Girls - especially young, adolescent ones have a strong predisposition to make happy, loving bonds with horses. I am and was no exception. I have been giving this theory a great deal of thought of late as that is what I do in between battling daily tasks made monumental challenges by my autistic brain – I sit around and think. Don’t get me wrong, I would not trade in my particular hunk of gray matter for any more efficient model. No way. It took me the better part of 30 years to master juggling my autistic brain fires. The igniting flares can come from any number of sources. For example, my senses are often so intense and pain soaked you wouldn’t believe me even if I described them in the most benign, candy coated way. Or the moment’s inferno may have it’s genesis from a body wired so kooky that it may comply with my request to have a finger push elevator button #2 one day and totally rebel the next having my limbs shame me with complete messy uncoordination or violent outbursts. Even my speech is controlled by a source outside of my assessable control panel. Countless systems encased in my body operate in open defiance of all natures’ eons of evolutionary expertise in designing central nervous systems that communicate in tandem. The perpetual, internal contradiction, frustration, and friction tender these indigenous fires. Autistic fire juggling is not for the faint of heart. My life in the circus as such a juggler is difficult but I am finally getting good at it and I refuse to stop until I hear the crowd cheer in unison. That day may be a long time in coming but I am patient and am now more equipped with tricks of the trade. Gracious and wise horses granted me apprenticeship so that I could practice and learn these trade secretes.

My theory is that horses are eager teachers of one of the most profound universal truths namely peace and happiness are available for the taking but far too often humans loose sight of where to grab because fatly perspectives block the access. I think many girls are exposed to this message on countless bareback and saddled backs across the planet. More so than boys, girls make emotionally thick friendships with horses. I can speak only for the estrogen childhood experience today because I have not done enough male mind squatting to be well versed on the boy’s perspective. Who knows what that puppy dog tail component adds to their make up? But, I assume boys who have the opportunity to ride and commune with horses maintain some emotional distance from the beast due to some testosterone oiled and evolutionarily sound strength, competition, and dominance posturing. Until, I have more first hand experience in this little boy psyche, I will reserve the focus of this discussion exclusively for young females.

It is my feeling that little girls in general do not relinquish much brain space to convincing others that they are mighty and right. Therefore, girls have access to more borderless communication. This hardwired trait enables almost effortless sharing of sorrows, comforts, fears, joy, and expectations with all creatures - horses in particular. Take old Barb for example. I am no huge animal lover. I have no overwhelming desire to share my living space with pets even soft, furry loyal dogs and cute coy, cats. But, I like, respect, and enjoy horses – always have. Horses are easy to talk to. Like me they make many loud sounds having little to do with communication. Also like me, they listen to everything and are not credited for doing so by most people. When I was quite young I thought horses were so big in order to keep all the thoughts, stories, and fears that people like me gave to them. I was no ingrate; I always asked my stead if I could put all my current mental waste in that particular horses’ receptacle. Never was I denied a sincere invitation to leave my poison with the strong beast. Horses are incredibly useful in many ways, but funk disposal is one of their most honed skills. God designed horses with big picture recall that permits equestrian animals to filter and process emotional tar out of separate consciousnesses. The end product of this waste management is clean clear energy, which is funneled back into the universal pool. Recently while a top Zena, one of my favorite horses at Shangri La, I inquired about the process.

The not so old mare kept her steady pace and smiled. She voicelessly communicated to me that she had never been asked that or anything else pertaining to her horsy abilities by any of the humans she served. Zena assumed people were all too self-centered to bother thinking about the horses take on waste management or anything else. She went on to convey that quite frankly most humans were not even aware of the recycling they were directly benefiting from. I let her know that I too am as self absorbed as the next homo sapien, but I am aware of the process and curious about all aspects.

This is when it gets interesting because when I say horses talk to you they don’t really because the exchange does not involve words. I think this is why I had such relaxing and lovely experiences with horses even before I began to think in words at aged 19. Zena answered my question this way: she allowed me to dwell in her mind to know first hand how she conducted her important work. Here to for, our communication had been one sided. I donned my fashionable black helmet and boots to protect my delicate humanness, straddled her muscular auburn back, grabbed the reins for show, and sent her my troubles. For the first several years, I sent her or whatever horse was on duty that day mental images. Like copying a movie from one VCR to another, I transferred all manor of painful life clips from countless exclusions, intensely confusing sensory floods, sleepless nights pervaded by self pity, terrifying day dreams I conjured about loosing my parents making me unfathomably alone, and so much meanness and anger it embarrasses me to recall it. The horse would send nothing back except an intangible receipt letting me know that my dirty shipment was received. I gave the process no thought but do recall being decent enough to thank the beast for a relaxing ride. In my early anxiety ridden life, moments of peace and release were few and far between. I would be back for more.

These days I am careful not to become too dependent on my equestrian pals. No need to be like those with disposable incomes who twice weekly trek to the high colonic specialist for cleansing in lieu of eating a few apples and taking a walk. Well, o.k. I do enjoy disposable income and trek to the immaculate stables twice a week. But I try daily to incorporate what I learned from Zena. I am getting better at recycling my own funk and who knows maybe someday I can receive loads from other people to help out these gracious, four legged sanitation workers. All the world is a circus…and what would a circus be without horses.