THE ULTIMATE IN ‘LESS is MORE’
How hanging out with the herd can change our lives
By: Debbie La-Haye
The veteran whose parachute didn’t open on his last jump is left with a broken body, his identity shattered along with his leg. In constant pain, he is haunted by memories of the mental demands of his active service – the dual life of spending normal family time as a loving father interspersed with missions to kill the enemy.
Without the support of his comrades, where is he to find peace now?
Without the support of his comrades, where is he to find peace now?
Come through our gate into the green sanctuary of the Buckinghamshire countryside. Let’s sit in a field with no agenda other than to share space with our herd of six horses. There is no mission, there doesn’t have to be a conclusion. There are no boxes to tick, no targets to meet. Let’s throw away our human pressures, plans and expectations, and enter the horses’ world for a while.
SHARED SPACE
First of all, let’s settle on the ground. There’s something very special about being in contact with the earth’s energy, just like our unshod horses, feeling it literally grounding us. Maybe we’ll sit in the embrace of the trees. Research from the University of Exeter (1) has shown that spending just two hours a week in nature is the minimum needed for seeing an improvement in our health and wellbeing. Those two hours are our gift right now. Let’s start with some time to familiarize ourselves with our surroundings. Perhaps a bit of cloud gazing first, slow our breathing, ease ourselves onto the horses’ wavelength. We want to share space – not appear as predators staring down their prey. Let’s hang out with the herd.
Louis, Amee and friends are dotted around the pasture. As we spot each herd member, it’s fun to think of what life would be like for them as a band of wild horses. Although I’ve known Dollar and Goldie all their lives, those wild horse instincts are not far from their domesticated surface. The wild horses of our dreams live in their bodies in front of us, perfectly equipped physically to cope with life as a prey animal. Eyes that scan the horizon, satellite dish ears, nostrils assessing the familiar and the unfamiliar. All their senses perfectly tuned to give the best chance of surviving the constant threat of being someone’s dinner. It seems amazing that they can live with that level of danger while calmly grazing with an awareness that doesn’t tip into hypervigilance.
One day I sat with a gentle lady, admiring the beauty of the herd. As a carer for her elderly father approaching the end of his life, she carried the stress of his emergency hospital visits in the form of anxiety and chest pain, and had come to our farm for some respite. As she watched Bilbo graze, a carrier bag rustled in the hedgerow, and he galloped off, tail streaming, before spinning round to check the danger. Satisfied the herd was safe, he dropped his head back down to the grass. What a lightbulb moment as my friend saw how easily the adrenaline was shaken off! She gave herself a motto – “Graze, plastic bag, graze.” From then on, the hospital trips were the plastic bags of life, but she remembered to go back to grazing in between.
DOMESTICATION
Of course, we’re not actually looking at a herd of wild horses. Domestication brings compromises – a diet with limited opportunities to forage and self-medicate, movement restricted by paddock fences. We might strive to do the best for our horses (a carefully designed track system, barefoot, sugar free) but there will still be compromises – a manmade group instead of family bonds, neutered horses with no chance to breed, fields that are fenced with a human in charge of the boundaries. Freedom lost. As the ones responsible for our horses’ lifestyle, we speak honestly to our fellow herd watchers about the challenges we encounter.
SHARED SPACE
First of all, let’s settle on the ground. There’s something very special about being in contact with the earth’s energy, just like our unshod horses, feeling it literally grounding us. Maybe we’ll sit in the embrace of the trees. Research from the University of Exeter (1) has shown that spending just two hours a week in nature is the minimum needed for seeing an improvement in our health and wellbeing. Those two hours are our gift right now. Let’s start with some time to familiarize ourselves with our surroundings. Perhaps a bit of cloud gazing first, slow our breathing, ease ourselves onto the horses’ wavelength. We want to share space – not appear as predators staring down their prey. Let’s hang out with the herd.
Louis, Amee and friends are dotted around the pasture. As we spot each herd member, it’s fun to think of what life would be like for them as a band of wild horses. Although I’ve known Dollar and Goldie all their lives, those wild horse instincts are not far from their domesticated surface. The wild horses of our dreams live in their bodies in front of us, perfectly equipped physically to cope with life as a prey animal. Eyes that scan the horizon, satellite dish ears, nostrils assessing the familiar and the unfamiliar. All their senses perfectly tuned to give the best chance of surviving the constant threat of being someone’s dinner. It seems amazing that they can live with that level of danger while calmly grazing with an awareness that doesn’t tip into hypervigilance.
