The day after I was attuned to Level I Reiki nine years ago, I couldn’t wait to get to the barn and try it out on my beloved Nikos. Would he feel it? Would he like it? Could I really do this? He did. He did. I could! In fact, Nikos loved it. He was eating hay when I laid my hands on him, and he immediately stopped chewing, let the hay drop out of his mouth, got a glazed look in his eyes, and stood absolutely motionless for the half hour or so that I channeled Reiki to him. I was thrilled.

After I teach a Reiki class, I like to check in with my students to see how they’re doing, hoping they are as excited about their newly discovered ability as I was (and continue to be). This month, I’m going to let four of my recent students do the talking: Cindy, Nancy, Carol, and Monica. I’d like you to hear how powerful Reiki can be from the get-go, from the moment one is attuned to this amazing healing art.

When I emailed Cindy, who owns and operates a funeral home and breeds exquisite Maine Coons cats, and asked how she was doing, this was her reply:

Any day upright, is a good one…thank God for my Reiki and you. Since my special day [the Reiki class], my favorite cousin ( the brother I never had) committed suicide, my parents are almost unmanageable, and John will have to have a total hip replacement, my major dental work, plus the usual dead people and animal care and loving.

I truly have to admit, I did well, I have a calm, deep core feeling, which has helped me keep focused on the immediate issues, and putting out fires.

I spoke with Cindy a few days later, and she told me that while she had been concentrating on self-healing in this time of stress, she had also been giving Reiki to a kitten that was having health issues. She let it sleep in her room with her and her husband, in a little bed with a blanket. Before going to sleep and again in the morning, she would Reiki the kitten; it would purr, extend one paw from beneath the blanket, and playfully bat at her hands.

Nancy emailed me this wonderful story:

I had the most incredible experience last night. I was giving Bob [her husband] some much needed Reiki last night about 6 p.m. when a orange wing black bird flew into our dining room door. She flew up to a branch but immediately fell down. We watched to see if she would fly up again but there was no movement. Bob said I should go see if she was okay; she might benefit from Reiki. So, I swept his aura and went to her. As I approached her, she stood still; her eyes were blinking and she was listening as I approached. I reached down and cupped her in my hands. I walked over to the grass and sat down with her in my hands, gave her Reiki for about 5 minutes and spoke to her. When I opened my hands, she did not fly away. So, I continued to pet and talk to her. Thinking she needed a little more, I cupped her again for another couple minutes. Again, when I opened my hands she just sat in my hands.. I asked her if she was okay and she hopped on my finger. I said you are free to go. She jumped down on the ground, took a couple steps. I told her be well, and off she flew!!

It was just incredible. I’m still in awe of being able to hold this bird in my grasp!!

These stories are from Carol:

I have been using Reiki regularly on my dogs, the other night actually on my nephew who fell and got a nice cement burn on his arms at a baseball game, and here and there whenever I get the chance.  Of course I do my own “old” knees regularly since I am a biker and my knees seem to be where I ache the most.  A few weekends ago I did Bike the Drive—33 miles total on the bike—and I thought for SURE I would be hurting the next day, but when I got home I Reikied my knees for quite a while (both of them) and to my total surprise, the next day I didn’t hurt AT ALL!!!  That’s a first, I have to tell you.  If for no other reason then to heal myself, the class was a TOTAL success!  Now every time I bike I Reiki my knees and I’m fine.  Thank you so much.  I also don’t take any medication at all anymore!  That’s just since the class.

I will tell you the story about my one dog.  My Java, 4 yr-old Labrador mix, is such a lover.  She is such a good girl, but doesn’t like to sit for Reiki.  She has been sniffling lately and I know she has allergies, but I hate to give her the medicine because it makes her “loopy.”  So whenever I get the chance I try to give her Reiki. She doesn’t sit for too long, but this morning when I caught her still asleep in bed she seemed to lay for longer. She would let me Reiki her heart and root chakra, but not anywhere else—STRANGE!  She’s so funny, because she will use her paw to move my hand to where I assume she wants it to be. Then she closes her eyes and just sighs really loudly !

Monica, is a barefoot trimmer. Last month, I wrote how the day after she was attuned to Level I Reiki, all of the horses she went to trim were intensely interested in her hands: licking them, biting at them, trying to get her to put them on top of their heads. Several weeks later, she sent me this story:

I was trimming an older horse. The owner told me that the last farrier had a very hard time trimming his hind feet because of his arthritis (or whatever) I performed Reiki on his back for about 15 minutes (Something not right with the back. A hump in the vertebrae. I told her to have a professional look at it). Afterwards, I trimmed him with very minimal interruptions. Also at the same barn I trimmed an old mare. She was a very fidgety and also had arthritis issues. I performed Reiki on her to relax her. Worked very well. Again, she stood very nicely in comparison to prior, and again, I trimmed with minimal interruptions. All the horses, after trimming, galloped around the pasture like they had never done before. The owner was both amazed and scared. She had never seen her horses behave this way. They looked like they were going to run right through the fence. They put on quite a show for about 15 minutes or so. They sure did not look like crippled rescue horses that day.

And another story from Nancy:

This just happened this morning when I went to the barn to feed Holly and Chisum.  I hadn’t done Reiki on Chisum for a while but this morning he appeared to be hurting a little (he’s healing from a suspensory ligament tear in the right hind), not sure if the humid weather is affecting his leg. I put his boots on first thing and then fed him and Holly their breakfast.  While he was eating, I stood slightly off center behind him and proceeded to give him Reiki on his hips, moved up to his root chakra, back down his hips. When he was finished eating, he moved in front of his stall door.  Once he got situated, I picked up where I left off.

