Pas de Cheval 4. Communion

Approach, Communion, Liberty, and Work in Hand

Before going further into Pas de Cheval, there is something essential to understand.

This is not a precise how-to tutorial.

There cannot be a universal Step One, Step Two, Step Three for communion with a horse, because there is no universal horse—and there is no universal human.

Every horse is an individual. Every person is an individual. Every flower, every tree, every star, every grain of sand and every snowflake expresses itself differently. Each has its own physical expression, its own inner nature, its own history, sensitivities, personality and way of moving through the world.

And yet beneath this extraordinary diversity is the One.

The Tao. Source. The unnameable and unknowable origin from which all life emanates.

We might imagine ourselves as rays of the sun: each ray appearing distinct, yet none separate from the sun itself. In the same way, each of us—horse, human, tree, animal, all of nature—is a physical, energetic and spiritual manifestation of the One.

This understanding is foundational to Pas de Cheval.

So these teachings are not intended to tell someone exactly what to do with every horse in every situation. That kind of formula would contradict the very nature of the practice.

Someone who wishes to go deeply into this work benefits from the guidance of someone who has walked the Way—someone capable of observing and intuiting the unique resonance between this horse and this person in this moment.

What I can offer here is the approach.

The principles.

The foundation upon which communion can grow.

And that foundation remains the same whether we are meditating beside a horse, grooming, playing, walking together, moving freely in an arena, working in hand, dancing at liberty or riding.

It begins with attunement.

Everything Begins With Attunement

Before approaching the horse, we first return to ourselves.

We become present.

We notice our breathing. We soften physical tension while remaining acutely aware. We recognize whatever thoughts, emotions or agendas might be pulling us away from the present moment.

We become authentic.

We take responsibility for what we are carrying.

And we make ourselves available to what is actually happening rather than what we have decided should happen.

This is not limited to standing still.

Presence can exist in movement.

Walking can become meditation.

Grooming can become meditation.

Working in hand can become meditation.

Liberty can become meditation.

Riding can become meditation.

Presence is not the absence of activity.

Presence is being completely within what we are doing.

As this practice deepens, intuition expands.

Between horse and human, something begins to develop that cannot always be explained through ordinary language. There is a knowing—an unspoken communication conveyed through breath, body, energy, awareness and heart.

One begins to recognize what is sometimes described as heart-brain coherence: relaxed yet acutely aware, present rather than distracted, receptive without becoming passive.

This is where Pas de Cheval begins to become a true pas de deux.

Two dancers.

Two sovereign beings.

One conversation without words.

Every Meeting Is a New Beginning

There is another principle I consider enormously important:

Every time we approach the horse, we can begin again.

It doesn't matter how long we have known that horse.

It doesn't matter how developed the relationship has become.

And it doesn't matter if mistakes were made yesterday.

Yesterday does not have to dictate today's relationship.

Something that was misunderstood can be understood differently now. Something that was done poorly can be approached differently now. Trust that was damaged can begin to be rebuilt now.

Because the only place relationship actually exists is in the present moment.

I therefore approach each meeting as though it were an introduction.

Not because the horse has forgotten me.

But because I want to meet who the horse is today.

And I want to arrive as who I am today.

That makes the encounter sacred.

Approaching the Horse

Whenever possible, approach a horse where they can clearly perceive you rather than unexpectedly entering from directly behind.

A horse has an extraordinarily broad field of vision, but there is a blind area immediately behind the body. Surprising a horse from that position can provoke a defensive response, including a kick.

This becomes especially important when a horse is deeply engaged in eating, resting or otherwise relaxed within an environment they have learned to trust.

We often speak of horses as though they should be perpetually vigilant because they are prey animals.

But part of creating sanctuary is allowing a horse to stop having to be vigilant all the time.

Sensory awareness is innate to the horse. Yet when horses genuinely feel safe, they can rest more deeply. They can eat. They can sleep. They can soften.

That safety should never be taken for granted.

And so our approach should communicate:

I see you.

I respect you.

I am not going to surprise you.

The Invitation

I think of the horse as having an energetic personal space extending roughly 25 feet in diameter around them.

As I reach the circumference of that space, I become particularly attentive.

I don't simply assume that because I own, feed or care for this horse, I have an automatic right to walk into their body space.

I allow the horse an opportunity to participate.

Ideally, the horse comes toward me.

That movement matters.

It is an invitation.

And when a horse invites us into their personal space, I believe that invitation should be understood as both an honor and a responsibility.

We have been welcomed into the intimate space of another sovereign being.

Treat it accordingly.

