This week, my essay The Truth About Rainbows was published on Tiny Buddha.
If you found your way here because of it…welcome! My readers are some of the kindest, most compassionate souls I know, and I’m so glad you’re here.
What I shared in that essay about not needing to fix or rush our way out of discomfort is a lesson I continue to learn. And one of the clearest mirrors of that truth came to me years ago, not through words, but through the still, unwavering presence of a horse named Luna.
While living in Dallas, I had the rare opportunity to be coached by Koelle Simpson. Koelle is an internationally respected life coach and horse whisperer whose work blends intuitive listening with the profound wisdom of horses. I had long admired her, and I was eager to experience her gifts in action.
As the day began, I stood quietly, observing others in the round pen while Koelle led them through some exercises with various horses. There was a lot of movement. A lot of processing. A lot of talking.
Though what unfolded for the others was often deeply moving, the pace and intensity left my nervous system rattled. The Texas heat wrapped around me like a furnace, and I could feel myself wilting like a flower as my turn in the pen approached.
When the gate finally unlatched for me, I stepped into the soft, sandy ring, leaving a wake of boot prints behind me. I looked up and met the gaze of Luna. I felt an instant connection to this magnificent and wise creature. She sigh-snorted a gentle salutation, and the gap between us melted.
I reached for her reins and gathered my courage, bracing for the performance I believed was expected of me. Dutiful as ever, I tried to mimic what I’d seen the others do.
But Luna wouldn’t budge.
Neither would I.
I wasn’t feeling it, and to my surprise, I didn’t take her refusal personally. Koelle offered a few gentle suggestions, but ultimately encouraged me to do what felt right.
And what felt right was stopping completely.
I placed a hand on Luna’s warm, muscled neck and stood still. We stood like that, completely quiet, completely present for several long, holy moments. I could have stayed there forever because, in that stillness, Luna was speaking. Not with words, but with knowing.
In Luna’s eyes, I saw myself clearly, and the story of my past started to unravel.
As an empath with a complicated history, I realized I had to keep choosing a life of less:
Less performing. Less proving. Less noise.
More stillness. More being.
In many ways, the survival of my soul depends on this.
In that space, a new story emerged. One in which a quieter life wasn’t good or bad, it was simply mine. Luna didn’t ask me to change; that choice was mine and mine alone, but she helped me consider that living a step closer to my true nature might be exactly what my heart needed. Whatever I decided, I began to glimpse a wholeness within me that had never left, though I had abandoned it again and again.
The memory of my time in the pen with Luna lives in me. I return to it often, and these days, now more than ever. And then I am reminded:
We are all created equally beauty-filled. The stories we tell about this beauty or lack thereof aren’t right or wrong, but will shape how we experience the world.
As Luna might say, choose wisely.
Take breaks.
Drink water.
And most of all, let yourself be.
