Our Lyin' Eyes

“I can’t believe my eyes!”

Who knew?

That expression is literally true.

I’d complete this blog in rhyme,

if I had the talent...

and the time.

But I don’t.

So I won’t.

(End of bad poetry section.)

Our eyes deceive us all the time in large ways and small, even if our vision is 20-20, even when we are making a real effort to see clearly.

For a short video by two psychologists on this very subject, see here: http://viscog.beckman.illinois.edu/flashmovie/15.php

The phenomenon of "lyin' eyes" first became painfully evident to me around 35 years ago when I began studying photography, taking some classes at the School of Visual Arts in New York. It was frustrating, exasperating, discouraging, etc., to again and again discover what I thought had been a great shot ruined by something to which my eyes had been blind, that the camera “saw” with perfect clarity.

This was of course in the days before digital photography. There was no instant feedback. A captured imaged lay dormant inside the camera until film was developed and the negative printed. Hours, days, sometimes weeks, would pass before I would see the negatives, or proof sheets of the photos I had taken. So, much of my photography practice in those days consisted of learning to see as a camera “sees”, in order to improve my odds of producing photos that actually expressed what I wanted to show. I learned to visually translate colors to shades of gray, to account for the distortion of the various focal lengths of the lenses I used, and to focus precisely. Most importantly though, I practiced noticing what was actually framed in my viewfinder. I practiced being aware of what was there, rather than seeing only what I wanted to see.

My passion for my photography hobby cooled as other interests -- among them making a living and building a career -- consumed my time and energy. For many years I rarely picked up a camera, and when I did, I was not photographing mindfully, just taking “snapshots” on automatic. The camera was on “automatic”, too. When it comes to mindfulness, it is easy to get out of practice.

About six years ago, when I decided to take responsibility for trimming my horses‘ hooves myself under the guidance of a talented and experienced trimmer who lived half a country away, I had to get on intimate terms with a camera once more. The necessity of having to take accurate photographs of the horses' hooves brought home to me again the truth of the statement, “I can’t believe my eyes”.

When my horses were due for a trim, I would email photos to my teacher -- 3 very specific views of each hoof as well as a few “big picture” shots. With the photos in front of us, my teacher and I would get on the phone together to discuss the state of the hooves and what was going on with the horses and in their environment. I would get my trim instructions and go out to do the work within a day of our conversation. Immediately after trimming each horse, I would take another complete set of photos to send to my teacher for her feedback. We’d talk again, looking at the "after" photos together.

Then I’d make corrections. For a long time there were *always* corrections to be made to my trims.

It was a shock to look closely at the after-trim photos. A hoof that had appeared perfectly trimmed when I was holding it in my hands looking at it with my own eyes, was revealed by the camera to be in need of quite a bit of additional work. This was particularly true when it came to hoof balance. The camera showed me honestly when a bit of heel or toe needed to come off to balance the hoof -- my eyes lied. They automatically corrected the error so that I could see the balance that I wanted to see.

If our eyes can deceive us about the reality of a single hoof, held steady in our hand -- how much greater is the deception when we are looking at the whole horse, in motion, in an environment -- like a horse show or expo, for example -- where many things are happening all at once?

My friend Miek has provided us with an interesting illustration of how even well-intentioned people can look at something without seeing what is actually there.

Miek and her husband are both animal lovers. Their dogs and Miek’s horse are considered members of the family, and much effort is made to assure that the four-legged ones have healthy and happy lives. Last year, Miek attended an “Animal Event” accompanied by her husband. The photos below were taken by Miek at that event. (Thank you Miek, for letting me use them here.)

Miek wrote to me that the Animal Event is not a competition -- just a series of demonstrations for the enjoyment of the public. There are no prizes to be won, and there are lots of children watching. The horses and riders are there purely for the entertainment, and perhaps “education” of the audience.

One of the riders in these photos is an Olympic contestant on a high-ranking team, so we are not looking at untrained, unskilled horsemanship. Two other horses are ridden by students from a famous training center, a place where people who want to make a career of working with horses go to learn.

While she was photographing the horses, Miek noticed that her husband was paying close attention to the riders (particularly one good looking blond woman) and horses; he was entranced by the “whole shining picture”. After the event, when Miek showed her husband the photos she had taken, this kind-hearted, animal-loving man was stunned. Even though he was looking right at these horses, he simply did not see the expressions of tension and pain. He told Miek he felt as if he had seen a different demo than the one she photographed.

