My significant other is a six foot tall, 250 pound farmer whose only gate is mosey. A no-sense-gettin'-thar-dead, kind of guy. His quiet way about things endear him to my mares, and Hawk, my arabian gelding loves to bring out the extrovert in him. In short, my horses love him.
I called the horses in to dinner last night, and usually it is a mad, rollicking gallop from the back pasture, with a lot of snaky neck, a-dirt-a-flying, with Lou in the lead. A couple of times, the race became so competitive Bunny didn't make the corner turn for home, and fell skidding, with hoofs held high. It's a big deal, coming in to eat. Everyone lines up politely at their designated spot and I fill the buckets for the 4 obviously starving equines. Usually.
Last night I noticed all four horses frantically running back and forth on the other side of the creek crossing, spooking at the creek, and then running back and forth again, very right brained. Finally, the desire to eat overcame fear, and Lou pushed through her threshold, crossed the ditch and three of my four horses came thundering up to their buckets. No snaky neck, no frolicking, joyful gallop. This was a right brained dash for the safety of their buckets.
Lou and Bunny began to eat, but it was not their usual slow, content munching. It was frantic, with much bucket slamming. Meanwhile, Hawk whose main priority in life is to eat, stood their looking off to the back pasture, obviously stressed. Bit could not push past her fear, she was still running back and forth, panicking that the herd had left her, it was dinner time, and she was alone. Hawk looked at me, looked at Bit and I swear his brow was furrowed in worry. I told him I would go get her, but he would not walk over to his bucket until he saw me start to walk towards the back pasture and his herd mate, Bit.
When I got to her, her eyes were staring, she was blowing and something, was terrifying her on the other side of the ditch. I crossed the ditch, and quietly told her I was there, and would protect her. I put her on the "safe" side, and put myself between her and whatever was scaring her, and we crossed the ditch, together. We did it slowly, with a lot of hesitation, stops and starts, but together we moved through several thresholds, and then we were both off at a trot to her bucket. She was one relieved mare, and everyone quietly settled back down. Buckets were quiet, no more banging and all you could hear was horses breathing and the crunch and smack of equine lips.
I chose the walk back down to the ditch to see exactly what was scaring my herd. There has been some deer poaching on our property lately, Tony has seen mountain lions here, and whatever it was, I was going to find out. I could find no reason for the horses fear. No electric fence popping, no lion, no dying deer, no reason for such right brained behavior, so I started making my way back to the horses.
Just then I saw Tony drive up in the pick up and park up where the horses were finishing up with dinner. I ran on up and told him what had happened and we both started walking down towards the ditch for a closer look. All four horses followed. The six of us made it across the ditch, calmly and without incident. Tony and I turned right to walk the creek and the horses headed up the hill for a quiet graze.
We never found any reason for the horses behavior and made our way up the hill to the horses. Now keep in mind, Lou hasn't spoken to me in a week. I had shocked her a few times from static electricity, and she wanted nothing to do with me. When we got to the top of the hill, all three mares were all over Tony in a very, "Isn't he cute? He's so tall! Don't you just love how he smells?" kind of way. Hawk stayed off to the side with me, looking on probably thinking, "when I get him alone, I'm going to move his feet!"
After the love fest, and much rubbing, licking and chewing, Lou finally forgave me for shocking her, (she wouldn't let me near her, before) everyone had sleepy eyes, and all was right with the world.
Tony and I started back for home, I looked behind us and all four horses were following. I looked at Tony and said, "TROT!" Tony does not trot, but I think I caught him so off guard that he was trotting, with this very confused look on his face. I looked behind us and all the horses were trotting with us. "Gallop Tony!" and we were off, all six of us running down the hill, snaky necking, head tossing, over the ditch and back up to the tack room.
I bolted for the tack room, filled a bucket full of cookies and Tony and I held a cookie fest right then and there. We were shoving cookies in as fast as they could take another one, and there were cookie crumbs flying!
