From Dominion to Receptivity

2013-05-17

When Humans Trade Domination for Education

Human domination over other life forms is woven into the traditions of the dominant monotheistic religions. That may have made sense back when there were a billion humans on the planet. Over the course of the past century, our population has bloomed to over seven billion. We’ve diminished competitive predators in most of our territories to the point of extinction. The human prey pool has grown to include all life forms. As a result, our planet is in the midst of a human-generated extinction spasm that threatens the viability of life, as we know it.

Our sense of entitlement to dominate is at the root of the problem. Our spiritual traditions were unable keep pace with our technological development over the past century. Instead of recognizing the problems associated with our population bloom, they continued to preach domination. As a result, the hands of the Doomsday Clock are quivering on three-minutes to midnight. The Doomsday Project is not some fly-by-night gang of discontents, as many would have us believe. It is a decades-long consortium of top scientists scattered around the globe, who meticulously comb through the data in their fields of expertise to measure the effects of human activity on Life. Their news reflects reality.

There’s good news hidden in this scary scenario. There is no more compelling drive than survival. Every living being has it. Horses, cats and carrots have as much of it as we do. From my perspective, it seems that all the species are knocking on the portals of human consciousness in a last ditch effort to shift our course. I suggest that we invite them in.

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I’ve worn a few hats: horse and dog trainer, teacher, student, psychotherapist, herbalist, disabled person, environmental and social activist, friend, writer, wife and widow are a few. Plants and animals have been my allies throughout the journey. There have been challenges along the way. Some made me stronger; others bent me. My story is both unique and yawningly common.

We all encounter trials. Our personal responses determine the course of our development. Our collective responses shape the world in which we live.

As I write, our nation is headed toward a presidential election. One of the candidates, is a flagrant narcissist. All but one of the others, demonstrate strong narcissistic tendencies. The scary thing about these wanna-be leaders is their impassioned followers. I wonder as I watch events unfold, what those folks are thinking. Don’t they remember Hitler? That’s not a productive question. What we really need to get clearer on is what causes humans to act so nutty?

According to law, craziness is clearly defined. Three criteria can get anybody detained for a mental health evaluation in the States: being a danger to self, others or not having the capacity to care for oneself. When those standards are applied to our culture, it’s easy to see that, at least in the States, humans have gone around the mental health bend. How else could our democracy have produced a culture that wantonly destroys the whole planet’s life-support system?

Where does this behavior come from? An important clue was recently uncovered by those who study the human nervous system. Stress is epigenetic. When a person experiences profound stress, their genes change. Their brains become highly reactive to perceived threats. Once stress has altered neurology, it’s difficult to undo the damage. The diagnosis of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) came into vogue some years after the Viet Nam War. It explained what we were seeing in veterans. The question that haunted this diagnosis was, why do some warriors get sick and others seem okay when they return home from the same experiences.

This seems to be explained by the genetics changes wrought by stress. What this tells us is that the effects of stress accumulate over the generations. So, if you’re from a family that was subjected to genocide, you’re probably hardwired for a character disorder. Anatomically and functionally, the amygdala and subgenual pre-frontal cortex are supercharged and the structures designed to modulate their actions are compromised. This causes folks to experience chronic anxiety and to over react to to relatively minor threats, among other things. The biggest other thing is the development of what we call ‘character disorders.’ Narcissism and Borderline Personality Disorders appear to be the most common. The symptoms of these diseases are not caused by character deficits, as was previously thought. Rather, it appears to be a built-in physiologic vulnerability to stress. Those whose ancestors were subjected to profound stress are more likely to demonstrate symptoms of PTSD. I wonder how many of us don’t have profound stress bending our genomes.

The hallmark of Personality Disorders is the need to control others. That makes perfect sense when seen in the context of PTSD and epigenetics. It can be traced back to a sensible slight-of-hand performed by our nervous systems to protect us from prime predators, which now translates into each other.

