Horsemanship for Health

The old safety net has gone and we are in free fall. When I forget my fear of heights (and remember to breathe…), the new view is exhilarating. Clean skies, clear beaches, quiet roads; the pulse of bird-song, wind-song, spring-song. The world is singing and I almost can’t bear it because it may not be long enough for us to hear it out and learn the lessons of this time.

We want the old noise back because we’re human and desire security, which for many of us (me included) means predictability. We keep calm, carry on, follow advice in the hope that one day things will get back to normal. In reality, the view from here is wide open. While those on the NHS frontline deal with the casualties, we wait in relative safety. There is nothing we can do except receive this extended pause.

If we will allow enough breathing space, we will see this pause as an opportunity to reset the imbalances in our ordinary routines, stretch into more open, less hurried, ways of being. We can learn from our animals who know nothing of daily news-feeds, panic-buying or social distancing.

We can find new encounters in the realm of the familiar. The scent and touch of horse is wondrously reassuring. I struggle to describe its peculiar intensity. Mushrooms on toast? Wood-smoked velvet? Fresh popcorn? There is equal delight at being welcomed into a herd that recognises you as a fellow feeling being, a sense of coming back to ground and returning home.

Naturally, our work will be changing to reflect the new times. Like many people who run small businesses, I’ve felt fragile as I think of the months ahead and what it means for our company and our community. But I’ve also felt a new shift in thinking around how we might do our best work in spite of the insecurity. In the brief space of a week, I’m sensing new possibilities, small green shoots, seedling ideas shyly appearing amid the creative challenges of keeping things going. In spite of everything, I’ve dared to feel hopeful.

I’ve also been inspired by poems and podcasts, by conversations with family, friends and colleagues, by simple acts of unselfish love. My reading this week has included The Wisdom of Insecurity by Alan Watts, choosen because the sub-title leapt at me from my bookshelves: A Message for an Age of Anxiety.

“At times almost all of us envy the animals. They suffer and die, but they do not seem to make a ‘problem’ of it. Their lives seem to have so few complications. They eat when they are hungry and sleep when they are tired, and instinct rather than anxiety seems to govern their few preparations for the future. As far as we can judge, every animal is so busy with what he is doing at the moment that it never enters his head to ask whether life has a meaning or a future. For the animal, happiness consists in enjoying life in the immediate present – not in the assurance that there is a whole future of joys ahead of him.”

Alan Watts. The Wisdom of Insecurity. (First published 1951 Pantheon Books)

Being with the horses at the moment, it is tempting to envy their complete lack of awareness of the human crisis and feel even more isolated in fear, but I think the message I want to take from Alan Watts is the simple and timeless truth: pay attention to what is happening in the immediate present, and make that, fiercely and only that, my concern.