By now, the sun was going down and the sky had turned pink and orange, and the last of the bird songs were echoing in the pasture. Tony and I ducked under the fence and walked back to the house, and all four horses headed towards the water trough together. Fear forgotten, the back pasture once again their safe place to be.
Horses began teaching me all about life around 2003. They are a perfect mirror of who you are, so if you don't like what you see, don't look at the horse. If you have a horse with a problem, that problem is you. It makes you utterly accountable for your self, and your horses very fate lay in your own healing. Your horse is only as good, as you are.
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Religion
I was reading my posts and thinking, dang I sound like I'm going to show up on your doorstep Sat morning, asking if you have found Jesus. I don't really "do" religion, but I defend your right to do, or not do religion all you want. I "do" God, and there is a difference, for me, anyway.
I remember tucking my daughter in one night and she said, "Mom I don't think God wants us to worship Him. I think he just wants us to be happy." My kid is pretty smart, and this sums up my relationship with God. I go to horse church on Sundays. I hop on my horse, head for somewhere beautiful and that's where I feel most connected to God. You'd think, she talks to angels, they talk to her, she'd be in church every day. I just don't think God is limited to a building, and it's what is in your heart that connects you to the source. I know people that go to church "religiously", and go home and beat their kids.
So yes, I talk to angels and they talk to me. They have a rather dry wit, and only speak if there is something they wish to say. They aren't chatty. They have spoken to me out loud twice, where I could actually hear them. They can be loud, that way. Mainly, in my head (yes, I've considered the "I hear voices" thing) in block thoughts, so translation is challenging. Think about it, you see a sunset, and there is this block thought going on in your mind, it's beautiful, the colors brilliant, maybe there's an ocean or mountain for a setting, and if you try to put words to it, you dilute the experience with words. At least my command the english language is not refined enough to get it down on paper. If I don't get down something, it's like trying to remember a dream, and I have a tough time remembering exactly what they said.
I've only spoken to God a couple of times, or I should say, He spoke to me. I was sitting at my window, waiting for the propane truck to pull in and cut off my gas. It was winter and I was having a dark night of the soul. I was so terrified of the next moment, that I could only be "in the moment". I said to myself, "Right now we have heat, a roof over our heads, and a little food." I had no idea how I was going to feed my daughter and myself that night. But right now? I'm good. In this moment, everything is good. It was a gift, really. Learning to be in the present moment. It's hard. Don't you find yourself drifting towards next week, or yesterday, anywhere but where you are? That day I discovered how to be in the present moment. It was because I was too terrified to be anywhere else, but still, there I was.
I remember suddenly not being anywhere. I was in a void, not in my body and it was utterly dark. Not black. Black is a color and this was nothingness. Total darkness. I came out the other side, and there was God. I don't see angels or God, I hear them. That's my thing, so I can't tell you what God looks like, although my daughter can. Another story, another time. God told me that He was going to take care of me, and that I didn't need to be scared, ever again. I was going to be alright. I was filled with the most blissful peace. I felt clean and whole.
Next thing I knew, I was back in my chair by the window. The phone rang and it was the welfare office. The woman was pretty excited and asked me to come to the the office right away. I walked the mile to the office, winter storm raging, in white out conditions. When I arrived, I was ushered into a back office, and told about a brand new program that would pay all my bills, and get me on my feet. They paid my bills, bought me a car, paid for the insurance and registration, and gave me enough food stamps to fill the fridge. After that, everything fell into place. So well that I began to worry. It was uncomfortable because it was unfamiliar. I felt myself drifting back towards fear. That night I was not awake, but I wasn't dreaming, either. Then I heard that familiar voice, and I knew it was God. He told me that I had nothing to fear. He took me back through the dark void to the place I had lived so many years. "This is the dark", He said. then he brought me back through to the place I now lived. "This is the light. This is the dark", and back I went, "and this is the light." He told me I was here now, in the light, and I would never have to go back. I never did.
