THE SACREDNESS OF TAKING CARE OF THE HERD
By: Nancy Gerson, USA
There may be myriad of deficiencies in my understanding of myself, others, or the world at large. There may be countless graces I receive without taking notice. However, with those deficiencies and graces, my awareness of the sacredness of caring for my herd is never lost on me. It is never taken for granted.
To take a step back for a moment, I thought it might be useful to look up the conventional definitions of the word, “sacred.” It is one of those words that has been on my tongue and in my writing for so long. I can’t recall a time when its significance wasn’t known to me as instinctively as the need for breath. Sacred means…sacred. That sort of thing. So, I thought a fresh look at the word was in order.
I consulted various sources and found definitions having to do with religion. Hmm, that didn’t seem to align with my own visceral experience of the word. Even so, I went ahead and looked up the word, “religion.” The definitions offered, chiefly had to do with doctrines to which one adheres or is bound. Once again, this was not in alignment with what sacred meant to me deep down in my soul bones.
I consulted various sources and found definitions having to do with religion. Hmm, that didn’t seem to align with my own visceral experience of the word. Even so, I went ahead and looked up the word, “religion.” The definitions offered, chiefly had to do with doctrines to which one adheres or is bound. Once again, this was not in alignment with what sacred meant to me deep down in my soul bones.
Cherokee
I figured I ought to take an alternative approach and ask myself the question, “What does the word, ‘sacred’ mean to me?” And so, I did. I closed my eyes and sat quietly. It took some time before a few words arose in mind: precious, held dear, revered. Sitting a while longer, words fell away and were replaced by a vivid image, a brief black and white movie clip, as it were.
I’m walking toward Cherokee, my dark bay gelding, who is standing in his outdoor run. It is our first month together; also at that point, I am new to cohabiting with a herd of horses. For the next several days, I will need to squeeze antibiotic ointment from a tiny tube and apply an inch-long ribbon of it to the lower lid of his left eye. For me, this presents as a serious medical procedure to be carried out.
On the movie screen behind my closed eyes, I come up to Cherokee, greet him, and stroke his nose. Then I practice the centering exercise I learned, while a student at the School of Practical Philosophy in New York City, in my former life. After this, I tell Cherokee what needs to take place next.
And what does my wise horse do? He offers me one hundred percent willingness. No fidgeting, no flinching, no drama added from his energy field. He cares for me as I am caring for him.
I can still recall not only the relief I felt when this first round was completed, but the profound sense of awe as well. This thousand-pound creature of strength, speed, and keen attention to any perceived threat to his safety, had allowed the experience to be filled with calm, grounded, and focused attention to the task at hand, on both our parts. His gentle, quiet, and steady energetic field facilitated the opportunity for the two of us to share true unity.
Although he may not have needed to hear any words of gratitude, for I am certain my whole being was vibrating with it, I remember I offered them, anyway. Thank you Cherokee. You made that so easy for me. Thank you, thank you, thank you. I love you.
In reflecting and journaling about the event later that evening, I considered what a valuable piece of knowledge I had gained out there in Cherokee’s run. Through direct experience, I had learned that the vastness of the universe, its incalculable breadth and scope, is also found in the minutest of spaces. In this case, at the working surface where a ribbon of ointment touches down upon the lower eyelid of one’s beloved horse. Who knew?
For me, the human, this seems a marvelous paradox. Perhaps the most wondrous one of all. For Cherokee, of course, this is simply how life is. How it flows from one present moment into the next. From now to now to now to now. Words such as sacred, religious, visceral, paradox, are unnecessary. And that is perfect. If we humans feel the need to repair to name and form, after we have experienced stillness and unity, and horses do not, that is all part of the divine plan.
While I am still not sure I can accurately capture, with just a word or two, or even three, what “sacred” means to me, I will simply say that it has much to do with that willingness. That trust and effortlessly felt sense of unity I experienced with Cherokee that morning.
This sense of sacredness pervades any number of mundane barn chores (poop-scooping included!). The horses may or not be with me at the time, but no matter. At those times, carrying out those tasks offers me a direct connection to the herd. Besides, in true equine fashion, the horses nearly always come in from whichever field they’ve been in. They do this despite how quietly I’m working.
Indeed, sometimes I walk out to the barn late at night and stand in the center aisle, silent and alone. Even then, my presence is likely to be picked up by one or another of the herd members. And when I hear the far-off sounds that tell me I’ve been discovered, it’s an electrifying feeling, like floodlights have just come on and caught me red-handed (doing what, contemplating which hay nets to fill first?). I turn to face the direction of the distant hoof beats and wait with tingling exhilaration as the sound draws nearer and louder. Thrilling each time!
