“The Spirituality of Play” was the title of the sermon given by the Reverend Jennifer Slade at last week’s service at the Unitarian Universalist Congregation in McHenry, Illinois. Spirituality/Play/Sermon? These three words may not seem to quite fit together. But the sermon, mind you, was only partly spoken. The rest was sung—yes, …
When I walked into the barn that evening, Nancy, who owns the property where I keep my horses, was staring up into the hay loft. I was surprised to see her there, as she’s usually finished feeding and cleaning up after her two goats (Nibbles and Nana) by the time I get there …
Re-examine all you have been told. Dismiss what insults your soul. – Walt Whitman In my last post (That Inner Voice), I talked about listening to, trusting, and acting on your inner voice. At the end, I asked this question: So my question to you—horse people and dog people and cat …
The “Huge” Tack Sale A few years ago, forgetting that I’m not a shopper, I drove for 40 minutes to get to a “huge” tack shop sale in a wealthy suburb of Chicago. I tend to get overwhelmed by large amounts of stuff, and so I avoid department stores, big box stores, …
Last week, a woman “Liked” my Winged Horse Healing Facebook page and promptly posted a spam message advertising retreats that she offers where, according to her, the horses are the Reiki masters. After I got over my brief flash of annoyance that a so-called Reiki master (which she claimed to be as well) …
In the photo, the matador is decked out in white and gold, pink socks, red cape. He is sitting on a ledge in the arena, his head and eyes downcast. The bull, his flesh pierced with multiple, brightly colored spikes, stands several feet away from his torturer, his nose extended towards the man. …
My skull hurts. It’s March 15 in Northern Illinois, it’s nearly 80 outside, and I have the worst case of the flu that I can ever remember having. I’ve been flat on my back for two days, except when I drag myself into my car, drive the six minutes to the barn, and feed …
I was 20 when Shambalah was left on the front stoop of my San Francisco apartment. She was only a few months old and funny looking, a tiny head on a big, white body. An ugly duckling, who matured into a dog so beautiful, people often stopped me on the street to ask if …
My behind had not yet touched the bench when the gray-haired head of an elderly man hit the wooden side of our booth with a sickening thud. Somehow, the man had been catapulted the 10 feet from his stool at the diner’s counter and now lay nearly at our feet. I threw off …
Our First Session I met Ace Flyer last June, when he was just a couple of months shy of 18 years old. Ace had had a stroke and was unable to walk or even to stand. The vet had suggested euthanasia, and his human (I’ll call her Carol), who was …