He stood for a bit and then started to move backward.  I then brought my hands up on his withers. He turned his head slightly toward me and I reached out my left palm to his nose. He then started to lick my hand to death. I kept my right hand on his withers and let him lick my left hand. We held this position for a bit.  When he turned his head straight, I moved my right hand to his poll. He again turned his head toward me. I again gave him my left hand; he licked and licked and licked.  When he turned his head  straight again, I moved my right hand to his heart chakra, same thing happened. He turned his head, I gave him my hand, he licked and licked.  When he moved his head forward the last time, I put one hand on his spine and one under his belly and moved my hands slowly along his body. When he moved forward, I took this as a sign to end our session.

This reminded me of Monica when the horses were all over her hands right after her attunement.  I had given Bob (my husband) Reiki right before going out to the barn. Maybe my hands were “warmed up” :)!!  Anyway, thought it was pretty cool.

Pretty cool, indeed!

These women are Level I and have only been practicing Reiki for a couple of months. Imagine the stories they will be telling in a couple of years.

Until next month . . .

Be well,

Pam

*This column originally appeared in From the Horse’s Mouth in July 2008.

© 2008 by Pamela Sourelis

As I write this, yet another horse race has ended with a catastrophic breakdown. This time the Kentucky Derby. Horse lovers across the country are up in arms, as well they should be, making their case for sanity in this industry—a ban on racing babies whose bodies are not yet fully developed, improved track footing, barefoot racing. The Internet is awash with discussion, with pleas to sign petitions, pleas to write letters to those in charge.

It is a fight worth waging, an education campaign worthy of our best effort, even though the odds are that change will come about very slowly.

We act out of our love of horses. These high-profile cases outrage us and consequently energize us, but what about the daily abuses that just about every horse person has witnessed? Are we doing all that we can do?

Eight or nine years ago, I was riding with a group of women on the Barrington trails. Parts of the trail are on public property; parts of the trail cut across private properties, most of them horse properties. It was a cold day, but sunny and beautiful, the trees sparkling with snow. We were taking a route I hadn’t taken before, and as we passed by a pasture, several horses came up to the fence to greet us. They were not in good shape. Their hair coats were poor, and they were grossly underweight. There was no hay in sight.

The leader of our group, a woman who had recently bought a boarding facility on the trails, knew some of the people in the area, but she didn’t know whose property this was. I said what to me seemed obvious, that as soon as we got back to her barn, she should call the Hooved Animal Humane Society (the only equine humane society in the area at the time) and file a complaint. But when we got back to the barn, the barn owner wouldn’t make the call. I assured her that her identity would be protected, but she was afraid that the owners of these starving horses would make trouble for her. “What kind of trouble?” I asked. She didn’t know, but didn’t want to “rock the boat.” I finally convinced her to give me the location of the property, and I made the call myself.

I had known the barn owner for awhile, knew her to have a good and generous heart, knew her to be a lover of horses. I was, quite frankly, shocked by her behavior. But since that time, I have met many people who have witnessed neglect or abuse and do nothing, out of fear, our of a feeling of helplessness, out of a sense that horses are private property and owners can do as they choose.

Others just don’t see it. Several years ago, a client and student of mine, I’ll call her Rachel, wanted me to meet a barn owner and introduce her to my work. This barn owner was special to Rachel because she owned the barn where Rachel, as an adult, had learned to ride. Rachel thought very highly of this woman and was sure she would be excited about my work. And so she arranged for the three of us to meet.

When I arrived at the barn, the barn owner was teaching a lesson. She seemed to have forgotten about the meeting but said we could talk in an hour or so. Rachel, full of excitement, took me on a tour of the property.

The tiny, muddy paddocks were fenced with wire, some of it barbed. A few horses stood in the mud picking at moldy looking round bales. We walked around to the back of the property. Here lived the “pasture board” horses. Ten or twelve of them were packed into a two-acre lot stinking with mud and manure. I saw one grayish round bale. An industrious horse slowly made his way over to the gate through mud and muck up to his knees. His knees.

I commented on the condition of the paddock. Rachel listened as she fed the sweet horse a carrot. It obviously hadn’t occurred to her that anything was wrong.

Then we entered the main barn.

What I saw just about broke my heart. About thirty horses were lined up in small, dark stalls. One very thin stallion stood propped against his stall wall. Rachel hastily explained that the barn owner occasionally rescued horses, and tried to assure me that this must be one of those horses. But because of the general condition of the barn, I wasn’t reassured.

The water buckets were dirty, the stalls were dirty and dank, lacking light and fresh air. Most of the horses were so emotionally shut down that they didn’t even register our presence. Their eyes were blank, their gaze turned inward.

At the far end of the long aisle we reached a stall that at first appeared empty. But no, there was a baby in there! All by himself, lying in dirty shavings, unable to even see out the bars of his cell.

I had seen more than enough. My stomach was knotted, and I had a terrific headache. Although I could feel the sadness of each creature in that barn, although I wanted to scream with their pain, I knew there was no point in having a meltdown. I pointed out to Rachel, as gently as I could but definitely with an edge in my voice, that the conditions were pretty darned awful. Rachel seemed puzzled. This was the barn where she had touched a horse for the first time. This was the barn where she had learned to ride. To her, this was normal.