Look at the spectators visible in some of the pictures. Their expressions show rapt attention. How much of what is actually going on right before their eyes do they actually see?

What do you see in Miek’s photos?

“When we cause insane chaos, horses will not vocalize their opinions or protest by making sounds. Even when in terrible pain, a horse does not scream or whimper. That is why a human observer is perhaps not able to recognize a horse’s suffering –he cannot “hear” it. A horse remains mute, he does not “speak up” because he communicates on a totally different level.” ("Empowered Horses" by Imke Spilker)

Experience, Experts, Beginners

This is a confession.... I am about to publicly own up to allowing horses to do something that nearly all experts advise against or strictly forbid.

This "dangerous" and forbidden-by-experts act is a close cousin of scratching an itch and a form of mutual grooming, namely, the horse rubbing his face and head on the human’s body.

Khemo and I discovered the pleasures of extreme head rubbing very early in our time together. One hot humid day, after we had finished a trail ride and were un-tacking in the barn aisle, Khemo briefly rubbed his head on my upper arm. I took it as a sign that he was itchy and wanted his bridle off RIGHT NOW. So, I pulled the bridle off, leaving the reins still looped around his neck, and before putting on his halter preparatory to bringing him to the wash stall for a shower, I offered him my back so that he could give his naked, sweaty face a thorough rubbing. The polo shirts I was in the habit of wearing were perfect for this, made of a dense cotton mesh that was textured and slightly rough to the touch, but not irritatingly abrasive.

After that first time, this face rubbing became a ritual for us. Though Khemo would sometimes rub quite vigorously, so that I was leaning into him with all my might, he never pushed me off balance or hurt me in any way.

The experts say that allowing a horse to take such “liberties” encourages disrespect. Perhaps I’m deluding myself, but I think Khemo genuinely appreciated this gesture of mine. It was a way of expressing my affection for him, something I could do to make him feel a little bit better.

Not only did I engage in this “subversive” activity for many years, I actually enjoyed every minute of it. I have many fond memories of laughing out loud as I stood with my back to Khemo leaning into him, as our combined actions gave him a thorough face rub. I liked feeling exactly how much pressure to offer Khe. I loved his huge sigh and full-body shake when all the itchiness has been rubbed away.

From emails I received after some of my blog entries ( particularly the various “scratching an itch” ones), I gather that I am not alone in this subversion of all that traditional horsemanship holds sacred. It seems there are a quite a few of us flagrantly violating this particular rule... and loving it. But, we’re very low key in talking about this, almost as though we are sharing a guilty secret.

Why? Because, in the eyes of “experts” we’re doing so many things wrong.

First, there’s the hierarchy thing. The cornerstone of traditional horsemanship -- natural, classical, or otherwise -- is a strict hierarchy, with the human being always maintaining a position superior to the horse. Call it “dominant”, “a sovereign demeanor”, “leader,” “seniority” -- the human must always be on a higher rung of the hierarchal ladder than the horse.

If scratching an itch and “mutual grooming” between horse and human undermine hierarchy as Imke Spilker observes, “head rubbing” of the sort in which I gleefully participated with Khemo, absolutely obliterates it.

According to the “experts”, the horse is behaving disrespectfully when he initiates an action. So, in allowing Horse to request or demand a head rubbing -- and complying with it -- I am, according to conventional wisdom, encouraging and rewarding bad behavior.

Allowing intimacy and equality into a relationship with a horse flies in the face of tradition. It marks those of us who do this as “amateurs”, “not serious”, ..... “beginners.”

“Beginner.” Just a beginner. It is almost an insult, isn’t it?

Beginner is the opposite of “expert.”

How does it make you feel to think of yourself as a beginner?

**************************

Very often when people want to convince us of their expert credentials, they begin by citing their many years of experience with whatever-it-is. How many times have you heard or read something like: “Well, I’ve been around horses -- riding, training, and caring for them -- for 50+ years and I can tell you that ________” (fill in the blank).

When we’re new to something -- horses, for example, someone’s 10 or 20 or 50 years of experience usually impress us and inspire respect. Do we not automatically assume that the person touting those credentials is an authority on the subject, an expert?