From there, we can meet face to face and then gently move toward the side of the horse, coming alongside the shoulder.

And here the first physical dance begins.

Learning From the Herd

If we want to understand where to position ourselves, we should first observe horses themselves.

Watch a herd move.

The guardian mare will often travel toward the front, attentive to where the herd is going and what lies ahead. The stallion may frequently occupy another position, including behind the group, influencing movement from the rear.

There is tremendous education available simply by watching horses organize themselves.

When I am establishing or renewing a relationship with a horse through Pas de Cheval, however, I am not trying to impersonate another horse or dominate the herd structure.

I am communicating something much simpler:

I am willing to participate in creating safety.

That is why I prefer the word guardianship to leadership.

Guardianship does not mean control.

It means awareness.

Responsibility.

Presence.

It tells the horse:

You do not have to take responsibility for me. I am paying attention too.

The Halter as Communication

The halter should never announce the end of communion and the beginning of control.

The same principles remain.

If the horse is unfamiliar with the halter, allow them to investigate it.

Let them smell it.

Let them see it.

Gently introduce its touch to the body.

There is no prize for getting the halter on quickly.

If the horse moves away, we do not need to chase.

We can stop.

Breathe.

Wait.

Allow curiosity to return.

When the horse lowers the head and willingly accepts the halter, we can gently guide the nose into it and secure it quietly.

The halter and line are not there to overpower the horse.

They become another means of communication.

Work in Hand — The First Dance

Once beside the horse, I generally position myself around the shoulder, approximately a step ahead and slightly to the side.

The lead line remains soft.

Our hands should be light.

We are not dragging the horse forward.

We invite the horse to walk with us.

And then we begin with something almost impossibly simple:

Walk.

Perhaps eight steps.

Then breathe out.

And stop.

Do not make the rope perform the stop if it isn't necessary.

Let your breath speak first.

Let the change in your body speak.

The horse should come to rest with you, maintaining the relationship of your body slightly ahead of the shoulder rather than continuing forward past you.

Perhaps count to eight.

Then walk again.

Eight steps.

Exhale.

Stop.

Wait.

Begin again.

It can become almost like a wedding march.

There is rhythm to it.

Musicality.

And beneath something so apparently simple, we are asking a profound question:

Are you hearing me?

And equally:

Am I hearing you?

When the Horse Walks Past You

Suppose you exhale and stop, but the horse simply continues forward.

This is a very important moment.

The horse is not “misbehaving.”

The horse is giving us information.

Behavior is biofeedback.

Perhaps the horse genuinely does not yet understand what we are asking.

Perhaps our request was unclear.

Perhaps our body stopped but our attention didn't.

Perhaps our mind wandered somewhere else.

Perhaps we doubted ourselves.

Perhaps fear entered our body.

Perhaps we are trying to communicate a boundary that we ourselves don't quite believe we have the right to hold.

Instead of becoming frustrated, we become curious.

If the horse continues past our stopping position, we can gently close the hand around the lead line—not jerk, pull or punish—and ask the horse to return to the position beside us, with our body again approximately a step ahead of the shoulder.

Then soften the line.

And begin again.

We show the horse where we are standing.

This is where we start.

This is where we stop.

This is the relationship of our bodies that we will attempt to maintain as we move.

And then we walk again.

The Horse as Biofeedback

This is where work in hand can begin teaching us something far beyond horsemanship.

If people routinely walk over our boundaries in our human lives—within our family, friendships, workplace or intimate relationships—we may discover that maintaining a clear boundary with the horse is difficult too.

The horse may reveal our uncertainty.

Not to shame us.

Not to punish us.

But simply because the horse responds to what is actually present.

If I am saying stop while my entire being communicates uncertainty, the horse may show me the discrepancy.

And there is an extraordinary lesson there.

The horse teaches us something about sovereignty.

Not because we give sovereignty to the horse.

We cannot.

Sovereignty is not ours to grant.

Every being emanating from Source already possesses sovereignty as a divine right.

The horse is sovereign.

And so are we.

Communion asks us to recognize both.

The goal is therefore not:

I dominate you.

Nor is it:

You may walk through me because I refuse to dominate you.

It is:

I respect your boundary, and I respect mine.

That is relationship between sovereign beings.

Synchronization

Something beautiful begins happening as we repeat these simple movements without force, coercion or manipulation.

Walk.

Breathe.

Stop.

Wait.

Walk.

Stop.

Perhaps step backward.

Forward again.

Gradually the lead line becomes less important.

The hands become lighter.

The horse begins maintaining position without continual physical clarification.

And suddenly we realize that horse and human are beginning to synchronize.

