In October we lost my mare Jazzie, who was just shy of her 19^th birthday. It has been emotionally tough to live without her huge presence in our lives. She is irreplaceable, and yet I draw some comfort knowing she is watching over us and will continue to be a powerful influence.

I adopted a young grade Arabian mare, whom I named Red (or she named herself), four years old. She came from a wonderful rehab and rescue center in Santa Fe, which provided a loving respite from previous traumatic  experiences.

Red isn’t a replacement, she is her own horse. She is young and curious about everything, and especially her interactions with humans and her training. She loves her training. What I’m seeing in her is that everything is an adventure. While her first years were fraught with uncertainty, fear and mistreatment, when she didn’t want anyone to catch or touch her, she has now landed somewhere where everyone listens to her and she wants to listen.

The loss of Jazzie and the introduction of Red are changing my teaching. I relied so heavily on Jazzie’s intelligence in terms of teaching; her sixth sense as far as knowing what a student needed to know, or even what was needed in a teaching video. Now I seek to find out what innate intelligence is available in the new herd. I come into awareness of their changing relationships, and how they relied on each other for certain strengths and roles. They have reorganized since Jazzie’s passing. They make it work.

This experience with Red is also showing me the interface between training and bodywork. I can see that when Red doesn’t respond to something I want her to do, it has been when she has felt unable to do it. She has either frozen in place or felt her body imbalance stick her somewhere that makes it impossible to turn or lower her head, or turn to the right.

It has been a learning process for me, asking questions, where is she stuck, where is the brace in her body? And then going in and softening, loosening, however that looks. Some days have been all about that, softening, finding the connection in the body so it could ease its defensive posture. How many defensive postures could a young mare hold?

Red has come to the place where she can position her body where she wants me to work. This is something I love to see in horses I work with, as it demonstrates a recognition of what I can offer and their connection to it, at the same time, recognizing that they can use the stimulus given and self-correct.

Primarily with everything we’re doing, it takes the time it takes. If the resistance isn’t removed then there is nowhere to go, there is no pushing through it to the other side. If there is no physical resistance there may sometimes be emotional resistance because an avoidance habit was formed in the past or she was taught something that wasn’t useful. I need to manage my energy so as not fall into Red’s stuff, ask in the right way, to remind her of what she is capable of.

This is not a horse that you would put the traditional “30 days” on and then think all was good to go. Probably that doesn’t work for 99% of the horses out there, but given economics and the way people perceive training and horses, it’s a norm, though not a very sustainable one.

I’m seeing more bridges between bodywork and training. We work with the nervous system in each of these practices, if we do it right. Where the horse is excitable (flight/fright), we calm it. Where it is too sluggish (rest/relaxation), we enliven it.  With good work on the nervous system, a horse can usually self-regulate and not immediately go into high alert and react over everything.

I have been fortunate enough to have a few “horses of a lifetime,” not just one. Each one has different gifts and teaches me something new. When they feel comfortable in their home, they feel heard and seen, then they will show their gifts. Many horses go through life without showing their true gifts to people, because there are many people who won’t see the gifts even if hit in the face with them. Horses don’t “throw pearls before swine,” as the saying goes. Some of mine have been horses of a lifetime in spite of me and my agendas at the time. I listen better now. I’m not so driven.

What is the purpose of this message, you might ask? Is it about the new horse, mourning the loss of a deceased horse, training or bodywork?

It’s about everything. It’s about the changes that we make to accommodate the new, while mourning the loss of the old. It’s about the evolution of body and training, and how training is absorbed and perceived by each individual being.

I’m reminded of how Jazzie would raised her leg and made sure a student was holding it correctly and compressing into the perfect place that would initiate change for her. I will remember how she positioned herself so that the student or I would get the hint of where to work next. And her incredible intuition with bodywork in the saddle comes to me each time I climb in the saddle, creating a valuable change for both horse and rider.

Jazzie was very good at what she did; she was patient and impatient simultaneously, and perhaps so because on some level, she knew she didn’t have a long time on this earth. Humans needed to get it right quickly. Such a well-adjusted, sensible mare was valuable for those who were less well-adjusted and sensible and pure joy for everyone else.

I work with performance horses, race horses, horses in training, geriatric horses, injured horses, traumatized horses, pregnant mares and newborn foals, horses who are getting ready to pass from this world and those passed.  I work with the people who love them. They are all on different paths, at their own tempos.

With the dawning of the new year, I feel a shift in the work I do. I may work with deepening the links between people and horses, or bodywork as a more integral support for training. Very often what isn’t working for a horse isn’t working for the people either.

My wish is that you will deepen your experience in 2023, either on your own, in practice, with or without horses, or in classes. Whatever moves you. This quiet, cold time of winter (and not for those in the southern hemisphere, of course!) is open to introspection and weaving together a new beginning, not a replacement for what was, but a lengthening of “being” into the coming months.