I remember tucking my daughter in one night and she said, "Mom I don't think God wants us to worship Him. I think he just wants us to be happy." My kid is pretty smart, and this sums up my relationship with God. I go to horse church on Sundays. I hop on my horse, head for somewhere beautiful and that's where I feel most connected to God. You'd think, she talks to angels, they talk to her, she'd be in church every day. I just don't think God is limited to a building, and it's what is in your heart that connects you to the source. I know people that go to church "religiously", and go home and beat their kids.
So yes, I talk to angels and they talk to me. They have a rather dry wit, and only speak if there is something they wish to say. They aren't chatty. They have spoken to me out loud twice, where I could actually hear them. They can be loud, that way. Mainly, in my head (yes, I've considered the "I hear voices" thing) in block thoughts, so translation is challenging. Think about it, you see a sunset, and there is this block thought going on in your mind, it's beautiful, the colors brilliant, maybe there's an ocean or mountain for a setting, and if you try to put words to it, you dilute the experience with words. At least my command the english language is not refined enough to get it down on paper. If I don't get down something, it's like trying to remember a dream, and I have a tough time remembering exactly what they said.
I've only spoken to God a couple of times, or I should say, He spoke to me. I was sitting at my window, waiting for the propane truck to pull in and cut off my gas. It was winter and I was having a dark night of the soul. I was so terrified of the next moment, that I could only be "in the moment". I said to myself, "Right now we have heat, a roof over our heads, and a little food." I had no idea how I was going to feed my daughter and myself that night. But right now? I'm good. In this moment, everything is good. It was a gift, really. Learning to be in the present moment. It's hard. Don't you find yourself drifting towards next week, or yesterday, anywhere but where you are? That day I discovered how to be in the present moment. It was because I was too terrified to be anywhere else, but still, there I was.
I remember suddenly not being anywhere. I was in a void, not in my body and it was utterly dark. Not black. Black is a color and this was nothingness. Total darkness. I came out the other side, and there was God. I don't see angels or God, I hear them. That's my thing, so I can't tell you what God looks like, although my daughter can. Another story, another time. God told me that He was going to take care of me, and that I didn't need to be scared, ever again. I was going to be alright. I was filled with the most blissful peace. I felt clean and whole.
Next thing I knew, I was back in my chair by the window. The phone rang and it was the welfare office. The woman was pretty excited and asked me to come to the the office right away. I walked the mile to the office, winter storm raging, in white out conditions. When I arrived, I was ushered into a back office, and told about a brand new program that would pay all my bills, and get me on my feet. They paid my bills, bought me a car, paid for the insurance and registration, and gave me enough food stamps to fill the fridge. After that, everything fell into place. So well that I began to worry. It was uncomfortable because it was unfamiliar. I felt myself drifting back towards fear. That night I was not awake, but I wasn't dreaming, either. Then I heard that familiar voice, and I knew it was God. He told me that I had nothing to fear. He took me back through the dark void to the place I had lived so many years. "This is the dark", He said. then he brought me back through to the place I now lived. "This is the light. This is the dark", and back I went, "and this is the light." He told me I was here now, in the light, and I would never have to go back. I never did.
My first horse
Is it possible to have love at first sight with a horse? I suppose so, but it is not how it happened with Bit and me. It was something more delicate and fragile. I first saw Bit last summer as the equestrian centers caretakers children galloped and trotted her back and forth, and her obeying because they were children. The next time I noticed her, she had a gaping wound on her flank. Someone had ridden past her wearing spurs, she had spooked and the spur had made a deep cut in the muscle of her hip. I watched as the wound healed, much too slowly. When the caretakers turned her out in the large arena with a gelding, and he tried to kill her, some of us ran to rescue her. I remember she was trembling violently when we were able to pull her out of the arena. After that, she remained alone and, much too slowly, her wound healed.
