Recently I watched the movie The Horse Boy, which is a really cool movie about a little autistic boy whose parents (as one does) take him on a trek in search of healing to the Reindeer People in Outer Mongolia. It's a whole saga, and worth watching, and it's available on Netflix Instant Watch if you're interested.
The part I'm talking about, however, involves an episode where the father wants his son to continue their journey on horseback, and the little boy, who normally loves riding, has a tantrum and won't stop until they let him ride in the van instead.
The father is naturally disappointed and resists letting the boy have his way. The father is attached to his vision of the trip proceeding idyllically with the little boy sitting on the horse in front of him. He realizes finally that it is he himself who is being stubborn and resistant; he must give up his attachment to his plan and actually listen to the child.
This, I would say, is obedience.
When I'm on my way home and the "Battery Not Charging" light comes on, and my mechanic on the phone says it's only a matter of time until the car stops working, I initially decide to try and make it to an important appointment and deal with the car later. Then I wake up, cancel the appointment and take the car to my mechanic. That is obedience.
When the horse I'm trimming says, "Enough on this leg - time to move to the next," and I hold on, wanting to just get it finished. That is disobedience.
When I have a pleasant little revery involving my child being good at sports and she resists signing up for next season, and I realize that it's my dream and not hers and let her quit. That is obedience.
Obedience is not what we think it is.
____________________
I should add that later on in the movie, they come to a point in the journey where the van cannot continue because of the terrain. The father convinces his son to ride on the horse. At this juncture, there was a real need for the boy to do so, whereas earlier on there had not.
Friday, February 15, 2013
Confirmation
This morning, I was browsing through Chabad.org, my favorite website, and came upon this recent lecture.
http://www.chabad.org/multimedia/media_cdo/aid/2091721/jewish/The-Month-of-Adar.htm
This lecture affirms what I was talking about in my post of yesterday. Now is not the time to dwell on externalities but to delve deep inside and look for the source within, which can transform, rather than merely curate, the world outside.
http://www.chabad.org/multimedia/media_cdo/aid/2091721/jewish/The-Month-of-Adar.htm
This lecture affirms what I was talking about in my post of yesterday. Now is not the time to dwell on externalities but to delve deep inside and look for the source within, which can transform, rather than merely curate, the world outside.
Thursday, February 14, 2013
Not by Bread Alone
This morning - I suppose it was this morning, but it could have been any time or any day - I was lying in bed, looking out of the window at the mountain, gathering my thoughts for the day. Perhaps I began a prayer - began to ask for things I need, or for things needed by friends and family members.
And then - I don't know - I saw a bird in a tree and suddenly thought: how paltry are the things I ask for, how meager, how mere.
Health, work, financial security, safe traveling, the success of projects, all kinds of things - all important things, but really, is that the best I can ask for? What does the world really hold in store for us? What are we looking for, what do we expect, what do we hope for?
Suddenly everything I was concerned with seemed so utilitarian and pragmatic.
Judaism holds that the mitzvot - the commandments and laws - are not to be thought of as useful or as accomplishing any purpose. They are to be performed because their performance gives God pleasure. Is this a clue as to how we should view the world? That the useful things, the necessary things are all well and good, but that the really important things have no utility.
I think of horses, of George - George, whose flesh and blood and stature make him ideal for carrying or pulling things or people. And Einstein, whose arms and legs no doubt would have made him a serviceable (if absent-minded) street sweeper.
And although the Enlightenment brought us many benefits for which we're grateful, we have almost imperceptibly slipped into something which is sometimes called The Mechanistic World View. Which isn't an inaccurate view, because that would be easy to disprove. But a misleading world view, which tempts us to believe that the entire universe is made up of utilitarian relationships, of cause and effect, of things necessary for other things, a world in which all mitzvot are performed for the sake of the usefulness thereof, and therefore are not mitzvot at all.
Yes, I want the safety of those I love. But should I stop after I've asked for that? Or should I ask for more love?
