Near, Far, Wherever You Are
Near, Far, Wherever You Are
Multiple dimensions of "distance" and "closeness" in relationship
Aloha! Yes, here we are together again…and for three of you out there who subscribed this week, welcome to They Keep Telling Me I Should Write My Memoir. Once I got past the actual 43-episode blow by blow memoir of my life in the 1990s, I am often surprised at what this actual week prompts me to write next. Iʻm still keeping Kūkūilamaʻs story in the foreground, but part of the fun is seeing what new lessons I learn myself telling stories of the past in the context of what shows up now.
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Did you know that the expression “earworm” for that song that gets stuck on repeat in your brain was used in Germany over a century ago? Clearly not an experience that required the invention of Spotify or iPods, although maybe radio broadcasts exacerbated it. Anyway, the song stuck in my brain for the past couple of weeks is one I had no idea I even knew: I have been hearing Celine Dionʻs voice belting “My Heart Will Go On.”1
Itʻs not even the whole song though. (And I swear the ship that is my life is most definitely not sinking.) Most of the time I hear just the phrase “Near, far, wherever you are.” Which makes sense as a follow up to last weekʻs post Shall We Dance reflecting on my young horse Kūkūilamaʻs misunderstandings about communication through touch. So letʻs pick up with that story line.
Although I did manage to get him to allow me to stroke his face and halter him with ease before he went to trainer #2, three months later after I brought him back home I found he was once again shutting down and submitting rather than expressing himself. Now we were almost half a year into our relationship, he had been to two equine professionals for training - and we were both unhappy. There were big gaps in the foundation of our relationship. And it seemed like he was as confused about the next steps in our relationship as I was. Determined to get it right, I started back at the beginning with ground work rather than riding him.
Already this horse had learned from the master teacher Zara to come running when I arrived at the pasture fence. For her, that desire to hurry to greet me was sincere. We had become the closest of friends, trusted companions for many years. Kūkūilama was also an Arabian, a breed known for their devotion to their humans, and I could see his curiosity and desire to connect. I could also see how that desire was at war with something else in him. Sometimes when I approached him in the pasture he would pin his ears as if to drive me away. Other times, he wanted to be too close, pushing in on top of me. At the best times, we felt totally at ease doing nothing side by side, as two horses grazing seem to fall into alignment. But those times were rare.
Have you ever experienced that push-pull? We are no longer talking about horses here. I wanted to be close to you and reached out…but I scared myself with that moment of intimacy and vulnerability and now I want to hide from you - or without being conscious of my motives I blurt something mean to push you away. Maybe when I revealed some aspect myself as a child, my parent or teacher responded negatively and I decided not to show anyone that I am sensitive or smart or energetic ever again. Over time, that hiding of our authentic self can become habitual and then it gets in the way of our ability to connect in a healthy way with others. Just like it did for Kūkuilama.
Thatʻs probably a little or a lot true of all of us at some point in our lives.
So yes, forget about more training. Certainly no point in hiring anyone else for the job. What my horse and I needed was something more like couples therapy! To have a genuine relationship with him, the first thing I had to do was give Kūkūilama permission to express himself without fear of my judgment. I observed the way his jaw was locked tight. When he got worried he pulled his cheeks in even tighter, pursing his lips as if to hold in the words he wanted to say. What was he thinking? What was going on in that beautiful head? On an intuitive urging, I arranged for him to have some bodywork, and discovered how much physical pain he was actually experiencing as a result of heavy men on his young back, and perhaps in the early training some battle injuries.
With the physical healing process begun, then I spent hours just sitting in the pasture, letting him come and go. After weeks of being present and allowing him to say “no” to my requests and leave if he wanted, he began to communicate on his terms. Wow. Once he got started interacting, everything went into his mouth. If I was leading him and my attention wandered for an instant, he would nip at me. If we were standing still, he would reach to take the lead rope in his mouth…or gnaw on a fence rail or the side of the water trough.
The proverbial light bulb went off in my head. That was the behavior that had been roughly “corrected.” His head was coming too near - and in those rough corrections he had learned to keep it too far. Near, far, wherever you are…I believe that the heart does go on. I believed in Kūkūilamaʻs essential ability to continue to care, to want to connect. I knew there was a big heart in there. I have learned (and learn again and again) to trust in the bigness of my own heart. It might not look pretty for a while. I might make lots of mistakes. But horses are masters of forgiveness. I just had to be consistently ok to be far when I needed to be far (oh no, donʻt come close to me when you are frisky and kicking your heels high in my direction) - and to trust that we could keep both connection and boundaries when we were near.
I hopped on bareback from the fence and he turned to acknowledge me.
Eventually the magic happens. Today I can trust Kūkuilama up close. He trusts me when Iʻm near as well. And although I still thrill at thundering hooves galloping in my direction, there are many days when we communicate from afar - “Hi, Iʻm just climbing over this fence in my dress to check the water trough on my way to a business appointment, no need for you to come over here.” Near, far, wherever you are.
There is a coda to todayʻs song. Of course, the song is actually about feeling the continuing connection with a loved one who is no longer physically in the world. This is very much on my mind. In the past week a dear friend lost a young member of the family to suicide. My neighbors lost their sweet rescue dog who greeted me daily on my walks. I have written repeatedly in these pages about loss and grief. Loss comes hand in hand with opening our heart. It was in the very first of my Substack posts. And specifically in this one about my brother Craig.
If loss has touched you recently, I hold you in my heart. And I know that the heart will go on.
And when you search for a song once on YouTube, next thing you know it is everywhere. Check out this 3-year-oldʻs cover!