I’m not sure what happened while those ladies went and got their horses, but on the drive home later, my student come co-pilot that day commented that no-one had made a deprecating remark about themselves or their horses for the rest of the day. Each commentary voiced was a simple observation, and their creativity had been alive and flowing.  There had been a mutual energetic shift among them, and it had fueled itself – just as it had before. They had all ‘jumped the tracks’. The day had not started out with this promise.  The burning desire in these ladies had been an inspirational catalyst for a good dose of wonder entering our day together.
It was one of those days that stayed with me. It sharpened the focus on another perspective I had been noodling on, in how I thought about of ‘feel’. 

Bill Dorrance points out that genuine lightness is the kind the horse naturally has when he comes into the world. If we want a truly light ride, we need to leave that intact, connect with it and shape it. Well, here’s the thing: it is not just about leaving lightness intact or restoring it in the horse. The feel in us of right and wrong or pass and fail kills lightness on both sides, because it kills true feel – we are ‘in our heads’. To experience lightness from the horse, we need to offer lightness. To shape a horse through release, we need a feel of release *in us* to offer - only then can we receive the feel of the horse "through" us, and back into our hands to shape what small change fits next. True feel is not applied by us "to" the horse but "through" us from the horse.

And when true feel is flowing, there is just nothing quite like it. The channel opened offers a deep source of joy, and has a way of flowing right into every other aspect of life.  Pretty worthwhile stuff.

We finished straightening up the viewing room, and I was getting a hot drink ready to head out into the cold. All the while, I heard a friendly bouncing of commentary – one person’s horse was bound to have rolled in the mud to spite her, another horse was always a challenge in new places, this person expected to be the first person to mess up, another person was sure she would get there first.

 “Listen up here, ladies, just for a moment.  We’re about to get the horses out, and you’re about to experiment with some things you may not have tried before.  Does anyone know what I mean by a little voice that chants things like ‘oh I did that wrong, I screwed that up, I’ll never get this, I’m the only dunce that can’t do this… I did not do enough… I failed…’?” The noises around the room left no doubt that this was a familiar refrain.

“It is a tough one to crack, that I know. But… as Leslie pointed out to me soon after we first met, if you are talking to yourself that way, you also load your horse up with it. He is responding to your best effort with his best effort, based on the feel you present. If you judge yourself to have failed, you also judge him to have failed.” The room went a bit quiet, just as I had when Leslie painted this picture for me in ‘07.

“Of course none of this was part of any plan I had for my horse, or myself, for that matter. It was compelling though, when she put it like that”.

The question is, how do you make a shift? How do you jump to the other track?

“This is the beauty of going out there now to work through feel. There is no sheet of instructions to go out and pass or fail with your horse, there are no boxes to check and no red ink” I said. Students would be experimenting with offering a certain feel, with a plan for a particular response from their horse. “If you don’t get the response planned, it is just an opportunity to absorb what your feel actually meant to the horse in that moment. Nothing more than a chance to learn about feel, which is exactly what we are here for.” I continued, “It is just a moment in time, in which to consider how you might adjust for the horse to understand what you really meant more easily, and take a fresh start.” 

By now the room had become so still you would hear a pin drop. For a split second I caught myself contemplating the possibility that the feel I was presenting was… bombing.  I smiled inwardly at the irony of such a thought bubbling up at this particular moment.

This seemingly small thing – a moment of self-doubt – runs deeper than one imagines: it literally short-circuits pretty much everything we have to offer. It disables our light, our individual gifts. It is limit-based thinking that manifests those very limits in real life – perception becomes reality. Since it is merely a perception, it is also a choice to go with it, or let it go. Awareness must come first. It feels like the lightness, the joy in you goes thud, as the force of self-doubt weighs you down, pulls you down – it is just a matter of how far. You feel yourself sliding into the abyss of inadequacy, unless or until you catch yourself. Most of us learn self-doubt well, very well, and it is a hard habit to divorce. I’m not sure we can altogether, if it is deeply rooted in our foundation of life experience.  A rather dismal reality in some ways, but one I can smile at, since I discovered you CAN learn to “jump the tracks”, and the more aware you get, the better you get at jumping. And right there, in that room was the spot: I could let that moment of self-doubt pull me down - and in this particular context take everyone down along with it - or not.

I felt the still for the next second or two. It wasn’t subdued, or dull, or grey, or heavy, as it seemed for that moment when I slipped ‘into my head’. It was rich, had depth and a lightness to it – rich in its openness to the wonder of what might just be possible, depth in the dimension added when heart enters what you do, and the lightness in an awakened passion, inspiration and release of potential. 
I had a very good feeling right then about what was to come that afternoon.

I had been swishing my ginger tea around in the cup for about the right amount of time by now. I took a sip and wound the label and string around the cup handle – then greeted a new auditor who arrived at that moment, with impeccable timing to release everyone without further ado. 

