MAKING CONTACT

The title of this posting is sorely appropriate seeing as I haven’t been visiting the blog as much as I’d like. Holidays, horses, and a highly active family keep me hopping these days. Not to mention a humongous writing project (knew I could fit another ‘h’ in there somewhere). With Thanksgiving just behind us let me say I am thankful for readers who still return here from time to time regardless of my consistent inconsistency.

I’d planned another vehicle encounter for this post. It would be appropriate seeing as…I GOT A NEW TRUCK. But, alas, horses under the hood are not as inspiring as the one under my saddle (see above beauty) so photos of the snazzy, white, diesel powered truck I now have will have to wait till next time. Something else is on my mind.

More than one sport has been called a “metaphor for life.” From running, to rock climbing, athletic pursuits are often said to mirror the journey of life. My favorite is golf. I’m sure there’s a meaningful message in the wearing of pastel colors while driving a cute white vehicle around 18 holes scattered on unnaturally green looking grass. Hmmm…it’ll come to me, I’m sure.

I cannot find an immediately recognized metaphor for life in the equestrian sports. However, life with horses does mirror a person’s style and health (or not) within relationships. Horses reveal us to ourselves; they are a revelation if we allow it. Angry/controlling/inflexible/a push over/highstrung/restless/relaxed/available/emotional/unstable/unresponsive? There’s an excellent chance your horse is, too. An English proverb states: Show me your horse and I will tell you who you are. My horse is at the mercy of my personal awareness and it’s up to me to straighten things out.

For the last month Eli has been at a dressage trainer’s barn. He’d gone as far as I could take him in his training and we were in need of some deeper insight to continue developing both athletic ability and our relationship under saddle. My objective? Helping him progress along the training pyramid with specific goals of strengthening his self carriage and balance. He is so flexible sitting him could be compared to riding a large fettucine noodle. Wiggle this way, wiggle that. A giant stride, weak rear end, and plenty of forward go make for an interesting time some days. We’d come a long way in his first two years under saddle, but I wanted to graduate from elementary school.

Dressage frequently gets a bad rap from backyard owners like myself who make the mistake of dismissing the discipline as something pursued by stuffy elitists who enjoy showing off. Nothing could be farther from the truth. Dressage is worthwhile and challenging for many reasons. It demands focus, attention to detail, and sensitive feel. It demands an understanding of the equine body and mind as the athlete they are created to be.

I was not thinking too much about my own focus and attention or habitual “sins under saddle” when I dropped Eli off. Rather, I was excited someone with a lot of knowledge would shape him up, straighten him out (literally), and show him the ropes. I couldn’t wait to get on and ride a horse with “education.” It would be so much easier.

Not.

Today was case in point. Let me just say Eli is looking beautiful. As I saddled him just prior to our lesson I admired the muscle building along his back and wither. Lifting the back and relaxing the neck while driving under in rhythm builds a very pretty equine shape. Our current challenge? Encouraging a state called “contact.” This is frequently a misunderstood term. It is not forcing an artificial head “set” or pulling the horse’s head down with a jerk of the wrist. Like all good communication it involves seeking, sensing, and trust. Rigidity and sloppy riding destroys the horse’s faith in the human at the end of the rein.

Straightness helps contact by enabling the horse to drive under and stay “between the reins.” No bulging inside or out. This has been a problem for Eli and I. We bulge. I felt sure this was his problem. I mean, he’s a big strong stallion. He needs to just use his body better. Then I, the weaker human, will be able to sit on him and look lovely. We’ll have this contact thing down and can start doing cool stuff like flying lead changes and passage.

Apparently we need to fix our bulging problem. This was the scenario today as I trotted down the wall:

Trainer, also known as Yoda (though she is much cuter): “He’s bulging right because you’re crooked. Bring your right shoulder back, squeeze your right knee, and loosen the left rein.”

We are going left so this feels awkward, but I do as I’m told.

Yoda: “You’re still crooked. Look at the wall to your right; pretend you’re a rodeo queen waving at the audience.”

It seems necessary to look where I’m going, but I’ve always wanted to be a rodeo queen.

Yoda: “More. But keep your weight in the left stirrup.”

At this point I’m thinking rubbing my tummy and patting my head would be easier then what she is asking. I have become a tragic victim of scoliosis, my spine freakishly twisted. I stare at the arena wall as we trot along, certain we will crash into it at any moment.

Yoda: “There! You’re straight now.”

Me: “What? This does not feel natural!”