Do I want a horse who will carry me securely down the road, or do I want a horse who will reveal to me the goodness of God which is inside creation? I need to ask for more.
And then - I don't know - I saw a bird in a tree and suddenly thought: how paltry are the things I ask for, how meager, how mere.
Health, work, financial security, safe traveling, the success of projects, all kinds of things - all important things, but really, is that the best I can ask for? What does the world really hold in store for us? What are we looking for, what do we expect, what do we hope for?
Suddenly everything I was concerned with seemed so utilitarian and pragmatic.
Judaism holds that the mitzvot - the commandments and laws - are not to be thought of as useful or as accomplishing any purpose. They are to be performed because their performance gives God pleasure. Is this a clue as to how we should view the world? That the useful things, the necessary things are all well and good, but that the really important things have no utility.
I think of horses, of George - George, whose flesh and blood and stature make him ideal for carrying or pulling things or people. And Einstein, whose arms and legs no doubt would have made him a serviceable (if absent-minded) street sweeper.
And although the Enlightenment brought us many benefits for which we're grateful, we have almost imperceptibly slipped into something which is sometimes called The Mechanistic World View. Which isn't an inaccurate view, because that would be easy to disprove. But a misleading world view, which tempts us to believe that the entire universe is made up of utilitarian relationships, of cause and effect, of things necessary for other things, a world in which all mitzvot are performed for the sake of the usefulness thereof, and therefore are not mitzvot at all.
Yes, I want the safety of those I love. But should I stop after I've asked for that? Or should I ask for more love?
Do I want a horse who will carry me securely down the road, or do I want a horse who will reveal to me the goodness of God which is inside creation? I need to ask for more.
Therefore take no thought, saying, What shall we eat? or, What shall we drink? or, Wherewithal shall we be clothed? ... For your heavenly Father knoweth that ye have need of all these things. But seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you. (Matthew 6: 31-33)
George is a Genius
George is very capable of communicating. However, he does it in such a diffuse and sometimes distant manner, that I don't always notice what he's saying, or even that he's saying anything at all.
Bridget comes barreling over - she pushes me, prods me, sticks her nose in my face, slams her butt into my side to ask for scratches, tries to copy what I'm doing, and generally is like an enthusiastic, bumptious kid, who wants to talk and ask questions and get involved in everything.
George on the other hand - for example - comes toward me indirectly, passing to one side, makes no face-to-face contact, and stops with me in the general vicinity of his hindquarters, careful not to touch me. If I fail to take the hint, he turns around and looks at the spot he wants to have scratched.
Today, he came over for a little scratching, but he wasn't really into it. He kept leaving and going to stand by a lone capped t-post, the remains of a manege I used to have. As he stood there, looking utterly woebegone, he would bite his legs and paw at the ground.
I thought to myself, "What in the world is the matter with George?"
I guessed he was frustrated because he wanted to go across the drive to the other field where there was a little green grass, and I'd already made it clear that this wasn't happening today. I decided that despite the piles of hay I'd put on the ground for his dining pleasure, George was just sad that there was no green grass in his field and his frustration was getting the better of him.
Later on, I was with the horses in a different part of the field, near an open gate which leads between two pastures. I noticed a stray piece of fence wire hanging down and wrapped it out of harm's way around the fence.
George went over and took the piece of wire in his mouth. If Bridget did that, it would be because she'd seen me wrap the wire and wanted to try to copy me. Not George. I offered him the end of the wire to see if he wanted to investigate it. No. He stuck his head over the fence. He stepped away, and right next to the gate post, he started pecking and pawing the ground and biting his legs again.
And then I understood. He's talking to me about fencing. That was the whole point of standing by the t-post, and then mouthing the fence wire, and then pawing beside the gatepost. Even though this particular piece of fencing and this open gate divides the two pastures he's currently living in, he's using the fencing here to make a point: He is frustrated by the fencing that is keeping him from the green grass.
