On Immediate Results and Real Consequences

Do you ever have the experience of immediate response from your environment? Do you know what it feels like have something shift so quickly that you're overwhelmed with the results?

In the course of the last 24 hours my reality has been completely shattered and then repaired to its beautiful self. Some of you may know of the challenges I've faced with my 17 year old bay mustang mare. She used to be absolutely terrified of humans, and nothing in the human world, let alone riding, was simple or even possible with her. People don't believe that now when they see how calm she is, how willing, connected and intelligent she is. Cherokee has been in my life for six years and I have invested hundreds of hours into the relationship. We had a brief riding career a couple of years ago until I ended up ungraciously on the ground twice. Neither of us are very good at working through anxieties over riding. So, we continue on on the ground, online and at liberty. She follows me around a grassy pasture now as I do chores. She comes to greet me and our visitors with enthusiasm and curiosity in her expression. She walks, free of ropes, by my side on our 38 acres. Still I want more.

So, when I had a vet offer to treat her state of mind with herbs, the temptation was too great. What if we could "cure" the last vestige of tension left in her heart? What if this was the "key" to being able to ride her? Wouldn't this be phenomenal? Once again, I repeat an old mistake. So many times experts promised that if we just do these few things over and over or for this amount of time or repetitions that she'll come around. So many times I've succumbed to the juicy quick fix that doesn't involve me. Still I couldn't resist.

We started her on the herbs four days ago. A few reports from my family members came that she was acting different. I saw it but was preoccupied. Then on day three (yesterday) when I had time to engage, I found a terrifyingly different horse. She regressed, literally, all the way back to five or six years ago. She was a fire-breathing dragon that jumped at my every move. Every muscle in her body was erect. Her eyes were as hard and black as stone, and there was no light left in them. Just like that, I lost my horse. All of a sudden our relationship was gone. I was absolutely crushed. Of course, we took her off the herbs.

I lost sleep over wondering if I'd ever get my best friend back. Would I have to start all over again? Could I really, really go through it all again? This morning she still shied from me, snorted and tensed up as I walked past her. She was wishing for me to leave. Then, just like that, it all went away. Tonight she slipped back into her current day skin as if yesterday had never happened.

As we stood in the pasture side-by-side calmly watching a cinnamon colored black bear wander across our property I felt safe with her. She watched the bear with quiet curiosity. All was serene. Really, it sounds absurd, but it's true. Bear is about turning inward and knowing the answer is within the vastness of my being while staying open to the unknown outcome. Gosh this horse has been a test. How willing am I REALLY to listen to my own guidance and to trust that I am enough? This isn't some fairytale, this is the truth, the hard truth with real consequences. Today I am so overwhelmingly grateful that the real consequences, the real answers were so extreme and so immediate. It's not everyday we have the opportunity to correct our course so drastically and come out unscathed. This too is a gift and I am thankful.

Little Bits at a Time

In our Journey Circle today we talked about how trauma can be repeated throughout our lives. For example, I broke my left femur when I was 11 years old and I can't say how many times I've re-injured my left knee or hip since then. Today, I shared how I see these kinds of patterns repeated in the lives of rescue horses. No matter how many owners the horses have in their lives, the story is the same. Some horses starve, are "rescued" and then starved by the people that rescued them, and I'm not talking one cycle of this, but repeated cycles. Other horses attract owners that aren't experienced enough for them, and the horse gets passed on to one owner and then the next because they are considered "too dangerous". Really the horse never has the chance to connect with humans and learn how to be around them. It is no fault of their own.

When I lived at the horse rescue a horse named Little Bit (we called her "Bits" for short) and my mare, Cherokee, were the very, very best of friends. This meant I got to know Bits very well. You see, my horse Cherokee used to be incredibly hard to catch and while I was out in the pasture taking the time it takes to catch Cherokee, Bits would follow me around, cuddle with me, and nuzzle me. Whatever rejection I felt from Cherokee was soothed by Bits' constant presence.

Cherokee's "Crew" from left to right: Ginger Snap, Cherokee, Star, and Little Bit. All now have forever homes.

I became so enamored with Bits that I ventured to take the relationship further by haltering her and taking her out of the pasture. That was a disaster. She'd try to run me over, bolt, and do whatever it took to get back to her herd. I was keenly aware of how far she had to go. With enough of a project in Cherokee, I never could commit to giving Bits the education she so desperately needed. So instead, I advocated for her. In fact, I worked to start an entire training program at the rescue with Bits in mind. When we had the program running I assigned her to the best trainers we had. To my chagrin she still wasn't able to find a home. To my delight the training program continued on after I left.

Ever since moving from the rescue I've followed Bits' progress and inquired about her health. For two long years she's been in and out of training and despite the hurdle of a mild lameness issue and the relocation of her primary trainer she's made steady progress. I had a couple opportunities to visit her in that time and she always remembered me. She'd come up to me like she always did and bury her head in my chest. It brought tears to my eyes. She was such an amazing friend to me.