We have become partners.

This is the first choreography of Pas de Cheval.

And it is one of the most important foundations for everything that follows.

The First Steps Backward

From the stop, we can eventually introduce another movement.

A few steps backward.

Perhaps one.

Then two.

Eventually three.

No more is necessary in the beginning.

I regard a horse's willingness to back softly as an important expression of confidence and trust. Moving backward requires the horse to organize the body differently and to trust the space into which they are stepping.

We do not drag the horse backward.

We ask.

And if the line needs to participate, its purpose is not punishment and not correction in a punitive sense.

It is clarification.

A small communication:

This is what I am asking.

And the instant understanding appears, the line becomes soft again.

Over time, the horse can walk, stop and step backward with a loose line and increasingly little communication from our hands.

Because the rope was never supposed to become the relationship.

Lightness

This principle is fundamental to everything that follows.

If we become dependent upon heaviness on the line, we cannot simply remove the line later and expect the conversation to remain.

The communication has to become increasingly subtle.

Breath.

Posture.

Energy.

Intention.

Movement.

Awareness.

The horse begins to recognize our rhythm.

And we begin to recognize theirs.

Eventually both beings begin to know when the next step is coming.

When the pause is coming.

When we will step backward.

When we will move forward.

This is where work in hand begins becoming dance.

Expanding the Choreography

Once the simple walk, stop and back have become soft, we can begin adding patterns.

Walk straight.

Stop.

Back.

Walk again.

Create a large circle.

Change direction.

Walk serpentines.

Make another circle with the horse traveling on the inside and ourselves describing the larger outside arc.

Then reverse the relationship and explore the other direction.

The geometry is not the point.

Communion within the geometry is the point.

Can we maintain our awareness?

Can we maintain lightness?

Can the horse maintain a soft body?

Can we move through changing patterns without losing the conversation?

This is choreography in its earliest form.

Asking the Hindquarters to Move

Another dance step is asking the horse to softly move the hindquarters away.

From our familiar position near the shoulder, we can turn so that our own body orientation changes. With the horse's nose softly invited toward us, we can use an extremely light tactile or energetic suggestion around the flank or hindquarter area to ask the hindquarters to step away.

And I mean light.

A horse can feel a fly land upon the skin.

There is no reason to begin with force when sensitivity already exists.

At first, perhaps we receive one step.

Wonderful.

Stop.

Soften.

Stroke the horse.

Let them know through our body and our affection:

Yes. That's it.

Celebrate—but celebrate quietly.

We do not need to explode into praise and disturb the very state we are trying to cultivate.

A calm stroke, a soft voice and a release can say everything.

Later perhaps we ask for two steps.

Then a few more.

Eventually the hindquarters may describe a complete circle.

Then we explore the same movement from the other side.

Slowly.

Patiently.

There is no hurry.

Moving the Body Through Space

As the conversation develops, we can explore other configurations.

The hindquarters can move around.

The forehand can move around.

We can walk circles together.

We can ask the horse to move away from our personal space while we maintain our own ground and continue traveling.

We can walk with the horse on the inside of a circle while we travel the larger outside arc.

Begin with large circles.

A small circle requires substantially more balance and bend from the horse.

We do not want a horse whose neck has simply been pulled inward while the remainder of the body falls elsewhere.

We are looking for a soft arc through the body.

So begin generously.

Large circle.

Soft body.

Easy movement.

And as strength, understanding and balance develop, the circle can gradually become smaller when appropriate.

Work both directions.

Travel left.

Travel right.

Maintain the familiar relationship of your body around a step ahead of the shoulder when performing the walking patterns in which that position applies.

And keep listening.

The Line Can Disappear

At a certain point, something beautiful can happen.

The very same work that began with the lead line can be explored without the line at all.

I prefer to do this inside a safely enclosed arena.

The question becomes:

If I remove the physical connection, does the horse still want to remain in conversation with me?

We repeat many of the same movements.

Walk.

Stop.

Back.

Turn.

Circle.

Change direction.

Pause.

But now the horse is free.

There is no line holding them in position.

And when the horse chooses to remain engaged, chooses to walk beside us, chooses to stop with us and chooses to continue the conversation, that choice strengthens the relationship in a completely different way.

It tells us that the communion is beginning to exist beyond the equipment.

Treats as Gratitude, Not Currency

I will sometimes use treats during this work at liberty.

And there is an important distinction here.

A treat can become manipulation if the horse learns that every action is simply a transaction: I perform, therefore I am paid.

That is not what I am seeking.

Nor do I want a horse who will engage only when food is visible.

