Horsemanship for Health

It feels as if we’ve come full circle. Back to days of uncertainty within a pandemic that doesn’t seem to be blowing over like the storm we hoped it would be. The pandemic won’t go away. It circles around us, whipping up fear and panic. It forces us to confront the most pressing questions of what it means to live in the unknown. We are not good at living with the unknown. We like things to go from from A to B, from awful to better, not B to W, bad to worse. We expect things to improve. When they don’t, we’re affronted.

There are so many advantages to thinking in straight lines. We can predict things, count things, order things, make everything fit into neat rectangular boxes that we can then file away on top of other neat rectangular boxes. We like things orderly because it helps us to feel safe. One ripped open box with all the contents strewn over the floor is disconcerting and damn right inconvenient.

We will all need to review our plans now. We will adjust because we have become quite flexible if we stop to think about last November when we were still meeting for cosy pub lunches, organising bonfire parties, work gatherings, family celebrations and thinking ahead to Christmas. Only a year ago, our lives were constellated around social events.

Now our lives are constellated around not contracting a virulent disease that we will spread to others, causing harm and social dysfunction. We are not prepared for the harm we might cause because we are still stuck in last November when all seemed to be well in the world. Then, we were ready to move onto the next thing.

Now, we have no idea what the next thing is. It could be a month at home reading and decorating the front room or redesigning the garden. It could be a month working in an intensive care unit, shielded against infection, working harder than ever to keep people alive. It could be a month of total isolation, locked up in a prison cell for 23 hours of the day.

It’s impossible to make plans. We’re all going with the flow. This goes against our grain as straight line thinkers. We’re having to enter the circle and it’s freaking us out. It’s stopping us in our tracks. It’s making us pause and consider whether we might have other options.

When I teach in circles, people are often worried about allowing who they are to be seen. They feel anxious and exposed. Facing inwards, they wonder what they might find. What pain and suffering might leap out from the darkness and grab them, leaving them vulnerable. The circle is inviting, but also repelling. If entered correctly, there is nowhere to hide.

The circle is also a safe container for feelings. I recorded some words shared in a circle with the group who visited the horses for a connection day on the farm last week. The question: what would living life with joy feel like for you?

The response: Carefree; Energising; Happy; Full; Being Real; Heaven; More Colour, More Clarity; Simplicity; Lightness; At Peace; Fun; Free, Musical; Harmonious.

I love this list. It gives me hope that feelings of joy remain within our reach. I also love the character of the compassion circle. It has come to inspire my teaching in a much deeper way than I thought possible. Sitting and sharing circle space with a group of curious and courageous people who have never met before has been the gift of the most challenging year. I’ve met people differently this year.

I’m noticing, too, how the circle spirals into my everyday awareness. I see circles in places I had not looked at before; in the forms of trees, the shape of water, the flight of birds. The world, as I see it, arcs and bends and curves, honouring the earth itself. I realised today most fully that all life is circular. There is no going, no returning and what we think of as straight lines will eventually warp and roll. It impossible to keep going straight, without looking, truly looking at those we meet.