I asked Rachel to tell the barn owner that I was unable to stay, and I drove home, finally able to scream and cry, in anger and in grief.

Some days later, after I had calmed myself and found the words to say to Rachel, I called her and quietly explained my position. I told her that I knew I risked losing her friendship, risked offending her, but that the welfare of the horses we both loved was more important. I explained that Rachel was the one who needed to address the situation. Because she had a relationship with the woman, she was the one to tell the barn owner that all was not well. Clearly, the barn owner was in emotional trouble, had lost her capacity to care for others, had lost a sizeable portion of her common sense.

Somewhat to my surprise, Rachel thanked me for opening her eyes to issues she had not seen. She was a bit upset with herself, wondered why she had not seen these problems on her own. She was going to examine this more carefully. But, she said, the problem with speaking to the barn owner was that her husband was an employee of Rachel’s family’s business. She feared offending him and making the workplace uncomfortable. I asked her to consider what was most important.

While Rachel took the time she needed to think about her passive complicity in the conditions at that barn, thought about what she could do to help promote change, the barn owner’s husband was arrested for molesting a young girl who had come to his wife’s barn for riding lessons. Apparently, it had happened more than once.

We need to open our eyes. Open our hearts. Listen to the voice inside that says, “Something is not right here.” We need to speak up. We need to do this for the horses, and we need to do this for ourselves.

Until next month . . .

Be well,

Pam

*This column originally appeared in From the Horse’s Mouth in June 2008.

© 2008 by Pamela Sourelis

As I’ve said many times before, Reiki is amazing. I’ve used it for serious conditions: cancer, serious wounds, emotional trauma, pre- and post-surgical healing. But the beauty of Reiki is that it works in all kinds of situations, even relatively minor ones. It’s such a kick to have a first aide kit of sorts right on the ends of your arms, to be able to lay your hands on someone, including yourself, and bring relief.

Last week, in a moment completely devoid of coordination and common sense, I managed to slam the passenger door of my RAV-4 into my head. I was in a hurry. I was trying to talk to my dog in the back seat and quickly retrieve my bag from the front seat, and somehow missed the fact that I needed to back away from the car before closing the door.

The door hit me just above my right eyebrow, so hard that I saw stars. I was on my way to a meeting, and when I walked into the house, the host, after hearing of my mishap, asked if I wanted some ice. I almost said yes, then realized I didn’t need it. “ No thanks,” I said. “I have Reiki.” I did take a few doses of homeopathic Arnica (which I always carry with me) so that the area wouldn’t bruise, but I counted on the Reiki for the pain and swelling.

By the time I’d gotten myself a cup of tea and found my seat, a knot had already begun to form above my eyebrow. I removed my glasses, which thankfully hadn’t been damaged, and held my hand vertically over the right side of my face, covering much of my forehead, my eye, my cheek. Almost immediately, the pain—a slow, low throb—stopped. Within a few minutes, no more than two or three, the swelling was completely gone. The spot never turned blue, or any other color. Today, four days later, if I push on the spot, it’s a bit tender, but otherwise it’s as though the incident never happened.

How else can you use Reiki in everyday life? It’s terrific for stress-induced insomnia. With Reiki, you can lull yourself to sleep in five to ten minutes. And it’s great for indigestion. Forget about the antacids. A few minutes of Reiki will calm your unhappy stomach. It works for headaches, too.

Of course, you can help your critters with Reiki. You can use Reiki to calm a nervous horse before riding or before loading or before a show. You can reassure a sad horse whose pasture mate is gone for the day, or longer. You can soothe the aches and pains of your dogs and cats as well.

Some years ago, when I was boarding my beloved Thoroughbred, Nikos, I came to the barn the day after he’d had a tetanus shot and noticed a baseball-sized swelling at the injection site. Sue, the barn owner, was in the barn, and I showed the swelling to her. My mantra has always been, “When in doubt, Reiki,” and so I did. I put both hands over the swollen area and continued my conversation with Sue. After a few minutes, it felt as though my hands were lying flatter against Nikos’s body. I removed my hands to see how the swelling was. It was gone. I couldn’t believe my own eyes, so I asked Sue to take a look. Her eyes got very big.

When I was able to live with Nikos a few years later, I would often give him Reiki with his late-night meal. An elder, he needed three meals a day to keep the weight on. He lived outside in a small herd but happily came into the barn alone (the others ate twice a day). He would stand in the stall, munching his food, while I gave him Reiki. He would sometimes adjust his position so that my hands were in the right place. When the Reiki stopped flowing, he would thank me with a nuzzle or a loving glance and then slowly rejoin his herd. This special bonding time is one of my most precious memories of my life with Nikos.

You can share Reiki with your human family as well. But your critters may try to steal it. A woman who recently took my level one Reiki class called to report that she had been practicing Reiki on her husband (who had a headache) and was quickly surrounded by all three cats and one of the two dogs, who then all tried to jump into her husband’s lap. They know a good thing when they see it.

But the best Reiki theft story I think I’ve ever heard comes from a student in that same class. I called to check on her a week after the class and she said everything was fine, but she had a question. She’s a trimmer. The Monday after she was attuned to Reiki (a procedure that gets the Reiki flowing through you and out the palms of your hands), she had eleven horses to trim and lots of driving to do. It was a busy day. As always, she greeted each horse before beginning to work with her or him. But this day, the response from the horses was like nothing she had ever experienced. Each one of them was fascinated by the palms of her hands. They sniffed them. They gently bit at them. She said that several of the horses put their heads under her hands and flung them, trying to position them on their heads. She was busy and didn’t have time to give Reiki to all of these horses, and so she didn’t. But each of the horses, she said, was clearly irritated with her decision. “Is that possible?” she asked. “Were they mad at me?”