I’ve come to realize it’s the daily routines, mundane interactions, and even the occasional adjustments in how we’re doing things together, that deepen and strengthen our bonds and our mutual understanding. Whether I’m offering praise, cuddles, requests, or just chit chat about the weather, I talk with my horses, not at them. Just as I have a voice, so too, do they. They make their needs and preferences known. On the occasions when I make a mistake, I apologize. It’s the decent thing to do. It’s how I like to be treated.
I figured I ought to take an alternative approach and ask myself the question, “What does the word, ‘sacred’ mean to me?” And so, I did. I closed my eyes and sat quietly. It took some time before a few words arose in mind: precious, held dear, revered. Sitting a while longer, words fell away and were replaced by a vivid image, a brief black and white movie clip, as it were.
I’m walking toward Cherokee, my dark bay gelding, who is standing in his outdoor run. It is our first month together; also at that point, I am new to cohabiting with a herd of horses. For the next several days, I will need to squeeze antibiotic ointment from a tiny tube and apply an inch-long ribbon of it to the lower lid of his left eye. For me, this presents as a serious medical procedure to be carried out.
On the movie screen behind my closed eyes, I come up to Cherokee, greet him, and stroke his nose. Then I practice the centering exercise I learned, while a student at the School of Practical Philosophy in New York City, in my former life. After this, I tell Cherokee what needs to take place next.
And what does my wise horse do? He offers me one hundred percent willingness. No fidgeting, no flinching, no drama added from his energy field. He cares for me as I am caring for him.
I can still recall not only the relief I felt when this first round was completed, but the profound sense of awe as well. This thousand-pound creature of strength, speed, and keen attention to any perceived threat to his safety, had allowed the experience to be filled with calm, grounded, and focused attention to the task at hand, on both our parts. His gentle, quiet, and steady energetic field facilitated the opportunity for the two of us to share true unity.
Although he may not have needed to hear any words of gratitude, for I am certain my whole being was vibrating with it, I remember I offered them, anyway. Thank you Cherokee. You made that so easy for me. Thank you, thank you, thank you. I love you.
In reflecting and journaling about the event later that evening, I considered what a valuable piece of knowledge I had gained out there in Cherokee’s run. Through direct experience, I had learned that the vastness of the universe, its incalculable breadth and scope, is also found in the minutest of spaces. In this case, at the working surface where a ribbon of ointment touches down upon the lower eyelid of one’s beloved horse. Who knew?
For me, the human, this seems a marvelous paradox. Perhaps the most wondrous one of all. For Cherokee, of course, this is simply how life is. How it flows from one present moment into the next. From now to now to now to now. Words such as sacred, religious, visceral, paradox, are unnecessary. And that is perfect. If we humans feel the need to repair to name and form, after we have experienced stillness and unity, and horses do not, that is all part of the divine plan.
While I am still not sure I can accurately capture, with just a word or two, or even three, what “sacred” means to me, I will simply say that it has much to do with that willingness. That trust and effortlessly felt sense of unity I experienced with Cherokee that morning.
This sense of sacredness pervades any number of mundane barn chores (poop-scooping included!). The horses may or not be with me at the time, but no matter. At those times, carrying out those tasks offers me a direct connection to the herd. Besides, in true equine fashion, the horses nearly always come in from whichever field they’ve been in. They do this despite how quietly I’m working.
Indeed, sometimes I walk out to the barn late at night and stand in the center aisle, silent and alone. Even then, my presence is likely to be picked up by one or another of the herd members. And when I hear the far-off sounds that tell me I’ve been discovered, it’s an electrifying feeling, like floodlights have just come on and caught me red-handed (doing what, contemplating which hay nets to fill first?). I turn to face the direction of the distant hoof beats and wait with tingling exhilaration as the sound draws nearer and louder. Thrilling each time!
I’ve come to realize it’s the daily routines, mundane interactions, and even the occasional adjustments in how we’re doing things together, that deepen and strengthen our bonds and our mutual understanding. Whether I’m offering praise, cuddles, requests, or just chit chat about the weather, I talk with my horses, not at them. Just as I have a voice, so too, do they. They make their needs and preferences known. On the occasions when I make a mistake, I apologize. It’s the decent thing to do. It’s how I like to be treated.
Saint and Dahli Lama
Right from the start of my new life with horses, I had Cherokee as well as a companion horse I named Saint. Both had been dude ranch horses and, to my knowledge, had never known what it was like to be the cherished horse of just one person. Cherokee was about twelve years old and Saint about nineteen. A few months later, I adopted a yearling I named Dahli Lama.
Unlike the others, this gal had spent the first year of life being doted upon by two, twenty-two-year-old, young women. When they hauled her over to my property, she came out of the truck with remarkable confidence. That was part of her essence. She met Cherokee and Saint, took her place in the run next to Cherokee’s, and instinctively paid both geldings the respect they were due.
