Category — Horses

Healing B With Intention

“Is he going blind?”

“Yes, he’s going blind.”

The equine eye vet had just finished examining my horse, Snow Blessed (or B, as I call him). I held B’s head in my arms and caressed his face.”He has Moon  Blindness, cataracts, and Squamous Cell Carcinoma in his left eye. There’s also the beginning of the carcinoma in his right eye.”

As the vet explained to me the various healing options, I thought of one I had experienced with success: Healing With Intention. Intention is like prayer: When two or more people send the same healing intent continuously — for five, ten, or fifteen minutes — healing does occur.

I’ve experienced it first-hand in my own healing work with animals. It’s also been proven scientifically in the work of Lynne McTaggart (The Intention Experiment) and Masaru Emoto (The Hidden Messages in Water).

Healing with Intention creates miracles.

Want to try?

I am hosting a healing intention for B during one of the most sacred times in our lives: the Winter Solstice of 2012. As we prepare to celebrate the opening of a new time, as well as the birthday of the master healer Jesus, you and I will set aside just five minutes a day to make sure Snow Blessed continues to see the moon.

And here’s how we’ll do it: Starting on December 10, for five minutes a day, we’ll repeat a simple healing intention for B.

And let the miracle unfold.

Location:           Wherever you are

When:                Each day December 10 thru December 21 2012

Time:                 12:25 PM EST for 5 Minutes

Who:                  All of us

What:                 Repeat the following phrase for five minutes:

“The eyes of Snow Blessed are healthy, clear, and healed, now and across all time.”

This is simple: Just repeat the phrase, like you’re singing your favorite song, the one you love. Please leave your comments, and let me know if you decide to participate.

Snow Blessed, aka "B"

Snow Blessed, aka "B"


December 8, 2012   23 Comments

Frozen Bo

“Your eyes have died but you see more than I”
Elton John, “Daniel”

As I was carrying the five-gallon water pails toward the barn door, Kris led Bo past me. I turned to look at him, then set the water buckets down. He walked slowly, and his butt shivered and shook like an out-of-balance washing machine. I left the water buckets and followed Kris into the stall.

Kris is my shift lead at the horse rescue on Sunday mornings, and Bo is her horse. He is blind, and very sensitive to touch. He is nervous when I approach: he sways his long neck back and forth as if testing the air, feeling which way I’ll move, testing to see what my intentions are. When I try to touch him, he backs away.

I walked right up to him. “I’ve got towels in the van to dry him off,” Kris said. And she left to get them. It had rained the day before—a cold, hard rain—and overnight the rain had turned to snow. Bo stays outside; in a stall he digs small craters in the dirt and circles ceaselessly to his left. The open air brings him peace.

But he now he was shaking, cold, and wet. Short icicles hung from his mane. As Bo lowered his head to eat the straw on the stall floor, I put my left hand on his right hip. Still quivering and shaking, he didn’t back away. I put my right hand on his chest, up against his heart. I breathed in, and he didn’t move.

For a second I thought, “Joe, what are you doing? This is a thousand-pound blind animal in a 12×15 foot space. Do you know what you’re doing?”

But I ignored that voice, and pressed hard into him with both hands. Very hard. I poured the warmth from my body into his. Bo didn’t move at all, he simply kept eating. But knew it wouldn’t be enough.

I silently called to Sun Into Earth. She is an older Native woman, this guide of mine, with black and gray hair and a quiet voice. She lives in the desert. When I found her recently she said to me, “We’re so glad you’ve come home.”

“What do I do now?” I asked her.

“Breathe the fire into him,” she said. And she sent me the image of rings of fire. And suddenly I knew what to do.

I gathered my breath, and pictured five rings of fire lined up in front me. Then, one by one, I blew each ring of fire straight into Bo’s body. I started at his chest and worked my way down to his shaking rear end. Each ring went inside of him and spun around, like a fiery chakra.

Bo was beginning to relax, I could feel it. But there was one more thing to do. And it came to me, too.

The day before I had attended Deborah King’s seminar at Asilomar via computer video feed. I had felt the power coming from that seminar room: many powerful souls both there in California and around the world, in the same moment, all working together to heal.

To me it felt like the power coming from a hospital generator. I wanted that power with me in that cold stall; I wanted to release that power straight into Bo.

I simply pictured Deborah up on the stage at Asilomar, and I felt the power surging through her hand as she held it in the air. Then I brought that image forward, bending time to meet me and Bo in the stall. That powerhouse of energy from Deborah and her students simply came forward into the present.

