When I brought Bellalunaa home, she was six years old and halter-broke, but otherwise untrained. She and a stablemate had been purchased as weanlings by an elderly couple. I’m sure they intended to do something with the pair, but they never did.

So, after many years of milling about a small pasture with her companion, Bella found her way to me. Ours was a serendptious intersection involving casual Dreamhorse scrolling and geographic proximity. I saw Bella’s photo, met her, and bought her all in one afternoon.

There was just something about her.

In some ways, Bella is an easy horse. She’s not spooky. She’s athletic. She transfers learning from one side of her body to the other more readily than any horse I’ve met. Her retention over extended breaks is remarkable. She’s affectionate…if she trusts you.

On the other hand, Bella is defensive of her space and feed. She’s annoyed by the sensations of bugs and trickling sweat. When anxious, she resorts to obsessive motion. After years of leisure, she resists learning to work. She’s allergic to micromanagement.

Still and all, there’s just something about her.

Bella is a barometer of my availability. If I show up with curiosity and grace, she opens like a morning glory at dawn. If I hurry or push or assume, she snaps shut like a Venus flytrap. 

A good session brings her to the gate next time looking for more. A bad one puts a chip on her shoulder for days. 

Training Bella has been, for me, an extended lesson in presence.

Like any horse, Bella lives only in the moment. If I want to be with her, I need to settle into the moment as well.

That means turning off podcasts, even music, so my thoughts are available to resonate with hers. It means settling my attention on what is actually happening, rather than what I think might or should happen.

Of course, it’s my job to know how each lesson fits into the bigger picture: Giving laterally will lead to giving vertically will lead to collection. Yielding forequarters will lead to side passing will lead to flying changes. 

But, it’s also my job to let go of long-term goals in order to be present in the tiny step we’re taking, together, today.

Presence is what the best teachers bring to classrooms. It’s what the best physicians bring to their patients. The best athletes to their sports. Partners to relationships. Artisans to crafts. Trainers to horses.

Presence. Curiosity. Attention.

As with meditation, focusing on this breath until it’s time for the next.

Here, in the vanishing space between two creatures, is a gift.

The present.