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Many who prefer relating to critters carry trauma injuries and sometimes, character disorders. We may be drawn to them because controlling them is socially sanctioned and easier than controlling people. It also provides a barrier from people. The great news is that the critters we’re drawn to hold a key to healing these problems, which are also causing us to overheat and crowd our shared life-support system to the point of ending life.

As tough as change is for a brain hardwired to protect itself this way, the horse compels us with a finesse I haven’t seen duplicated. It requires an adjustment in thinking to trade-in dominion over for being with. When conducted well over time, joining a band of horses is a breathtaking dance of empowered liberation for both humans and horses.

The size and emotional volatility of horses carry hazards. To be safe in their presence, we tune in. When we do, they relax and we’re safer. There is no better mindfulness coach than the horse. The moment we slip out of the here-and-now, horse behavior changes. Because they have a preponderance of mirror neurons, brain cells that mirror the affective content of their environment, they are masters at reflecting our emotional state. If we’re scared and defensive, they become so too. When we let go of our internal dialogues and pay attention to what’s so now, we reestablish our connection. We become an ally instead of a threat.

What’s important to horses? The same stuff that’s important to us. Fifty-six-million-years ago, we shared stem parents. In the way-back times, we were siblings. We’ve evolved similarly. We share a social proclivity to live in small, changeable bands that cleave together for safety and emotional comfort. A lone horse is extraordinarily vulnerable, as is a lone human. After centuries of selective breeding, the domesticated horse is highly tuned to humans. In their view, we become members of their bands. If we play our cards right, we can become recipients of their healing in the process.

When people practice mindfulness regularly, we function better. This leads to the development of virtue, which in turn brings wisdom. Mindfulness, virtue and wisdom are what spiritual traditions are charged with cultivating. They’re also what heals character disorders. Horses train us better and faster than religion or psychotherapy. They have more practice and don’t judge. The practice demands physical engagement. This opens the internal space for us to be present in the moment; instead of fretting over when and how we will be shamed, betrayed or abandoned next, we’re focused on keeping our feet out from under theirs.

Our present moment is dire. The same thinking that delivered us to three-minutes before midnight won’t fix this. It’s time to step beyond our comfort zones. Safety lies in the voices that we’ve tried for so long to shut out. In my experience, horses are the best mindfulness teachers, but they’re not the only ones. Developing affinities with any plant or creature can support our personal and collective evolution. The first step is to expand our consciousnesses enough to give credence to our shared reality. We are interdependent.

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Healing Horses to Heal Humans

 

cropped-cropped-pal-and-daisy-2.jpgNot everyone who gets horses can keep them healthy and happy throughout their lives. Life changes. Children grow up and leave. Money problems happen. Natural disasters occur. Health issues arise and sometimes, don’t go away. In an ideal world, we would all find ways to overcome these upsets so we can keep our loved ones close. Our human-constructed world is not always ideal.

Let’s face it; not everyone keeps horses for love. That’s a subject for a different day. So, what do we do when we can no longer provide for our horse(s’) needs? At this point, the prospects are slim, unless the horse is in its prime, well trained in a performance or work specialty and sound in body, mind and spirit. That describes a small percentage of the horses out there.

There’s a huge population of great horses who have plenty to offer us humans. In California, many of them wind up jammed into tractor-trailers like sardines on their way to meet a kid with a hammer in Mexico. California outlawed horse slaughter in a misguided attempt to prevent cruelty. The unintended consequence is brutal deaths for countless horses. Loving people, some of whom thought that they were giving their old friend a second chance when they sent them to auction, once owned many of them.

It’s a bleak picture, but it doesn’t have to be. There are alternatives. It seems more are rising every month. A few years ago, I started working with rescue horses to prepare them for work in equine education and therapy settings. There’s also a new trend, which I support wholeheartedly: keeping horses as companions. I’d like to see that grow to include involving horses in our individual and collective spiritual journeys. Though some horse people believe that rescued horses are too damaged for this sort of work, I’ve seen otherwise. The horses re-educated me. It took them some time, as I entered the project overly confident in my horse training skills.