I’d have to say yes. If it were up to the animals, we’d all know Reiki.

Until next month . . .

Be well,

Pam

*This column originally appeared in From the Horse’s Mouth in May 2008.

© 2008 by Pamela Sourelis

A few months ago a new client, Deb, called me for help with her cats, Gizmo and Gabby, two-and-a-half year old brother and sister. One of them was urinating on the bed in the spare bedroom. This had been going on for some weeks, and Deb’s husband was beginning to lose patience. Deb suspected that Gabby, the female cat, was the culprit because she had recently had a urinary tract infection. But Deb wanted me to check to make sure.

We scheduled the session several weeks out so Deb would have a chance to thoroughly clean the room. I explained that there wasn’t much hope of getting the behavior to stop if the bed reeked of cat urine. So she agreed to purchase a product that eliminates the protein in animal urine (and with it the smell) to wash all of the bedding, to replace the pillows, and to keep the door to the spare bedroom closed until after our session.

I began the session, which I conducted across distance, by calling both cats in. Before I could even ask the question, Gabby said, “ He’s doing it!” Gizmo didn’t deny it, so I turned my attention to him.

I explained that this behavior, this marking his territory with urine (which is what I sensed he was doing), is disgusting to humans. I explained that his human companions love him and want him to have free run of the house but that he simply had to stop urinating on the bed. I reminded him that he has a litter box (I found out later that there were two in the house). He indicated that he wanted another one in the spare bedroom. He showed it to me: It was one of the fancy ones, enclosed on three sides, very private.

When I turned my attention back to Gabby, she was outraged. “He’s always getting everyone into trouble!” she said. I admitted that we’d thought she was probably the one making the mess because of her kidney problems. “Just because I had a kidney infection,” she snapped, “doesn’t mean I’m going to pee all over everything!” I could almost hear her stomp her little foot.

Further, she didn’t understand why “his Royal Highness” needed another litter box, but “whatever.” She said she enjoys taking naps on the bed and would appreciate it if Gizmo would “stop being such a jerk.”

Deb got a kick out of the session notes (I called her when it was over), and so at the very least the session had entertainment value. Deb agreed to buy Gizmo the litter box he’d asked for. All there was left to do was to wait and see. At no point had he agreed to change his behavior. He had accepted quite a bit of Reiki at the end of the session, though, and I hoped this would help fix whatever was ailing him.

A week went by. No news. Another week. No news. I assumed that no news was good news and was just getting ready to email Deb to confirm the masterful job I’d done when I saw her email in my inbox. The subject line read “Oops.”

Darn! I thought. That little critter is peeing on the bed again!

But no. This time, the stakes had been raised. This time, someone was pooping on the bed.

I wasn’t sure if I my words would have any effect on whoever was doing this, but Deb wanted me to try, and so I did. As I had done in the first session, I called both cats in, not knowing who the guilty party was. Gizmo immediately came forward. Gabby stayed quietly in the background.

Once again, I read Gizmo the riot act. I told him his behavior was unacceptable, totally disgusting What was he thinking?

He said, very calmly, “You told me not to pee on the bed.”

Hilarious, right?

I was more specific this time. I told him he was not to soil the bed in any way, that this behavior is absolutely disgusting to humans, those same humans who feed him and play with him and buy him toys and fancy litter boxes. Those humans.

While I was talking to him, I got the strong sense that he was marking territory with the poop. To be honest, I’m not as familiar with cat behavior as I am with dog and horse behavior. I knew he’d been marking the bed with urine, but I didn’t know if using feces for this purpose was normal. But that was the sense I got.

When I had finished talking to him, he quietly accepted quite a bit of Reiki. Then he spoke: He said he would stop messing on the bed.

Hooray, an actual commitment! Hoping I had covered all the possible bases, that there was no escape clause in our agreement, I told him that in the future if he was unhappy about something, he should sit in front of Deb or her husband and stare. I gave these instructions just in case Gizmo was acting out, was messing on the bed as a way of getting attention, though my sense was still that Gizmo was marking territory. But why? When I asked the question, I got a quiet inkling that it had to do with Deb’s husband. Could Gizmo be jealous?

I decided to go with this theory. I explained to Gizmo that Deb’s husband is the alpha male of the house, not Gizmo. That the house belongs to him, not Gizmo. That Deb is his mate, not Gizmo’s. I explained that Gizmo is the main male cat, that he is an important member of the family, but that he is not Deb’s mate. Then I reminded Gizmo that he had promised not to mess on the bed anymore and ended the session.

When I shared all of this with Deb, I learned that this spare bedroom is actually more than that. Her husband’s closet is in this room. He dresses in this room every morning, lays his clothes on the bed.

Eureka!

Deb agreed to start spending more one-on-one time with Gizmo, to be sure to tell him what a special guy he is, but to back up my point that he is not her mate. She did this, and while we never knew what had set the furry critter off to begin with, the problem ended as quickly as it had begun.

It’s been four months now and, no longer a litter box, the bed is just a bed.

So far so good . . .

Until next month . . .

Be well,

Pam

*This column originally appeared in From the Horse’s Mouth in April 2008.

