Pas de Cheval 3. Attunement

Before the Dance

Attunement, Communion, and the Language of the Horse

Before we approach the horse, there is a place we must go first: within.

This is attunement.

And attunement begins with authenticity.

We have to be willing to ask ourselves: Am I really okay?

Not the automatic “I’m fine” we so often give ourselves and others, but an honest inquiry.

What am I carrying into this moment? Am I hurried? Frustrated? Angry? Grieving? Afraid? Distracted? Am I already attached to an outcome? Am I bringing an agenda to the horse?

And if I am not okay, can I be honest enough to acknowledge that?

There is nothing wrong with recognizing what is present. In fact, authenticity requires it. We cannot simply put a smile on our face, walk toward the horse and pretend that everything underneath has disappeared.

The horse does not meet the mask.

The horse meets what is actually there.

Sometimes simply acknowledging what we are feeling begins to change it. We can say, I understand that I am feeling this way. We can breathe with it. We can allow the body to soften. If there is a conflict in our lives that needs to be resolved, we can take responsibility for resolving it calmly, creatively and respectfully—not from victimhood, accusation or domination, but without abandoning our own boundaries either.

We begin with the breath.

Not simply, Am I breathing? Of course we are breathing.

We ask instead:

How am I breathing?

Is my breath deep, rich and free? Or is it shallow? Am I unconsciously holding it? Is my breathing restricted somewhere in my body?

Then we check the physical body.

Is there tension in my jaw? My shoulders? My chest? My belly? My hands? Am I bracing somewhere without realizing it?

What we are looking for is physical relaxation with acute awareness.

Relaxation does not mean becoming dull, passive or disconnected. Quite the opposite. We soften physically while becoming exquisitely present—aware of ourselves, aware of our surroundings and eventually aware of the horse.

This calm, focused awareness is the doorway into the present moment.

Through conscious breathing, focused attention and visualization, we can also begin bringing awareness through the chakra system, noticing each energetic center and allowing the conductivity of energy to move through the body. There is a much deeper practice here that I teach and that can be explored more fully elsewhere. For now, what matters is understanding that attunement includes the whole being—physical, emotional and energetic.

And beneath all of this is something deeper still.

What are we attuning to?

We are attuning to the Divine within us—that living spark that flows through us and through the horse, through the trees, the earth, the waters and all of nature.

Attunement is, in this sense, remembrance.

We are not trying to manufacture some special state. We are quieting enough of the noise to become aware of what was already there.

And there is another reason this matters enormously.

Horses are not here to carry what we refuse to face within ourselves.

They are sovereign beings. They are not instruments for human healing, and human healing should never come at the expense of the horse.

We can absolutely stand beside a horse while grieving, frightened, hurting or struggling. Authenticity does not require us to become perfectly peaceful human beings before we are worthy of being near a horse. But it does require us to take responsibility for what we are carrying. We do not unconsciously hand our emotional burden to the horse and expect the horse to absorb it for us.

There are times when a person may not yet be capable of doing that. If someone cannot recognize their own emotional state, cannot take responsibility for the energy they bring into the relationship, or cannot yet meet the horse authentically, then they may not yet be ready to ask the horse to meet them.

Because Pas de Cheval begins with two sovereign beings.

The horse's experience matters.

The horse's boundaries matter.

The horse's no matters.

And only then are we ready to turn our attention from ourselves toward the horse.

Learning the Language of the Horse

Before we enter the horse's personal space, we need to understand that the horse has been speaking all along.

Horses do not need human words to communicate.

Their ears speak.

Their eyes speak.

Their lips and muzzle speak.

Their tail speaks.

Their breath speaks.

Their posture, movement, muscle tension and the way they carry their entire body speak.

But the language of the horse cannot be reduced to a chart in which one gesture always means one thing.

An ear pinned or turned backward does not automatically mean, I am angry.

The horse may be listening to something behind them. The gesture may occur during intense concentration. In another context, particularly when accompanied by tension elsewhere in the body, it may communicate irritation, warning or discomfort.

Context matters.

We read the whole horse.

Look at the eyes.

Soft eyes generally accompany relaxation and ease. A horse whose eyelids are beginning to close may simply be resting or sleeping. But eyes can tell us something very different as well. A dull, glazed or unusually unresponsive eye may tell us that the horse is not feeling well and deserves closer attention. Wide eyes, particularly when accompanied by a tense body and visible white around the eye, can indicate heightened alarm or fear.

Then look at the mouth.

A soft lower lip, sometimes hanging loosely, can accompany deep relaxation or sleep.

A tight mouth and muzzle can accompany concern or tension.

Young horses may also make characteristic mouth movements toward older herd members—sometimes called foal snapping—communicating appeasement or submission: essentially, I am young; I am not a threat.

The muzzle itself can be extraordinarily expressive. Horses investigate, touch and nuzzle through it, and within a relationship those subtle movements can become part of affection and communication.

Then there is the tail.

A swishing tail may simply be removing a fly.

It may also communicate irritation or discomfort.

When a horse being ridden repeatedly swishes, raises or clamps the tail, particularly when other signs of tension are present, we should not dismiss the behavior. We should become curious about whether discomfort, tack, the rider's aids, the horse's back or something else is contributing. Breed and individual expression matter too. An Arabian carrying the tail high while moving freely can be expressing something entirely different from a horse displaying persistent tail tension under saddle.

The head and neck speak as well.

A horse suddenly lifting the head high may have become acutely alert to something in the environment. A horse that throws the head up as someone approaches may be telling us that something about that approach feels unsafe.

And yet context and relationship matter here too.

