WEAVING NEW MAPS
Connecting to Ancestral Yarns of the Herd
By: Caroline Burrow, Ireland
We may have many motivations for spending time with horses; we may be with them in a caregiving capacity, we may participate in sports or leisure with them, or we may work with them for the purpose of education or therapy. In whatever role we hold, when we step into the field with the herd, we cannot escape the ancestral binding that we have with this other species. Horses and humans have stood alongside each other for 1000s of years, and whenever we are in the presence of a horse this bond is active in the phenomenological field.
The Invitation
As I stand with the small herd of three that I share my life with, I ask them what they would like me to share with the humans I am writing for. I am instantly reminded by them that we are, in fact, a herd of five with myself included and a mare, who passed into the world of spirit, also still very much present. They remind me of our individual and collective journeys, hailing from England, Wales, Scotland, and Ireland, we now live on the West coast of Ireland together. We are interwoven with each other and the land here. I think of the definitions of the word yarn, a thread for spinning and weaving, and also meaning a word for a story. Stories bind us together and create a tapestry of maps to help us navigate the land around us and the lives we live. When we reconnect, to that which has been woven over time, the field we inhabit as a herd carries much more than what is immediately seen. The physical environment around us and the relationships within it are more easily evident, the stronger, brighter threads. However, with a gentle pause, we deepen. We see the smaller, more delicate, barely visible filaments. We re-member the unseen, those who walk with us, archetypes, narratives and legends of the collective. We can then access all the wisdom that dwells within this phenomenological field we have entered as a herd.
When we consciously enter this field with the horses, we give ourselves space to connect with all of this, and here I invite you to undertake this journey with the five of us.
As I stand with the small herd of three that I share my life with, I ask them what they would like me to share with the humans I am writing for. I am instantly reminded by them that we are, in fact, a herd of five with myself included and a mare, who passed into the world of spirit, also still very much present. They remind me of our individual and collective journeys, hailing from England, Wales, Scotland, and Ireland, we now live on the West coast of Ireland together. We are interwoven with each other and the land here. I think of the definitions of the word yarn, a thread for spinning and weaving, and also meaning a word for a story. Stories bind us together and create a tapestry of maps to help us navigate the land around us and the lives we live. When we reconnect, to that which has been woven over time, the field we inhabit as a herd carries much more than what is immediately seen. The physical environment around us and the relationships within it are more easily evident, the stronger, brighter threads. However, with a gentle pause, we deepen. We see the smaller, more delicate, barely visible filaments. We re-member the unseen, those who walk with us, archetypes, narratives and legends of the collective. We can then access all the wisdom that dwells within this phenomenological field we have entered as a herd.
When we consciously enter this field with the horses, we give ourselves space to connect with all of this, and here I invite you to undertake this journey with the five of us.
The Journey
Standing alongside the horses, I begin to experience my own wildness. My animal ancestry becomes alive in my body. My attention moves to the air I am breathing. I notice the smells around me: my own scent, the smell of the horses standing next to me, the faint smell of the yellow gorse flowers nearby, the aroma of the land, the peat bog, and barely detectable, but very much present, the smell of the sea.
My eyes soften, and my field of vision expands. I begin to see things that I don't normally notice: the tiny bug climbing in my hair, the light of the sun reflecting on the water of the nearby puddles, the texture of the earth beneath my feet, the colours of the inky-blue sky, the swaying, golden grasses of the bog, and the shadows of the mountains beyond.
In my mouth, I taste the faint reminder of what I ate for breakfast, the morning coffee, and the salt of the sea in the air. I feel my body merging somewhat with the mare standing next to me and taste the sweetness of haylage.
I feel my heartbeat and that of the three living beings beside me. I feel the warmth of their breath on my skin and their bodies beside mine. I feel the breeze in my hair and, simultaneously, feel it blowing in the manes of the others. I feel the lightness of my being as I connect to the herd’s mare in the spirit world. In my body, I sense both the ethereal and the solidness of the earth beneath me.
As I listen, I hear breathing, mine and the horses, in synchrony as we now breathe the same breath. I hear the rustle of leaves. My sense of hearing expands, becoming more horse-like, carrying my awareness further. I hear the call of the neighbouring goats, the stream babbling over the rocks, and in the far distance, I hear the roar of the sea.
I am transported to the shoreline, and I stand with the herd facing the Atlantic Ocean. My feet are bare on the sand, it’s grains in between my toes, yet also feeling soft and yielding underneath my feet, which are at the same time hooves.