One day I sat with a gentle lady, admiring the beauty of the herd. As a carer for her elderly father approaching the end of his life, she carried the stress of his emergency hospital visits in the form of anxiety and chest pain, and had come to our farm for some respite. As she watched Bilbo graze, a carrier bag rustled in the hedgerow, and he galloped off, tail streaming, before spinning round to check the danger. Satisfied the herd was safe, he dropped his head back down to the grass. What a lightbulb moment as my friend saw how easily the adrenaline was shaken off! She gave herself a motto – “Graze, plastic bag, graze.” From then on, the hospital trips were the plastic bags of life, but she remembered to go back to grazing in between.
DOMESTICATION
Of course, we’re not actually looking at a herd of wild horses. Domestication brings compromises – a diet with limited opportunities to forage and self-medicate, movement restricted by paddock fences. We might strive to do the best for our horses (a carefully designed track system, barefoot, sugar free) but there will still be compromises – a manmade group instead of family bonds, neutered horses with no chance to breed, fields that are fenced with a human in charge of the boundaries. Freedom lost. As the ones responsible for our horses’ lifestyle, we speak honestly to our fellow herd watchers about the challenges we encounter.
While we’re wrestling with the bigger picture, we’re also asking what small changes we can make here and now to improve things – somewhere to roll, freedom to scratch with a friend. For many of our visitors living with long term mental health issues, this is a situation they are familiar with – living in conditions that are less than ideal, trapped in a welfare system that cannot always meet their needs.
Jemma, a highly sensitive person who struggles to hold down a full-time job in a society full of sensory overload, is housed in a small flat in the energetic chaos of urban life. Instead of recovery, she feels worse, and assumes it’s her own fault for not coping. When we talk about horses getting stressed or depressed by being shut in a stable, it doesn’t seem like weakness. It’s an obvious result of living in an inappropriate environment. Now Jemma can try to find the small changes that will make a difference for her. She’s starting with houseplants and a walk in the park.
Jemma, a highly sensitive person who struggles to hold down a full-time job in a society full of sensory overload, is housed in a small flat in the energetic chaos of urban life. Instead of recovery, she feels worse, and assumes it’s her own fault for not coping. When we talk about horses getting stressed or depressed by being shut in a stable, it doesn’t seem like weakness. It’s an obvious result of living in an inappropriate environment. Now Jemma can try to find the small changes that will make a difference for her. She’s starting with houseplants and a walk in the park.
JOY OF THE HERD
Today, the joy of the herd is in front of us, bringing us back to the here and now. Spending time with our horse family while making no demands on them reveals so much about their characters – who stays away from conflict, who enjoys rough play, who is friends with whom, who is first to check out a scary object. I enjoy seeing the horses through other peoples’ eyes. I am not the expert here – I may have day to day knowledge of the horses which gives me understanding of the context of some of their actions, but I also have emotional connections with each of the horses which can colour my views. Our website does not have descriptions of the horses’ characters, so people can meet them with no preconceptions – if they have read about Buddy the wise one, or Dollar’s sense of humour, they will view them through that lens. People with previous horse knowledge are also often trapped by that knowledge, seeing a herd of labels, ‘that one looks like a fabulous jumper, what a lovely cob, they’re always such fun, oh a chestnut mare…’. It’s so interesting to sit with people who know nothing about horses, because very often they immediately get a feel for the individual spirit within the horse, not the outside packaging.
As we sit here, time passes, while on the surface nothing much has happened. But, in the stillness, more layers are revealed. We become aware of the subtlety of herd communication. We know that Goldie may be on the other side of the field from Tashunka, but now we notice their movements are in sync. We become aware of the invisible energy web that links each individual herd member, however scattered they are. In times of danger, an energy jolt will immediately unite the herd. I remember the day I experienced this for the first time. I was out in the field among the grazing horses, doing the daily job of clearing the droppings, my mind in the meditative state that a repetitive task can bring, when I felt a shockwave hit the nerve centre of my solar plexus. Immediately, as one, the horses were running past me, away from some perceived threat. Although I’d read about emerging studies in energetic communication (2), I realised with amazement that I had just been right in the middle of one of those energy exchanges, and had the privilege of a first-hand experience of this non-verbal and very immediate way of sharing information. While herd watching, we can reach this same state of receptive being where we start to feel the tug of the energy strands too. We begin to feel what the horses feel – the position of the sun, the direction of the breeze, the tiny bird moving in the hedgerow. We feel less like observers and more like a part of the herd.