© 2008 by Pamela Sourelis

On the last episode of “Gray’s Anatomy” before the writers’ strike, one of the story lines involved an energy healer who was in the hospital for a life-saving surgery but who kept leaving her room to heal other patients. In one case, the healing was immediate—dangerously escalating blood pressure lowered and an imminent crisis averted. In another case, the healing occurred just a few hours after she had laid her hands on an injured child. The episode ended with the healer and two friends, also healers, imagining the steps of her upcoming surgery (which a doctor was talking them through) while channeling healing energy in an effort to make the surgery unnecessary.

All of this brought a huge smile to my face. I had seen energy healers depicted on network television before, but always as slightly delusional women (never men) who just didn’t have good sense. I had never seen the subject treated with such respect. I was excited by the prospect of thousands of viewers stopping, thinking that maybe there was something to this healing energy thing after all.

But then I thought, oh no, are folks going to think healing always happens this fast, and if it doesn’t then it’s not the real thing? Are people once again going to be made to believe that healing should be quick, easy, and painless?

While miracles most certainly can, and do, happen, in my experience as a healer, the healing is more apt to occur in layers. In December, I wrote about Leroy, a rescued Belgian who was almost completely shut down with pain and depression. (The article is now on my Website if you missed it.) His recovery was one of the most speedy I have ever experienced; he was hungry for healing, and soaked it up like a giant sponge. Even so, the healing was not immediate. His transformation from pain and fear to joy took several sessions, and he is continuing to grow and change today.

While physical pain can be alleviated fairly quickly with Reiki, complete physical healing can take longer, and complete emotional healing can take longer still. I am currently working with a rescued mare who was so shut down when she arrived at her new home that she continuously stood off by herself, head down, not even socializing with her filly. This had been going on for months when I began working with her (across distance). After one session, her human companion saw the mare give a little buck in the paddock (something she had not done before); after the second session, the mare climbed the hill to be with the other horses. I was ecstatic! But the mare’s human companion, who had expected a full and immediate recovery, was not. She said that mare was still sullen and that she had actually become a bit more stubborn with humans (she is not being ridden).

I asked the woman to consider that the mare’s healing was happening in layers, like layers of an onion being peeled off one by one. Gradually, the woman recognized that the mare was actually feeling better, that the little buck and the climb up the hill were indications that she was coming back to life. When you haven’t felt for awhile, the initial thaw isn’t always pleasant, and this mare was feeling a bit grumpy! But she was feeling. And that was the gift. She is now slowly adapting, becoming more comfortable with herself and her surroundings, slowly learning to trust.

Healing often comes slowly. The hoof of a newly barefoot horse may need to expel necrotic tissue through abscessing before the foot is healed. The toxic horse may lose weight when detoxed because the toxic bloat is gone. Healing is coming, but the horse may look awful in the short term. The physical wounds caused by harsh hands can heal slowly, from the outside in. The emotional wounds caused by hard hearts can heal slowly, from the inside out.

Energy healing, including Reiki, can assist in this process, can warm the shut-down heart, can assist the healing of broken bones, torn flesh. The power of this healing is life-altering (and well-documented). Despite television’s good intentions, energy healing is not a quick fix; it heals at the source of the illness or despair; it heals the cause, not just the effect. Sometimes this healing takes more time than we would like, reveals more pain than we expected, but it is always worth the wait.

Until next month . . .

Be well,

Pam

*This column originally appeared in From the Horse’s Mouth in March 2008.

© 2008 by Pamela Sourelis

My friend Mia’s voice ached with grief. Her message said that Jake, the horse who had been part of her life for 28 years, was failing and would be put down that evening. What made it especially difficult was that Jake lived in Michigan; Mia lived in Minnesota. I had heard stories about Jake over the years, but had never had the pleasure of meeting him. When I returned Mia’s call, she reminded me that he had come into her life when she was 10 years old and he was 7. In two months, he would be 34. They had grown up together. “He’s the benchmark for everything,” she said. How was it possible that he would be gone from this earth.

I met Mia 10 years ago, when she moved from Michigan to Chicago. While Jake had gone to college with her for two of her four years, he didn’t make this trip. Instead, she decided to turn his care over to her mother, who had been bitten by the riding bug. Jake was the perfect horse for a slightly cautious, mature woman. Patient and endlessly tolerant, he graciously took on the role of teacher once again.

But now Jake had stopped eating; he lacked energy and seemed depressed. He was having serious bouts of diarrhea. The vet came out and scoped him. Jake’s stomach was slowly disintegrating. He wasn’t in any pain, but Mia’s mother did not want him to be, and so the decision was made.

Mia agreed with her mother’s decision but felt helpless so many miles away. She was saddened at not being there to say good-bye, to comfort Jake, to thank him. I told her that she could do all of these things and urged her to try. I told her that I would check in with him, would send Reiki, but that she could do the rest.

Go sit with him, I said. Tell your sweet husband that you need a little time alone. Sit quietly, calm your breath, open your heart, and call Jake in. He will come. You can talk to him. He will hear you.

When the hour of his passing was near, I connected with Jake, to help ease his transition if I could. He immediately started to speak:

“Tell her I love her. Tell her I loved watching her grow up from a lanky little girl to a beautiful woman. Tell her I am grateful for her love. No matter how silly, she was always tender. The love was in her fingertips, her breath. She is a very special person.

