Why is it so difficult to trust sometimes? Why is it that we are shown, over and over again, that everything will be all right, yet we still doubt? Why do we cling so tightly to our control, or illusion of control, fearing that something awful will happen if we don’t grip tightly to the reins? I used to ride dressage, which means you get a dinky little saddle with no saddlehorn, wimpy little pieces of leather (called leathers), and little silver stirrups that aren’t attached, just looped into the leathers. You have to sit upright in perfectly balanced posture, and learn how to use your legs to ‘control’ your horse. I put ‘control’ in italics because you never really control your horse. The best you can ever really hope for is a partnership with your horse, an understanding with him or her that convinces them you know what you’re doing, so for the time they’re under saddle, they’ll listen to you… IF you are confident and clear in your signals.
You need to stay ‘on the bit’ in dressage, which means the reins have to stay firmly against the side of the horse’s face, and pulled back on the bit enough to leave one or two little creases at the sides of his mouth. You encourage your horse to bend his neck naturally, stretched and relaxed so that he can move optimally. You never want to jerk on the reins or squeeze tightly with your legs. This is as opposed to Western, where you jerk their head down so that their necks are at an unnatural curve. I don’t even know what you do with your knees or reigns, but you can tell I’m not a big fan of Western. I think most of us are Western riders in our lives - forcing the events and circumstances in our lives down into unnatural submission, numbing ourselves by using thick leather saddles and stirrups to remove ourselves from the direct experience.
It takes a lot of concentration and dedication to stay on the bit. It takes a HUGE degree of trust, because that wimpy little saddle isn’t going to help you much if your horse bolts. You have to have a good seat. One day I was riding Vinny, my beloved Thoroughbred, and I was scared. I had been thrown by “Teacher,” a quarterhorse that gave me a concussion, a broken collarbone, and landed me in the ER. One bad experience and it’s hard to get back in the saddle again. But Vinny was patient. I had to remember to breathe, and that helped, as I took the reins and positioned them properly, so if something happened I wouldn’t have my wrists broken if they got pulled away. I consciously loosened my butt muscles (you ALWAYS hold your butt tight when you’re scared - see if that’s true next time you’re scared - just check - no one will ever know), and squeezed very gently with my knees. Vinny dropped his head, sighed, and started out at a beautiful walk. I felt a burst of energy flow through the top of my head, down through my spine, out through my saddle and into Vinny, then circle around and flow back up into me. It was synchronicity, stasis, equilibrium, a perfect, in the flow feeling people have probably written about for centuries but I was experiencing for the first time. The relationship between the brain (me) and power (Vinny), or consciousness and the physical body, or the potential with the manifestation.
Vinny was my guardian angel, my love, we were always connected, even after he died a few years ago. He taught me about love, having come from an abusive situation. He taught me about loyalty and commitment, and about trusting that just because something bad happens once doesn’t mean it will happen again. Trusting that I’m strong enough to be able to keep going, even when I don’t want to keep trying anymore. Teaching me that trust is the only option sometimes when you don’t have control. Knowing that in the end, you can’t really control anything, except your reactions to things that happen in your life. Knowing that in the end, trust is probably the most important lesson you’ll learn this lifetime if you keep your seat and stay on the bit.