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Shocks That Bind Us




When I walked into the pasture, my eye immediately fell on the tricolored horse.

Taking him in eating hay, I explained to his person what I do. This was her first time, she had no idea what to expect.


“I tune in to the horses,” I explained. “And invite them to share anything they’d like you to know so I can translate it for you, their person.’ I said.


“I’m sure interested in what he has to say,” she said. Nodding toward the tricolored horse.


I continued, “The way they communicate with me is in pictures, or little videos, sometimes they send me a message that is more like a sentence or paragraph.”


I stopped.


“Hah,” I said, gaining time as my mind questioned the visual and sentence I had just received.


“Sooo,” I continued, “I am getting in an interesting piece here, I believe, from the horse straight ahead of us, the paint.”


I took a breath, lengthening time.

Was I going to say what I saw and heard?

Was it a choice?


I looked at her, then back to the paint, “The paint just said: “Do you know what I love? Taking pictures on the beach.”


I slowly turned my eyes from the horse back toward the women.

I had to read her face.

How did she receive this first-ever statement from an animal communicator?


She received it through her whole body. Her body went tight as a ball while her arms simultaneously reached out wide. She looked half “bull-shit” and half “you gotta be kidding me!”


Seh caught herself, “We go to the beach all the time,” she said.

“And he poses.”

“Poses, I said.”

“Oh yes. I had a professional photographer come. He. Poses.”


A filmstrip began running in my mind. The horse, light on his feet. On the beach. Buoyed.


The frolicking horse faded.

I was drawn to my left.

The black mare. Eating from a pile of hay.


“She conveys a sense of loneliness, misses closeness,” I said.

“She also says she would like to help you regain your confidence. And riding will be a good way to do so.”


“We haven’t ridden in a while,” the woman said. Pointing to the pain, “You can ask him if he has something to say about that.”

“In a moment,” I answered, “your mare has more to say.”

The black mare conveyed her message as a stream of consciousness, explaining that she was here to help her person come back into the body by being in the saddle.

The mare was aware that insecurity was holding the woman back and therefore offered her service to her person. She was a healer, the mare explained.


“It was an accident!” My attention was pulled away from the mare. Eyes and ears searching around, not sure where the sentence came from.

“It was an accident!”

It was the paint, it was crystal clear. This was the horse yelling.


“He wants you to know,” I said, “it was an accident. Whatever has you so unsure about the horses right now was an accident.”

Suddenly the paint rattled off a string of information. How he was surprised, how it was an accident, how terrible he felt, and that his person was probably too dazed to have noticed his expression after the accident. There was no menace in it. It was an accident.


The woman exhaled. Her body softened.


“He was reaching for grass, sticking his head under the strand of electric fence. When he lifted his head to back up, the electric fence touched his head. He spooked and kicked out, made contact, and broke my lower arm. My ulnar.” She pushed up her sleeve to reveal the 5-inch-long scar.

“It was an accident.” I heard quietly from the paint. And so I said it. Quietly.

“Now you know. It was an accident.”


As I assessed the horse's energy centers, his Chakras, I asked him if I could touch his forehead, and he slightly turned his face toward me. The third eye was blocked. Then I said, “May I touch your poll?” the area right behind the ears, and he didn’t flinch as my hand approached.


As my fingers made contact with his fur, a jolt/force pushed me two feet to the left and turned me 180 degrees, facing away from the horse. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the body of my assistant shake. The aftershock.


Since April, when he was shocked by the electric fence, this horse has been lit up.

No wonder his person was nervous about riding him. No wonder the mare was trying to bring them all closer together again.


There are names for what binds us: photos on the beach and trauma that connects.

Some forces float away on a cloud, while others become a scar between us.

And though more healed forever made into a single fabric.






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alphonsomango
alphonsomango
14 de mar.

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