August, 2010
A year ago, Chandler and I were at the vets again but surgery was not an option. After having enjoyed an incredible year of rehab, trail rides through woods and fields, and a wonderful little horse show where he was a gentleman and we were together, dear Chandler got sick again. This time he didn’t make it.
Now it has been a year since he passed away. He is still so close to my heart. Sometimes its hard to understand how close we get with our animal friends, but there is such love. His passing was so full, so intimate, such a dance of listening in to him, following him, stepping up for him, being there for all of it. It opened me to so much more of life, which includes the release from this body into timeless connection. And simultaneously the furthering of each being on their journey, expanding into new possibilities and growth.
This past year has been a time of allowing grieving, deepening into the sacred outrageous losses that are included in life, and also a renewal of connection. One mare breathed me back to life, in the very spot I wrote of below, the place of moon gazing with Chandler.
I’ve been so fortunate to be slowly guided into new relationships with different horses. Although I might forget at times, I move into these experiences as an initiate into the closeness that is possible with a horse. Now a horse comes into my life and moves away and I am so grateful for the moments together. There is so much more to learn. And if I can sometimes give even a little back, maybe without even knowing it, its an honor to allow whatever this is to move through me.
August, 2008
These days my horse Chandler’s deep brown eyes are glowing. Have you ever noticed this in another person, or in your own eyes as you look in a mirror? It’s your spirit showing through, usually after you have connected deeply with your own heart, and perhaps with the depths of being unveiled in another. It’s summer now, but sometimes in the winter the furry four leggeds on the farm need to stay indoors, out of the New England blizzards. That’s when I might notice a dull glaze in their eyes, until they get to come out into the sun and air again.
Twelve weeks ago my horse underwent abdominal surgery to save his life, and came out the other side into the warm night air under the stars and pranced. Ten weeks later the vet pointed out a small hernia along the incision site, nothing protruding through but something to keep an eye on and give more time to heal. I was worried about it and woke up in the night. I reached out my mind to make contact with the horse, and feeling he was just fine my body would take a deep breath, recognizing truth and ease. Then he seemed very quiet. Still unable to sleep I made the drive to the farm, heading uphill along the long drive under a full moon over rolling hills.
He acknowleged my presence with a touch of his nose, but really he was in horse time. What was a human doing there? There was no place for language in the moon glow as he and the others gazed out over the vista. This morning I sat down to meditate, and the thought arose: If he can be sustained by the moonbeams so that they shine through his eyes so can I and so can we all.