This evening I learned that Bits finally has been able to move on from her past and find a great home. It's a reminder that although we do unconsciously repeat ugly patterns in our lives that we can shift them. It may not happen as quickly as we'd like and we won't be able to do it ourselves. We need to trust that the right people will cross our paths to help guide us along. We need to work hard, very hard, and persevere.

Today with her guidance, I remember that change happens in little "Bits" at a time and my heart swells with the memory of those warm nuzzles forward.

On Symbols

I had the inspiration for this design recently thinking about how many people include horses and hawks in their logos, but how many can draw the finer details of their features by memory? I'm still feeling through the idea... loving how abstract it is and still forming my attachment to it.

Now I have the opportunity to sit with this image until another comes. I think it was like three years ago that the first idea for a logo came to mind. Hopefully I'll encounter certainty over this one or other options before that amount of time has passed again!

Either way, right now it is nice to associate myself my identity as a writer and with my relationship with the wild ones.

Musings of a Shamanic Cowgirl

I've known ever since I started my shamanic practice over five years ago that I needed to set myself apart to attract clients in the ever expanding sea of healers and modalities, but finding a way proved impossible. I sketched numerous logos, played with infinite mottos, but I could never define what made me special. I couldn't conceptualize my brand.

Now I understand how this happened. In finding shamanism, I had finally found my people, my place, my passion. I had a few short years in a shamanic arts school of like-minded people before being propelled back out in to the "ordinary" world. In the time in between now and then I've experienced a mix of social situations. I either have to explain to complete non-believers the basics of shamanism or I find myself trying to justify my gift to well-accomplished healers. Of course, I've also had the fortune of having some amazing supporters through the whole process. The result was that I learned to stay neutral and unattached to anyone seeing me a certain way while staying in the truth of my gift.

Let's face it, as a young (33 y.o.) person helping others with their toughest soul growth I'm in a unique position. Most of my peers and those younger than me are not looking for help yet. Over the years, almost my entire clientele has consisted of women nearly twice my age. It's been incredibly humbling that these women rich with life experience have been willing to trust me with their deepest work. Out of a great respect for my elders, I have not presumed to know better. Instead, I have presented my ability and experience as an offering to help them along their paths. I have learned to trust what Spirit was giving more than my own shadow of self doubt. I am grateful for this experience and see its necessity.

Now is the time to honor these lessons so I may carry them forward because, finally, the words to express my uniqueness are coming.

• My practice is a shamanic practice firmly rooted in the Earth with a strong scientific understanding of plants, animals, ecosystems, and natural processes.
• I have dedicated my life, my work to studying and helping the planet and the creatures on her. 
• As a child I was an avid student of power animals, energy healing and spiritual growth under the guidance of my mother and her circle of wise-women friends. This practice carried into adulthood and drew me to study shamanism. 
• I love rural living. I love driving my F250 diesel pickup, mucking horse manure, hauling hay, growing my own food, and putting up the harvest for winter. 
• I live on 38 acres in the mountains because having an intimate relationship with the land is of primary importance to me. I am committed to growing the vast majority of my apothecary myself or collecting it wild on my own land. 
• I am fascinated with the soul work that flourishes while taming wild animals and have found a perfect match in my rescued mustang mares. 

Out of this new ownership of where I am in life, I've received some divine guidance with a twist of youth and humor. 

"Shamanic Cowgirl" fits best who I am... both introspective and brave, humble and remarkable, sensitive and resilient. I look forward to sharing with you the brand and image that flow from this place. It promises to be a joy!

Do They Speak English?

Being in the world of animal welfare as a shamanic practitioner I commonly get asked the question, "Can you talk to the horse and help him understand?"

From a shamanic point of view, the animals do not speak our language. Historically, it was the job of the shaman to learn how to speak the language of the land, the animals, the elements, and the ancestors. The shaman communed with these spirits and surrendered to their cosmic view, so she could work with them on behalf of her tribe. She learned how to communicate in metaphor and story, empathy and wonder.

Many superstitions did and still do surround the telling of the shamanic experience because shaman understood that in the telling the power may be lost. Some cultures forbid the unveiling of one's power animal while others believe that sharing the name of one's spirit guide can cause illness. Shaman often would act out their journeys for the whole tribe but refuse to narrate the same to anyone. The shaman was both leader and hermit. This traditional way of being must have weighed heavily on the healer, but carries some important lessons.

The spirit world is not polarized. There is no right or wrong, up or down, inside or out. It is all one. In contrast, our language is inherently polarized. Think of how many times a day you use the word "good". When I embark on a shamanic journey I am entering into a rich, multi-layered experience that is felt and loved. I put the experience into words as a way to remember so that I can revisit the learning over and over again for deeper levels of understanding. I do this knowing that even my own words read to myself change the experience. I am taking pure white light and shining it through a faceted crystal so that I may follow the rays of color back through the crystal and into the light.

Now, consider this process in relation to another living, breathing autonomous being. When I journey to them or for them I am in the spirit world. This allows me to empathize their experience with more clarity, but I am still a human connected in part to my experience of being human. Now if I take what I experience as them during the journey and translate it into human language I am twice removed from the actual form. I am twice removed from the truth that is that being's experience. And the being is twice removed from me.

