quote from Imke Spilker at the end of this blog entry: http://wordsabouthorses.blogspot.com/2010/04/communication-and-training.html

There are many good reasons for seeking out experts for certain things, and I certainly do not mean to denigrate competence or mastery here. What I would like to do is examine some attitudes and beliefs that get in the way of deep connection with horses.

So, let’s consider the expert. An expert is someone who is certain, someone who “knows.” An expert is someone who has it all figured out. How does that feel?

Does it boost your confidence to have it all figured out?

Is there comfort and security in being an expert?

Is there status?

Do we not all want to be experts -- at least when it comes to horses?

Be careful how you answer. It’s a trick question. :-)

The opposite of an expert, as we said before, is a beginner.

When you examined your feelings about being labeled a beginner, did you find discomfort and uncertainty among them?

Hmm.

Did you answer “yes” to wanting to be an expert?

********

Consider now these words of Shunryu Suzuki: “In the beginner’s mind there are many possibilities, but in the expert’s mind there are few.”

When it comes interacting with a horse and establishing a relationship with him would you rather have few possibilities? Or many?

********************

Abbess Zenkei Blanche Hartman says: “As an expert, you’ve already got it figured out, so you don’t need to pay attention to what’s happening.”

She also wrote:

“We all want to be the one who knows. But if we decide we "know" something, we are not open to other possibilities anymore. And that's a shame. We lose something very vital in our life when it's more important to us to be "one who knows" than it is to be awake to what's happening.”

Experts don’t need to pay attention.... Experts do not find it necessary to be awake to what is happening. An expert thinks he already knows.

Looked at in this way, relying on "expertise" is a form of laziness.

Could it be that our desire to be the one who knows is rooted in laziness? Or fear of the unknown? Or a craving for emotional comfort? Perhaps all of these?

When we encounter horses in expert’s mind, we bring with us all of our beliefs, knowledge, and expectations about them. With this mindset, even if we take off their bridles and halters, even if we take them out of their stalls and paddocks, we do not set horses free in any way that matters. We still have them confined within the narrowness and rigidity of our thinking. We are not giving them space to show us who they are.

We box the horses in with our limiting beliefs; we shut ourselves off from their reality, and from the intelligence of our hearts. We “lose something very vital...”

Beginner’s mind is empty of preconceived notions and expectations. It is spacious, open, receptive... There is room for “what is” to be perceived and experienced “unfiltered” and without censorship.

A person of beginner's mind is capable of learning from his horse what is true right now.

And now.

And now.

And now. Again.

A beginner is capable of wonder.

When we know, when we are in expert's mind, we do not wonder and we do not question, “Why?” “Why do I do what I do?”

It is a radical thing to see horses as equals, and to attempt to cultivate a friendship with them. Friendship and equality are NOT the qualities that have characterized the horse-human relationship for the last several thousand years.

In venturing onto this path, in allying ourselves with Horse, we are all beginners.

We are exploring uncharted territory.

It takes courage to sally forth into the unknown. It takes courage to break long-established rules. It takes courage to ignore the advice, and sometimes the judgment and derision of “professionals” and “experts.”

It takes courage and perseverance to continue, despite the discomfort and uncertainty of “not knowing.” It takes courage and great attentiveness to trust ourselves and Horse and the wisdom of our hearts in the here and now. It takes courage and self-discipline to stay open and receptive and aware.

Courage, perseverance, attentiveness, open-heartedness, receptivity, self-discipline... these are among the qualities cultivated by a person with beginner's mind.

No wonder so few choose this path...