The horses taught me to leave the tack and training protocols in the barn. When I finally figured out that the most important part of the work was to be present with them in their world, I started to hang out in their pastures. There’s always plenty to do in a pasture. Picking up poop is an endless chore that gave me hours to watch, listen. At first, I figured that being of service to them in their pastures was important. They taught me otherwise. What each horse responded to best was my letting go of my agenda. Instead of ‘working them,’ as I had when I was a performance trainer, I joined them. I didn’t distract myself with books, art materials, my phone or endless chores. I just was there with them, paying attention to things like the color of the grass, the feel of the air, the facility of their muzzles to sort out the delicious from the chaff. When I did that, they started coming to me, not to demand treats or attention, but to explore me.

They started to incorporate me into their group. There are many steps involved in joining a band of horses, but we humans don’t need to direct the show. Once you master the art of presence, which is mindfulness, the horses are happy to take the lead. They trained me to stay mindful in their presence, by showing me the differences in their behavior when I was in the zone and when I slipped out.

Once I integrated this revelation, I began to recall the many times horses have done the impossible for me. Those occasions always happened when I was fully present with them in some kind of tough situation. I didn’t “train them” to do it. No one could. It just seemed to happen. Now, I think it was because, unbeknownst to me at the time, I had slipped into their wavelength.

The first rescue horse I worked with was a three-year-old filly who had been spirited away from her horrifically abusive owner when she was hours from death by starvation. Her halter had grown into her head and had to be surgically removed. She had spent a month in intensive care at a vet hospital. A friend with a huge heart was hired to socialize her in preparation for a forever home. The friend asked me for help.

When I got a look at her, my first thought was, why didn’t they put down this poor creature? She’s too far gone to bring back. Then I turned to my friend and realized that there was a reason for this. I didn’t know what it was yet, but I had confidence that it would emerge. Together, we might be able to figure out how to bring this mare peace. If we could do it for her, any horse could be saved.

For a few minutes, I tried to calm the mare as she struggled against cross ties in the barn. It was a dark and stormy night. It seemed cruel to throw her out in the pasture with a band of mares. She hadn’t met another horse, until she was hospitalized. But, there was no way she was going to safely settle into a pole stall. Everything seemed to terrify her. So, as the night wore on, it became clear that the pasture was our only viable option.

She didn’t know how to walk on a line and she didn’t have a scrap of trust in humans, except my friend, who had been called away to talk with the stable manager. The mare spun around me as we made our way through the dark, stormy night.  She blew and struck out with all four as I struggled with the gate, then bolted inside when it swung open. As I struggled to keep up with her and get the gate closed, I slipped under her churning legs. As I went down, I was sure that I would die there. Then she levitated. I could see her feet flopping inches over my face, but instead of landing on me, she touched down a foot to my side. All the commotion brought the band thundering over a grade directly toward us. That little freaked out mare stood her ground, chasing six other mares away from me while I scrambled to my feet.

The line was still secured to her neck. I waited in the dark storm, unfamiliar with the terrain of the pasture. My flashlight had drowned.  Where was she? The rain sliced sideways on a fierce wind. It felt like razor blades on my exposed face. I stood there for what felt like hours hoping for some kind of hint that would help me find her. Eventually, an old PMU mare nudged the back of my shoulder. The little mare quivered behind her. I crawled over to her because the storm was too strong for me to walk into. She snorted and struck, but came nowhere near me when she did. I croaked out the Itsy-Bitsy Spider song. It seemed to surprise the mare. She snorted, but stopped striking. I managed to free the line. As soon as I did, that old giant mare began to amble toward the shelter. The little mare trudged after her. Over the next few months, that old mare taught her how to be a horse.

From that muddy moment on, I’ve been committed to bringing rescue horses into equine therapy and educational settings. A horse doesn’t have to be physically sound or highly educated to be a great therapist or teacher. In fact, those who’ve made it through tough times or a long life can bring wonderful qualities to the work.