It was getting late, but I wanted to do something for him and asked him to follow me across the field, where I exited and found a meager patch of green grass growing in a corner of the yard. I plucked the short grass and in the growing darkness gave George tiny handfuls of green through the fence. It wasn't much, but I hope at least he realized that I finally understood what he was talking about.
The complexity of his communication astounds me.
It's interesting that this happened today, because I've just been realizing that it's a long time since I tried to tap into George's special talents and gifts. Earlier today, I was trying to tell him that I was sorry about that, and perhaps looking for a word from him.
In my selfish way, of course, I now see I was hoping for something for me. Whereas right now, George has his own needs as a priority. Yet he perhaps sensed that I was listening again, and he talked to me.
Listening is hard. Hearing is even harder.
Bridget comes barreling over - she pushes me, prods me, sticks her nose in my face, slams her butt into my side to ask for scratches, tries to copy what I'm doing, and generally is like an enthusiastic, bumptious kid, who wants to talk and ask questions and get involved in everything.
George on the other hand - for example - comes toward me indirectly, passing to one side, makes no face-to-face contact, and stops with me in the general vicinity of his hindquarters, careful not to touch me. If I fail to take the hint, he turns around and looks at the spot he wants to have scratched.
Today, he came over for a little scratching, but he wasn't really into it. He kept leaving and going to stand by a lone capped t-post, the remains of a manege I used to have. As he stood there, looking utterly woebegone, he would bite his legs and paw at the ground.
I thought to myself, "What in the world is the matter with George?"
I guessed he was frustrated because he wanted to go across the drive to the other field where there was a little green grass, and I'd already made it clear that this wasn't happening today. I decided that despite the piles of hay I'd put on the ground for his dining pleasure, George was just sad that there was no green grass in his field and his frustration was getting the better of him.
Later on, I was with the horses in a different part of the field, near an open gate which leads between two pastures. I noticed a stray piece of fence wire hanging down and wrapped it out of harm's way around the fence.
George went over and took the piece of wire in his mouth. If Bridget did that, it would be because she'd seen me wrap the wire and wanted to try to copy me. Not George. I offered him the end of the wire to see if he wanted to investigate it. No. He stuck his head over the fence. He stepped away, and right next to the gate post, he started pecking and pawing the ground and biting his legs again.
And then I understood. He's talking to me about fencing. That was the whole point of standing by the t-post, and then mouthing the fence wire, and then pawing beside the gatepost. Even though this particular piece of fencing and this open gate divides the two pastures he's currently living in, he's using the fencing here to make a point: He is frustrated by the fencing that is keeping him from the green grass.
It was getting late, but I wanted to do something for him and asked him to follow me across the field, where I exited and found a meager patch of green grass growing in a corner of the yard. I plucked the short grass and in the growing darkness gave George tiny handfuls of green through the fence. It wasn't much, but I hope at least he realized that I finally understood what he was talking about.
The complexity of his communication astounds me.
It's interesting that this happened today, because I've just been realizing that it's a long time since I tried to tap into George's special talents and gifts. Earlier today, I was trying to tell him that I was sorry about that, and perhaps looking for a word from him.
In my selfish way, of course, I now see I was hoping for something for me. Whereas right now, George has his own needs as a priority. Yet he perhaps sensed that I was listening again, and he talked to me.
Listening is hard. Hearing is even harder.
Tuesday, February 12, 2013
On the Spectrum?
A while ago I came to the conclusion that George was autistic.
Is there such a thing as an autistic horse? So I googled.
Apparently I'm not the only one who thinks so: I learned about Benny the Autistic Horse, who belongs to Missy Wryn.
Yup, I really think he is.
Is there such a thing as an autistic horse? So I googled.
Apparently I'm not the only one who thinks so: I learned about Benny the Autistic Horse, who belongs to Missy Wryn.
Yup, I really think he is.
Saturday, January 5, 2013
The Magical Healing Powers of Donkeys
Yesterday I went to trim at a rescue barn. One of the residents is a 30 year old pony mare whose health had declined in her old age to the point where she was at death's store - she'd lost huge amounts of weight and had constant diarrhea. No one could figure out what was wrong, and no treatment worked.