“It is hard to leave. I have loved this life. But I do not want to be a burden to those who love me. I do not want them to be forced to watch me decline. This is best. This is a courageous and noble gift, and I am grateful.

“Ask her to lay her hand on my brow . . .”

At this point, Jake’s voice trailed off, and he seemed to disappear. I held the space where he had been, not quite knowing what had happened. After several minutes, he returned. “Thank you,” he said, gently ending the communication.

When I read these notes to Mia, she cried at the part about her hand on his brow. She said that was the only place he’d ever let her scritch him, high up on his forehead, under his forelock.

I asked her if she had connected with him before he passed. She said that she had.

Mia had sat quietly in her room and closed her eyes. She calmed her breath and opened her heart. She asked Jake to come. And there he was. She was back in college on the trails near school, galloping Jake bareback and helmetless with her friend Maureen. (“We were so stupid then,” she said; “We did the dumbest things.”). Blasting down a trail with her two best friends, blasting down a trail with nothing but her future in front of her.

Mia said her good-byes, said her thank-yous. She held out her hands in the darkened room. “Go,” she said. “Go. Be free.”

Until next month,

Be well,

Pam

*This column originally appeared in From the Horse’s Mouth in February 2008.

© 2008 by Pamela Sourelis

Leroy is a gorgeous, elder chestnut Belgian with flaxen mane and tail. His human companion, Michelle, doesn’t know how old he is, but she does know that he has had a very rough life. He was an Amish workhorse for much of it, then sold to a hack barn where he was a hack horse. He then went to a series of broker lots, passed around through auctions a few times before landing at a broker that a rescuer friend of Michelle’s sometimes deals with. Because Leroy had been at the broker lot for quite awhile, he was at high risk of being shipped to slaughter.

Michelle’s husband, who she describes as a non-horsey person, had always wanted a Belgian. And here one was. And so Michelle rescued him. Something about Leroy tugged at her heart. Something in his eyes. She later told me, “Whenever I am with him, or look at his photos, I just get this broken-hearted feeling come over me; he makes me want to cry.”

When she brought him home and could see him in the flesh (she’d first seen him on the Internet), she noted that he was grossly underweight. His hips, ribs, and withers protruded through his dull winter coat. He drooled (most likely the result of ulcers) and bit at his chest, shoulders, and ribs; his joints creaked and crackled with each step. His mane growth indicated neck damage, most likely from an ill-fitting harness; the bridge of his nose was rubbed hairless and was indented, also from ill-fitting tack.

Michelle started Leroy on a high-quality feed program (VitaRoyal), which quickly stopped the drooling and biting. She then began the slow process of earning his trust. Her sense was that he just “[didn’t] have any use for humans.” He would grudgingly allow her to lightly touch his shoulder but then would swing his head at her to keep her at a safe distance. Although his eyes would briefly soften when she stood near him while he ate, for the most part he appeared anxious and unsettled.

It was at this point, when Leroy had been at his new home for about three weeks, that Michelle learned about my work and we set up a session with Leroy. She knew that eventually she would be able to bond with him—she had rescued quite a few horses previously—but she was interested in trying anything that might help him to settle into his new home more quickly and easily.

I conducted the session across distance. (He was on Michelle’s property in Connecticut; I was in my office in Illinois.) When he came into the room (not literally, of course), I immediately felt his deep sadness, his tears, and the fear that his body was holding. I told him that his new home is his forever home. That it is not a stop on the way to somewhere else. That this is where he will live out his life. He melted into this news.

He then led me through the session, directing me to place my hands on his painful, arthritic knees; allowing me to gently rock his body, to coax his ribcage, shoulders, sternum, and hips into tiny movement. I channeled Reiki up through his seat bones and along his spine. He said, “I feel so much better.”

At the conclusion of the physical work (neuro-muscular retraining), he presented his chest to me. I felt he was presenting his heart chakra rather than his physical chest. I sent Reiki to the area, and he said again, “I feel so much better.”

I asked him if there was anything else he wanted to say, but he was silent, not a sullen or frightened silent, but a contented, melted-butter silence. It was as though every ounce of anxiety had oozed out of him; it was as though he had completely let go of his ugly past.

I asked him if there was anything else he wanted to say, but he was silent, not a sullen or frightened silent, but a contented, melted-butter silence. It was as though every ounce of anxiety had oozed out of him; it was as though he had completely let go of his ugly past.

He told me that he planned on being around for quite awhile. He told me that he is very good with children.

That evening, he allowed Michelle to rub his shoulder. He did not swing his head at her. The next morning, he greeted her by standing squarely in front of her, blocking her path. Michelle told me, “He wanted to say hello!” He followed her around the paddock, looked at her with soft eyes, and allowed her to rub his shoulder and withers. He curved his head and neck in her direction, rather than away from her.

Each day, he allowed more contact, accepted more love.

A week later, I conducted another session with Leroy. Whereas the first time I met him I had been struck by his intense sadness, I was now struck by his intense joy. We had a wonderful session together, Leroy once again directing my hands. At the end of the session, he said, “I am very happy. Please tell Michelle, I am very happy here. I never thought I could ever be this happy.” After a moment, he added, “I am very lucky.”

I replied, through tears, “She is, too.”

A few hours later, Michelle wrote that when she’d gone out to out to feed Leroy he had nickered deeply for the first time; he had thrust his head into the feed bucket (up to this point he had been a reluctant eater) and had finished every morsel. Ordinarily, when she would then walk across the paddock to put his hay in his tub, he would follow behind at a safe distance. But now, he took the lead, trusting her to walk behind him.

