Listening to Horses: Carolyn’s Experience of an EEC Workshop

Carolyn with Horse Partner Fifty / Photo Credits to Paula Lima

“I recently attended the Equine Experiential Connection (EEC) Program at the LongRun farm in Erin, and although I expected to spend a wonderful day with horses, I had no idea I was about to experience something that would profoundly change the way I see them...and myself.

Having spent years around horses, including exercising thoroughbred yearlings and showing quarter horses at the farm in my younger days, I thought I knew them well. Looking back, I realized that while I loved them deeply, I never truly acknowledged them as individuals with their own feelings, sensitivities, and boundaries. I hugged them, admired them, and told them they were beautiful, but I also ignored the subtle language they were constantly speaking. A swishing tail, pinned ears, stomping feet, or a snort rarely caused me to pause. I simply tacked up and rode, never considering that they might be uncomfortable, anxious, or simply not wanting to leave the safety of their stall. It wasn't intentional. It was simply what I had been taught, and what I had never questioned.

That changed during this workshop.

Our group consisted of six women, each from different backgrounds and life experiences, yet there was an unmistakable warmth among us. We shared pieces of our stories and quickly recognized something familiar with one another.

Kindred souls have a way of finding each other.

My only expectation for the day was to enjoy the peaceful, beautiful LongRun farm in Erin and spend time with these magnificent retired thoroughbreds. I arrived with an open mind and no idea what was ahead.

Our first exercise took place in complete silence. We entered the barn and were invited to visit each horse in its own stall, simply being present without speaking or asking anything of them. The invitation was to connect, not through words or touch, but through quiet awareness.

It was a powerful beginning.

Later, each of us entered the arena individually with the horse we had connected with. My partner was Sugar Ray, whom I can only describe as a giant puppy with the sweetest personality.

The purpose of the exercise was to observe the horse as a reflection of ourselves, and ourselves as reflected in the horse.

I honestly thought Sugar Ray had no interest in me. He seemed completely absorbed in trying to nudge open the arena gate with his nose, and I assumed he simply wanted to leave and return to his stall. I stood quietly in the centre, trying not to interrupt him. I wasn't reading him at all.

Our facilitator, Alexandra, gently explained that Sugar Ray's behaviour wasn't about escaping. It was connected to me. He was mirroring my behaviour. I am very uncomfortable in social situations and usually will back away rather than get involved. But, at that moment, something shifted. I felt an unmistakable connection in my heart. In my mind's eye, I saw the image of a large golden heart connected by an almost invisible cord to a smaller one. To me, it felt like a quiet message that a connection had begun, but there was still much more for me to learn.

Almost immediately, another memory surfaced. I was transported back to my younger years riding through the field at a farm I helped out at. I remembered dismounting in the middle of the field, sitting alone on a sun-warmed rock while my horse grazed peacefully nearby. That place has remained with me throughout my life. It is still the place my mind returns to during meditation. Somehow, standing beside Sugar Ray brought me home to that memory.

Watching the experiences of the others in our group was equally moving. One participant radiated such kindness, innocence, and unconditional love that I found myself captivated by the interaction between her and her horse. It seemed as though the horse simply couldn't get close enough to her gentle spirit. As I watched, I perceived a soft golden light surrounding her, and it perfectly reflected the love and peace she carried within herself. It was a beautiful moment, not only for her, but for all of us who witnessed it.

Before leaving for the day, we walked out to the pasture one last time to quietly observe the horses and say goodbye. Once again, we were asked not to speak, but simply to watch and listen.

For someone who enjoys conversation, silence doesn't always come easily. Yet standing there, listening to the gentle rhythm of horses peacefully grazing, the soft sound of grass being pulled from the earth, the occasional whicker, and the contented sigh of a horse completely at ease, I found myself settling into a calm I hadn't expected.

The setting itself felt magical. Fluffy white clouds drifted overhead while the horses wandered through the lush green pasture, completely at peace in their own world. I wished I could have stayed there forever.

Then something happened that I didn't expect. One of the horses quietly left the herd and walked directly toward me.

This time, I didn't seek the connection. He did.

He stood beside me, inviting me to scratch behind his ears and gently stroke his neck. I couldn't resist giving him a few affectionate smooches. Earlier, I noticed a feather lying in the grass. On impulse, I picked it up and softly brushed it over his face and around his ears. He closed his eyes ever so slightly and seemed to enjoy every gentle stroke.

By the end of the day, I was mentally and emotionally exhausted, but in the most wonderful way.

This workshop wasn't about learning to communicate with horses. It was about learning to listen, to observe, and to experience.

The horses asked nothing of us except honesty and presence. They reflected our energy without judgment and reminded us of something our busy lives often cause us to forget: authentic connection begins when we stop trying to control every moment and simply allow ourselves to be present.

Leaving our phones behind while working with the horses became one of the day's greatest gifts. For a few precious hours, there were no distractions, no notifications, and no pressure to perform. Just nature, silence, remarkable horses, and ourselves.

As Eurico beautifully said:

"You surrender to the horse. You're with the horse in a beautiful way. There's no judgment, just silence. The horse will find a way to tell you what you need to know to resolve inside yourself. And it's life changing."

I couldn't agree more.

I believe every person, whether they have horse experience or not, could benefit from a day like this. We have become disconnected from nature, from stillness, and often from ourselves. The Equine Experiential Connection Program through LongRun offers a rare opportunity to slow down, listen deeply, and rediscover something many of us didn't even realize we'd lost.

Some experiences come into our lives exactly when they're meant to. For me, this was one of them.”

Author's Note

Some lessons arrive through words. Others arrive through silence.

The horses reminded me that listening is not something we do with our ears alone, but with our hearts. If this story encourages even one person to pause, observe more closely, and meet a horse with greater understanding and respect, then it has served its purpose.

With gratitude to every horse and every person who has been part of my journey.

Carolyn D'Orazio