There was no past, no future. Only Bo and me and Asilomar.

I took that energy, that hospital generator, and pressed it straight into Bo’s quivering chest. After a minute or two he lifted his head up to look at me, and I placed my right hand flat above his opaque eyes. Bo, always nervous around my hands, stared quietly into the palm I held a few inches above his beautiful face.

He saw something I couldn’t, he focused on a vision completely hidden from me. I kept my palm directly above his deep, soul-filled eyes as the energy poured into his face.

Then he stopped shaking.

If you liked this article, please share it on Twitter and Facebook. You can read more about the work Joe does with dogs and other animals by clicking here.

December 17, 2010   1 Comment

Lucky Day

Two women approached as I played with my Appaloosa on a clear Sunday morning. ‘We’ve come to see Lucky,” the younger one said. “This is my mother. Lucky was hers.”

I didn’t know why Lucky had ended up at the rescue, and I never asked. The hardest days since the Great Depression had come to Ohio, and many horses were surrendered to rescues, auctioned for slaughter in Mexico, or simply taken to the state park and released.

Lucky lay on his side a few yards from me, breathing in the golden sunshine. He was old and tired, and loved to stretch out in the grass.


These would be Lucky’s last days in the sun. He would suffer too much during the coming winter, and even he seemed to know he wouldn’t live till the first snow.

A few minutes later, while playing hide-the-carrot with my horse, I glanced over at the two ladies. The older woman had laid her head on her daughter’s shoulder; tears slid down her cheeks.

Seeing the two women like this reminded of the day I had stopped to visit Lucky in his stall. He had pushed his entire neck through the gap in the stall bars, and laid his head on my shoulder. Just like the older woman was doing now with her daughter.


Three weeks later, Kathy stood in the pasture alongside the pond. She was the volunteer who had cared for Lucky most faithfully: she talked to him, led him from the pasture to the barn, and fed him the mints he loved. She had given up a day of work to be with him now.

When Kathy and I had spoken the night before, I told her what Lucky had said. He wanted Kathy with him, but he didn’t want her to cry. “Tell her to look me in the eye,” he said. Then I told her how to open his chakras so his spirit could more easily pass.

She was ready.

Kathy watched as the vet prepared the tube that would go into Lucky’s neck. Sundance lay on his side nearby, his turn already come.

The vet placed the big needle into the open end of the tube, and pressed down on the plunger. Lucky’s front legs crumpled, and his head bounced hard off the ground. Blood spat from his mouth. Then he lay quietly on his side, no longer breathing.

The vet and two other women from the rescue left so Kathy could be alone with Lucky.

She knelt by his side and, with her open palm, drew a counterclockwise circle above each of his chakras. Then she stretched out alongside him and placed her head on his face. And talked quietly to him.

His eyes, she saw, were clear and alive, as if he were still breathing. She kept talking to him, telling him how happy he was going to be now. Then she saw it.

His head popped out of the body first.

Brown yet translucent, Lucky looked straight at Kathy as if he himself were surprised. Then the rest of him came out of his old body and stood a few feet off the ground in front of her.

He looked young and strong and muscular. And he kicked his legs to show Kathy they were no longer the old and feeble ones that would barely hold his weight.

For a minute or two Lucky took joy in showing off his young, strong body. Then he looked at Kathy, turned, and galloped off.

Before she left Kathy looked into the eyes of his dead body—they were as hard as marble.

“I wasn’t shocked,” Kathy told me afterwards. “But it was an experience I’ll never forget.”

She thanked me, and said she couldn’t have done it without me. But I hadn’t really done anything.

She and the old brown horse had made their own luck that day, the two of them together.

If you liked this article, please share it on Twitter and Facebook. You can read more about the work Joe does with dogs and other animals by clicking here.

December 8, 2010   4 Comments

Calling A Horse To You…The Ancient Way

The morning after Thanksgiving, I was at the horse rescue dragging 200 feet of water hose to one of the troughs.  A day of hard rain on the holiday, followed by a night of temperatures in the twenties, had  frozen the heavy-duty hose as stiff as a cable.

I reached the fence to the pasture where fifteen horses stood eating hay. I ran the hose through the fence and into the trough, then walked over to the black metal gate that keeps the horses in the pasture.

I saw him sixty yards away, eating hay. “B,” I yelled across the wet, muddy field. “Come here, B.”

