Workshops

....Beauty is feminine energy that lives in the heart in all humans. It lives in fire, air, earth, and water. It lives in all life. It is every being’s gift to another. The love of beauty is the love of life, whether it be the silent scent of autumn, the primal cry of sexual ecstasy, the meadowlark’s undulating melody, the touch of a soft inner thigh, or one’s final death breath. It is life loving itself. It is the greatest gift of the Creator of Love. It is our teacher.

My horse, Sager, was my teacher. When he moved his body, he revealed exquisitely organized form, balance, and continuity. His equine body was an expression of one efficient mass of total logic. However, I doubt that he understood his own brilliant organization of elements.

He was not logical or rational in the way that I was. He didn’t know how to read and write; he didn’t speak English or any human language. However, he knew what I did not know. He knew what I wanted him to do before I requested it physically or verbally. Part of my work with him required that he slow down and respond to my physical impulses or words. At that time, they were more reliable than communicating psychically, simply because I didn’t read his bodymind as well as he read mine.

Deep communication occurred though words were not the best form. Normally, we didn’t share a common consciousness that I perceived. On one occasion, I was aware enough to meet him in a place common to both of us. It was an experience that could not be measured or defined, and it was not logical, yet it changed my life in positive and meaningful ways, and was a deeply fulfilling experience. The following description was translated into words immediately after the experience and recorded in my journal years ago:

"Sager, they say that you are an Anglo-Arab. They say that you are powerful, beautiful, sensitive and eager to learn. They say that you are an intelligent horse, a one-person horse. But, my friend, who are you really?

Was that you I felt tonight? Was that you who became me? Was that you who shared the wind with me and listened to the sounds of night? Was that you who was the sound of freedom, the sound of Mystery?

It was you. I know.

Tonight I didn’t take charge, the way you allow and wait for me to do in the day. I didn’t tell you what to do to define the moment. I listened and l felt. Everything was so quiet and still, the way it always is out there in the Arabian desert where you live. Everything was magical out there when only the cats are moving in the middle of the hot night.

They watched us, didn’t they, Sager? The other "horses" watched. They knew. They knew that for a few timeless moments we crossed the barriers. Yes, I could see your form. I could feel your soft coat. I could smell you the way I always do. But this time, it all occurred in my heart, a place that physically became as spacious as the universe. I could not feel my body. In my spaciousness I could hear your intelligence, your power, your intensity. No matter how far away you walked form me, you were still in my heartbodyspace, pulsating, pulsating, pulsating. My heart opened and became a beacon of light. It was no longer only mine; it was yours, too. We were the warm sand, the quiet breeze, the deep ocean beyond the dunes, and the wild cats lurking We were silence and the shadows that speak so intensely at night.

Sager, they say that you are a horse and I am a human being. They say that we are what we see. They say that there is a barrier between us when we touch, that we "stop." Tonight, neither of us "stopped." We continued. We were. Now, I will never be the same. You, who are so brilliant and observant, you are what sages and saints long to find. You are in service, yet free.

Someday, my beautiful friend, I will leave you and this desert land of Saudi Arabia and never see you again. When I do, my heart my well break. But, I will always carry you with me, our moments of Divinity. All I had to do was wait for you, listen, breathe, and open my heart. All I had to do was believe. You are magnificent and beautiful, my friend. Sager, because we are one, does that mean that I am magnificent and beautiful, too? If it is true that I, too, am that magnificent and beautiful, will I always remember that, or will I shrink back into my self-consciousness?

But even though I may well forget my beauty and magnificence, even though I may forget who I am, even though I may stop loving myself, I will never forget you. When I do forget who I am, and it may happen again and again--when I do forget how to wait, listen, breathe, and open, it will be the memory of us that will save me. All I have to do is remember you and I will remember my sacred essence. Beauty will save me. It will save the world. Thank you Sager, my friend, my teacher. "

Beauty is our teacher. When we come to realize that the brilliant and breathtaking sunset that we love so much, the colors that release our tears of joy is also a sun in the heavens that is loving us back as much as we love it, when we can know that reciprocity of perception is true, we may have embraced self-love.

Self-love is a celebrations of beauty. Making love is a celebration of beauty. It is not enough to open our arms and legs and mouth to our lovers. We must be willing and brave enough to love who we are. We must be willing to crack open the limiting whispers of consciousness that convince us that we are something less than beautiful. Otherwise, our sex is quick and unconscious, even if it is orgasmic. Shame is allowed to thrive in the trembling inner thighs. From there it silently creeps into the moist and warm sacred cave, anaesthetizing and shrinking its victim as it multiplies. Her sacred cave then becomes her terrorized tomb.