Until she was put in with the donkeys. Whereupon she more or less immediately started to feel better and gained 100 pounds in short order.
I trimmed the donkeys too. I was warned that they could be "a bit frisky" and as I know I am no match for a donkey, I expected the worst. One donkey did indeed turn out to be a little stubborn, but the other one could not have been more accommodating. She just stood there and did everything in her power to be as helpful as possible. While at the same time retaining her enigmatic donkeyness.
What is this mysterious donkey quality? Is it a reserve, a distance, a judging? It seems to convey an immense amount of knowledge, imparted in tiny doses, in great silence. One senses that Eeyore-like trait of endurance and ... not exactly cynicism, but perhaps realism. Every now and then, a clear transmission of intelligence is received, as if beamed down from an alien civilization on a distant planet. We are not alone! I hear that donkey society is non-hierarchical compared to that of horses, and I believe it. Authority seems to be devolved to each donkey, authority not only over itself but over others too - a non-violent authority, which demands the good of all.
They say that when Moshiach comes, he will come on a donkey. Of course this could mean that Moshiach will come in a donkey. Judaism has this beautiful idea called "inversion" whereby in the Messianic era, everything is turned upside down. What was down is up, what was weak is strong. The body informs the spirit instead of vice versa. Woman is the head of man. And so on. Of course we can see these things happening these days all over the world, and this teaching is very much in keeping with the idea, which more and more people are espousing, that we can learn from our animals - not just practical truths, but spiritual and moral truths also.
The donkey - the only animal (apart from the serpent) who speaks in the Bible - perhaps is well aware of all this, and has been biding his time until the day when we will listen to him.
Until she was put in with the donkeys. Whereupon she more or less immediately started to feel better and gained 100 pounds in short order.
I trimmed the donkeys too. I was warned that they could be "a bit frisky" and as I know I am no match for a donkey, I expected the worst. One donkey did indeed turn out to be a little stubborn, but the other one could not have been more accommodating. She just stood there and did everything in her power to be as helpful as possible. While at the same time retaining her enigmatic donkeyness.
What is this mysterious donkey quality? Is it a reserve, a distance, a judging? It seems to convey an immense amount of knowledge, imparted in tiny doses, in great silence. One senses that Eeyore-like trait of endurance and ... not exactly cynicism, but perhaps realism. Every now and then, a clear transmission of intelligence is received, as if beamed down from an alien civilization on a distant planet. We are not alone! I hear that donkey society is non-hierarchical compared to that of horses, and I believe it. Authority seems to be devolved to each donkey, authority not only over itself but over others too - a non-violent authority, which demands the good of all.
They say that when Moshiach comes, he will come on a donkey. Of course this could mean that Moshiach will come in a donkey. Judaism has this beautiful idea called "inversion" whereby in the Messianic era, everything is turned upside down. What was down is up, what was weak is strong. The body informs the spirit instead of vice versa. Woman is the head of man. And so on. Of course we can see these things happening these days all over the world, and this teaching is very much in keeping with the idea, which more and more people are espousing, that we can learn from our animals - not just practical truths, but spiritual and moral truths also.
The donkey - the only animal (apart from the serpent) who speaks in the Bible - perhaps is well aware of all this, and has been biding his time until the day when we will listen to him.
Thursday, December 27, 2012
Freedom to Refuse
On Saturday I went out on two last-minute trimming calls. Two different barns but, coincidentally, two recent rescues who needed trimming, preferably before Christmas.
The first call was to a new mini, adopted a few days before by a man who already owns three. He has a lovely, neat set-up for his pets and takes very good care of them. He's a softie when it comes to dwarf minis, and he heard about this little one who was being fostered by a dog-rescue lady until a permanent home could be found for him.
