After saying prayers and goodbyes to my sister’s lifeless body last October, I walked out of the hospice facility. The sun had just risen. It was a brisk fall Illinois morning. Orange and red leaves glowed against the blue-gray sky. Deadened meadow flowers hung black and limp in the frost. And there, emerging from the meadow grass, I saw two horse statues that appeared to be mother and child. The small one was white, but it was the taller blue horse that caught my attention. Transfixed, I walked over to them for a closer inspection. I took photos with my phone as I marveled. Donated by grateful families, the blue horse is “Hope Reigns,” and the younger horse is “Joyful Spirit.”
White and blue horses in the staff recognition garden of the JourneyCare Hospice Center, Barrington, Illinois
This was not the first time that a blue horse has caught my attention. Indeed, the blue horse has been a recurring figure—in my dreams, my shamanic journeys and in my art—for about two decades. Months before my sister’s death, and now, months after her death, the blue horse has revealed itself again and again to me.
The blue horse resides in a land beyond words, beyond time, beyond everyday dimensions. It lives in imaginal consciousness—a very real world that so often is at the periphery of our conscious knowing. We get glimpses from time to time which often fascinate and remind us of the divine. My relationship with the imaginal world and its intelligence led me to leave a high-paying profession to become an art therapist—and later to follow its guidance to pick up another path, and then another path. Following symbolic wisdom has been my trustiest compass. A blue horse helped me before upon the death of a loved one, reminding me in my grief that we are not alone in our suffering—and surely was the reason behind the statues residing in the memory garden of the hospice center.
And I am not alone. Blue horses have come to other artists and writers. German artist Franz Marc painted blue horses. His art was banned by the Nazis because it was not realistic and was therefore a threat to society. An art teacher introduced beloved children’s author Eric Carle to Franz Marc’s blue horses when he was just twelve. In one of his last books, Carle credited the blue horses as the impetus for his prolific career resulting in more than seventy books. Marc’s blue horses—and the artist’s death in World War I—also inspired Mary Oliver to choose her Blue Horses poem as the title for one of her poetry collections near the end of her life.
In my next blog post, I will share more about how specific blue horses have come to me—in mysterious and synchronistic ways—and why this very real world of symbolic wisdom is so important for us.
References
Carle, Eric. The Artist Who Painted a Blue Horse. New York: Penguin Random House, LLC.(2011).
Oliver, Mary. Blue Horses: Poems. New York: The Penguin Press. (2014).
Two weeks after I left the bank to become an art therapist, I became pregnant with my first child. I have always believed that my son incarnated when he did once he saw that I was on the path of the heart. This painting takes me back to that time.
“Boots” by Catherine Held, 1990
More than thirty years ago, I took a painting class from Sonoma State University (SSU) professor and noted artist Bill Morehouse. I needed to fulfill prerequisites for the master’s degree in art therapy. On the strength of Suzanne Lovell’s weekend extension course in transpersonal art therapy, and the images that bubbled up afterward from a daily art journal, I had quit a well-paying job at a business bank to pursue art therapy. It was quite a leap. Until reading the description in the SSU extension catalog, I had never even heard of art therapy before, but it felt like the profession had been tailor made for me. In the five years before I applied to the program, I had learned everything I could about psychology and personal healing, and I had always made art, crafts and worked with my hands. Then, two weeks after leaving the bank, as I prepared to become an art therapist, I became pregnant with my son.
I signed up to take a sculpture class only to learn at the first class that we would be using power tools and being exposed to chemicals. Afraid that they would harm my baby, I quickly transferred to a painting class. One of our first assignments was to create a self-portrait by painting an autobiographical object.
Three years into my second marriage, I was still getting my footing as a wife and as a stepmom to two girls. As much as I longed for a baby, I was fearful about becoming a mom. I didn’t want to screw it up. I was afraid of losing sleep because I had a breakdown experience when I was twenty years old, partly precipitated by lack of sleep. I worried about losing my independence and spontaneity. I worried that I did not know how to mother a boy. I worried that I was woefully unqualified.
