The significance of the horseshoe.

I talked about the dream I had, the dream that has come to me any time I've wandered away from my spiritual path, or questioned it, or even ignored it for too long. The dream that has undergone only small changes throughout the years. The largest change was the symbol on my right foot. Over the years I had seen a swirling water symbol, a racoon's print, a bat, a salmon and many other things before I knew what it was. I became convinced that it was in some way related to the water, and in a very odd way, I was right. Let me tell you a story before I explain.

Once upon a time there was a mare in my life. Her name was Abigail, and she was a full blooded Haflinger pony. For those of you who don't know the first thing about horse and pony breeds, I need you to understand that Haflingers are a big pony - almost big enough to be classified as a horse. Measured from the ground to the top of her shoulder, she was 4'10" (that's 14.2 hands high in horse speak), and she weighed pretty close to 1200 pounds. She was broad chested, heavily boned and heavily muscled, like most of her breed, perfectly capable of carrying a rider but really built to pull things. Because of her, I know how to put a harness on a horse, attach her to a buggy, and drive.

This particular summer, a friend of mine and I had the opportunity to drive Abigail and her buggy a lot. We drove up and down the gravel road where we lived, stopping at the blacktop on one end and the river ford at the other. It was good exercise for her and a lot of fun for us. Nothing is as soothing as the steady clop clop of a trotting horse and the light crunch of gravel under steel rimmed wheels, with a breeze in your face and a shady road to drive. I got a lot of practice driving that summer. Then one day, in the driest part of summer, with the river as low as it ever got, we decided to drive across it.

The ford was meant for trucks and tractors, not cars. With the water low, it was still ten or twelve inches deep in the middle. But the gravel was solid and the road bed level enough for both horse and buggy. We humans knew that because we'd crossed it both on foot and in the truck. Abigail, though, knew no such thing, and she planted both front feet at the edge of the water. We coaxed her with words and reins from the buggy, but she simply stood her ground and eyed all that moving, scary water.

We were left with the decision to give in to her worries or talk her into going on, which really wasn't much of a decision at all. If we gave up, then it would be even harder the next time. So I got down from the buggy and went around to the mare's head, taking a moment to soothe her and remind her she wasn't alone. Then, with a hand on her bridle, I took a confident step forward, into the water. Abigail, who had followed me this way so many times before, stepped into the water herself, trusting that I wouldn't lead her into danger.

That fifty or so feet of water crossing wasn't easy. The rocks shifted under my feet, and only my hand on the rein kept me from falling more than once. Abigail, the sure footed and steady girl that she was, braced her head every time I stumbled, turning herself into the support I needed to walk across the ford beside her. But we made it, both of us, uninjured and no wetter than necessary. She stepped onto dry land with her head held high and her eyes on the road. And one ear cocked toward me, the leader who had shown her that she really could cross all that moving, frightening water. I'd boosted her confidence, and she made the return trip without me beside her.

Water, and a horse who trusted my leadership enough to do something scary. Trusted me even though I stumbled, and did what she needed to to help keep me upright. That memory is what came to me one day as I was driving to a friend's house with the radio on, singing at the top of my lungs. I had been contemplating that dream again. I'd had it again, after all, just the week before. The memory of crossing the river beside Abby started me thinking about horses, which isn't a hard thing at all. I've been crazy about horses since I was a kid. For that matter, I've been crazy about horses longer than I've been crazy about wolves.

It was that thought, right there, that almost made me pull off the road. I did shout in triumph, pound on my steering wheel, stomp with my free foot. Because the answer to the question of what that forth symbol was had been right in front of my face all along, the most obvious thing in my whole life. The thing I'd been crazy about for as long as I can remember.

Of course there were horses in my life. First horses on tv, doing everything from saving the Lone Ranger from danger to a famous eight horse hitch that graces beer commercials. There were toy horses, posters of horses on my wall, stuffed horses, stories and books about horses. I checked out every book on horses our local library had. I learned about horse breeds and horse history. And I took every chance I could to touch real live horses, even though I was a city girl. When I got the opportunity to help a friend work with her three year old quarterhorse gelding, I jumped at the chance, and learned even more. Enough that, when that summer with Abby came around, I was ready to do ground work with her, to ride her just a little, and to learn to drive.

But you know what I really learned from her? That when you're sitting on a horse's back, the most important thing to do is relax, let your body move naturally, and just balance. When you have those reins in your hands and your butt on the seat of a buggy, there's another kind of balance between you and the horse, the balance of keeping a light contact on the bit without pulling too hard on the horse's mouth, of letting her know you're still paying attention without getting in the way of her movements. And when you're walking beside her with that lead rope in your hand, there's a balance between your leadership and her willingness to follow, based in trust.

And I realized that that's the same balance, almost exactly, as the balance between the dominant and the submissive in a BDSM dynamic. The submissive trusts the dominant to lead, the dominant trusts the submissive to follow, and that is the basis of the dynamic no matter what else is happening in the relationship. Power is exchanged, but the balance remains.

Balance has been an important part of my shamanic journey, too. It starts with the personal balance of body, mind and spirit that allows me to be ready for whatever I am shown, for whatever I need to accomplish. It goes on to each person's internal balance,  the balance of people in relationships with other people, and the balance of population with the land and the sky. Balance permeates the health of everything, everywhere.

And everything is connected, balancing perfectly with everything else.

And I am a whole person, not a writer, and a daughter, and a caregiver, and a dominant, and a shaman, and a friend. I am simply all of it, perfectly connected and balanced with myself.

Just like that woman leading the horse across the river, steadied by the strength of the mare beside her. That is the significance of the blue horseshoe; water and a domestic horse and the leadership and balance needed to get through that small crisis. Balance that is exactly like it is in the whole of myself, and the whole of everything.

And do you know what? The answer was there all along. It was simple and profound all at once. And it has changed nothing and everything in my life. Just like all those teachers and wise people always said. Funny how that works out, isn't it?