What appears to make the biggest differences between horses in this work is the extent to which the humans in their world can be present with them. Does their environment support their horsiness, or is it set up for people instead? Once their humans get their heads right, if their horsiness is honored with plenty of time at liberty with a stable group of equines, their forage and water is of high quality and their health needs tended, the horse will make a fine niche for itself in the work. When problems arise, look first at the energy the humans are bringing. Ninety-nine times out of one hundred, an adjustment there will provide the fix.

There are a growing number of clinical and educational applications for horses to slip their mindfulness expertise into the human psyche. Beyond these settings, is another application that’s just beginning to rise among horse-loving people: keeping horses as companion animals. I would add yet another: keeping horses as spiritual guidance counselors.

 

 

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Reclaimed Connections

Reclaimed Connections is an off-shoot of Cradle of the Moon. Cradle of the Moon began as a rescue program for abused and abandoned horses. Its core reasons for being was to provide them with jobs that help them to reconnect with people positively. Repeatedly, ours demonstrated their enormous capacity for forgiveness. We were privileged to tap into their vast healing potential.

Using animals in therapeutic work is not new. Employing previously traumatized horses in this realm is rare. Most of our critters suffered abuse, neglect and/or abandonment in their earlier lives. They proved to be willing partners in helping people to make peace with disabling emotional trauma, after we put in significant work to heal their disturbances. These horses were astoundingly astute at seeing beyond the masks most of us humans present to the world. They’re all about relating to us as we really are, with all our warts and wrinkles. Equine Guided Education does not involve riding or exercising power over horses. Instead, it engages them as collaborators who cut through our social conditioning and personal defenses to reflect back the true Self without blame or judgment.

Like everyone, horses do best when their environments are designed to accommodate their needs. Horses are grazing, browsing herd animals. Their relationships to their herd define their lives. We humans can integrate ourselves into their herd sensibilities, if we approach them with humility and respect. This requires a type of mindfulness that’s very different from that of training a servant or show animal. Instead of the all too common approach of power over, this requires us humans to touch into our pack animal natures in ways that often run counter to our enculturation.

Through religion, industrialization and our more recent movement into the information age, our culture trained us to believe we are entitled to dominion over the plant and animal realms. We have been schooled to view them as resources to be exploited instead of as partners to be negotiated with. This approach hasn’t supported our health any better than it has that of our planet.

Equine Collaboration is a path toward healing the chasm humans wrought in the natural world between our life – support system and us. In this age of environmental degradation, social upheaval and apparently insurmountable personal crises, we humans long for opportunities to heal our planet and ourselves. Horses, properly maintained, have much wisdom to share on how to create and maintain healthy communities that function in balance with the world. When we have access to human communities that function on these principles, we are empowered to heal the traumas lurking in our pasts that may contort our relationships and our health. Reclaimed Connections is about providing a framework for this.

I am also an advocate of herbal medicine. I began life deeply connected to the botanical realms. Through a series of various crises, I found my way to robust health through the judicious engagement of our botanical neighbors and critter allies. During a hiatus in my psychotherapy practice, I teamed up with Tana O’Connaigh to open HydroSouls Alchemy, where we offered blends of organic, therapeutic-grade whole herbs and essential oils, hydrosols and infused based oils to promote the health and happiness of humans, horses and dogs.

Psycho-neuro-immunology is a relatively new field of scientific inquiry. The advent of tools that reflect accurate images of functioning brains has given rise to several new approaches to both understanding how humans function and how to heal our problematic anomalies. Mario Martinez, Ph.D., a neuro-psychologist, has posited a theory on bio-cognition that seamlessly weaves together our expanding comprehension of how our minds, bodies and spirits function with anthropological evidence that demonstrates the enormous impact of enculturation on our health and thought processes.

