I see you. I acknowledge how you feel. I am responding to you in a way you will be able to trust.

I watched intently as Elsa stood and waited for the big palomino stallion to make a move. Any move he made was communicating something: one step forward, the turn of his head, the flick of an ear. These are the words of horses. They are masters of using time and space to communicate with movements.


Elsa was patient and focused. She was not only focused on him; she was consciously focused on the horse, the environment, me, and her own body. She was focused entirely on the present moment. So was the horse. If he turned away, she turned away. If he stepped toward her, she stepped toward him. She matched the pace and intensity of his movements in kind, every time.

At one point, they were on opposite sides of the paddock, and the horse picked up a brisk walk towards her. Matching his pace and confident posture, Elsa walked towards him. At the center of the paddock, instead of meeting “head on,” they passed smoothly and easily, shoulder to shoulder, and kept walking until they had switched places. “Two ships passing in the night,” Elsa said. Or I think she said, as it could have been my own mind musing. Spoken words and energetic communication were starting to blend.

There was the anticipation building as they approached each other, would they stop? Would they touch? Would there be a conflict? Then there was that moment of intensity when they crossed paths, shoulder to shoulder, heart to heart, and I could feel it from outside the fence where I stood. It dissipated as they moved away from each other, claiming their own space and time. Two ships passing, flashing their lights as if to say “You’re not alone out here in this big ocean,” and then carrying on, perhaps never meeting again but acknowledging their connectedness.


This stallion had been taught only to fear humans in his five years of life. He failed as a bucking horse at the rodeo because he had more rear than buck. Whatever training methods people had tried on him failed miserably, as he trusted nothing and no one, and could not be “handled.” In his fear and his pain, he would lash out, fight back… he became aggressive and therefore dangerous. And so he was awaiting the slaughter truck when Elsa came along, wanting to show him something different about living.

As I watched her, calmly, patiently waiting and responding, I could feel how much of a gift that was. I could feel myself relaxing into the moment, even the soles of my feet beginning to blend with the ground beneath them. The deer in an adjacent field ambled closer, happily grazing and watching all that transpired, drawn in towards the paddock. The raven called out in a throaty, curious caw from the treetop, his voice containing both announcement of self and acknowledgement of others.


I spoke with Elsa later on, as we looked out over the fog-kissed Salish Sea, and she seemed at peace with the possibility of any outcome. She was at peace with the possibility of never touching the horse, never riding the horse, or not making any more progress than being in the same space with the horse while he relaxed. There is something very liberating about not being attached to the outcome; something magnetic about offering to meet another being exactly where they are and not rush or push too hard. It is exactly that magnetic feeling of freedom that becomes as riveting as an action-packed moment like galloping bareback in the surf.



I see you. I acknowledge how you feel. I am responding to you in a way you will be able to trust.

The power in this approach was evident in watching this fearful, tormented stallion luxuriate in the ability to relax. It had taken several days for him to relax to this point. In one instance, his knees began to buckle, and his nose lowered toward the earth, the enticement of deeper sleep pulling at his heavy frame. But he wasn’t ready to relax more deeply around people so close yet. Given time and space, perhaps he will. That gift of relaxation is fundamental to anything else he can accomplish. Once he can relax, he can connect, learn, change, and perhaps enjoy.


So can we.











Comments are closed.