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Notes From the Field

Loss, the Body, and the Unknown

8/21/2021

8 Comments

 
I had spent all day feeling frustrated, but I knew there was more to it than that. I could sense it. But I couldn't quite get a grasp of the feelings, which seemed to range from fear, to anger, then to sadness, but mostly what felt like resistance to "the way it is" and a discomfort with the unknown.

My beloved Appaloosa gelding Domino had had a colic episode the night before and despite my attempts to "stay positive" and to remind myself that the feelings that it triggered probably had more to do with a previous loss than his illness being an imminent one, I couldn't seem to "get my head right" and was getting down on myself.

Earlier that day, in my moving mindfulness practice, I felt a heaviness in my heart that I didn't really want to be with, breathe with, but I did. And when I did the memories came of the day and a series of events leading up to another death due to colic. 


Tiffie's death meant the loss of my equine-assisted therapy dream team, an orphaned foal, and a broken heart - mine. All deaths are hard, but her's was traumatic. And I could feel that morning the subtle remnants, the unresolved nuance of feelings that I still had not released. I let myself feel and grieve for awhile, reached out for support, but went through the day, still on edge - looking out the window to check on my fella, watching for subtle signs of discomfort, administering his herbal colic formula, and taking five gallon buckets of water sweetened with molasses to encourage him to drink and keep his system flushed.

Towards the end of the day, after his second bucket of water, I watched him walk over to a cinder block turned upright like a stool and just stand there. So I went over to him and because my back was tired I sat down on the cinder block and that's when it happened: I decided to do what I do with my clients. I softened my gaze, sometimes closing my eyes completely, noticed my breathing, felt my feet on the ground, and scanned my body, 

I noticed a tightening in my upper chest and I just be'd with it - and breathed and felt my feet. Soon my teeth started chattering, and I allowed what felt like fear to move through my body: which it did with yawn after yawn between periods of teeth chattering.

Sometime during this process, Secret, Tiffie's orphan, came over and stood so close that the side of her face, her cheek and sometimes her muzzle, were touching my face. A few times she intentionally positioned her eye less than an inch from, pretty much touching, mine. Sometimes she would shift her weight slightly and then Domino's muzzle would be on my cheek. At some point the teeth chattering turned into sobs as I crumbled under their relentless compassion and presence.

I don't know how much time passed. We were immersed in some sort of timeless reality. All the while I cried, chest-shaking cries as I remembered Tiffie, telling her how sorry I was that I couldn't stop it - couldn't stop what was happening to her and the disease process in her body. And I wondered if the horses and I were grieving together. But the horses' grief seemed more like sadness for me - a recognition of how I'd been holding on, punishing myself, not consciously of course, but on some level. And when the sobs broke with my own awareness of this, everything stopped. All was quiet.

Secret casually walked away. Domino followed. Their job was done. And I watched in awe as they gently ate grass, looking so peaceful. And I looked at the gelding. And I noticed that the weight in my chest was gone. The edgy "What's going to happen next?," "Is he ok?," "Does he need more water?," was also gone. 

And a golden setting sun broke through the clouds to make an unearthly light against the trees on the mountain and the green, green pasture where they ate. And a strange breeze lifted what had been heavy humid air and I knew at once that things were different: we had somehow altered the course of something.

Of course I don't know what. Intellectually I know he could die from colic next week or next year, but somehow, someway, things were different. Our shift in emotional energy had created a shift in the wave of possibilities. Again, I don't know how, but could feel it. And I bathed in the peace of that knowing and for the first time in days, I felt glad.

My body it seems, can tolerate a mystery. In fact, it loves, it marvels, it excels in the unknown. It is at one with the mystery of life because its ebb and flow and moving current, and the space within and moving through it, is the same as the ebb and flow, the wave and the space, of everything. 

And as I felt my body, I felt the everything. And I was home. 

And the rain came down and washed us clean.
8 Comments
Julian Green link
8/22/2021 07:21:26 am

Shelly,

This is such a powerful reflection. Thank you for sharing this with us. As always, you continue to inspire in a special way.

Reply
Kara
8/22/2021 07:50:49 am

So cool. I love this. Thank you!

Reply
Linda Wattier Robinson
8/22/2021 08:36:36 am

Isn't it wonderful how the everything feels like home and also like the greatest love of all? Thanks for sharing, dear Shelly.

Reply
Di
8/22/2021 08:55:46 am

Shelly, I have missed hearing about your discoveries and courageous exploration within. You amaze me with your ability to stay in the storm, so you can come into the sunlight.
Thank you for your truth and vulnerability, which we know is actually your amazing strength and superpower.
With love and respect, Di

Reply
Sarah
8/22/2021 10:08:26 am

I love you so much. I was just thinking about you and sharing with a friend who is struggling just how much you helped me learn to stop trying to talk myself out of feeling whatever my body is trying to feel and coexist with myself. Thank you again and always. I hope your good spotty boy gets to feeling better soon.

Reply
Elaine Randles
8/22/2021 02:03:31 pm

Touching & beautiful. Thanks for sharing. Hope Domino is through with colic for ever

Reply
Sandra
8/23/2021 01:13:24 am

Shelly,
That is simply beautiful, as you are. I’m sorry for the loss of Tiffie, and I hope that Domino will be okay. And more than that, I hope that you will be okay.
Love,
Sandra

Reply
Belinda
8/24/2021 03:24:12 pm

Thank you for sharing this -- exactly what I needed to look within.

Reply



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  • Home
  • ABOUT
    • ABOUT
    • The Body Doesn't Lie
    • The Compassion Process®
    • Who You Really Are
    • Testimonials
    • About Shelly
    • Location
    • Poetry >
      • How She Heals
      • CREEK THERAPY
      • the gift of adrenal fatigue
    • Video Library
  • Services
    • Overview of Services
    • Nature-Based Counseling and Coaching
    • Body-Informed Counseling/Life Coaching
    • Emotions Coaching
    • Equine Assisted Personal Growth
    • Somatic-Based Expressive Arts
    • Dance/Movement
    • Relationship Coaching
    • Phone Coaching
    • Trauma-Informed Therapy
    • for veterans
    • Continuing Education
    • Immersions
  • Blog
  • For Women
    • For Women
    • Female Embodied Movement™
    • Everyday Embodiment
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