The waves crash onto the beach in front of us. The white surf rolls onto the land. The salt spray hits our faces, and the sound of the ocean is deafening in our ears. The water takes the form of horses, white horses running free. In the waves, their heads are visible, with open, snorting nostrils, manes streaming behind them in the swirling water, ears pinned back, eyes bright and wide.
One horse rises above the others. She rears up through the crests of the waves. This is Énbarr (or Aonbharr), the mythical horse of Manannán mac Lir, the God of the Sea. This mare travels on both land and sea, swifter than the wind. She carries her riders between the worlds, providing safe passage from this world to the Otherworld. Manannán mac Lir rides her galloping over the Ocean, rising from the depths and racing with the unbridled waves.
Énbarr appears in the myths of Ireland and Wales. She is ridden by the God Lugh, who prized her so much that he refused to loan her. She is also ridden by Niamh, the daughter of Manannán mac Lir and Queen of Tir na nOg, part of the Otherworld. In the yarn of Oisín, son of the legendary warrior Fionn Mac Cumhaill, Énbarr carries Niamh and Oisín to Tir na nOg to be wed. When Oisín wishes to return home to Ireland to visit, Énbarr again carries him across the sea to land. However, Oisín is warned he cannot leave this magical horse’s back. When he dismounts to help a group of men trying to move a stone, the spell is broken, and he immediately ages 300 years, realising the length of time he spent in the land of eternal youth.
The Yarn
As I stand in this field of shared experience with the horses of the material, spiritual and mythical worlds on this liminal space of the shoreline, they speak to me of how they can teach us to navigate the liminal spaces in our lives: the spaces of transition, of emergence, and disintegration. The horse is a recurring archetype in our ancestral maps, representing power, freedom, intuition, movement, instinctive and primal drives and often the feminine and divine side of the human psyche. The ocean symbolises the body, the unconscious, the Otherworld and the wild. It also represents the feminine.
Just as Énbarr carries her rider to the Otherworld, over land and sea, the horses help us to travel through our conscious and unconscious minds, to the shadow, exploring the Otherworld that lies beside ours. The shaman’s drum is often called a horse, for it takes the shaman on a journey to other worlds, and in the maps of history, mythical horses from all cultures carry souls between worlds.
These mythic horses show us how to delve into the deep unconscious waters, how we may travel to the Otherworld, the world of our other-than-human kin, the world of the unseen, the world of transmutation and alchemy. Énbarr carries her riders safely, but there are warnings in our mythological maps, yarns of those that would take us into the depths and let us fall. The Kelpies, mythical ponies from Scotland who inhabit lochs, will offer their backs to a traveller to help them cross the water, but once the rider has mounted, the Kelpie will plunge them under the surface, where they drown. These yarns serve to warn us that we may be overwhelmed by what we find in our unconscious depths if we do not have a guide. Énbarr herself carries a warning, if we allow ourselves to be carried away, if we leave the grounding of land for too long, if we spend too much time in the Otherworld, we lose touch with reality, and when we return, we find we have lost all we once had. Énbarr teaches us how to navigate both land and sea, both the conscious and unconscious, both this world and that of the other.
As I stand in this field of shared experience with the horses of the material, spiritual and mythical worlds on this liminal space of the shoreline, they speak to me of how they can teach us to navigate the liminal spaces in our lives: the spaces of transition, of emergence, and disintegration. The horse is a recurring archetype in our ancestral maps, representing power, freedom, intuition, movement, instinctive and primal drives and often the feminine and divine side of the human psyche. The ocean symbolises the body, the unconscious, the Otherworld and the wild. It also represents the feminine.
Just as Énbarr carries her rider to the Otherworld, over land and sea, the horses help us to travel through our conscious and unconscious minds, to the shadow, exploring the Otherworld that lies beside ours. The shaman’s drum is often called a horse, for it takes the shaman on a journey to other worlds, and in the maps of history, mythical horses from all cultures carry souls between worlds.
These mythic horses show us how to delve into the deep unconscious waters, how we may travel to the Otherworld, the world of our other-than-human kin, the world of the unseen, the world of transmutation and alchemy. Énbarr carries her riders safely, but there are warnings in our mythological maps, yarns of those that would take us into the depths and let us fall. The Kelpies, mythical ponies from Scotland who inhabit lochs, will offer their backs to a traveller to help them cross the water, but once the rider has mounted, the Kelpie will plunge them under the surface, where they drown. These yarns serve to warn us that we may be overwhelmed by what we find in our unconscious depths if we do not have a guide. Énbarr herself carries a warning, if we allow ourselves to be carried away, if we leave the grounding of land for too long, if we spend too much time in the Otherworld, we lose touch with reality, and when we return, we find we have lost all we once had. Énbarr teaches us how to navigate both land and sea, both the conscious and unconscious, both this world and that of the other.