From this standpoint, all that is being had is a hopelessly garbled conversation. Like a foreigner trying to order dinner I will first try to select a dish I think I would like from a menu I can't read. Then, with much difficulty, gesturing and mispronunciation I will ask the waiter to confirm that I have made a good choice. Not satisfied with his answer I will order it anyway. He has the chef make what he makes everyday and what arrives on my plate is no where near what I would have guessed.

The Healing That's Offered

The piece on "Do They Speak English?" leaves the reader with a new question: "If the shaman cannot help a horse understand what can they do?"

Domestic animals live in a world full of human agenda. Before the time of domestication, animals operated solely on their own will. Now we force them into trailers and kennels. We demand they be quiet when asked. We expect them to give solace and comfort to our tired souls. In all of this work, all of this submission, they can become weary and ill.

By nature, the shamanic practitioner works from a place of no personal agenda. To conduct healing, the shaman must surrender to and direct the spirits in equal parts. It's in the surrender that agenda must be shed. The direction given is not respected unless the agenda is released. Agenda is polarized and the spirit world is not. Mother Nature is not malicious or kind in her power. Her power just is. The spirits work in the same way.

There are many paths to healing. Each has it's own merit, but in shamanic work the path is tailored to the patient's truth. In this way, the animal is allowed the opportunity to regain their sense of self which is a healing on its own. The animal is treated as an autonomous being valued for who they are outside of their relationship with humans. The healing is offered to them to do with as they please. This may be the first time in their entire lives that they realize the opportunity to manifest their desires. Do they want to stay and support their human? Would they rather languish in disease? Will they stay disconnected? Are they up to the task before them?

Self realization is a powerful healing, but disperses in the first wind of the civilized world without some shoring up. This is where the next piece of the work comes into play. The shaman brings forth energy that until this point has been unavailable to the patient. Since domestic animals have so little control over their physical environment, pieces of their essence are easily lost. Their personal power is forfeited. The brilliant light of their will grows dim. The shaman seeks out this essence and brings it back into the sphere of the patient's conscious control. In this work, the desires of the animal may shift to reflect who they truly are at the core of their being.

There are as many benefits of shamanic healing for animals as stars in the sky, and what I've laid out here is the groundwork. I encourage you to explore the field further. This is our opportunity to offer back the unconditional love our furry friends are so courageously infamous for.

On Leadership

I find it an interesting synchronicity that at this time in my life I find my perspective of leadership turned on its head. In the over 2 years I've known my mustang mare she has been the lead mare of her shifting herd of 15-18 mares. She has shouldered the role so gracefully that life in the pasture has been ordered but playfully choatic, friendly with a sound level of ownership. She rarely, if ever, exerts her power over the others and has been willing to let many a discretion slide. My mare is not a micro-manager or one to delegate tasks, she lets each horse fall into their natural role in the herd, and shares her time with each regardless of rank. She has continually demonstrated that leadership is not about brute force, shear power, or outright enchantment, all of which she has in excess, but about sound quiet confidence.

Now, in the last few months I've watched another, smaller but quicker, mustang throw the herd into a jumble and bully my mare out of her position. I've realized how desperately I've clung to Cherokee's identity as a leader, and I've had to go through my own path of transformation to reframe our relationship.

Relationships are tricky, especially those we have with our animals. So frequently I see that an animal's illness, spiritual, emotional, mental or physical, is strongly tied to the human's circumstances. We regularly project our own stuff onto our furry friends. We commonly ask them to excuse our faults. We pursue a mirror of our strengths. This is the natural order of things. To be in relationship is to connect and share our energy, love, and life.

The problem arises when the bond we share becomes static. This stunts the growth and transformation that is primary to every living being's path. When this happens with the humans in our lives we begin to either voice or hear a good deal of grumbling which, when not heeded, turns to outright defiance and the severing of ties. Our furry companions cannot explain to us what the problem is with language, so we start to see other symptoms. Misbehavior and noncompliance are the first signs. Physical illness or violence are the last stage.

In the case of my mare and myself, I saw immediately that the shift in her role and my strong reaction to it required a big adjustment. I could have chosen to wallow in pity and spend my hours wishing for her to regain face. Instead, I saw an opportunity. Here was my chance to direct all her freed time and energy into our work together. Since she didn't have a herd to watch over all day, I could provide Cherokee with more play sessions to ponder and I could visit at odd times. The weather this winter has been awefully cold, but I bundled up and went out. She met me in the middle by adjusting to the strange environment of the indoor arena. We've had some absolutely outstanding days together and now more than ever we look forward to making contact in a new way.

Many times I've pursued a position of leadership in my herd of two, but never would I have wanted Cherokee to have to give up her own. I still don't know for certain that she had to relinquish her role in her herd to accept me as her leader, but something tells me that the opportunity arose for her and she took it. Maybe she's thinking the same of me?