A Workshop With Horses

(From an email to a friend, October 2011) 

One fine sunny autumn day, I attended a full-day "horse sense" workshop located at a lovely ranch in Marin. The participants, 16 women and 4 men -- executive coaches and life coaches, therapists and counselors, and some individuals just looking for healing in their lives -- had come to discover what they could learn about themselves and their behaviors through interaction with horses. Together, we went through a series of experiences, each intriguing in its own way.

For instance, the workshop leader proposed that horses are extremely sensitive to the internal dynamics of any group of people — if a group is a "unity" (so the workshop leader proposed), the horses are drawn to it. But if the horses perceive division or screwy emotional energy in the group, they are not. Horses, she explained, are naturally drawn to the energy of a confident, relaxed, flowing group because they "want to be part of the action."

We broke into a number of three-person groups and had some fun experiences testing that claim. One  group would form, and then wander, self-directed, into the large corral in which various horses were scattered. The horses responded to the different groups in different ways. As a group, we then discussed the different ways the horses responded, and each of the people in each group talked about  what had been going on in their thoughts and emotions (and thus in the group's interior dynamics). Rightly or wrongly, we assumed in every case that the behavior of the horses was a response to the group dynamics that we uncovered.

The workshop exercise that stirred the strongest reflections in me was this:

Our full workshop of about 20 people sat in a semi-circle, as a kind of audience, just outside a round horse-pen about 25-30 feet in diameter. A single horse was in the pen. Beyond the pen, beautiful rolling hillsides, a small canyon, the sky, other horses dispersed and wandering.

Volunteer workshop members were invited to enter the pen, one at a time, each taking a turn. Each volunteer was asked to bring into the pen some issue of struggle that they wanted to work on or a decision-point that they were facing in their lives. When in the pen with the horse, the volunteer was asked to speak aloud whatever his or her issue was, and to interact with the horse (or not) in any way the person chose.

The rest of the group simply watched what happened.

A pattern soon arose. Whatever the volunteer's story of struggle, in each case the horse (and sometimes other horses outside the pen) would do something that the workshop leader and participants then interpreted as clear a "sign" from nature, indicating something important to the volunteer. In unison, the group saw the horse's response as recommending a course of action or affirming an inner realization that the person in the pen had not yet owned up to.

On several occasions the leader reassured everyone -- in case there were any skeptics present -- that these moments we were witnessing together were not mere random coincidences, but that indeed the horses were communicating messages of significance, coming from the horses' almost-supernatural sensitivity to human emotion, or even from a deeper knowing. Could it be that, like dogs whose sense of smell is hundreds of times more powerful than our own, that horses have a much keener sense than we for emotional energies? The group, it seemed to me, readily accepted this proposition and, even more, seemed to assume the the horse, in its quiet knowing, could in some way understand human language.

Now a skeptical part of me rose up with some energy, and was somewhat surprised at the eagerness and willingness of the group, in full chorus, to "project" human meaning onto the horse's every quiver, snort and movement. Yet, at the same time, I was also aware that lovely things were happening that were winning my heart. So there was some way in which I was divided.

For me a special part of the experience was how I resolved this tension within me.

For instance, one of the few other men in the workshop was in the pen. He started to speak of his difficulties, in his personal life, with expressing love and gentleness, due to feelings of awkwardness and vulnerability. He spoke of a desire to express more love in his life. While he was speaking these things, a humming bird suddenly flew up, paused beside his ear, and then flitted away.

The workshop leader assured the group that this was no coincidence, that the hummingbird is a known symbol of love. "Nature," the leader affirmed, was responding to support this man and the feelings of his heart. She knew so from long experience. She had done nearly 5,000 of these horse-consultations, and it was clear to her that the things that happened were not accidents, but actual responses to the energy of the person in the pen.

I felt moved by the man in the pen; I felt skeptical of the leader's words.

Then there was another incident. While the same man stood in the pen with the horse, the workshop participants were invited to share what they had noticed, and what they had seen and felt during his time in the pen. I decided to say something.

(By the way, it's relevant to say that some people earlier in the workshop had wondered aloud if there was some competitiveness going on between the fellow in the pen and myself — this was after, early on during a different group exercise a horse had spontaneously came running up to me, and this man had later said in a debrief that he had felt jealous of me, but also that he had afterwards imitated my approach to the horses).

 In front of the group, I told the man that I had felt quite moved by his words about wanting to express love, and that what he had spoken had inspired in me feelings of support, admiration and affection. — Just at that moment, in the near distance, a beautiful snowy white egret came upon the scene and flew, slowly and majestically stroking its long wings, across our field of vision! A woman spoke up about how fitting it was that nature had given this lovely sign, just at this moment of the expression of love between two men. It certainly marked that moment as special.

I looked at this whole scene: - The lone individuals going into the pen, revealing their vulnerability, their aspirations and their yearnings in front of all. - The group of mostly women, seated as spectators, each of them striving to be caring and supportive, each of them wanting love and kindness to win the day, as intensely as fervent sports fans root for their team to win a game. - The beautiful landscape and the magnificent living creatures upon it.

I saw that I could choose skepticism, and doubt the interpretations that the group was making. Or, instead, I could decide that whether the interpretations were "true" or "not" was entirely beside the point. To doubt, to invoke the criterion of "fact or not fact," was to miss what was most important here.

Here was a community of people acting out of innate love and support for their members, and out of an innate sense of the beauty of nature. It was this loving intention that wove the whole scene together into stories of compassion, hope and care.

This little community was taking every opportunity to capture their care, for fellow people and for nature, in signs, symbols and happenings that could be shared and remembered among everyone. And because they had been made into stories, and shared, they marked the moments as special for a long time after.

I was reminded of certain ancient texts, where the poets would freely speak about gods and signs in the natural world interwoven into the human drama.