Yoda: “I know. You’ve been sitting on your horse at an angle. When he follows you right, you pull him left. He does what you do. Notice how he’s traveling now.”

Over the course of a few (hard) minutes of correcting my body position a miracle has happened. Eli is rhythmically trotting, his neck long, lovely, and relaxed. He feels round and supple. A moment later he reaches longer into the bit looking similar to the photo above.

Yoda: “He’s seeking the contact. Follow him with your hands and receive it.”

There is only one way to describe the feeling at that moment: Trust. No forcing or pulling just rhythm and relaxation. As dorky as it may sound, I felt rather emotional.

Later I became aware that my crookedness isn’t just in the saddle. I slouch right when I stand, when I drive, when I lean on my kitchen counter. I’m darn crooked! Was Eli crooked on his own or did I create it by my position? What came first, the chicken or the egg? Doesn’t matter. The point is I need to straighten out to improve our communication, even if it doesn’t feel natural. Crooked position causes crooked responses, but a changed perspective invites contact.

Is that like a metaphor smorgasbord or what?!

EDGE OF THE SWORD

I used to equate dressage with the snobby clique I knew in high school. All perfect bodies and name-brand clothes. The snobby clique had nothing to share with me that I wanted to know. Or at least that’s what I told myself while begging my mother to buy me a pair of Guess jeans. Not to mention another body.

Certainly I believed dressage had a purpose, but it wasn’t hard to make snarky comments while watching those riders sit their perfectly turned out warmbloods, mouths set firmly in a grimace, white breeches velcroed to a black dressage saddle. They seemed too clean, too serious, too exclusive. I was a western girl. We know how to get dirty and don’t need any snotty cliques to tell us how to do it, thank you very much.

Dressage, of course, is really for everyone. It simply means “training” and you don’t need white breeches, a warmblood, or an attitude to do it. A few years ago I met a western trainer who emphasized the importance of its fundamentals and I became intrigued—secretly at first. I began reading books like Centered Riding and experimenting with techniques. Then I got Eli. A naturally good moving horse he seemed made for the sport. Well over my head with a green stallion, I quickly found a dressage trainer to coach us. I never imagined I would enjoy these lessons as much as I have.

Now, I am Ghetto Dressage (maybe I’ll come out with my own DVDs). Picture a circa ‘80s two horse trailer pulling up to a manicured indoor arena. Outside Lusitanos, Friesians, and various warmbloods lounge in paddocks. They are blanketed and beautiful. From the back of my trailer a scruffy Arabian stallion appears. He has no bridle path, mud on his hocks, and a winter beard under his chin. I put a western headstall over his rope halter, throw a synthetic Aussie saddle on his back and off we go. Fortunately, Eli has natural talent and my instructor is the kind of person who doesn’t care what saddle you have or if you are wearing jeans. I don’t think she was in the snobby clique in high school.

Each lesson there is something new to attempt and I am amazed at the subtlety and finesse that is good dressage. It’s hard work and I am confronted each time with my own limitations and bad riding habits. Let’s just say, We have a long way to go, Baby.

Last lesson, while riding a figure, my instructor told me something that has since captured my imagination in a powerful way. She was helping me understand the concept of being straight and balanced, bending on a curve yet never over bent.

“Imagine you are riding the edge of a sword.”

The edge of a sword? A picture of perfect balance, Zen-like in its beauty and harmony. I am taking instruction from Yoda.

One bulge to the right or left, one stumble, one over correction and I am off that sword and taking my poor horse with me. Right. I can hardly keep my diagonals straight and proper timing on a half-halt.

When I think of life, I also see it teetering on a very fine line—the line between choices big and small that place a person on one path or another; the ideas we cling to that shape us; even the razor thin line between life and death on any given day, in any country of the world. The edge of a sword. If I thought about it too much it might drive me mad.

Striving for balance is a good thing but I spend most of life, I think, falling off the sword. The most I can hope for is spiritual balance—asked (begged) for daily—and relying on God’s promises to hold me when I tumble off the figure.

As for the dressage, I’m keeping the image of that sword firmly in mind. And I’m visualizing lots of time with Yoda.

DRESSAGE AND VERITAS

I wanted my stallion, Eli, the moment I laid eyes on him. Aloof and introverted, he nevertheless had the kindest eyes I'd ever seen on a horse. He is sensitive, intelligent, and possesses a quiet mind and air of dignity. "Still waters run deep."