His name is Bashful, and he is the teeniest, tiniest mini you have ever seen. Five years old and fully grown, weighing less than 60 pounds. It was obviously a very, very long time since his last trim - perhaps he'd never been trimmed before. Both fore hoofs were growing out to the side, and he was walking on the side wall of both hoofs. Both hoofs curved to the left. These dwarfs can have distorted joints, but he has mobility in the fetlock joint, and I think if his hoofs could grow straight, he might be able to walk on his heels. But HOW to effect the transition? This will require some thinking and consultation with others more experienced than I. On Saturday we settled for getting rid of most of the excessive over growth to get things started, but I didn't want to take it all away, as it wasn't clear what would be left for him to land on.
He was so little, his owner just picked him up and plonked him on his side. He didn't seem to mind, and when we were done, he stuck around being curious and friendly.
The second call was to a newly-adopted pinto Shetland pony. When we started, he was very distracted by his absence from his pasture-mates, and he reared away occasionally while I was working on his forefeet. I encouraged him to "ask politely" and pretty soon he got the hang of doing just that, and we were able work on his feet, taking little breaks when he wanted.
The hind legs were a different matter. He turned out to be a kicker, and when it comes to kicking, ponies are champs. At one point, he kicked out with both feet at once, and the stand went flying. So - time to back off and re-group. Seemed like he had had a bad experience in the past with his hind legs being worked on, which is turning out to be a not-infrequent experience, with ponies especially. The first thing to do was to ask him NOT to pick up his leg. I put my hand on his leg and asked him to leave it on the ground. Kick. Try again. Kick. But after several more tries, he left his foot planted.
At this point, the pony became pensive, calm, and inwardly listening. He turned to look at me sometimes. I started asking him to pick up his foot, and each time he refused. I backed off, asked again, he refused, I backed off, asked again, received a refusal .... and so on. I've come to see this as a powerfully positive experience for both horse and human - this opportunity for the horse to respond to a request with a refusal. Klaus Ferdinand Hempfling talks about obtaining an almost immediate "healing" in horses when he works with them. I've always found this very puzzling, but in this dialog of "Will you?"-"No, I won't," I'm finding there is a balm and a peace for both species involved. Perhaps this is akin to what KFH talks about?
After a while, I started to put a little suggestive pressure on to his foot - not trying to make him pick up his foot, but to illustrate what I was asking. We set up a little quiet conversation between my pressure and his resistance. I was saying "Do you think you might shift your balance a little so that your foot could come up?" He knew it wasn't going to escalate to an argument, and so he was able to respond with, "Well, maybe, let me see, maybe I could, just a little."
And then, with no fuss, he picked his foot up; I plonked it on the stand, and there it remained of its own accord until I was done trimming. Work on the other foot proceeded more quickly.
The thing is - for this to "work," it can't be about getting it to work. I have to be willing to walk away with the work unstarted or incomplete. I remember Lynne Gerard saying something to this effect (I believe it was in response to a comment I left on her blog). I had succeeded in "getting" a friend's mare to take her medicine (which she normally resisted) by holding her on a loose rope, politely asking her to take the medicine, and by expecting her to take it. Lynne congratulated me but wisely reminded me that if my intentions were sincere, I had to be willing to not succeed as well.
This is the way we should treat our fellow humans too, I believe. Unless someone is going to cause harm to themselves or others, there is no cause for coercion. That is why I admire the special ed school where my daughter teaches. The kids are given ample opportunity to act goofy and play, but when it comes time to teach The Basics (manners, sharing, anger control, arithmetic, reading, etc.), the teachers do the equivalent of me standing with my hand on the pony's fetlock, waiting. My daughter has been punched, bitten, kicked, and cursed at. But she and the other teachers don't react; they stand quietly, waiting and suggesting. These children, who have failed at (been failed by) all the other programs they have attended, gradually blossom and improve. I wish all school children could be treated like this.
I am thankful to the little pinto pony for being present, for trusting for listening, and for communicating.
The first call was to a new mini, adopted a few days before by a man who already owns three. He has a lovely, neat set-up for his pets and takes very good care of them. He's a softie when it comes to dwarf minis, and he heard about this little one who was being fostered by a dog-rescue lady until a permanent home could be found for him.
