What a time we live in. I’ve been sitting for a few days with what to write to you and all I want to do is pour love and strength and calm right down this email to you, wherever you are in the world. As Covid-19 was beginning to make the very first tiny ripples in Canada, I was studying the lungs in osteopathy school, and now, knowing the impact this virus has on the lungs, and that in TCM the lungs represent grief, and that grief is around letting go, I can’t help but wonder, how do we support ourselves and others through such an unprecedented process of change and letting go?
I don’t often use writing to vent, but occasionally, when consumed with rage, disbelief, or some other equally invoking emotion, my mind begins to whirr and my fingers get itchy. Today is such a day. I’ll spare you the specifics, but suffice it to say that I have had it up to here (insert me gesturing towards the top of my head and beyond), with human beings with a saviour complex. I will attempt, in this “passionate” little peice of writing, to explain why.
Shetlands get a bad rap. I’ll admit to weak moments myself, and the utterance of strings of profanities that would make a sailor blush, when faced with the sheer brilliance and equal stubbornness of the Shetland pony in my care. He escapes from everything, destroys lovely expensive muzzles like a man with a plan, moves his current roundpen home mind-blowing distances daily with his neck and sheer determination, constantly finds the most trouble possible, breaks latches, pees on his hay and generally is one or two steps ahead of his person and I. In the same paragraph as I admit frustration, I’ll also admit mad respect. This pony is undeniably committed and he’s got the smarts to back it up. His main commitment? Read on to find out!
This week, like much of the world, I was rocked by the tragedy in Florida. And then awed by the response, by the action of the survivors, by the voices rising up in unison. It is a powerful time in this world. A time where politicians “thoughts & prayers” are being called out as the farce they are, and action is being demanded. It is a vast contrast from life on the farm, and yet, it speaks to so many aspects of our world, where those in charge resist necessary change and the wave of support for something different, something more loving, rises like a tsunami to meet them. My deepest love and support goes to those impacted by this tragedy.
In my own little nook of the world, I dream of stricter gun laws and the end of machine guns in the hands of civilians AND I also dream of something else, seemingly unrelated, an inside-out change in the way we live and work with horses. When I check in with my spirit, it shares that my own unique way to be impactful in the world is this.
I keep telling myself that I wrote a book on this stuff and I should be more sorted. Ironically though, in my book, I write about the importance letting yourself blubbery, snotty mess. About taking the time you need to let things move and sort and digest and release. I write a lot about self-care and about our own unique process (and how it looks different from everyone else’s). This week I took my own advice.
Let me tell you about it, this surreal week of mine. I feel like I’ve had about 16 baths (it was probably closer to 6 but they’ve been really really long, so long my hands and feet turn into raisins). I just want warmth. And Netflix. Both of those things. Kia and I have been doing some good cuddling. I have been hiking with Reilly. I have been dancing most mornings, in my kitchen, to my besties excellent Spotify playlists. I have been still and quiet. I crave manure to pick (come on ponies produce!). I have eaten my weight in chocolate and twist of lime tortilla chips (damn, they are good). I have been counting Kia’s breaths per minute several times a day and mildly obsessive about her breathing the remainder of the day. I have been dreaming up article titles like this one. Riding Diva bareback. Talking to girlfriends over hot chocolate. Crying. Planning where she will be buried and her ceremony, complete with which bulbs I need to plant (this redhead is very specific). Crying some more. Opening up space for people Kia and I haven’t seen in a while to come visit. I allowed myself to be whatever and wherever I needed to be, in preparation for all of it. In preparation for being the best steward for her that I possibly could be. As it turns out, and as I suspected, my self care is entwined with my ability to care for her – the paradoxical, beautiful truth.
You may have witnessed me waxing poetic about my lofty goal of transforming the perceived experience of sharing space with an animal from owner to steward or caregiver or person or, really, anything other than owner. That word gets under my skin. Owner. It’s like that zit that won’t give me the satisfaction of popping, it just brews and stews and generally acts like, well, terrible. So you might say, the term holds a little charge, and with good reason. Under that title, animals have been neglected and abused and oppressed and, in general, treated like lesser beings for thousands of years.