Using Dr. Martinez’s work as a background template in conjunction with decades of experience handling horses, dogs, cats and people, I offer humans and their companion animals services to assist them in transcending culturally embedded beliefs around dominion to bring their relationships to the next level.

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The Ring of Fire is Ablaze: How Wildlife and Your Companion Animals Can Help

Paloma at the trough croppedLast week there were five quakes around the Pacific Rim and several volcanic eruptions. Seismologists warn that this scenario is linked to impending quakes of huge magnitudes. One seismologist says that up to four disastrous quakes could hit the rim in short order. That’s more than a little scary for those of us who live there.

In 1989, I shared a home in the Santa Cruz Mountains of central California with my late husband, a pack of dogs and a pride of cats. On October 17, The Loma Prieta quake hit with the force of between 6.9 and 7.2 on the Richter scale. The following is the true story of how we survived.

My husband, Tom, was released from the hospital the day before after heart surgery. He was hugely relieved to be home and looking forward to watching the World Series that evening. I rose before dawn, as was my habit. A few months before I had moved my psychotherapy practice to an out building on our property, so I could be available to Tom while he struggled with his declining health. Several of our dogs worked with me as co-therapists. I got up early so we could all have a good run before our workday started.

That morning the dogs were goofier than usual. I noticed, but attributed it to their reaction to Tom’s return home and how compromised he was. In retrospect, I see that for transference instead of an accurate assessment. As we started down the fire trail that ran along the periphery of our property, I noticed several snakes lying across the path. It was too early for them to be out sunning themselves. As we continued on, more and more snakes appeared. They showed up in an astounding array of sizes, shapes and colors, many of which I hadn’t seen, in twenty years of hiking there. I was transfixed.

About a mile below our house was a creek where I was in the habit of doing Yoga while the dogs played. When I got to my spot, I noticed a bright turquoise snake with about a four-inch circumference and about nine-inches long draped across a log that spanned the creek. Its coloring and shape were magnificent and completely new to me. It didn’t move, though it watched me intently. As I returned its gaze, an emaciated cat wobbled out of the woods on the far side of the creek and headed for the log. I sat on the other side and watched as that poor, ataxic creature climbed onto the log, looked me dead in the eye and made his weak way across. He walked around the snake, who just watched, and kept coming towards me. When he arrived he climbed into my lap, threw his forelegs around my shoulder and began a deafeningly loud purr. His eyes were so crossed that I was astounded that he could see at all. He lit up the mommy thing in me so strongly that I was surprised that I didn’t start lactating on the spot. I carried him back up the mountain. The dogs took the lead, jumping over or going around the snakes. They seemed to be remarkably unfazed by them.

When we got home, Tom was up. He was furious that I had “dragged home yet another rescue critter.” It was an old dance we had performed many times before. Tom was a surgeon. When he looked more closely, he told me that the cat’s eyes were crossed because he was starving. He trundled into the kitchen and came back with a bowl of cat food laced with butter and placed it on the mantle. I was still holding the cat, as the rest of our critters were seriously interested. I wanted the new guy to be able to eat and hydrate before he had to deal with them. When I put him on the mantle, the cat unhinged its jaw and shoveled the food in like a backhoe. As we watched, I noticed a single tear roll down Tom’s cheek. I sighed. That was the sign I needed to know that Tom would be the new fellow’s friend for life.

I had to get ready for work. In the confusion, I forgot about the snakes. Every critter needed reassurance that their places in our hearts were secure, even though another had joined the family. Tom needed emotional and physical support. Everyone needed stuff and I had a full slate of clients scheduled from nine until four. When I checked in at noon, Tom was napping with the new guy sprawled across his lap.

