We don’t know what happens inside a horse’s mind, how they process information, how the social dynamics of the herd work exactly. We can guess. We can create theories and judge those theories, test those hypothesis against the horses in front of us and how we perceive their experience. But the truth is, we’re always going to filter the experiences our horses have, and the experiences of any other animal wild or domestic, through our own human filters. And those filters are tinged with the ways in which we’ve been perceived or not in society, with social or cultural indoctrination, with our own thoughts and feelings, and how we would like to have our lived experiences perceived. It’s never simple, y’all.
But there’s one thing I’m noticing as I watch my aging herd, with the senior mare who won’t be with us come winter, about the goofy gelding who has become even more of a cuddle bug if that’s even possible as we deal with his cancer, and about their daughter, who is twelve this year which is well into adulthood in horse years and coming to grips with the fact that her mother is much slower than she was and her father doesn’t feel as well as he once did.
Horses understand the power of quiet presence, of simply being with someone no matter where they are, no matter how they’re doing, and just sharing time and space with them.
This is something a lot of people don’t have, especially those in the neurodivergent, queer, or disability communities.
Think about it. The filly doesn’t tell her mother to just move more, that she’ll feel better when she does, or tell her father that with a good mindset he can overcome anything. There’s no spiritual bypassing, no toxic positivity, and no attempts at fixing anything. Just companionship. Pure and simple.
I knew I couldn’t get through this blog without crying. Because that’s what the horses have offered me as well. Even when I bumbled my way through groundwork training for senior heart mare. Even when I look at the repairs and upgrades that need to be done and hope everything lasts just a little bit longer because of finances. The quiet presence of the herd, a soft nuzzle that says “I’m here. You’re not alone. I will walk this path with you no matter how painful it gets.” That’s what the horses give one another, give us, and what I try to give my clients and community.
That is the wisdom I absorb from horses.
If we just slow down our human lives, and yes, take a few deep breaths to ground and root ourselves in the green grass or brown (or red) dirt depending on season and location, if we simply accept that the only thing we can control is what we do right now, right here in this moment. The past has already been written in non-erasable ink and the future is yet to unfold. What if, we simply offered our presence, our intention to be with someone no matter what they are going through or how tough things get? No need to fix things or try to give them answers that they may have already tried or be unable to use. Just be there, to let them know that they’re not alone.
We don’t know what horses know. We don’t want to contemplate what we don’t know or the very fact that we don’t have all the answers. But what we do have is our ability to be present, to be aware, and to offer companionship as we walk each other home.
