kairos

kairos: a time in between, a moment of undetermined period of time in which something special happens

Yesterday, after dinner, I went out and opened up two of the gates that lead into our small backyard. I had already given the equines free access to the barnyard, and had several "escape hatches" opened up so they could all mill around safely from barn aisle to hay to water, a break from the heat and the routine wherever they could find it.

I needed to water the garden, and the back yard, recently mowed, is already growing, so my idea was to let the horses and donkeys help out while I worked with the hose.

Cody and the donkeys came in first, then Keil Bay. Salina made her way in last, and the pony was in the arena being ridden, so he had to wait. It was nearing dusk, and very peaceful, with the water flowing and the horses pulling grass. Every now and then their teeth would pull just right and the grass would squeak.

I lost the regular passage of time, referred to by the Greeks as chronos, and found myself in that special place where it seems like I've slipped through to some other way of being. I was in the midst of the pinwheel of garden beds, with the hose dragged around the corners, watering. The pony was on one side of me, Redford behind me, Cody behind me, and Salina on the other side. I hadn't noticed the configuration or the crowding that was happening, but suddenly in that very still moment I felt a sense of ... not panic, but a sort of worried alertness, and when I turned around, Cody was standing still but looking like he was feeling very trapped - by the beds, the fence, the pony, and Salina. Without thinking I stepped toward the pony and moved him around the pinwheel, out of the logjam, at the same time thinking to Salina that she must stay put and allow Cody to be in her space until things were clear for him to move.

This was a rare and special moment when I felt like I had joined the herd mind. I wasn't functioning as the alpha or boss mare, but more as a coordinator of space, insuring that no one got trapped, no boundaries got crossed, there were no accidents, and their lovely grazing time with me didn't have to come to an end.

Salina stood patiently, not flagging her head, not even moving an ear. Cody waited, trusting that I was working on clearing a path for him. The pony moved, hoof by hoof, and Redford went underneath the low-lying butterfly bush branches so he wouldn't be in the way. It was one of those moments when there was no time to think. I just felt what the herd felt, acted, and in a few moments all was okay. I suspect this kind of thing goes on all the time in a herd, but I am not often right in the midst of it, and so very open to feeling those finely-tuned and silent communications that happen between horses.

As it got dark, both my children, teenagers now, came out to help with feeding dinner tubs. We got our own routine going, our communications louder than the herd-speak of earlier, and it reminded me how loud we humans can be - not only with our voices and fairly constant talking, but in our gestures and demeanors. I was reminded again of how effective it is when working with and training horses to actively try the quieter approach. A softer touch, even the thought of a touch, often works so much better than the loud request, or worse, the demand.

It was fully dark by now, and I was refilling a water trough beneath the night shade of the big oak. My son and daughter were silhouetted in the light of the barn, talking over one of the stall doors. Because of the water running, and the tree frogs and cicadas, I couldn't hear what they were saying. It was a moment in time, seeing them speak as teenagers, almost as if I were seeing a moment from the future.

They let the horses out one by one. Cody sauntered past, heading through the spilled pool of light from the arena, fully strided and gleaming as he made his way to the back field. The donkeys followed, side by side, like body guards preceding their queen. After a moment Salina came out. She wasn't sure which field they were in - we just rotated from front to back, and I had both gates open earlier in the day. She stopped in the patch of arena light and looked from front field to back. Her blind side was to me, and even though there is no eye there, and the light filled the empty socket as she turned in my direction, it seemed she could see. She still blinks on that empty side, and I could see the blinking muscles moving and working as she turned back and forth.

One of the donkeys snorted and she nickered, then moved into a big beautiful walk to join them. There was no trace of arthritis as she moved.

Keil Bay came by doing his huge and swinging panther walk. The pony came last, having waited in hopes of dinner tubs to clean. Each one passed by me, walking through the shadows, through the pool of light, and then literally faded to black as they neared the gate at the far end of the paddock. After they passed through the gate, I could hear the snorts and movements as they entered the blackness of the back field.

I don't think you can always find kairos, but when you stop thinking and doing and simply be, it finds you.