The next time I saw her, it was in July 2003. The pack horses were brought up from Bishop to be rental string horses for the local stable. Bit was one of those horses. I remember looking over at the horses that were tied, waiting for the various rides that would go out that day, and there was Bit. You couldn’t help but see her. She had a Jennifer Lopez, to die for butt and when she cocked one back foot, it looked like the saddle was going to come off. I watched her stand all day, and rarely did she go out on a ride. She was too small for most men to ride, and too much of a horse for an inexperienced woman to ride. She hated geldings putting their noses near her tail, and nose to tail is exactly how a rental string goes out on the trail. She would spin around and demand her space, which usually upset anyone who was on her. Bit could spin pretty fast.
It wasn’t that she was being abused, because she wasn’t. The owner of the pack horses had a business to run, and to her credit, the horses were some of the nicest horses I have ever seen on a rental string. What bothered me about Bit was that she just wasn’t a good fit for what she was doing. Too small, and too much horse with the most amazing mind I have ever seen in a horse. When I walked up to her and she nuzzled my outstretched hand, it wasn’t to look for food. She acknowledged me, and made eye contact. I moved my hand to her withers and scratched her where horses scratch one another, and she moved closer so that I could reach her a little easier. I moved my hand down her back, gently massaging her and she moved right next to the corral panel so that I could access her entire body. Love at first sight? No, it was more like meeting someone again, after having known them many lifetimes.
I spoke with the owner about buying her, but I knew even if I was able to somehow buy her, I could never afford to keep her. Three years of being disabled with a back injury had left me unemployed and financially devastated. One careless snowboarder had hit me from behind while I was coaching our local ski team. It had left me disabled and at the mercy of the California Workmen’s Compensation system. The only thing I could do at the time was to be her friend and continue our visits. I had to let this one go.
Something that I have learned in my own spiritual process is, put your intention out there, let go of what you think should happen, and let a higher power drive the bus. It did not occur to me that I was doing exactly that. I had a best friend, she happened to be a horse, and she had a job. I visited her whenever I could.
I found out that Pat Parelli was coming to Reno, Nevada. Pat has a unique way of training people to train their horses, and I liked it because it put relationship back into riding a horse. I didn’t want to just be a passenger when I was riding; I wanted a real connection and friendship. When I found out Pat was coming, I knew I had to go. The Parelli tour is a great way to immerse yourself in natural horsemanship. His wife, Linda always has a new and different perspective on relationship and riding your horse, and it is a great opportunity to meet 5000 other like-minded souls. I didn’t just want to go, I wanted to volunteer at the event because I felt it might be a good way to learn even more about my passion for horses.
As the time grew near for the tour to hit Reno, I found out I had to go to a doctors appointment in Los Angeles for my back injury the day after the Parelli tour ended. That meant driving back from Reno, four hours sleep and then getting in the truck and driving the seven hours to Los Angeles. There are no work comp doctors in the Sierras, and you are required to go to one by California law. It doesn’t matter that you are injured, or even if you have transportation to make the seven hour drive, you have to go or lose your benefits. My benefits were $70.00 a week, and that was what my daughter and I had to live on. Not much of anything, but without it, we would be homeless and on welfare. We were already on food stamps and a couple other programs so that we could survive. It was a delicate balancing act I had been doing for three years while going through the nightmare of the California Work Comp process. I realize that there is a lot of fraud in work injury claims, but I am not one of them. The new law punishes everyone, and helps no one. But, that is another story.
I just did not see how I could drive to Reno, volunteer at the tour, and then drive to Los Angeles. I defiantly couldn’t afford the gas. I called my friend that I would have stayed with in Nevada and told her I wasn’t coming, and why. My teenage daughter was not what you would call supportive with my decision to stay home. She is my cheerleader in life, and has more than once picked my soul off ground. Amanda knew how badly I needed to attend the Parelli tour. It wasn’t just a fun weekend; it was another rung in the ladder out of my dark night of the soul. She was relentless in her badgering, “You have to go, mom. You have been looking forward to this for months, and now you aren’t going to go?” She did not let up and I finally gave in the day before I was supposed to leave for Reno.
