How to Weather the Storm
My horses have a beautiful ritual during severe weather: As the wind gusts build and the first heavy raindrops hit the metal barn roof, they begin with a sprint out of the barn and around the whole pasture. As if moving in parallel with the atmospheric energy, they allow it to move through them in wide sweeping circles. They move in rhythmic tandem, an even three beat gait, necks level with their backs, tails slightly tucked, powered by the strength in their hind legs, covering wide swaths of ground. Then as the rain becomes a pour, they slow their circle, tighten its pattern, and slow to a standstill at the highest point in the pasture. Standing there together, they let the rain douse them. My mare, the herd leader, angles her body so that the wind hits her directly in the shoulder. She braces against the brunt of the wind and streaming downpour, squinting her eyes, meeting it head on, creating a shield for my gelding to stand with his back to her flank. He embraces her protection. He hangs his head low, accepting the torrent, letting it course over his long back, down his extended neck, tilting his ears so that rain does not flow into them, rather it follows the tip of his nose to return to the ground. The two of them stand this way through the whole storm, in quiet, patient acceptance. Eventually, the rain lightens, the wind calms, and both horses decide it’s safe to return to the barn to finish breakfast. My mare leads the way, my gelding follows closely behind, but as my mare rounds the corner, my gelding pauses, takes a quick look around, sniffs the ground around him, and then buckles at his knees to take a glorious roll in the soaked, sloppy mud.
As I watched my horses’ storm ritual from the kitchen window this morning, I was left with the question: How might we be different if we weathered the storms of our lives like these two? What would it look like if at the onset of the storm, we allowed the energy to move through us? What if instead of resisting it, we matched it, gripping the ground under our feet, pushed by our own power, allowing ourselves to be moved?
What if we found our own highest point in the pasture to wait it out? Not one that guarantees our ankles won’t still soak, but one where we at least have the greatest chance that it won’t reach our knees.
What if we allowed a friend to brace against the storm with us? What if we allowed them to shoulder the brunt of it? What if we stood behind their shield, in the safety that allows us to stay standing, even if our heads hang low, as the rain drenches our backs, flows down our necks, and drips off our noses? What if we knew how to accept this protection?
How often are we the herd leader embodying the strength to face the storm head on? How easily can we access the self-trust that says “I can handle this. This is uncomfortable and unideal, but I can handle it, and I got you”? How attuned are we to our discernment for when we need the lead mare and when we need to become her?
What would it be like to stand their together, just us two, as the wind rips the trees and the ground begins to flood, neither of us fighting it, neither of us trying to change it, neither of us running, neither of us hiding, just standing still amidst the torrential chaos? What if we waited patiently together for the storm to quiet, waited for the wind to soften, the rain to slow, then both agree it’s time to finish our breakfast? But what if on our return to the barn, we take a look around at the mess all around us, recognizing what we just survived, and throw our whole bodies in it with joy?