Today, I spent a bit of the day amongst a few intuitive
healers. Each healer sported a particular personality; each taught by being
his true self. The oldest and wisest among them had a presence that could be
felt from at least 50 feet away. Perhaps of Percheron descent, he stood tall,
white-haired, and weathered like Gandalf or Dumbledore. His aged years meant that he connected seamlessly
and more readily than the other teacher healers to us, the student healers.
He taught the lesson
on being present and grounded in this work. Massive hooves planted. His
strength and power most obvious, it was the stillness—the calm, quiet, presence that almost felt out of place for one of such stature. I’m not sure how he reigned
in such seemingly disparate parts. The royal, stately, Duke, fit for a king, equally comfortable as the gentle soul allowing some weeping into his mane. He immediately honed in on the fact that I wasn’t
fully present when I approached him, and turned away mirroring my absence. How did he know that I was
holding tension in my gut? How did he tap into all of this without words? His intuitive powers almost seemed harnessed from the
magical realm.
He, the teacher healer, didn’t speak at all. And yet he said
so much.
Perhaps, I ought to hang out with a herd of horses more often.
Perhaps, I ought to hang out with a herd of horses more often.