Now the horses make their way over to where we are sitting, and choose a spot to stand calmly close by, seeking out our company, no longer them and us. Today the energy feels companionable. Other days it might be curious or protective, but it always seems like together we are part of something bigger, the wholeness of the natural world. I remember one of our clients, Babs, joining me in the field. Her self-esteem crushed by multiple sclerosis; she was overwhelmed when Buddy chose to stand close to her. When I met her a few years later, she straightaway reminded me of that magical day “It was better than winning the lottery!”
We’ve been out in the field for a couple of hours now. Surrounded by birdsong, our veteran friend eases himself back to his feet. New connections have been forged, a sense that there’s a life worth rebuilding. Surrounded by new comrades of the four-legged variety, he’s felt the support of the herd – the peace he craves is within reach. He stretches and smiles.
“After all the death and destruction of war, I feel like I can breathe again.” ~*~
Today, the joy of the herd is in front of us, bringing us back to the here and now. Spending time with our horse family while making no demands on them reveals so much about their characters – who stays away from conflict, who enjoys rough play, who is friends with whom, who is first to check out a scary object. I enjoy seeing the horses through other peoples’ eyes. I am not the expert here – I may have day to day knowledge of the horses which gives me understanding of the context of some of their actions, but I also have emotional connections with each of the horses which can colour my views. Our website does not have descriptions of the horses’ characters, so people can meet them with no preconceptions – if they have read about Buddy the wise one, or Dollar’s sense of humour, they will view them through that lens. People with previous horse knowledge are also often trapped by that knowledge, seeing a herd of labels, ‘that one looks like a fabulous jumper, what a lovely cob, they’re always such fun, oh a chestnut mare…’. It’s so interesting to sit with people who know nothing about horses, because very often they immediately get a feel for the individual spirit within the horse, not the outside packaging.
As we sit here, time passes, while on the surface nothing much has happened. But, in the stillness, more layers are revealed. We become aware of the subtlety of herd communication. We know that Goldie may be on the other side of the field from Tashunka, but now we notice their movements are in sync. We become aware of the invisible energy web that links each individual herd member, however scattered they are. In times of danger, an energy jolt will immediately unite the herd. I remember the day I experienced this for the first time. I was out in the field among the grazing horses, doing the daily job of clearing the droppings, my mind in the meditative state that a repetitive task can bring, when I felt a shockwave hit the nerve centre of my solar plexus. Immediately, as one, the horses were running past me, away from some perceived threat. Although I’d read about emerging studies in energetic communication (2), I realised with amazement that I had just been right in the middle of one of those energy exchanges, and had the privilege of a first-hand experience of this non-verbal and very immediate way of sharing information. While herd watching, we can reach this same state of receptive being where we start to feel the tug of the energy strands too. We begin to feel what the horses feel – the position of the sun, the direction of the breeze, the tiny bird moving in the hedgerow. We feel less like observers and more like a part of the herd.
Now the horses make their way over to where we are sitting, and choose a spot to stand calmly close by, seeking out our company, no longer them and us. Today the energy feels companionable. Other days it might be curious or protective, but it always seems like together we are part of something bigger, the wholeness of the natural world. I remember one of our clients, Babs, joining me in the field. Her self-esteem crushed by multiple sclerosis; she was overwhelmed when Buddy chose to stand close to her. When I met her a few years later, she straightaway reminded me of that magical day “It was better than winning the lottery!”
We’ve been out in the field for a couple of hours now. Surrounded by birdsong, our veteran friend eases himself back to his feet. New connections have been forged, a sense that there’s a life worth rebuilding. Surrounded by new comrades of the four-legged variety, he’s felt the support of the herd – the peace he craves is within reach. He stretches and smiles.
“After all the death and destruction of war, I feel like I can breathe again.” ~*~