Certainly in some fields, sheer longevity *is* a reliable indicator of expertise. However, when it comes to horses, the mere fact that a person has spent a long time around them doing something a certain way, does not necessarily mean he has attained wisdom, or deep understanding of his subject.... at least not in the way I have come to view wisdom and understanding.

It could mean that he’s just stuck in a rut and does not even know he’s stuck.

Just because a person has trained horses “successfully” for a long time does not mean that what he is doing, or the spirit in which he is doing it, is right or good from the horse’s point of view. For all we know, the “expert” with the 50+ years of experience might well have been repeating mistakes or committing atrocities the entire time -- using violence, pressure, dominance, intimidation, force, pain, etc. to get horses to do his bidding.

Or, he might have been deluding himself (and his paying students) into thinking he had awesome communication with horses when, in reality, he was little more than an “electric fence” or an “apple tree” as far as the horses were concerned. (For the meaning of the terms “electric fence” and “apple tree” see the quote from Imke Spilker at the end of this blog entry: http://wordsabouthorses.blogspot.com/2010/04/communication-and-training.html

There are many good reasons for seeking out experts for certain things, and I certainly do not mean to denigrate competence or mastery here. What I would like to do is examine some attitudes and beliefs that get in the way of deep connection with horses.

So, let’s consider the expert. An expert is someone who is certain, someone who “knows.” An expert is someone who has it all figured out. How does that feel?

Does it boost your confidence to have it all figured out?

Is there comfort and security in being an expert?

Is there status?

Do we not all want to be experts -- at least when it comes to horses?

Be careful how you answer. It’s a trick question. :-)

The opposite of an expert, as we said before, is a beginner.

When you examined your feelings about being labeled a beginner, did you find discomfort and uncertainty among them?

Hmm.

Did you answer “yes” to wanting to be an expert?

********

Consider now these words of Shunryu Suzuki: “In the beginner’s mind there are many possibilities, but in the expert’s mind there are few.”

When it comes interacting with a horse and establishing a relationship with him would you rather have few possibilities? Or many?

********************

Abbess Zenkei Blanche Hartman says: “As an expert, you’ve already got it figured out, so you don’t need to pay attention to what’s happening.”

She also wrote:

“We all want to be the one who knows. But if we decide we "know" something, we are not open to other possibilities anymore. And that's a shame. We lose something very vital in our life when it's more important to us to be "one who knows" than it is to be awake to what's happening.”

Experts don’t need to pay attention.... Experts do not find it necessary to be awake to what is happening. An expert thinks he already knows.

Looked at in this way, relying on "expertise" is a form of laziness.

Could it be that our desire to be the one who knows is rooted in laziness? Or fear of the unknown? Or a craving for emotional comfort? Perhaps all of these?

When we encounter horses in expert’s mind, we bring with us all of our beliefs, knowledge, and expectations about them. With this mindset, even if we take off their bridles and halters, even if we take them out of their stalls and paddocks, we do not set horses free in any way that matters. We still have them confined within the narrowness and rigidity of our thinking. We are not giving them space to show us who they are.

We box the horses in with our limiting beliefs; we shut ourselves off from their reality, and from the intelligence of our hearts. We “lose something very vital...”

Beginner’s mind is empty of preconceived notions and expectations. It is spacious, open, receptive... There is room for “what is” to be perceived and experienced “unfiltered” and without censorship.

A person of beginner's mind is capable of learning from his horse what is true right now.

And now.

And now.

And now. Again.

A beginner is capable of wonder.

When we know, when we are in expert's mind, we do not wonder and we do not question, “Why?” “Why do I do what I do?”

It is a radical thing to see horses as equals, and to attempt to cultivate a friendship with them. Friendship and equality are NOT the qualities that have characterized the horse-human relationship for the last several thousand years.

In venturing onto this path, in allying ourselves with Horse, we are all beginners.

We are exploring uncharted territory.

It takes courage to sally forth into the unknown. It takes courage to break long-established rules. It takes courage to ignore the advice, and sometimes the judgment and derision of “professionals” and “experts.”

It takes courage and perseverance to continue, despite the discomfort and uncertainty of “not knowing.” It takes courage and great attentiveness to trust ourselves and Horse and the wisdom of our hearts in the here and now. It takes courage and self-discipline to stay open and receptive and aware.

Courage, perseverance, attentiveness, open-heartedness, receptivity, self-discipline... these are among the qualities cultivated by a person with beginner's mind.

No wonder so few choose this path...