Instead, I use treats selectively as another expression of appreciation.

A simple:

Thank you.

Horses enjoy treats.

If we know something brings them pleasure, there is nothing wrong with allowing that pleasure to become part of the relationship.

But the relationship cannot depend upon the treat.

The horse's curiosity, willingness and enjoyment of being together must remain the deeper foundation.

There is a fine line between reward and coercion.

We remain conscious of it.

The treat is not the reason for the dance.

It is simply, sometimes, a little celebration within it.

Curiosity Determines the Length of the Dance

This may be one of the most important principles of all:

Do not allow your enthusiasm to outlive the horse's curiosity.

Humans do this constantly.

Something finally works and we become excited.

Again!

It works again.

Again!

And again.

And again.

Until what was initially interesting to the horse becomes dull, stressful or irritating.

We have continued because we were enjoying the success rather than noticing that the horse had already finished the conversation.

Watch the horse.

As long as the horse remains soft, curious, mentally engaged and willing, we can explore.

But finish before curiosity becomes boredom.

Finish before softness becomes tension.

Finish long before willingness becomes resignation.

Or change the question.

Change the pattern.

Walk somewhere else.

Do something playful.

Stand together.

Scratch an itchy place.

Or simply end the dance.

This requires humility.

Our excitement does not outrank the horse's experience.

Why This Foundation Matters

It can be tempting to rush through this work.

People want the spectacular things.

Liberty.

Dancing.

Cantering together.

Riding without visible effort.

But if we skip this foundation, everything afterward becomes precarious.

We are walking a tightrope.

This seemingly simple work—walking, stopping, backing, circling, changing direction, moving the hindquarters, moving the shoulders, serpentines, maintaining position, breathing and listening—is where the relationship learns its vocabulary.

This is where the horse learns us.

And where we learn the horse.

This is where we discover whether our hands can remain light.

Whether our boundaries are clear.

Whether we are truly present.

Whether we can hear no.

Whether we recognize confusion.

Whether we can distinguish unwillingness from misunderstanding.

Whether we can begin again without anger.

This is the foundation.

And the stronger this foundation becomes, the less we eventually need the physical tools.

Before the Lunge Line Comes Liberty

This is an important distinction within Pas de Cheval.

Although lunging on a line is technically part of work in hand, I do not begin by attaching the lunge line.

I prefer to allow the horse to move freely first.

Liberty lunging comes before line lunging.

And liberty lunging also comes before riding.

Why?

Because before I place a horse into a more structured conversation, I want them to have an opportunity to simply be a horse.

I want to see what their body wants to do.

I want to see what their energy wants to do.

I want to see whether they choose to engage with me when they are completely free not to.

That tells me something important.

Liberty First — Let the Horse Speak Through Movement

Inside a safely enclosed arena, I allow the horse to move freely.

Perhaps the horse wants to walk quietly.

Perhaps they need to trot.

Perhaps they lower their head toward the ground and stretch while moving.

Perhaps they buck.

Perhaps they kick out playfully.

Perhaps they run.

Perhaps they race around the arena because their entire body is saying:

I need to move.

I allow that.

The horse knows things about their own body that I cannot know from the outside.

They know where they feel tight.

They know where they need to stretch.

They know how much energy is moving through them.

They know whether something needs to be expressed before they are ready for a quieter conversation.

So before I put the horse on a line and begin asking for synchronization and refinement, I allow that expression.

Move.

Stretch.

Buck.

Kick.

Run.

Explore.

Be a horse.

This is not disorder.

It is freedom.

And I celebrate that freedom.

Sovereignty Before Structure

Liberty is one of the clearest ways I know to honor the sovereignty of the horse.

The horse is free.

There is no line requiring them to remain.

There is no physical attachment keeping them within the conversation.

And yet sometimes, after moving, stretching and expressing themselves, the horse begins to turn toward me.

They listen.

They circle.

They transition.

Walk.

Trot.

Canter.

Back to trot.

Back to walk.

Stop.

And they are doing this while completely free.

That is an extraordinary gift.

Because at liberty, willingness cannot be hidden behind equipment.

The horse is saying:

Yes. I want to engage with you.

And when that happens, I do not take it for granted.

I honor it.

It tells me something about where we are in our relationship.

It tells me that the horse recognizes my presence and chooses to remain in communion with me.

What an honor that is.

Why Liberty Comes Before Line Lunging

There is also a practical reason I allow liberty movement first.

When I eventually attach the lunge line, I don't want the line to become the place where the horse has to explode with excess energy.

I don't want the horse thinking:

Finally—I can run!