As I surveyed special keepsakes looking for an autobiographical object, I suddenly thought of my boots. They were the leather boots I bought for myself when I went off to University of California, Santa Cruz at age eighteen. Bookish and shy, I bought the boots for a person I did not yet inhabit. They were a rich mahogany, with leather braid on the outside of each boot. The length of the boots and deep vee shape in the front accentuated my long legs. When I tucked my jeans into them, they made my legs look longer still. They always made me feel confident, sexy and more adventurous.
Long after college, I wore them every Halloween when I would dress as a gypsy. My last October at the bank, I read tarot cards to my co-workers in those boots. (They didn’t know that the readings were informed by my secret interest in metaphysics.) I loved those boots and had them re-soled numerous times. Although my business flats were far more practical and well-used, just knowing my boots were still waiting in my closet was reassuring.
Bill Morehouse showed us how to stretch the canvas and use a staple gun. I painted and re-painted the boots on canvas trying to capture dimensionality. The real struggle was trying to paint my essential self—a self that was about to be irrevocably changed as mother to an infant. New to acrylic painting, I was grateful for Bill’s end-of-term comment. “Keep painting,” he said.
I painted the boots to immortalize them and to challenge myself to not lose myself in the needs of others. Now, three decades later, I notice some things about the image. When I look at the painting, my legs remember how the leather lay in wrinkles on my ankles. I notice that the top of the left boot forms a heart shape. Today, the vivid blue sky and tawny ground remind me of my first glimpses of the golden California hills in summer as well as the Ukrainian flag. Mostly, I notice that the boots are empty. I didn’t know that my feet would grow with each pregnancy and that I would outgrow my beloved boots. I hung onto those boots for years after I could no longer fit into them. Now only the painting remains.
I no longer have that pair of boots, but instead of one pair I have several. I have hiking boots. I have sexy black suede boots that come up past my knees. I have two pairs of dress cowgirl boots including the red leather ones I found in Albuquerque on a cross-country trip helping my daughter move. I also have leather barn boots as well as big black rubber boots that are good for mucking out stalls and rainy weather.
As I chose a topic for my blog, this painting called out to me. I am at another transition point, contemplating a serious lifelong commitment, again afraid of responsibility and inadequacy.
I had an imaginary horse as a girl, but I have never owned a horse. As a grown woman, I have loved and cared for two elder horses in the last years of their lives. Other women owned them and took care of their day-to-day needs. I have studied equine-assisted learning, I have interviewed countless women about their experiences with horses and spent many years writing thousands of words about the connection between women and horses.
As I reflect on the painting and my fears when pregnant, I know that my fears were not unfounded. My life did change overnight with the birth of my son. Many times, I was unprepared and overwhelmed with the responsibility. There have been hard times and scary times. But what I forgot when I was pregnant and remind myself of now is the joy that I would have missed if I had never become a mom. Treasured moments of connection, of laughter, of love. Thousands of ordinary moments. And my fears of losing sleep and possibly breaking down? Middle of the night feedings of my babies remain some of my most priceless experiences.
In recent months, I have looked at the high costs of taking care of a horse and made some initial inquiries into boarding a horse. I have started a special savings account. I am afraid that I might not be able to meet his or her financial needs and concerned about my lack of horse skills. I think that this painting caught my attention now for a good reason. Like with being a mom and stepmom, I can learn new skills and ask for help. Now as, I contemplate having a horse companion come into my life, this painting reminds me to focus on the possibilities—and that taking a leap can bring unexpected joys and rewards.
Ukraine is on my heart. Even before I set up altars around the house as focal points for my peace prayers, there were Ukrainian artifacts in every room but the bathroom. I have been to Ukraine ten times since 1989. In the living room, red and black lacquered plates decorate one wall while the shelves hold a collection of lacquered boxes illustrating enchanting fairy tales. In the kitchen, Matryoshka (nesting) dolls watch over my kitchen table which is covered by a simple Ukrainian tablecloth. In the bedroom, an embroidered rushnyk (ceremonial cloth) festooned with blue and purple flowers covers one table, and in my office, a beribboned headdress reminds me of Ukrainian friends far away.