I called my friend that I would be staying with and told her I was coming after all. She was delighted, told me her “Parelli friend” from Sacramento would be staying with her, too and that we would have a wonderful girls-night-in dinner with her other friend. It was going to be a great weekend after all, and I would worry about money when I got home.
I arrived at the Reno Livestock Event Center Friday morning and began to help set up for the tour. I couldn’t do any lifting, but I did everything that my back would allow and the day passed quickly. By the late afternoon on Friday, I was exhausted and exhilarated! I couldn’t wait until Saturday morning when the show began. I drove the ½ hour back to my friends house, met her Sacramento friend, and then Joanie arrived. We all talked until midnight, drinking wine, and eating great food. Joanie grew up where I was now living, and as we talked we found out we had shared mutual friends, experiences, and the love of skiing. Her parents had owned Convict Lake Pack Station, so she had grown up on a horse. We were amazed that we had never met, and yet we had walked parallel paths.
She told me she was operating a non profit animal rescue foundation, and I told her about my life and that I was doing fine art as my back would allow. We went to the computer and I showed her some of my work. Her face lit up when she saw the mule foal I had painted and declared she had to have it. It works that way with the art. You can market till the end of time, but what it really comes down to is the right person seeing your work. It is a magical moment for both artist and buyer as you both realize in the same moment, the painting has found its human.
It took a good two weeks, after I got back from L.A., to be able to move without so much pain that I could not function. The headaches are ever present, the pain is a constant in my life, and I live on prescription ibuprophen. If not for horses in my life, I would also have an addiction to narcotics to add to the list of horrors my back injury has wrought. A friend of mine had a back injury in the 90’s and rode horses to control back pain. I thought she was crazy, but she told me about a medical report supporting therapeutic riding as a way to control back pain. A couple of years later, I remembered seeing a p.m. news show on therapeutic riding and how it was helping a number of disabilities, one of them being back injuries. When I realized my consumption of narcotics was becoming addictive, thanks to an eye opening Oprah show, I decided to try and find another way to control pain.
My doctor at the time thought I was crazy for wanting to ride horses. After all, I did have a back injury and horses are evil. I changed doctors. I was able to convince my new doctor to let me give therapeutic riding a try. We had done every kind of therapy available to relieve my symptoms, nothing had worked, so I felt I had nothing to lose. He asked me, “What if you fall off?” I responded, “I’m better at riding horses than I am at skiing. I am more comfortable skiing than most people are in their own shoes. I am more comfortable on a horse than I am on my skis.” I had been riding off and on since I was a kid, had started training hunter jumper at 18, worked at a track and training center as a pony girl, so I wasn’t concerned about my riding ability.
I also knew that the weekend before, my doctor had gone over to a mutual friends pasture and attempted to mount a horse that was usually a pretty peaceful gelding. But that gelding is not so peaceful when some wanna be cowboy rudely jumps on his back without asking permission, so he bucked the good doctor off. When he asked me, “What if you fall off”, I said, “I’m not going to do anything stupid, like go jump on a horse in a pasture and get bucked off”. His eyes got big, but then he laughed and said, “I guess we could give this a try.”
I knew some horses that were rock solid trained and would take care of me, so I started riding and my back pain became tolerable. There were still days of so much pain I had to stay in bed, but the more I rode, the more I saw the pain decrease. It was the miracle I had been looking for.
I told Joanie about the miracle the horses had brought to my life in Nevada, so when she called two weeks later, she offered to buy Bit in exchange for the painting. I told her that even if she bought Bit I could not afford her upkeep, but that I would think about it. I called her back a few days later and told her that I would give her the painting if she would just give Bit a peaceful place to live on her ranch. She told me that Bit was meant to be in my life, that she was not only going to buy her, but she was going to pay for whatever Bit needed until I could afford it myself. This was miracle number two.
