An excerpt from the upcoming book:
Underneath: Seeking The True Teacher
At a horse sanctuary where my friend, Alpal, and her family live, there are 80 horses, among other creatures. The horses have been rescued from dire circumstances such as starvation, abuse, neglect, and greed. Each one has a harrowing story. Some have had the time and the right ingredients to heal, but some will never not be traumatized. Their pain has soaked into the fabric of their being. The weak and injured tend to be in their own stalls, but there are also herds of ten or more gathering in bigger fields. Communication comes in soft rumbling whispers that roll out of their incredibly shaped forms: massive four-legged, graciously tailed, big-eyed, long-nosed beasts. (We are beasts as well, dear reader.)
The skull of a horse is so uniquely different from ours. They whinny while the donkeys in the pasture on the other side of the barn bray. Their voices cross the boundaries that hold their bodies in. A tribe of wild horses, wild because these ones have been rescued from being rounded up from the wilderness of the Rocky Mountain Range through North America, shipped by train up to Canada to be slaughtered for the meat trade. These wild horses huddle around the water trough. There is also a large pond that hosts a plethora of birds. Three horses notice us and stroll closer, curious, yet reserved, sussing us out. I feel blessed to be in their presence. Although I recognize that it’s not about me, I do desire a sense of recognition between us, and of course it has already occurred even if I am unaware. It is in the ether, yet my human patterning lives in thinking, in terms of identity, and this limits my ability to receive information. It is as if I want him to ask me my name. (Dolphins have unique signatures that they use throughout their whole life. Interestingly, they never make the sound signature of another dolphin, only their own. So they can’t talk about each other. They are present with themselves as the subject.) So I stand in relation with the horse and let go and forget about me, or at least attempt to while staying in my body. There is so much more to notice than what is in your head. We stand in each other’s presence for a bit and then our paths take us along.
Chickens, cats, bunnies, and a duckling live here as well. Free to roam and that is how it should be, although there is a lot of chicken shit on the porch. The waddling duckling chases after our feet as we walk through the house. The bunnies hang out with the chickens grooming under the picnic table. The farm life, so sweet.
Life is ever giving and must be free living. It is an equation we reside in. We are not the designers, we are the designed. Noticing the natural intelligence that arises from birds who roost to bunnies that burrow to horses that run, and we are the humans that witness to tell the stories. You must first be empty like a glass ready to be filled.