Ukrainian knotted dolls were important symbols of protection for the home and family.
Victoria and John escaped to Poland and are trying to decide whether to return. Lidiia and her son have found refuge in Berlin where he celebrated his 6th birthday today. Lesya went to Lviv for emergency surgery but has returned home to Cherkasy, southeast of Kyiv. Irina was in the U.S. when the war broke out but flew to Poland to take medical supplies for the refugees. Yulia and her nine-year old son are in western Ukraine with relatives while sons, husbands and fathers fight in the war. Much of my news comes from Ukrainian Facebook posts of horror, friends missing, tips for helping people through panic attacks and fierce determination.
I am finding that if I imagine being kind to my future self, I make more good-for-me choices.
A few months ago, I read Atomic Habits by James Clear. The author has studied the behavioral science behind how to break bad habits and encourage good habits. The “atomic” in the title suggests his approach—that making tiny (atomic) changes to our routines can pay off in big rewards later as the impact of those changes accumulate. It’s like the magic of saving modest amounts of money over time. He points out that many of us know the things that are good for us such as eating better, losing weight, exercising and putting money aside for retirement. Unfortunately, though, because the payoff is in the future, it’s hard to get motivated.
I am currently reading the Biophilia Effect: A Scientific and Spiritual Exploration of the Healing Bond Between Humans and Nature by Clemens G. Arvay. Biophilia is a term coined by psychologist Erich Fromm and popularized by biologist Edward O. Wilson to name our intrinsic longing for nature. In Arvay’s book, the Austrian biologist presents research demonstrating that we are genetically wired to respond to nature and that our health not only benefits from our connection with nature but may also depend upon it.
Arvay describes studies of how trees give off biochemical substances that can strengthen our immune systems, the results of a 1984 study by Roger Ulrich showing that viewing a tree through a window can help hospital patients recover faster and even how to create an anti-cancer garden.
Yesterday I listened to a presentation by Nicole Costerus about how to connect with the soul of my business. Nicole supports women to grow their gifts as intuitive, soul-based leaders. She led us in a visualization to connect with our free and alive selves as well as with either the soul of our business or our personal mission.
Some women are called to horses through art and dreams, like Kim McElroy in this description of a potent horse dream that she had as a girl.
Pastel Horses, April 2021 by Catherine Held
Recently, I pulled out Kim McElroy’s Secrets of Drawing Horses dvd given to me by the artist when we met at her home in the Pacific Northwest in 2014. On vacation with my daughter, I had spotted prints of some of her pastel horse paintings. When I picked up the first image, I was delighted to find that among the white clouds were hidden horses. After generously inviting me to her home, I interviewed her for my forthcoming book, Called by the Horse: Women, Horses and Consciousness.
Kim has since made the workshop available for free online. It begins with The Girl Who Wanted to be a Horse. In it Kim describes her girlhood love of horses and her frustration while trying to capture the movement of horses in her drawings. When she imagined herself as a horse, though, the drawings came easily. Afterwards, she fell asleep in her friend’s hayloft where a white winged horse came to her in her dreams to tell her she could tune into the magical power of horses through her imagination and art and affirmed her path as an artist.
Following prompts from the DVD, I listened to Kim’s meditation. I imagined myself as a horse in a sea of horses and picked up chalk pastels to draw the feelings evoked in the drawing shown here.
I believe that women are called to horses in many ways, including, as in Kim’s experience, through dreams and art as well as to living, breathing horses. My curiosity about the call to the horse experienced by so many women has preoccupied me for almost twenty years. Why now? What does it mean? How shall we respond? These are questions I have wrestled with in the book. As I prepare the manuscript for publication, the answers are clearer. Ultimately, I have come to believe that horses are calling women—and some men—to empower us into greater leadership and partnership for the sake of our precious Earth and all of her inhabitants.
