The Mare on the Moor by Di Gilpin
On Dartmoor horses have roamed free for centuries. I was privileged enough to have been brought up close by this awe-inspiring wilderness and wild horses were always a part of my sense of how things were.
On a crisp spring morning I was breathing in the moorland air on a walk across one of my favourite downs. As I crested a hill I found a lamb lying dead on the path. There was no sign of injury and a few feet away his mother was crying helplessly. Having lost a child of my own my heart went out to the ewe and as I looked into her eyes I felt a deep cross species connection. I could empathise with how this sheep felt.
I stood on the brow of the hill with the acres of sky and moor embracing me. Tears were streaming down my face, I was feeling the pain of the mother-sheep and it resonated with my own old pain. I noticed a small herd of wild ponies further down the slope. The little lead mare was standing tall challenging my intrusion into her territory. She eyed me confidently. I remained rooted to the spot just feeling my grief and yet how, in this place, it was overlaid with a joy. A joy in the rightness of things, an understanding of the life/death/life cycle, an acceptance of knowing that somehow everything has its place, even the really painful stuff.
My sobs eased, the ewe continued to bleat, and I turned towards the little bay mare. She took a step towards me, a defiant step, the other mares in the herd stopped grazing and lifted their heads, the foals stopped mucking about and stood still where they were, like they were playing musical statues. We were all frozen in a bucolic tableau. The wind shifted my hair, the mare's tail and I was conscious of my breath, of her breath and I asked myself what was going on here? I felt my intrusion on their peaceful grazing and so I stepped backwards and everyone relaxed a tiny fraction. Then I pulled back my shoulders and took a great stride towards the mare and instantly she moved towards me prepared to take me on, or preparing to flee, but I soon dropped my stance and retreated again. This time I turned and retraced my footsteps back to the brow of the hill and took a seat on a low granite boulder at the top of the Tor.
Once I was seated and a good distance away the foals took up their playing again and their mothers relaxed back to their grazing. The lead mare, however, stayed alert and conscious of my presence and whilst she snatched a mouthful of grass from time to time she constantly monitored me.
I sat until I felt the chill and went back to my walk thinking about that little mare. There she was, having somehow been elected the boss of this small herd, having to do the right thing, paying constant attention to the world around her, prepared to make an instant decision about what the hell to do should I have become more predatory. She was the leader, had no one to turn to, no one to ask, no handy expert to advise on the best way to respond. Had I been a predator she may have elected to flee and take the herd with her, in that flight one of the youngsters may have slipped and broken a leg and, being unable to move, may eventually have died. She would have had to have borne that responsibility. But perhaps the herd would have fled and found better grazing as a result, who knows? There was no doubt that mare knew what to do. Pure instinct.
I thought about my own small herd and how when anything went amiss I called for an expert to help me. The slightest sign of discomfort and out came the vet to administer drugs, treatment and advice. The first sign of out of character behaviour and I'd be on the 'phone to a trainer or teacher to come and advise me.
Over the years I've found myself uncomfortable with some of the advice I've received from experts, but lacking in my own self belief I have gone along with the recommendations and now, looking back, I know that it was a mistake to so blindly follow someone else.
Not long after this meeting with the Lead Mare on Dartmoor I had a powerful dream about my own mare. I dreamt I found her in a ditch, covered in slime with her head hung low, I knew she was going to die. As I approached her she turned her head towards me, I looked at her and turned and fled to get an 'expert' to come and help. As I ran I looked back over my shoulder to see her sinking onto her knees and into the foul ditch ...and I kept running away.
My own analysis of this dream was that I felt powerless to help my horse and so ran for expert help, but the feeling I had in my dream was a guilt, that the horse needed me to stay with her as she moved from life to death. I am so attached to my mare, too attached really, that I have a low level, unconscious fear of her leaving me. She has been such an outstanding teacher for me, I have learnt so much from her about horsemanship and about 'humanship' that I am afraid of losing her. As she stood there, in my dream, I believe she was asking me to just have the courage to stay with her on the journey into the next life, but, in my dream, I didn't.
I'm thinking about the qualities of the Lead Mare, that little mare on the moor. What I saw in her was the courage to follow her instinct and the courage to make a mistake. I recognised her feeling affronted by my intrusion but her sense of curiosity about whether or not this was a situation in which significant action was necessary. She took responsibility for the situation and was prepared to act in the best way she could. She had no self-judgement. She has become my role model.
My mare on the moor has no guide except her pure instinct and raw courage. She has a purpose: the survival of herself and her herd. She lives to a rhythm, the seasons change, she mates, she gives birth, she looks after the young, seeks food and shelter. And mostly her herd survives.
I'm not advocating recklessness, I'm not saying there isn't a place for help and advice, for the benefits of modern medicine, to explore; what I am suggesting is that we can look deeper into ourselves first and see where we might be lacking in taking our own responsibility in any given situation.
The small herd of three that has accumulated at my yard are my responsibility. I sit with them, play with them, work with them every day. I know each of them better than anyone else alive. Over the years I have learnt what they each like, dislike, what they respond to, what they don't. I have also learnt that the body has an enormous capacity to heal itself and can do so without necessarily needing much intervention. I have learned that by remaining present with a sick or injured horse healing can take place. I have learned that sometimes, by employing experts, that the inevitable can be reversed and miraculous recoveries can be made. I have learnt that I am the only person who knows when I am ready to take the next step in my work with my own horses. My herd and I take our own steps in our own time without depending on someone else's prescribed agenda.
The Lead Mare on Dartmoor and my own mare in my yard at home were showing me that, if I give myself permission to trust my own instincts I can become my own expert. If I am courageous enough to recognise that death will come to us all and it is simply another part of the journey then I can relax and enjoy the present. If I am confident enough to look the 'experts' in the eye and say "Well my horse and I aren't ready to do that yet" my relationship with my horse will deepen and I will find myself naturally doing things I could never imagined 'l'il ol' me' doing.
My small herd needs a leader just as that little herd on Dartmoor did. My own mare is no leader; she is powerful, opinionated, stubborn, but not a leader, she is scared, needs confidence and I am being called to give that. I am still hesitant to articulate, for a deeply conditioned misplaced modesty, but I am perfectly capable of being the Leader of my herd.
It has not always been so and I have been blessed by meeting people who have helped me find my own way. I want to explore the qualities of leadership and to find ways that will enable each of us to step up and take responsibility for our own herds. Even if that herd comprises just one horse and you.
Diane Gilpin works with people aiming to develop deep relationships with their horses. Contact her on 07768 312176 or at digilpin@aol.com
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Added on: 16/11/07.
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