Though quiet and calm on the ground, swing a leg over this flashy horse and he's all about forward going. He's built to move. In reference to Tristan from Legends of the Fall, I call Eli Brad Pitt--strong, tawny, and full of restless masculine energy. He is a good example of why "horse power" describes a fast car. I'm still learning to ride and manage the enormous stride and energy of this horse, not to mention the challenge of converting his sometimes distracting hormones into useful activity. With my shortcomings in mind, I decided to take some dressage lessons.

"Dressage" comes from a French word that simply means "to train." Rather than bombing around the front yard, oblivious to gravity and the laws of physics (as I did as a child and teenager), a student of dressage breaks down the fundamentals of riding and movement, eventually mastering the subtle influence and language of a good equestrian. A horse well trained in dressage becomes the true athlete he is meant to be. One of my favorite horse trainers is funny Texan, Craig Cameron. While watching him guide a group of students one time he exclaimed in mock frustration, "They call it riding, people, not sitting!" Dressage is all about riding.

While the lessons have been stimulating and enlightening, I find myself challenged: challenged in basic fundamentals, to get rid of bad habits, to stop sitting and get engaged, to correct subtle misconceptions and misunderstanding. On perhaps our third lesson, my instructor made an observation as I guided Eli in a left hand circle. She said something like this:

"Do you feel your butt sort of fall away to the right?"

Um, yeah, and thanks for noticing. Note to self: The new riding tights don't look as good as you thought.

She went on to explain that Eli's right hip is weak and he frequently drops it rather than stride under. This makes my right hip feel as if it is falling. He is strong and balanced with the left hip. This is a fundamental of movement I'd noticed subconsciously but until she pointed it out, didn't connect it to anything. With lots of practice Eli will get better and stronger. As will my...well, never mind.

This dressage journey comes to mind when reflecting on last weekend and my attendance at an apologetics conference in San Diego called, The Case for Christianity. Rather than bomb around, oblivious to the evidence for my faith, it challenged me to study and consider the fundamentals.

"Veritas" is, of course, the Latin word for truth. The longer I live and journey in my faith, the less I'm interested in the traditions and habits of religion. Truth is the only thing worth seeking. May I never be the person described by Winston Churchill: "Most people when encountering truth stumble over it, dust themselves off, and continue unchanged."

One of my favorite movies is The Insider (forget Brad Pitt, I'm more of an Al Pacino girl when it comes to leading men). In the movie (based on a true story), Russel Crowe plays an insider, a scientist, who works for big tobacco. He risks his job, his family, even his life to tell the truth about the dangers of nicotine. Pacino is the truth loving journalist (yes there are some) who loses his job because of uncompromising loyalty to Crowe and the story. I saw the movie twice in the theatre and a couple times on video. I love the ending: Pacino tells his high profile boss what he can do with his lukewarm ethics and censorship then, music pounding, sweeps out of the door in a trench coat (as only he can do) and walks away. Away from compromise, away from lies. The film illustrates dramatically the struggle to expose and live truth. There is a cost.

Of course truth in religion is debated without end in this world. Many are willing to kill for what they think is true. This begs a question: If truth is relative, if it does not exist, if it doesn't even matter, why do people get so upset about it? In America we are a people of apathy and feigned "tolerance;" quick to be offended, to resist examining what might be true. At least one thing can be said about about Islamic extremists, they passionately live their beliefs.

Five years ago, as a novice writer, I learned this word, "verisimilitude." The appearance of truth. Some things that appear true are not and visa versa. In a world of religions that swirl and collide nothing seems more important than discerning truth. If God did create a universe that exists because of highly specific absolutes, does it make sense that he is confusing, vague, easily assembled into whatever form we feel comfortable with? Nobody would be so foolish as to jump out of a plane and say, "Gravity is not my truth." We accept absolutes in science--cosmology, biology, physics--but resist the notion that any absolutes exist spiritually. Why? As comfy cozy as moral relativism appears, nobody wants to go where this belief actually leads--Do What Thou Wilt/Anything Goes.

By definition a belief is something you hold to be true. Hopefully it is something sought not as an exercise in "rightness," but with an honest, transparent heart, willing to be changed if need be. God promises that, "You shall know the truth and truth shall set you free." Not, "You shall accept many truths, and amidst that pudding of confusion, find hope and freedom." God cannot be both personal and impersonal; eternity cannot all at once be dead in the ground, taken up into glory, and endlessly reincarnated.

"When you seek Me with all your heart I will be found by you, says the Lord." This is the only journey I want to take.

They call it riding, people, not sitting.