I want the lunge-line dance to happen in a state of curiosity, creativity, responsiveness and relaxation.

The line is not there for the horse to “get the bells and whistles out.”

That should already have been available at liberty.

If the horse needs to stretch, run, buck, kick or simply express something physically, I would rather give them an appropriate opportunity to do so while free.

Then, when we add the line, we can enter a different quality of conversation.

More refined.

More synchronized.

More precise.

But never more controlling.

The Lunge Line — Deepening the Conversation

Only after that liberty period do I move into line lunging.

Now we add a physical thread between us.

But the purpose of that thread is not to create the connection.

The connection should already be there.

The line enriches and clarifies.

It allows us to refine the synchronization we have already begun discovering at liberty.

Now we can explore smaller and larger circles with more precision.

We can clarify transitions.

We can pay close attention to balance, rhythm and the quality of movement.

But nothing essential changes.

The same communion remains.

The same breath.

The same awareness.

The same lightness.

Begin with what the horse already understands.

Walk.

Stop.

Walk.

Stop.

Then invite the walk into a relaxed trot.

And bring the trot gently back into the walk.

Walk.

Trot.

Walk.

Stop.

I often like counts of eight because they create a musical quality.

As the horse becomes physically prepared, relaxed and confident, a calm canter can enter the conversation.

Now the possibilities expand:

Walk.

Trot.

Canter.

Trot.

Walk.

Stop.

Each is a transition.

And transitions themselves become part of the dance.

The Circle Is Not a Prison

Lunging should not become endless circles around a stationary human.

That is not the dance I am seeking.

Keep the horse curious.

Move.

Change the circle.

Make it larger.

When appropriate, make it smaller.

Travel down the long side of the arena.

Change direction.

Transition.

Pause.

Walk.

Trot.

Come back.

Move out again.

Create.

Listen.

Respond.

The purpose is not to make the horse go around until they become dull.

The purpose is to create a moving conversation that remains curious, creative, happy and joyful.

The Lunge Whip — An Extension, Never a Weapon

Even the word whip carries an unfortunate connotation.

Within Pas de Cheval, it must never become an instrument of punishment.

Never.

The lunge whip is an extension of the arm.

An extension of energy.

An extension of intention.

A visual extension of wordless communication.

Imagine pointing with an extraordinarily long finger.

It can help clarify direction, define space or amplify a subtle request when necessary.

It is not there to frighten the horse into movement.

And just as with the line, the ultimate goal is not dependence upon the tool.

The goal is increasingly refined communication.

Liberty, Line, and Riding

The sequence matters.

For me, the pathway is not:

Control the horse on the line, then remove the line.

It is closer to this:

Attunement.

Communion.

Simple work in hand.

Freedom.

Liberty lunging.

Line lunging for refinement and clarification.

And only then, when appropriate, riding.

Because liberty tells us something no piece of equipment can tell us.

Will the horse stay in the conversation when they are free to leave?

And when the answer is yes, the meaning of everything that follows changes.

Now the line is not restraint.

It is refinement.

And riding is not the culmination of control.

It becomes another possible expression of communion between two sovereign beings.

Toward the Deeper Dance

Everything we have practiced—attunement, invitation, walking, stopping, backing, circles, serpentines, moving different parts of the body, free movement, liberty transitions, line transitions, rhythm, breath and lightness—is quietly preparing us for something deeper.

At liberty, the physical attachment disappears.

And when it disappears, something profound is revealed.

Was the equipment holding the relationship together?

Or was the relationship holding the dance together?

If the horse responds only because we physically hold them, there is more listening to do.

But when the horse begins to understand our body, our breath, our energy and our intention—and when we have learned equally to understand theirs—the physical connection becomes increasingly unnecessary.

The horse is still sovereign.

The human is still sovereign.

Neither disappears into the other.

And yet within the present moment, something third seems to arise:

the dance itself.

The dance was never about making the horse perform.

It was about becoming quiet enough, present enough, authentic enough and clear enough that two sovereign beings could hear one another without words.

And from there, the dance can become almost anything.

A walk.

A circle.

A backward step.

A transition.

A breath.

A canter.

A treat offered softly in gratitude.

A touch.

A pause.

Or a moment of complete stillness.

Because presence does not mean doing nothing.

Presence means being completely within what we are doing.

And when horse and human meet there together, movement itself becomes meditation.

The equipment becomes secondary.

The technique becomes secondary.

What remains is communion.

Two sovereign beings, free in themselves, choosing to move together.

That is the foundation of Pas de Cheval.

And that is where the dance truly begins.