After a two week long process of negotiation, Bit was mine. It just so happened that Joanie was very good friends with Bits current owner, and assured her that Bit would always have what she needed in spite of my financial situation. Miracle number three.
The next time I saw her, it was in July 2003. The pack horses were brought up from Bishop to be rental string horses for the local stable. Bit was one of those horses. I remember looking over at the horses that were tied, waiting for the various rides that would go out that day, and there was Bit. You couldn’t help but see her. She had a Jennifer Lopez, to die for butt and when she cocked one back foot, it looked like the saddle was going to come off. I watched her stand all day, and rarely did she go out on a ride. She was too small for most men to ride, and too much of a horse for an inexperienced woman to ride. She hated geldings putting their noses near her tail, and nose to tail is exactly how a rental string goes out on the trail. She would spin around and demand her space, which usually upset anyone who was on her. Bit could spin pretty fast.
It wasn’t that she was being abused, because she wasn’t. The owner of the pack horses had a business to run, and to her credit, the horses were some of the nicest horses I have ever seen on a rental string. What bothered me about Bit was that she just wasn’t a good fit for what she was doing. Too small, and too much horse with the most amazing mind I have ever seen in a horse. When I walked up to her and she nuzzled my outstretched hand, it wasn’t to look for food. She acknowledged me, and made eye contact. I moved my hand to her withers and scratched her where horses scratch one another, and she moved closer so that I could reach her a little easier. I moved my hand down her back, gently massaging her and she moved right next to the corral panel so that I could access her entire body. Love at first sight? No, it was more like meeting someone again, after having known them many lifetimes.
I spoke with the owner about buying her, but I knew even if I was able to somehow buy her, I could never afford to keep her. Three years of being disabled with a back injury had left me unemployed and financially devastated. One careless snowboarder had hit me from behind while I was coaching our local ski team. It had left me disabled and at the mercy of the California Workmen’s Compensation system. The only thing I could do at the time was to be her friend and continue our visits. I had to let this one go.
Something that I have learned in my own spiritual process is, put your intention out there, let go of what you think should happen, and let a higher power drive the bus. It did not occur to me that I was doing exactly that. I had a best friend, she happened to be a horse, and she had a job. I visited her whenever I could.
I found out that Pat Parelli was coming to Reno, Nevada. Pat has a unique way of training people to train their horses, and I liked it because it put relationship back into riding a horse. I didn’t want to just be a passenger when I was riding; I wanted a real connection and friendship. When I found out Pat was coming, I knew I had to go. The Parelli tour is a great way to immerse yourself in natural horsemanship. His wife, Linda always has a new and different perspective on relationship and riding your horse, and it is a great opportunity to meet 5000 other like-minded souls. I didn’t just want to go, I wanted to volunteer at the event because I felt it might be a good way to learn even more about my passion for horses.
As the time grew near for the tour to hit Reno, I found out I had to go to a doctors appointment in Los Angeles for my back injury the day after the Parelli tour ended. That meant driving back from Reno, four hours sleep and then getting in the truck and driving the seven hours to Los Angeles. There are no work comp doctors in the Sierras, and you are required to go to one by California law. It doesn’t matter that you are injured, or even if you have transportation to make the seven hour drive, you have to go or lose your benefits. My benefits were $70.00 a week, and that was what my daughter and I had to live on. Not much of anything, but without it, we would be homeless and on welfare. We were already on food stamps and a couple other programs so that we could survive. It was a delicate balancing act I had been doing for three years while going through the nightmare of the California Work Comp process. I realize that there is a lot of fraud in work injury claims, but I am not one of them. The new law punishes everyone, and helps no one. But, that is another story.
