Hope is a Discipline

This quote surprised me in my Inbox two days after Magic died. 

Magic was true to his name - a shining bright presence - very vocal, curious, mischievous, and into everything. At 26 years old, he was in great shape, great health, and spent his last day grazing out in the extra pasture. Grazing in that pasture was always a special treat because it was where horses were not usually allowed, only humans, so the grass was thicker and totally undisturbed. 

His death was sudden and unexpected. I brought him in for his dinner, and he was not interested, a dramatic shift from his usual gusto. He was breathing heavily. He was still very cooperative and did not argue when I put on his halter and asked him to walk with me, thinking maybe he was colicking, not uncommon with older horses. 

Within just a few minutes, however, I realized it was not that, and was on the phone with the NC State Vet School Emergency Services team. “We can't get there for two and a half hours, we’re on another call, but we’ll call your regular vet and see if he can make it”.

John did make it, within about 30 minutes, but by the time he arrived, Magic was laying down and very quiet, eyes closed. After a quick assessment John told me what I already knew: Magic was dying. We made the decision to ease that transition for him, and within another 30 minutes, John was gone, having done his job kindly and with compassion.

I sat on the ground with Magic for a long time, and the other horses came over and sniffed and looked from a distance. They were trying to make sense out of what had just happened too.

Even though I have made the commitment to take in senior, retired horses, whom I know are in their final chapter, it’s still a shock and breaks my heart when they let go of this world. There’s a hole in my heart and a hole in the herd.

When I got up, my thoughts turned to the other horses and how this would impact them. What would they need to process this loss, and how could I support them? Just like us, horses grieve in different ways. 

My second thought was what to do with the scheduled Herd Meditation 4 days later. Would the horses be up for it? Would the people be disappointed?  Would I be able to do it? What if sharing this would trigger someone’s own loss?

After burying Magic in the pasture the next day, these questions and other details took over, keeping me numb and on task, going from one checklist to the next. Staying in my head and not my heart. Then, as I was getting dinner together that night, I turned on music to keep me company, and that did it. The tears came with sobs and I felt unconsolable. This continued into the night until I was so tired I fell asleep. And I slept hard.

When I saw the quote the next morning on my Insight Timer app, it immediately caught my attention. Mariame Kaba, who coined it, went on to suggest that “Hope is a discipline” reframes hope from simply a positive emotion into an intentional practice of choosing again and again to believe that change, healing, and meaning are possible. Hope requires courage and effort. 

This perspective gave me the clarity I needed to go forward with the Herd Meditation on Sunday, and to trust that the people who were coming and the horses who remained would be exactly what was needed for everyone. I remembered that the event was never intended to be a performance but rather an experience of being with the present moment, no matter how difficult.

When the group of 9 participants assembled on Sunday, we stood in the breezeway by the stalls where Grace, Girl Scout, and Dutch were resting in the shade - still, eyes closed, heads lowered. I shared about Magic’s passing. There was a quiet gasp and some tears. Some people shared feelings - "Reverence" “Empathy” “Hope”. “Love” Some asked about the impact on the horses and we talked about how being held in presence can support people and horses when words are not enough.

As the group of humans moved back to the circle under the tree, the three horses chose to slowly walk out, one by one, to the pasture where they remained until we all joined them for the silent walking meditation among them. There was a felt sense of awe, respect, and hope that was palpable to all. As was Magic’s presence.

As we wrapped up for the day, we celebrated that with help,I had been able to choose hope over despair and fear. And through that choice, we all created a truly transformative experience for everyone, horses and people. For most of the Herd Meditations, the horses hold space for the people so they can process what they brought with them; this time, the people held space for the horses. And all was well.