The Weaving
We live in turbulent times, in a material world that often doesn’t value the sacred feminine, nor the balance of the sacred masculine. It is a world that can be divisive and that separates us not only from each other as fellow humans, but from our animal kin, and our universal mother, the Earth. Many of us experience soul loss as we are torn away from our original wild selves.
We long to return to our true home, to the bosom of our Mother Earth. Our animal soul slowly dies in its prison of the materialistic world. It numbs itself with drugs, alcohol, consumerism, endless parties, endless work, and the distractions of television or social media. It also fights, rages, and wars. We turn on each other and ourselves. We are taught from a young age to shut down our natural instincts, ignore our guides, and dismiss the memories of our past lives.
When we connect with horses, they take us back home. Those of us who work with horses know of the healing they offer humans, in the realms of the physical, emotional and spiritual. When we connect with the horses with the intention to explore our shared ancestry and to be open to learning from their wisdom, we connect with them as equals, as our family. We re-member our place beside them and re-inhabit our animal bodies. We reconnect to our true senses, our intuition, and our collective memory. We can again communicate with all beings. We can see through their eyes and feel through their skin and bones. We experience the connection to the whole that we have lost. They carry us to the other worlds inside us, to the world of Nature, and to the places that we have forgotten.
At this moment in time, astrologers, social commentators, and financial and political analysts tell us that the old structures are breaking down. Our individual and collective shadows are emerging. As a species, we are being called to enter the depths. When we find the right guide, such as Énbarr, we can dive and travel to the Otherworld where we can experience true transformation. We can navigate the treacherous waves to bring out of our unconscious all that requires healing. And in bringing this to the land of our awareness, we may build something new on these shifting sands.
We have lost our way, but the horses are there to aid our travel to the places we need to go to, the places that welcome us home and hold the deep ancestral wisdom that is required for these times. When we honour our true connection with horses, weave our collective yarns together, and knit our collective bones, we co-create. We create new myths, and new maps. We create a new woven record, and a new fabric of society. In the ancient human-horse chronicles, the horses have always stood beside us, and they continue to wait in the field for us to join them to undertake this journey home.
We live in turbulent times, in a material world that often doesn’t value the sacred feminine, nor the balance of the sacred masculine. It is a world that can be divisive and that separates us not only from each other as fellow humans, but from our animal kin, and our universal mother, the Earth. Many of us experience soul loss as we are torn away from our original wild selves.
We long to return to our true home, to the bosom of our Mother Earth. Our animal soul slowly dies in its prison of the materialistic world. It numbs itself with drugs, alcohol, consumerism, endless parties, endless work, and the distractions of television or social media. It also fights, rages, and wars. We turn on each other and ourselves. We are taught from a young age to shut down our natural instincts, ignore our guides, and dismiss the memories of our past lives.
When we connect with horses, they take us back home. Those of us who work with horses know of the healing they offer humans, in the realms of the physical, emotional and spiritual. When we connect with the horses with the intention to explore our shared ancestry and to be open to learning from their wisdom, we connect with them as equals, as our family. We re-member our place beside them and re-inhabit our animal bodies. We reconnect to our true senses, our intuition, and our collective memory. We can again communicate with all beings. We can see through their eyes and feel through their skin and bones. We experience the connection to the whole that we have lost. They carry us to the other worlds inside us, to the world of Nature, and to the places that we have forgotten.
At this moment in time, astrologers, social commentators, and financial and political analysts tell us that the old structures are breaking down. Our individual and collective shadows are emerging. As a species, we are being called to enter the depths. When we find the right guide, such as Énbarr, we can dive and travel to the Otherworld where we can experience true transformation. We can navigate the treacherous waves to bring out of our unconscious all that requires healing. And in bringing this to the land of our awareness, we may build something new on these shifting sands.
We have lost our way, but the horses are there to aid our travel to the places we need to go to, the places that welcome us home and hold the deep ancestral wisdom that is required for these times. When we honour our true connection with horses, weave our collective yarns together, and knit our collective bones, we co-create. We create new myths, and new maps. We create a new woven record, and a new fabric of society. In the ancient human-horse chronicles, the horses have always stood beside us, and they continue to wait in the field for us to join them to undertake this journey home.
