The definition of Mytho-poetic says it’s a men’s therapeutic approach to mental health that has Jungian roots. Ditch the gender requirement. Being a devout mytho-poetic person is the only thing that keeps me sane.
I recently wrote a piece on perspective framing for animals trainers if you are unfamiliar with this idea. I became aware of this framing concept a few weeks ago, but now I wonder how I lived so long without it? It comes from Cognitive Behavior Therapy ideas if you want to Google it.
One of the Jungian principles is that one should always seek to resolve conflicts in their awareness by holding the conflicting frames so close together that a transcendent frame can emerge that encompasses both sides of the conflict. People are getting better than they used to be about having multiple points of view simultaneously. I am getting really good at doing something and not doing it at the same time.
Right now we seem to be living in a pressure cooker. I dare say you are feeling it too. There is an intense need to do something, but every which way is blocked. The pressure is building. It is taking it’s toll on everyone… or maybe it’s just me. Trying desperately to make something happen, but blocked. The steam is building up.
Government shut down, so we can’t negotiate for horses. The Mustang Heritage Foundation closes shop for the duration. Maybe they will reopen the adoption program, maybe not. My promised 200 horses have escaped. I am despondent.
Kathleen Kraft calls and is interested in leasing her place on the hill. Buck up, Camper! This is movement in the right direction. We meet for lunch in Bernalillo. We can have all 250 acres of her ranch for $750 a month. We know we have to do it, if we can. We draft a lease and send it to her for review.
Days go by. I get the check from Facebook and it brings the project funds to up over $12,000. Plenty to get started if we can just get horses. More days go by. I start sinking into despair and start planning a “drop-dead” date at which I will return all the major donations.
The government re-opens (short lived ray of hope), but the Mustang Heritage Foundation notifies everyone that they are not funding more TIP adoptions. No horses can be picked up in the foreseeable future. I feel my dream is about to die. John and I discuss alternate plans for our lives. We start thinking that going into a sustainability model might be good. We have social security and a good garden spot. That might be really nice.
Then the phone rings, it’s Sandy Webb. A very upbeat person, she explains that she is looking for somewhere for about 70 mustangs to go. I tell her that I have no room at the sanctuary. We keep talking because I can sense that these horses are kind of out of options. I keep thinking that I can’t just get involved with some crazy project when I need to be training BLM mustangs. I am kind of stuck in that frame so I don’t hear the message right away. I hang on the phone biting my lip while she continues talking.
These are the somewhat famous Placitas Horses that were placed in a sanctuary about 3 years ago. They went to 300 acres on the San Felipe Reservation, but now they are getting kicked off as of February 19th. The tribe will give them to the BLM. These horses are famous. They have been at the center of wild horse rights for decades. There has been a lot of money spent on litigating their fate. They have drained peoples bank accounts. The BLM might just sell them to kill buyers as that would be totally legal.
Standing there with the phone to my ear, my heart starts breaking for all the people that have gone to bat for these horses. I agree to do what I can.
I send out an email to the rescues. “Get ready to take in as many horses as you can. The Placitas horses are being removed from sanctuary.” I admit to myself that they probably won’t take more than a few.
Seventy wild horses and no place to go. CRAP, CRAP, CRAP! I try to go about my day. I start pulling the ice out of troughs and refilling the water. My mind wanders and frames slide together like a Venn diagram. Okay, I have an idea. I text Sandy to call me ASAP.
I don’t have any horses to train anyway, so I could take them all, train them and get them adopted, if we could raise the money to pay for it. It’s possible. It’s breaking up the herd and dispersing them, but it is keeping them from heading to Mexico to become horse burger. But by the next morning, it seems impossible. I am speaking at a conference on the 22nd. How can I get the horses before then? By the following day, I am thinking that the horse advocates aren’t going to let the horses be separated. I start sinking into despair, which I try to counter by making a budget.
I don’t know if that helps, but it keeps a person busy for a while. I have four versions: one version is the get-out-of-mustang-training version that focuses on liquidation; a second version is training 30 BLM horses here; a third version involves moving to the Tucumcari ranch and training 70 BLM horses (that’s the one that makes a little money). The final version models moving to the ranch and training 70 Placitas horses. It would cost under $50k to pull that off with volunteer labor. It can be done.
Sandy calls and asks if I could prepare a budget. I smile.
Well, training the Placitas horses would certainly catapult us to fame (or notoriety). It’s not a done deal, but it’s where I seem to be headed at this point. And not heading at the same time!
3 thoughts on “Cycles of Despair”
Holding your time of discernment in prayer, as well as these horses. I wonder if, perhaps, you need to save the ones in front of you and trust that as long as you keep going in the direction you feel called it will lead to where you need to be.
I’m admittedly an optimist, but I truly believe that everything will work out. Of course it’s not smooth going. It’s a hell of a big endeavor. Just keep that same open attitude and hang in there for the good things that will come to you.
I think most of the people I consider friends are optimists. Everything will work out with us going or not going. There are pluses and minuses to EVERYTHING. Thanks for the love!