His name is Bashful, and he is the teeniest, tiniest mini you have ever seen. Five years old and fully grown, weighing less than 60 pounds. It was obviously a very, very long time since his last trim - perhaps he'd never been trimmed before. Both fore hoofs were growing out to the side, and he was walking on the side wall of both hoofs. Both hoofs curved to the left. These dwarfs can have distorted joints, but he has mobility in the fetlock joint, and I think if his hoofs could grow straight, he might be able to walk on his heels. But HOW to effect the transition? This will require some thinking and consultation with others more experienced than I. On Saturday we settled for getting rid of most of the excessive over growth to get things started, but I didn't want to take it all away, as it wasn't clear what would be left for him to land on.
He was so little, his owner just picked him up and plonked him on his side. He didn't seem to mind, and when we were done, he stuck around being curious and friendly.
The second call was to a newly-adopted pinto Shetland pony. When we started, he was very distracted by his absence from his pasture-mates, and he reared away occasionally while I was working on his forefeet. I encouraged him to "ask politely" and pretty soon he got the hang of doing just that, and we were able work on his feet, taking little breaks when he wanted.
The hind legs were a different matter. He turned out to be a kicker, and when it comes to kicking, ponies are champs. At one point, he kicked out with both feet at once, and the stand went flying. So - time to back off and re-group. Seemed like he had had a bad experience in the past with his hind legs being worked on, which is turning out to be a not-infrequent experience, with ponies especially. The first thing to do was to ask him NOT to pick up his leg. I put my hand on his leg and asked him to leave it on the ground. Kick. Try again. Kick. But after several more tries, he left his foot planted.
At this point, the pony became pensive, calm, and inwardly listening. He turned to look at me sometimes. I started asking him to pick up his foot, and each time he refused. I backed off, asked again, he refused, I backed off, asked again, received a refusal .... and so on. I've come to see this as a powerfully positive experience for both horse and human - this opportunity for the horse to respond to a request with a refusal. Klaus Ferdinand Hempfling talks about obtaining an almost immediate "healing" in horses when he works with them. I've always found this very puzzling, but in this dialog of "Will you?"-"No, I won't," I'm finding there is a balm and a peace for both species involved. Perhaps this is akin to what KFH talks about?
After a while, I started to put a little suggestive pressure on to his foot - not trying to make him pick up his foot, but to illustrate what I was asking. We set up a little quiet conversation between my pressure and his resistance. I was saying "Do you think you might shift your balance a little so that your foot could come up?" He knew it wasn't going to escalate to an argument, and so he was able to respond with, "Well, maybe, let me see, maybe I could, just a little."
And then, with no fuss, he picked his foot up; I plonked it on the stand, and there it remained of its own accord until I was done trimming. Work on the other foot proceeded more quickly.
The thing is - for this to "work," it can't be about getting it to work. I have to be willing to walk away with the work unstarted or incomplete. I remember Lynne Gerard saying something to this effect (I believe it was in response to a comment I left on her blog). I had succeeded in "getting" a friend's mare to take her medicine (which she normally resisted) by holding her on a loose rope, politely asking her to take the medicine, and by expecting her to take it. Lynne congratulated me but wisely reminded me that if my intentions were sincere, I had to be willing to not succeed as well.
This is the way we should treat our fellow humans too, I believe. Unless someone is going to cause harm to themselves or others, there is no cause for coercion. That is why I admire the special ed school where my daughter teaches. The kids are given ample opportunity to act goofy and play, but when it comes time to teach The Basics (manners, sharing, anger control, arithmetic, reading, etc.), the teachers do the equivalent of me standing with my hand on the pony's fetlock, waiting. My daughter has been punched, bitten, kicked, and cursed at. But she and the other teachers don't react; they stand quietly, waiting and suggesting. These children, who have failed at (been failed by) all the other programs they have attended, gradually blossom and improve. I wish all school children could be treated like this.
I am thankful to the little pinto pony for being present, for trusting for listening, and for communicating.
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