So what am I learning from Leroy?

Leroy is showing me the exquisite power of letting go. His body had been abused, his spirit battered. He was awash in pain and fear. He was in yet another unfamiliar place with unfamiliar people who, if experience was a guide, were not to be trusted. His spirit was locked inside a dark and lonely place.

Yet Leroy has chosen to heal. From the very first, he accepted the Reiki, trusted it, allowed his heart to open, and simply allowed the fear and pain and abuse and horror of his life to flow out. The transformation was immediate. He held no grudge; he let go of the darkness and embraced the light.

Leroy is teaching me how totally effortless healing can be.

Until next month,

Be well,

Pam

To read Leroy’s story, you can visit his page.

“Good-Bye, Leroy”

Return to HOME page

*This column originally appeared in From the Horse’s Mouth in January 2008.

© 2008 by Pamela Sourelis

[While I had planned to share the winner of the ìHow Smart are They?î contest in this monthís column, I canít do that because no one entered! No problem, weíll try again another time. Instead, I am sharing the column I wrote for the gift-giving season last year. I hope you enjoy it.]

The season of gift-giving is upon us. Some of us will frantically search for just the right gift, the gift that says just the right thing, expresses just the right emotion, the gift that shows us off in just the right light. We will plan and shop and prepare. We will spend far too much money and far too much energy and will end up feeling depleted and sad.

Others of us will give as little thought as possible to the chore of gift-buying and will speed down department store aisles mere days before our family gathering or our office gathering or the gathering at our place of worship, grabbing at whatever—they can always return it if they don’t like it—and paying extra for gift-wrapping. We will spend far too much money and far too much energy and will end up feeling depleted and sad.

Several years ago, a woman in one of my Reiki classes shared this story. The year before, she had been on vacation in Costa Rica and had been swept off the beach by a riptide. Her neck was broken in two places. She was told she might never walk again.

The woman, a successful groomer and dog sitter, always had a house full of dogs. She told of coming home from the hospital and being immobilized for weeks, her bed surrounded by dogs, both hers and other people’s. When her husband would come to check on her, he had to pick his way over and between the pack because they refused to move. She told us, her voice heavy with emotion, that she was certain it was the energy and love of these creatures that made it possible for her to walk again.

Later, with the aid of a walker, she was able to take daily walks to the corner. She would take several dogs with her. “They only needed one walk,” she said, laughing. “It took all day.” She took four at a time, two leashes in each hand, inching her way down the sidewalk. She said, “I would take a step, and they would take a step. I would stop to rest, and they would sit and wait. I would take another step, and they would take another step. I would stop, and they would sit.” The woman who was told she might never walk again told us she was soon able to walk on her own. What greater gift than this?

Giving is second nature to the creatures in our lives: the dog who teaches us about loyalty and unconditional love, the cat who teaches us about independence. Giving is second nature to the horse who hears our confessions and our prayers, who lets us bury our face in his strong, sweet neck, who nibbles our hair, who carries us on her strong back down a snowy trail, who looks us in the eye with fierce pride.

I think the animals have much to teach us about giving.

Perhaps this gift-giving season some of us will strike a better balance than we have in the past, taking our cue from the creatures in our lives. Perhaps we will fret less, enjoy each other more, give freely from our hearts.

Until next year,

Be well,

Pam

*This column originally appeared in From the Horse’s Mouth in December 2007.

© 2007 by Pamela Sourelis

My little white dog, Elika, loves to play. Her energy and joy seem boundless. She craves long walks, running in gigantic circles on the lawn, chasing squirrels and rabbits at break-neck speed (she knows she’s not allowed to catch them and will pull back when she starts to close in on them). When she feels I’ve been sitting at my computer for too long—and this is the only time she will do this—she comes into my office to get me, sits quietly next to my chair for a few minutes, then nudges my arm with her nose, insisting I come into the living room. Then she ambles over to her toy box and stares into it, until I choose a toy and play with her. Once I’ve taken this small break, she allows me to return to my work, uninterrupted.

One day, when I was living in a two-story house, I’d run upstairs to grab a sweater. Elika, a friend of mine, and I were getting ready to pile into the car and drive to a nearby state park to walk the trails. Elika was excited, and when I ran upstairs, she wanted to follow me. I asked her to stay downstairs, told her I’d be right back, and then we’d go for a ride. She sat at the foot of the stairs and watched me go up.

When I headed back down, seconds later, I didn’t see Elika. That was odd. Usually when I’m getting ready to go somewhere, she stays close by, worrying that she will be left behind (which rarely happens). I assumed she must have gone off to the kitchen to play with my friend. But when I reached the last step, Elika, who had been hiding around the corner, suddenly leapt out at me, a huge grin on her face. I was laughing so hard, I had to sit down on the step. Thoroughly pleased with herself and her joke, she covered my face with kisses.

To illustrate the intelligence of animals, their ability to recognize cause-effect relationships, their ability to tell jokes, I recently told this story at my Introduction to Animal Communication class. One of my students topped it.

She and her husband had been lying in bed watching TV one evening, when they heard their two dogs running around downstairs. They heard the smallest of the two run up the stairs and into the bathroom. It was panting hard. Suddenly, there was silence. The woman went into the bathroom to see what was going on. The little dog had jumped into the bathtub, was sitting entirely motionless, and was holding its breath!