A horse who knows you intimately may lift the head because he has learned that doing so makes you laugh when you're trying to reach his ears.

That is no longer simply “horse behavior.”

That is relationship.

It is a conversation built through shared history.

And this is why intuition becomes so important.

We learn the observable language first, but as communion deepens, knowledge and intuition begin to work together.

If you do not yet understand horses, don't rush toward one because you have memorized a handful of signals.

Watch them.

Sit outside a herd.

Observe.

Watch one horse approach another. Watch what happens before another horse moves away. Watch the ears, eyes, feet, neck, breathing and distance between bodies.

Horses are herd animals. Let the herd teach you the language of the horse.

Eventually you begin hearing the whisper before it ever needs to become a shout.

And none of these examples represents the totality of equine language. They are only a beginning.

Even the physical form of the horse can tell a story over time. Conformation has a genetic foundation, certainly, but the body we see can also reflect nutrition, movement, conditioning, injury, chronic tension and the way a horse has been ridden or exercised. A tight or compromised topline, for example, deserves curiosity about the whole history and wellbeing of the horse rather than an assumption based on appearance alone.

The purpose is not to become obsessed with diagnosing every movement.

It is to learn to see.

Communion

Once we have attuned within ourselves and begun learning to listen to the horse, we can approach the next threshold:

communion.

Attunement is how we arrive within ourselves.

Communion is how we arrive together.

Before entering the horse's space, we recognize that we are approaching another sovereign being.

We do not simply walk in because we own the horse.

We ask.

May I come closer?

And the question itself matters because it acknowledges that the horse may answer yes.

Or no.

Or not yet.

We notice the eyes, the breath, the posture. We notice whether the horse softens or braces, turns toward us or moves away.

And if the horse moves away, we listen.

Communion does not mean there are no boundaries.

In fact, communion asks us to become more conscious of boundaries.

The horse has personal space.

So do we.

Sovereignty belongs to both beings.

There is a place between domination and collapse.

Strength without force.

We respect the horse's boundaries, but we do not abandon our own. A horse is not permitted to push through our body simply because we refuse to dominate them. Mutual respect means that both beings matter.

We ask.

We listen.

We respond.

We release.

And slowly the first shared movement begins.

A step.

A pause.

A breath.

A turn.

Another step.

The dance begins long before anyone calls it dancing.

The Halter: An Invitation

Even something as ordinary as putting on a halter can become part of communion.

We don't begin by grabbing the horse and taking control.

We offer the halter.

If the horse has never experienced one, let the horse see it.

Let them smell it.

Allow the halter to touch and move gently along the body so that it becomes familiar rather than something suddenly imposed upon the head.

There is no need to rush.

If the horse moves away from the halter, do not chase.

Stand.

Breathe.

Become still again.

Create an environment in which the horse can become curious and feel safe enough to return.

Safety is not optional.

We should endeavor, without exception, to create a place in which the horse can feel safe in our presence.

When the horse softens, lowers the head and accepts the halter, we can gently guide the nose into it, bring the strap behind the ears and secure it quietly.

The entire act can say:

I hear you.

There is no fight here.

We can do this together.

And then we attach the lead.

But the lead rope is not a handle with which to control the horse.

It is a thread of communication.

Guardianship

When we begin walking together, our position matters.

With a mature horse, we want to be around the shoulder, approximately a step forward of it—not trailing behind and not dragging the horse from far out in front.

Why?

Because what we are communicating through our body is:

I will help create safety here.

The word for this is not dominance.

It is not control.

And it does not need to be “leadership.”

It is guardianship.

We are saying to the horse:

You do not have to carry responsibility for me. I am present. I am aware. I am paying attention to our surroundings. I will respect you, and I will respect myself.

Our hands remain light.

The rope should not be held tightly.

There should be softness in it.

If we maintain constant tension, we are continually speaking through the rope, whether we intend to or not. We leave room for the horse to feel the difference between nothing being asked and an invitation being offered.

Then we invite the horse to step forward with us.

And we walk.

The Wedding March

One of the simplest practices can reveal an extraordinary amount about the communion between horse and human.

Walk and stop.

Walk and stop.

Walk and stop.

Almost like a wedding march.

But the stop does not begin with hauling backward on the lead rope.

It begins with breath.

As you prepare to stop, breathe out.

Allow the exhale to move through your body. Let your body soften into the stop.

And listen.

With attunement, the horse begins to recognize that change within you.

Your breath becomes part of the conversation.

This is also why we must notice when we are holding our breath. When the human becomes tense and holds the breath, the horse may respond to that tension and alter their own breathing and body state.

So breathe.

And if conscious breathing is difficult, sing.

Sing something gentle.

A favorite song.

A lullaby.

It doesn't need to sound beautiful.

Singing naturally lengthens the exhale. It prevents us from unconsciously holding the breath and can help the body find rhythm again.

And then walk.

Stop.

Breathe.

Walk again.

Eventually it becomes less about practicing a maneuver and more about discovering whether two beings are beginning to share a rhythm.

There should be no heavy hand.

No dragging.

No mechanical march.

The lead remains soft.

The body remains relaxed yet acutely aware.

The breath remains alive.

And gradually something extraordinary begins to happen.

The horse begins to hear something subtler than the rope.

They begin to hear you.

And you begin to hear them.

That is the foundation upon which everything else in Pas de Cheval will be built—on the ground, in hand, at liberty, and eventually, when invited, in the saddle.

Not obedience before relationship.

Not technique before understanding.

Not control disguised as communion.

First attunement.

Then understanding.

Then communion.

And from communion, the first steps of the dance.