Horsemanship for Health

The horses turned 24 with the start of the year. Like Royalty, horses have two birthdays – the year of their birth and the actual month they were born.

I saw Sheranni the day after he was born. He was lying down in a nest of golden straw while his dam stood close quietly resting. The young colt had a flow of visitors from the moment he came into the world and he received each and every new human with curiosity. Entering the stall for the first time, I was careful not to disturb either mother or baby. I knelt down in the straw and observed the foal who was an exquisite rose pink with four white socks, a white blaze, and a stunning blue eye, glimmering like a mysterious jewel. He stretched his neck towards me and began to lick the salt from my skin with his warm pink tongue.

That first encounter ignited something and it took the two decades I have known Sheranni to solidify into something I can wrap words around. My early experiences with horses, including this baby horse, who tested me on every level, showed me how to find a way to relate to horses that was not about control. I wanted to develop a partnership with my horse, and indeed for many years we were riding partners, adventurers, discovering the world through the tracks, paths and roads we travelled together.

As we have both moved into our senior years, our partnership has deepened and matured, less about going places, but we have not stood still. This summer we found a new way of working together that felt revelatory. Sheranni’s curiosity about people has remained undimmed and he showed me that connection has many layers and nuances, many tones and shades, many notes to play.

Some scenes stand out: Sheranni drawn like a magnet to one young woman, in the midst of grief and turbulence after losing her closest friend to suicide, wanting to know her and find out more. Dragonfly standing joining us in circle. One woman saying she felt seen, possibly for the first time ever. Another sharing that Dragonfly had enabled her to feel locked up grief.

The horses have acted as portals to landscapes of emotion we have navigated together, tenderly, gently, and with love and humour. The most recent series of retreats reignited my curiosity and sense of wonder, too, at how much more there is to explore.

The horses may be turning older – their needs have changed, and we are adapting to different feeding and care routines, but their being remains as fresh, young and vital as the moment they were born.

It used to amuse me watching Sheranni canter everywhere even from one side of his stable to other. After all, why walk when you can run? His energy was so intense, he ran everywhere for the first five years. And I had a job keeping up with him. Now when I see him canter in from the field with his tail flying like flag, I remember all those times I would have to wait for him to calm down. When I wished he were slower. His pace was never simply about speed, I came to realise, it was about life force. He needed to live ablaze with the fierce beauty of being alive. I was this way too, until I got pulled under. Each time I resurfaced after loss, I came up gasping for more, knowing that loss need not diminish joy.

Reflecting back over a year of change during which I moved house in the midst of my busiest period of work and felt overwhelmed and more tired than I expected, I recall the words of one retreat participant who said after a day with the horses in the summer that she was leaving changed.

Of course not every encounter with horses changes us. There is still the mundane, the muck and manure to deal with, the frozen discs of ice on the water containers. Still somehow marvel and magic emerge from the mundane. I am curious to see what will come this year.