I just did not see how I could drive to Reno, volunteer at the tour, and then drive to Los Angeles. I defiantly couldn’t afford the gas. I called my friend that I would have stayed with in Nevada and told her I wasn’t coming, and why. My teenage daughter was not what you would call supportive with my decision to stay home. She is my cheerleader in life, and has more than once picked my soul off ground. Amanda knew how badly I needed to attend the Parelli tour. It wasn’t just a fun weekend; it was another rung in the ladder out of my dark night of the soul. She was relentless in her badgering, “You have to go, mom. You have been looking forward to this for months, and now you aren’t going to go?” She did not let up and I finally gave in the day before I was supposed to leave for Reno.
I called my friend that I would be staying with and told her I was coming after all. She was delighted, told me her “Parelli friend” from Sacramento would be staying with her, too and that we would have a wonderful girls-night-in dinner with her other friend. It was going to be a great weekend after all, and I would worry about money when I got home.
I arrived at the Reno Livestock Event Center Friday morning and began to help set up for the tour. I couldn’t do any lifting, but I did everything that my back would allow and the day passed quickly. By the late afternoon on Friday, I was exhausted and exhilarated! I couldn’t wait until Saturday morning when the show began. I drove the ½ hour back to my friends house, met her Sacramento friend, and then Joanie arrived. We all talked until midnight, drinking wine, and eating great food. Joanie grew up where I was now living, and as we talked we found out we had shared mutual friends, experiences, and the love of skiing. Her parents had owned Convict Lake Pack Station, so she had grown up on a horse. We were amazed that we had never met, and yet we had walked parallel paths.
She told me she was operating a non profit animal rescue foundation, and I told her about my life and that I was doing fine art as my back would allow. We went to the computer and I showed her some of my work. Her face lit up when she saw the mule foal I had painted and declared she had to have it. It works that way with the art. You can market till the end of time, but what it really comes down to is the right person seeing your work. It is a magical moment for both artist and buyer as you both realize in the same moment, the painting has found its human.
It took a good two weeks, after I got back from L.A., to be able to move without so much pain that I could not function. The headaches are ever present, the pain is a constant in my life, and I live on prescription ibuprophen. If not for horses in my life, I would also have an addiction to narcotics to add to the list of horrors my back injury has wrought. A friend of mine had a back injury in the 90’s and rode horses to control back pain. I thought she was crazy, but she told me about a medical report supporting therapeutic riding as a way to control back pain. A couple of years later, I remembered seeing a p.m. news show on therapeutic riding and how it was helping a number of disabilities, one of them being back injuries. When I realized my consumption of narcotics was becoming addictive, thanks to an eye opening Oprah show, I decided to try and find another way to control pain.
My doctor at the time thought I was crazy for wanting to ride horses. After all, I did have a back injury and horses are evil. I changed doctors. I was able to convince my new doctor to let me give therapeutic riding a try. We had done every kind of therapy available to relieve my symptoms, nothing had worked, so I felt I had nothing to lose. He asked me, “What if you fall off?” I responded, “I’m better at riding horses than I am at skiing. I am more comfortable skiing than most people are in their own shoes. I am more comfortable on a horse than I am on my skis.” I had been riding off and on since I was a kid, had started training hunter jumper at 18, worked at a track and training center as a pony girl, so I wasn’t concerned about my riding ability.
I also knew that the weekend before, my doctor had gone over to a mutual friends pasture and attempted to mount a horse that was usually a pretty peaceful gelding. But that gelding is not so peaceful when some wanna be cowboy rudely jumps on his back without asking permission, so he bucked the good doctor off. When he asked me, “What if you fall off”, I said, “I’m not going to do anything stupid, like go jump on a horse in a pasture and get bucked off”. His eyes got big, but then he laughed and said, “I guess we could give this a try.”
I knew some horses that were rock solid trained and would take care of me, so I started riding and my back pain became tolerable. There were still days of so much pain I had to stay in bed, but the more I rode, the more I saw the pain decrease. It was the miracle I had been looking for.