The appy lady clearly connected with the thoroughbred parallel, but remained stuck in her strife against her own mare, reiterating the story once more about how disrespectful she was. She just needed to say it again was all, in a bid to offload the weight anyone might experience in what felt to her like a personal attack from her mare.

It was time to start the session.  Some stood up to clear the table. The appy lady remained seated, across from me, as if struggling with the ‘eject’ button for the’ bad egg story’ about her mare.  “She is a good horse, I know she is a good horse” she said. “I always focus on the good in her”. I couldn’t help thinking of how she had offered the mare up for the demo seconds after I arrived, announcing her as the sure winner of the ‘bad egg’ award. I had hoped this was just an expression of nerves, had just smiled and replied that I didn’t have such an award, and left it there.  “Well she’s an appy… and a mare!” she had persisted. “Well, what do you expect!” a friend had chimed in, meaning to offer support. One might think she meant there was no hope for them. Then again, there she was, signed up for their first clinic.

At any rate, the words she used now were leading to the right place. I offered quietly that if she could make the jump and switch tracks, she had a real opportunity to launch to a different spot with her mare that day.  “I realize I haven’t even seen her yet, but I am willing to bet she is seeking to work with you, not against you”.

Bill Dorrance is adamant that it is in a horse’s nature to get along. I believe this too, though it can be challenging at times to see past the illusion. It’s a bit like Alice Through the Looking Glass, where everything is opposite, until you realize it’s just a strange sort of dream. Then you wake up and see that it is just as Bill said.

“Did you say she was a kids’ horse – you mean giving pony rides to grandkids, that sort of thing?” Yes, that was it. For five years, the mare had been a saint, never put a foot wrong.

“So for five years, her job was to take care of these babes in the saddle… which meant tuning out the feel of a busy leg, or tug on the rein that did not really mean anything, or a squeal of delight or fear… as the mare adjusted a foot here and there to help them keep their balance. Have you watched those horses do that – the ones that take very seriously the job of staying under their rider?” There were fond sighs around the table, and a story or two shared.

“What was this mare’s job, actually, from her point of view?” The lady looked a little quizzical.  “Well they didn’t really ask anything of her” she said. This was the problem she had inherited now, “There is just so much to undo”.

“Well, the thing is, from her point of view, her job was to take care of everything, and it sounds like she was very clear about that job, took it quite seriously, and with some pride. No doubt she was loved and rewarded profusely for doing the job so well.” I sensed I was failing to connect the dots for this lady, as much as she listened carefully. “ For five years, she was responsible for where she placed her feet, for setting the speed, and the direction, as she also stayed under her cargo… right?” The lady softened a little. “In other words, in that context, ‘taking over’ was actually the job she was relied on to do.” The lady shifted  a tad in her seat.
“I know I haven’t met this mare yet, so I could be wrong, but I’d suggest that she is as honest as they come; perhaps it’s just that the job she knows so well is not fitting your expectations of her in this new context. “ The lady looked confused, and a little dismayed, as though this might mean there were no hope.  “So perhaps, all that is needed is to teach this mare her new job?” I added.

As she thought things over a little, it struck me as odd now that at one time I used those words in a pretty similar way. “Respect” and “disrespect” are used often when it comes to horses. Somewhere along the way, I noticed that their meaning seems to have become mostly synonymous with the horse being  “right” and “wrong”. By the time I made this connection, I had learned quite a bit more about feeling of the horse and it was obvious, on reflection at least, that being around horses need have very little to do with “right” and “wrong”. More interesting and more relevant is how well a person can adjust to access the horse’s mind and shape him to release his feet in a job they are doing together. I suppose you could say that when that is working, there is respect. It is not the kind mentioned above though. It is a mutual respect, that has come from offering the horse respect in a way that he reciprocated. There is a marked difference between the two. The lady looked puzzled, but more open.

“What is your mare’s job now, when you ride her?” I asked.

By now, the appy lady had that look about her that we have all experienced, when grappling with a set thought pattern that has slightly de-railed, but not quite. I was seeking to reveal the horse though – not to de-rail her, but to help her switch tracks.

“Well, her last job was to make her own decisions about where best to put her feet, but her new job is to offer them to you to place” I continued “It’s a lot like the thoroughbreds that come off the track. For several years after birth, they are taught to push into pressure – run through it please – the job is to move through and clear the path to the finish line. Then the horse is retired from racing and finds a home with a well-intentioned new owner. But this owner has often been taught to use a judicious escalation of pressure, with a different plan – to cause the horse to yield from it. Which doesn’t always work out so well at first.” The energy shifted around the table as the connection was made now, with the horse’s point of view. “And then the horse is criticized for being pushy and disrespectful”

Oops… there is that word again.