I feel it in my bones like a rusty joint before a rainstorm. An itch that flopping around in a dirt bath might not cure. Alas, I feel a rant coming on. Sometimes I just need to vent a little so that I’m fit company for horses again. You may notice I’m not apologizing.
A friend and I are preparing for a presentation called Horse-keeping as a Spiritual Practice. It’s a topic she and I have talked about for years and are looking forward to sharing with folks at The Barn School. We will talk about the deep regard we have for horses.
The problem is, I don’t like the word most commonly used: “connection.” I looked it up in Oxford’s Dictionary to see if I could get on the good side of it. They said connection is a relationship in which a person, thing, or idea is linked or associated with something else. A person and a something? Surely not the word for horses. The second definition says a supplier of narcotics. Racy for the Oxford Dictionary, but probably closer to the truth.
When I think about the images humans choose to show their human-horse “connection” it’s a close-up of their foreheads touching, eyes closed. I think we are supposed to be awestruck that the person has an enviable, nearly mystical, “connection” with the horse. Shaking my head, I want to shout, you’re not listening! It might flatter you, but that isn’t what closed eyes mean for a horse.
A partially closed eye can be a sign of relaxation if they are safely out of reach of humans, but it’s something else entirely if they are close to us. If you understand their body language or Calming Signals, closed eyes are avoidance, a way for horses to pull inside themselves. It’s a way of shutting down. Not what you want to hear?
Would you believe behaviorists? They say horses close their eyes when we get close because it’s a natural protective reflex. It’s triggered by the proximity of something to their sensitive eyes, which might cause irritation or damage. Essentially, they’re shielding their eyes from something that’s dangerous or just too close. Different words, but the same thing. The horse doesn’t feel safe.
It’s okay if you don’t believe in Calming Signals or behavioral science. But if you’re looking at that picture and thinking that it’s a beautiful moment of sacred connection, you’re making up a story. Putting false emotions on the horse, just like the person in the photo. Am I being unkind by sticking up for the horse? How did our feelings get more important than our horses?
That’s easy to answer. We grew up this way. Human exceptionalism is the concept of human supremacy. It’s the idea that we are separate from, and superior to, nature. Our value is intrinsic. We can justifiably exploit lower life forms for our benefit. Many species’ survival depends on each other; the circle of life maintains a delicate, not always pretty, balance. We’re just more arrogant than others.
Half of social media is the photos of terrified horses in pain and physical abuse. The other half is full of romantic images of fantasy “connections.” I worry humans are still missing horse’s true value. That we will be forever making up stories instead of listening to horses. We are moving toward being less cruel, but now we stifle their voices with sickly sweet affectations. As if we prefer horses to be more human, all dressed up for a date, rather than appreciating their true nature, never quite tame. Never belonging to anyone but themselves. The horses we fell in love with before we wanted to change them.
I guess the thing I’m uncomfortable with is all the human posturing that goes on. What am I supposed to think? It’s like they’re circus performers, not that circuses are all that great. But people are standing on horse’s backs, laying next to them, and most of all, gripping their faces. It’s human ego, not about the horse at all. I’d be embarrassed to post photos like that.
I’m not saying I’ve never shown off or been ambitious. It’s that I wanted to show the horse off. My mare, who has a shrieking soprano voice of her own, wouldn’t tolerate less. She does as I ask because half the time, I do what she asks. That’s how partnership works. We breathe and get along, a quality that doesn’t make for dramatic, heart-wrenching images.
Understanding Calming Signals does kind of ruin people’s fun. Displaced emotions might have seemed like affection or playfulness. We have to be willing to see their side, things we don’t want to know. Once we do, it’s hard to unsee the anxiety and pain. Then it’s no more rodeos, no more horse races. And no more fairy tale romances with horses whose eyes are shut tight with dread. Blame me. I’ll be coming for Prince Charming next. Or am I already too late?
Thinking about the horsepeople I respect, they weren’t much to watch. It was those who were there for the horse, not the photo op. It was how things looked when no one was looking. How did the human help the horse find their confidence? How did the horse’s eye change when they saw their human? That kind of subtle interaction with horses isn’t a secret. It’s just that horses have a hard time getting a Calming Signal in edge-wise when our emotions steal the moment.
The obvious problem with human exceptionalism is that it isn’t true. We aren’t as loyal as dogs, as confident as cats, or as smart as donkeys. We don’t trust that horses would have anything to do with us if we didn’t have a death grip on them, with fear or love. But don’t sell yourself short. It isn’t an all-or-nothing proposition. There is a sweet spot in the middle, between cruelty and mush.
Nature has a way of revealing just what we were looking for as soon as we stop flapping about it. When we get over our false exceptionalism, words like “connection” only trivialize the new rapport. The previous training methods seem loud and disruptive. Horses volunteer things that go beyond any tricks we could train, any staged photos we could share. Words become flat because the universal language of the natural world is Calming Signals, more expressive than English. The less we control horses, the more the silence fills with the embodiment of concepts like trust and confidence. Oneness is the normal condition.
The change feels almost like a mystery. Something those in the herd knew all along, but we have to listen to understand. By avoiding the extremes of love or hate, we settle into calmness and safety. Like “yes” is the only word, and even that is a prayer.
Join us for Horse-keeping as a Spiritual Practice on Zoom, Saturday, December 14th at 1pm MST or catch the replay at The Barn School. Everyone is welcome.
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