The woman, not wanting to disturb the game, went back into the bedroom. Within seconds, the larger dog came bounding up the stairs and into the bedroom. He looked around the room, then looked at the couple, asking, “Where is he?” The woman said, “He went that way!” and pointed out into the hallway, towards the stairs. The dog ran out of the bedroom and down the stairs.

The little dog in the bathtub started panting again, jumped out of the bathtub, ran into the bedroom and into the couple’s bed, where he curled up for a nap.

I could tell you many more stories: the young, untrained horse who got tangled up in a fallen tree and stood quietly while the branches were cut away, then allowed himself to be backed out of the maze and led to safety before releasing his tension in a fit of bucking; the dog who brought a disabled child back into the house after the child had wandered away and then, after herding the child safely inside, went to find the child’s mother and reprimand her; the horse who let himself out of his stall, raided the feed room, then went back into his stall and latched the door.

But I’d rather hear your stories! And so I’ve set up a contest. Send your best story about an animal that exhibited thinking skills (cause-effect, problem solving, jokes). The winner will receive a certificate for a free Animal Communication session; the top three will be published in my December column.

The deadline for getting your stories to me is November 1.
The address is Pam@WingedHorseHealing.com

Let the world know how smart your critters are!

Until next month,

Be well,

Pam

P.S. For those of you who read last month’s column, the woman whose horse I wrote about wrote to say she’s found a trimmer to do a physiologically correct barefoot trim on her guy, and he’s now doing much better. So, while she was initially resistant, she did end up listening to her horse.

*This column originally appeared in From the Horse’s Mouth in October 2007.

© 2007 by Pamela Sourelis

Recently, a woman contacted me for help with her young gelding. She wanted me to ask him to collect more at the canter and to stop running off with her when she rode him in the field. She also mentioned that he had been lame for the past two weeks; she suspected a stone bruise. I explained that collection and running off are training issues, but I agreed to work with her horse in the hope that I would be able to identify the underlying problems, which the woman would then be in a position to address. My sense was that the lameness issue was a contributing factor, certainly in the inability to collect.

I conducted the session across distance.

When I began working with the horse, he presented very stiff shoulders, especially the left, as well as stiffness and discomfort in the muscles along his spine. His sternum and ribcage were also somewhat sticky, reluctant to slide easily, indicating additional muscle tension. Rather than speaking to the horse about his difficulties collecting, I visualized him collecting and was immediately drawn to the middle of his back—the saddle area.

When I asked him about his saddle, it became was clear to me that it did not fit, that it was pinching his shoulders and putting pressure on his spine.

Armed with this information, I worked with his body for awhile (using NeuroMuscular retraining methods coupled with Reiki) to release tension and to show his body a more effective way of going. As I worked I also felt my hands drawn to his feet, which pulled in quite a bit of energy.

When I spoke with the horse about his habit of running away with the woman (he did not do this with the younger people who occasionally rode him), he clearly did not understand the problem. He just wanted to run across the field and have fun. He also indicated that he would like to take more trail rides. I got no sense of willfulness as I spoke with him, just the powerful, joyful energy of a young horse.

At the end of the session, I called the woman to discuss what I had learned. More information surfaced. It seems her horse had been “overworked” by a trainer several months earlier and had been intermittently lame ever since. This made sense. If the horse had been asked to physically perform at a level he had not been conditioned to achieve, he would have become sore and tight. The strain on one or more areas of his body could then have caused him to compensate in other areas, causing strain in those areas as well. The result would be a horse unable to move smoothly or efficiently.

I asked about his feet and was told that he was shod in front, that she was using a new farrier, and that her horse did not seem comfortable on his feet.

So we had a horse whose feet were bothering him, who had tight shoulders, a sticky ribcage, and a sensitive back, and who was wearing a saddle that did not fit properly. It was no wonder that the horse was unable to collect properly! Further, the woman said that in order to get her horse into shape, she needed to ride him every day. So we had a horse who was fairly uncomfortable in his body being asked to perform at a level that caused him discomfort—every day.

I suggested a physiologically correct barefoot trim that would bring the horse’s entire body back into balance, continued body work of some kind (with me or another practitioner) that would help him to regain his balance and strength, and a saddle fitting session with a knowledgeable professional. I also suggested the horse be given a bit of time off while these issues were being addressed.

The woman thanked me, but she seemed genuinely surprised that all of this was necessary. She explained that she had just wanted me to tell her horse what was expected of him—collection and good manners in the field. I explained again that collection is a matter of strength and proper training in using the hind end; it is not something that you can merely request. I also gently explained that riding in a field is very different from riding in an arena (she was relatively new to riding) and that perhaps the issue of his running off had to do with her confidence and experience as a rider.

She did not sound convinced.

This was not the first time someone had asked me to resolve a problem merely by telling the animal to stop (stop running away, stop digging in the yard, stop peeing outside the litter box, stop biting . . .) Sometimes this is possible, for example the cat who did not know that her early morning howling was annoying and stopped as soon as I explained it to her. More often, though, the animal reveals to me the behavior’s underlying cause (physical or emotional), which the human caregiver then needs to address.

It can be difficult at times, because of the tunnel vision we sometimes have, because of our desire for quick fixes and immediate results, but we need to fully hear and address the messages, physical or otherwise, that our animal companions are sharing with us. True communication is mutual; true communication is a two-way street.

Until next month,

Be well,

Pam

*This column originally appeared in From the Horse’s Mouth in September 2007.

© 2007 by Pamela Sourelis