At four, I went back to the house to prepare snacks for the game Tom had been talking about for a week. Tom came into the kitchen to keep me company. We were joking around when an ear-splitting scream from the living room stopped us. Ani, my elderly Siamese cat was leaping between the ceiling beams with each hair straight out screeching. We stood transfixed for a moment. I grabbed Tom’s boots. He refused to take them. Ani jumped off the beam, marched across the living room and pissed in his slippers. While she was doing that, I got my boots on. Tom was yelling, but he threw off his slippers and put on his boots while Ani raced around the house gathering up the dogs and other cats into a tight circle around us. Then, she herded us to the fire trail. When any of us broke ranks, she raced around us until we reformed our tight pack. She moved us to an open meadow a couple of hundred yards from the house.

That’s when it hit. There was a crashing explosion, and then we were all flying through the air. While still airborne, I saw the mountainside ripple like the belly of a woman giving birth. We fell back to earth with a resounding thud. Tom and I had been holding hands when it hit. When we came back to Earth, I was holding his ankle. Tom was shaken, but he reached into his deep well of reserves, got to his feet and calmly told me that it was “just and earthquake.” Not being a California native, I had thought it was an atomic blast. Across the canyon, a grove of second-growth redwoods was slamming in unison against the hillside, popping up and then slamming in the other direction. I had a hard time catching my breath as we watched.

We made our way back to the house. The mortar had given out on the rock wall that formed one side of our home. The boulders had crashed through walls, appliances and furnishings. Tom yelled at me to get out of the house; we had work to do. I found him outside staring at the propane tank that had come off its moorings and landed on its shut-off valve. Propane hissed into the air. He told me to lie down with my butt as close to the tank as I could get it and to use my feet to roll it off the valve. He knelt so he could get a hand on the valve. His plan worked. We set off to check on neighbors. We found few humans but lots of overturned propane tanks and freaked out critters.

It was still early. The commuters hadn’t made it home. There were just a few folks around. Fortunately, several were strong teenagers. One of them spotted a fire. I found rakes and shovels while Tom instructed them on how to put out a fire with them. We gathered the handful of adults and decided to break into pairs to go house to house turning off propane tanks and looking for the injured. Tom and I set up a makeshift infirmary outdoors.

Time passed. The commuters weren’t showing up. One of the kids found a generator and plugged in a television. We watched replays of the Bay Bridge going down. We recognized the car of one of our neighbors teetering over the broken bridge. After dark, another neighbor showed up. He told us that there had been a major slide that only a strong hiker who knew the territory could get around. We were cut off.

Tom wasn’t surprised but he was running out of steam. He had fixed a dislocated shoulder and set a few bones. I didn’t know where he was drawing his strength from at this point. My love for him and gratitude for our marriage ballooned. Being cut off frightened us both. Tom’s health was enormously precarious at the time. He was the only M.D. within reach. There were others with injuries that would have been better served in hospitals.

Everyone in our community survived. There were injuries, but in the scheme of things, none were serious. Several houses went down. The community’s water system was destroyed. This turned into a miracle. Our water system was old and falling apart before the quake. We were on the water board. Another member found a way to get the quake damage to pay for a new, state-of-the-art system that our tiny community would not have been able to support. We, and several others, eventually rebuilt our homes. Life went on.

Tom and the dogs and cats, except for Seymour the earthquake cat, eventually died. I moved 120-miles north with Seymour. He has since passed too. I now live in a fishing village poised over the San Andreas Fault with two cats. From my perspective, it’s silly to live in an active fault zone without some good cats. My habit of a daily hike now carries an extra dimension: keeping an eye out for snake conventions. I do that morning and night now. I figure that if the snakes surface again, I’ll have at least 12 hours to inform folks, batten down and get my critters to safety. By nature, I’m the belt and suspenders type.

Surviving an earthquake is easy, if you pay attention to what the wildlife and your critters tell you. I didn’t get the significance of the snakes at the time. They are our friends. They absolutely get that we’re all in this together. At no point on that fateful morning did I witness any hostility between species that normally prey on one another. I will never ignore such information again.

Be safe. Please let your friends and families who live on the Pacific Rim know about the snakes’ reaction to an impending big quake. It could save their lives and yours. Good luck to us all.

 

 

 

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