Within months, however, she quickly figured out that Saint was the horse whose food bowl she could take over without an argument. The first time I saw this, she walked two runs over and started eating from Saint’s bowl while he quietly backed away. Appalled, I came to the rescue and offered Saint a fullhearted apology. As the oldest member of the herd, he was missing a lot of teeth and those that remained were worn. He received larger food portions and was also a slow eater. After that, I got into the habit of locking my elder statesman into his run at mealtimes, so he could eat, free of stress or concern about his youthful herd mate approaching him or his coveted grub.
My herd and I trust in each other’s patience, reliability, consistency, and good naturedness. We feel relaxed and natural in one another’s company. Is there any better word to describe these peaceable relationships than sacred?
Horses instinctively seek out security and equilibrium in their surroundings. They need food, water, shelter, and the companionship of other horses (or at least other mammals). And if they are also cohabiting with humans, they need positive interactions with them.
But there is another element to consider. In addition to these necessities, rituals can also be of great benefit to horses and their caretakers. Most of the rituals I’ve shared with my horses over the years have arisen organically, from the heart and in the moment.
Right from the start of my new life with horses, I had Cherokee as well as a companion horse I named Saint. Both had been dude ranch horses and, to my knowledge, had never known what it was like to be the cherished horse of just one person. Cherokee was about twelve years old and Saint about nineteen. A few months later, I adopted a yearling I named Dahli Lama.
Unlike the others, this gal had spent the first year of life being doted upon by two, twenty-two-year-old, young women. When they hauled her over to my property, she came out of the truck with remarkable confidence. That was part of her essence. She met Cherokee and Saint, took her place in the run next to Cherokee’s, and instinctively paid both geldings the respect they were due.
Within months, however, she quickly figured out that Saint was the horse whose food bowl she could take over without an argument. The first time I saw this, she walked two runs over and started eating from Saint’s bowl while he quietly backed away. Appalled, I came to the rescue and offered Saint a fullhearted apology. As the oldest member of the herd, he was missing a lot of teeth and those that remained were worn. He received larger food portions and was also a slow eater. After that, I got into the habit of locking my elder statesman into his run at mealtimes, so he could eat, free of stress or concern about his youthful herd mate approaching him or his coveted grub.
My herd and I trust in each other’s patience, reliability, consistency, and good naturedness. We feel relaxed and natural in one another’s company. Is there any better word to describe these peaceable relationships than sacred?
Horses instinctively seek out security and equilibrium in their surroundings. They need food, water, shelter, and the companionship of other horses (or at least other mammals). And if they are also cohabiting with humans, they need positive interactions with them.
But there is another element to consider. In addition to these necessities, rituals can also be of great benefit to horses and their caretakers. Most of the rituals I’ve shared with my horses over the years have arisen organically, from the heart and in the moment.
Saying Good Night
My favorite part of the day is our nightly prayer ritual. This ritual is so sacred to me that it is a constant. Other spiritual and meditative practices may come and go, or be honored irregularly, but this is the one I attend to without fail.
Each evening, while the horses and I stand together in an intimate huddle, I am nourished by a sense of grounding, of knowing that I am exactly where I am supposed to be. I am so grateful that I get to give love in this prayerful way.
I announce, “Okay, let’s say prayers,” and the horses gather close to me, our faces practically touching. I close my eyes, inhale, and exhale audibly, and bring my hands together at chest level. The horses keep their heads right up near me the whole time, even though there is plenty of hay at our feet.
A set group of prayers has naturally evolved. Some are in English and others in Sanskrit and Japanese. Some are accompanied by mudras and others by arm movements. I sound them in this order:
My favorite part of the day is our nightly prayer ritual. This ritual is so sacred to me that it is a constant. Other spiritual and meditative practices may come and go, or be honored irregularly, but this is the one I attend to without fail.
Each evening, while the horses and I stand together in an intimate huddle, I am nourished by a sense of grounding, of knowing that I am exactly where I am supposed to be. I am so grateful that I get to give love in this prayerful way.
I announce, “Okay, let’s say prayers,” and the horses gather close to me, our faces practically touching. I close my eyes, inhale, and exhale audibly, and bring my hands together at chest level. The horses keep their heads right up near me the whole time, even though there is plenty of hay at our feet.
A set group of prayers has naturally evolved. Some are in English and others in Sanskrit and Japanese. Some are accompanied by mudras and others by arm movements. I sound them in this order:
After this, I give the horses a handful of chopped carrots, apples, or kibble, while telling them to take good care of one other. Then I brush my hands together, say, “no more,” and walk back to the house while slapping my hands together above my head.
As I walk back to the house, the satisfaction that I have offered my horses, and myself, one more day of ritual, routine, and presence, is profound.~*~
As I walk back to the house, the satisfaction that I have offered my horses, and myself, one more day of ritual, routine, and presence, is profound.~*~