Since 2004, I have been celebrating the “Equine Equinox.”
The purpose of this simple ritual is to celebrate horses past and present with
gratitude for their remarkable contributions to humankind. Equinox means “equal
night;” twice a year, day and night are approximately equal, lasting twelve
hours each. I see this as a time of planetary balance, which is something that
is sorely needed at this time amidst a worldwide pandemic. Horses themselves
are models of balance—they are sensitive and powerful, graceful and strong, and
come together with a one mind consciousness and flexible leadership style when
faced with a threat.
In January, I said goodbye to my Peruvian Paso companion, Primo, who is now one of the Horse Ancestors. Tonight at 8:49 pm. Pacific Standard Time, I invite you to join me. I will create a simple altar, light a candle, and give prayers of gratitude for Primo and all the horses who have contributed to humankind throughout the millennia. I will also ask for their forgiveness for ways in which they have been mistreated by humans. It is my intention that this ritual will help restore balance in our relationships with the natural world.
If the Equine Equinox resonates with you, feel free to
create your own simple ritual to honor our equine friends and invite greater
harmony and balance into your life.
I am excited to share that my article, “How Horses Teach Us to Lead,” was published in the Winter 2020 edition of the Sonoma County Horse Council’s Horse Journal. I have shared it with you below. To read the complete journal or learn more about the Horse Council, click here.
The Modern Consumer–1950s Product and Style Exhibit, Girls’ Toys Display, SFO United Terminal, April 2019; Photo by Catherine Held
A few weeks ago on my way to Tucson, an interesting museum exhibit in the United Terminal at SFO caught my eye. It had artifacts from the consumer culture that arose in the 1950s. One glass case profiled girls’ toys, while another profiled the toys marketed to boys. Not surprisingly, the boys’ toys are futuristic and space-themed.
The Modern Consumer–1950s Product and Style, Boys’ Toys Display, SFO United Terminal, April 2019; Photo by Catherine Held
It was the case with the girls’ toys, though, that caught my eye. Along with a jump rope, a dress designing kit, a Barbie and Ken doll set and a gum-wrapper chain was a gem. Produced in 1958 by the Transogram Company was the “Game of Black Beauty.”
Black Beauty, of course, was the 1877 children’s classic by Anna Sewell. For more than one hundred years, the book has remained one of the most beloved children’s books ever written. There have been numerous film versions and adaptations recounting the trials of the black horse. Written from the stallion’s perspective, Anna Sewell hoped that it would open eyes to the poor treatment of horses. Housebound due to illness at the end of her life, she died just five months after completing her only novel. The author never lived to see her book called the “Uncle Tom’s Cabin of the Horse,” or to be used as a call to action for the protection of horses and other animals.
The Modern Consumer–1950s Product and Style Exhibit, Vintage Black Beauty Board Game, SFO United Terminal, April 2019; Photo by Catherine Held
A close look at the box shows children dressed in clothes of the time period. (I remember wearing bobby socks!) My surprise is that it is a boy holding the reins to Black Beauty, while one girl sits and the other girl stands nearby. This was a toy marketed to girls, yet the boy is the one shown in the active role with the horse.
This time capsule look at girls’ games shows that times and gender roles sure have changed. By 1958, advertisers and marketing departments recognized that the game would appeal to girls, but on the box top, the reins of the horse still remained in the hands of boys and men.
Sixty years after the game came out, girls and women now dominate virtually every endeavor related to horses except for horse racing. Since the early 2000’s I have been tracking the shift in the culture that has brought horses out of the hands of men and into the domain of girls and women. I wrote my Ph.D. in Depth Psychology about what that might mean for the culture, and am currently completing my book, Called by the Horse: Women, Horses and Consciousness to present some of my findings.
Move over boys, the girls are holding the reins now.
For more about how Black Beauty impacted the ethical treatment of horses and other animals:
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