I told Joanie about the miracle the horses had brought to my life in Nevada, so when she called two weeks later, she offered to buy Bit in exchange for the painting. I told her that even if she bought Bit I could not afford her upkeep, but that I would think about it. I called her back a few days later and told her that I would give her the painting if she would just give Bit a peaceful place to live on her ranch. She told me that Bit was meant to be in my life, that she was not only going to buy her, but she was going to pay for whatever Bit needed until I could afford it myself. This was miracle number two.
After a two week long process of negotiation, Bit was mine. It just so happened that Joanie was very good friends with Bits current owner, and assured her that Bit would always have what she needed in spite of my financial situation. Miracle number three.
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
the first angel project painting
The First Angel Project Painting
It was 1996, and I had been painting angels for five years. Five years of drawing, painting, selling and making more. It just did not seem that this was what I should be doing with them. And so, I stopped. I pulled the angels out of the gallery, out of the stores, and quit trying to do anything with them. I painted because it filled me with light. I was always reassured that the angels I created were FOR someone.
It was 11 p.m., my daughter slept quietly upstairs, and I was enjoying a moment to myself. The t.v. was on, but I was somewhere else, lost in thought. My angels’ voice cut through the mental fog I had created and it was suggested I turn the channel. I picked up the remote and began flipping through the channels. “Stop here”, the angel said. A moment later the announcer said, “stay tuned for a segment on angels”.
The segment began, and it was then that I made the acquaintance of a Miss Julie Caballa. She was ten years old and here in
A loud, clear voice filled my living room and said, “Call”. There was no mistaking the message, or the implications. I was going to have to paint Julies’ angel and I was terrified. This was too important because this was a dying wish of a child.
I telephoned the t.v. station and the operator referred me to a gentleman who said that he would tell the anchor person to call me. Debra Pacena returned my call the next day. I told her that I would like to paint Julies’ angel. I didn’t tell her who sent me, and she didn’t ask. Two days later, the chaplain that had been counseling the Caballa’s called me. She said that she would give the message to the family and if they were interested, they would be in touch. The chaplain called a few days later with the o.k. I made up a simple questionnaire for Julie to fill out just to give me an idea of what she thought her angel might look like. Julie’s questionnaire, with her answers, arrived a week later.
It took a month to complete Julie’s angel. I prayed a lot. I didn’t know what to expect, and I only hoped that what I was doing would give Julie peace and maybe help her not be so afraid of dying. I had no money to frame the painting, so I asked my angel what I should do. The angel suggested I talk to a local gallery owner. The angel assured me, “He will frame the angel. You will not have to pay.” The gallery owner did hesitate for a moment. His brow furrowed, and he mentioned he didn’t usually do this kind of thing.
He also framed it the next day, at no charge. I took the painting across the street and showed it to the woman who owned a local shipping business. I told her about Julie, and asked if she could help me with the shipping costs. She not only packaged the painting so that it could arrive safely, she also paid for it out of her own pocket. Julies’ angel was winging it way home that day.
While working on the painting, an unfamiliar hand guided mine. A voice, not of my own angel, directed me. “Paint roses and the ocean. She will know it is me by these things.” I discovered later, every step would prove significant to Julie and her family. But not as significant as what happened to Julie. A week after shipping her painting the chaplain called, very excited and told me that Julies’ cancer had disappeared. Her painting arrived, her cancer departed. It was simply gone.
I asked my angel why Julie was spared. My angel said that she was to be an example for all that were to follow. All that was to follow? I suddenly knew why I had been asked to paint angels. My angel said, “To see with the eyes of a child is the most precious possession you have forgotten. It is essential to miracles. Be as a child. Believe.”
I eventually donated close to 40 paintings to the serious and terminally ill. I saw miracles, yes. Some healed their bodies, but all healed their hearts. The people I worked with were aware of the fact that they had a very limited amount of time available to them. Ben, one of the Project people reminded me that we were all dying. This is one of the many gifts my “dying” friends have given me; to live life greatly and that within every moment there is a miracle.
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