My Appaloosa lifted his head and started at me, his ears up tall and straight as a German Shepherd’s. Then he lowered his nose back into the hay on the ground. He heard me, but the hay must have tasted sweet. I could wait.

“Ok, B,” I said to myself. “Now we’ll do it my way.”

I looked straight up into the clear blue sky, then lowered my eyes, closing them slightly. I brought my arms straight down and faced the palms flat toward him. Breathing in once, I gathered energy from the sun and brought it in. Then I began, never saying a word aloud.

“B, it’s Dad. I’m here at the gate. I have cut up apples for you. I want you to be with me. Come now, and I’ll open the gate.”

Then I sent two waves of blue energy from my hands across the open field, cross-crossing each other, dancing, playing along the way. The waves of energy wrapped around his chest and shoulders and went straight into his heart, connecting us both. “I’m here now, B,” I said silently.

I looked up. He didn’t move. Must not be working this time, I thought to myself. I moved over to the water trough to make sure the hose would stay in it before I walked back to the barn. As I turned to leave I saw him twenty yards away and closing.

“B,” I yelled to him, “can’t you walk any faster than that!” My heart filled with joy. I opened the gate and he walked through, shoving his nose straight into my chest. He wanted those apples.

I spent most of the morning hauling hoses across fields, and he followed me everywhere. Wanting his apples, of course. And me just wanting to be with him.

When I finished my chores we walked together on the gravel road that runs through the property. He stayed with me, never leaving.

No one taught me how to call him this way. We both must have remembered it from before, when we were together in Nevada a long, long time ago.

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November 27, 2010   Comments Off on Calling A Horse To You…The Ancient Way

Black Jack Bleeds Red:

Animal Reiki On An Injured Horse

Black Jack stood trembling and bleeding in his stall at the horse rescue. The brown-haired woman standing next to me had just brought him in from a night spent in the pasture. “It must have been the mares,” she said. “Maybe he tried to mount them.”

I stared at the triangle-shaped cut on his chest. I looked down and saw blood coming out of his right front leg, just above the hoof. “Would he do that?” I asked her.

Black Jack had been gelded; I knew that. But the woman standing next to me understood more about horses than I probably ever will. There had to be an explanation for his injuries…so I waited for hers.

“It depends on how late they’re gelded,” she said. If it’s late, they could still have the urge.” The brown-haired woman nodded toward Black Jack. “The mare may have broken his jaw. It doesn’t look right.”

I hesitated for a few seconds while I tried to talk myself out of what I would do next. No one at the horse rescue knew that I performed energy healing—Reiki—on animals. I was just a simple volunteer who mucked stalls and filled water buckets every Sunday morning.

Easier to stay quiet and not raise questions, I told myself.

But I had spent two years training to become a Reiki master, one who specialized in healing animals. And that blood coming out of Black Jack sparkled as red as summer tomato. His jaw quivered as he tried to eat the straw lying near his feet.

I opened the door to his stall and walked in.

“What are you going to do?” asked the high school girl standing near to the brown-haired woman.

“Reiki. I’m going to do Reiki on him.”

“What’s that?” the high school girl asked. The brown-haired woman focused directly on my eyes but said nothing. She had the same question.

I took a deep breath. Black Jack stood over eighteen hands tall, and his coat was as shiny and black as freshly poured asphalt. I had admired this horse ever since I first saw him.

I didn’t know how to explain what I was doing, or why. I just wanted to get to work.

“It helps heal injuries,” I told her. Then she didn’t say anything more, and neither did I. The girl and the brown-haired woman just stood and watched.

I raised my hands and opened my palms flat toward Black Jack. The smell of urine and manure filled my chest. His glassy black eyes stared downward toward the floor, like a flag resting at half-mast.

I pleaded with St. Francis for his help: I had done energy healing on many animals before, but never on one injured like this.

Then I became quiet and let the healing energy flow.

After a minute or two Black Jack raised his head and stared at my hands. As if he were trying to figure out what I held in my palms. He shifted his weight onto his three good legs, and pressed his nose into my left hand.

I felt him take a deep breath in.

I look at the tall horse’s hurt leg—now it was quivering like a fish struggling on a line. “Look at his leg,” I said to the high school girl.

She smiled and said, “Yes.” Somehow I knew what to do next.

I took a step closer to Black Jack. In turn he shuffled to his right and pressed his right side deep into my hands.

Now I was matching my breath to his, filling my lungs the moment he filled his, emptying my lungs when he breathed out. The triangle-shaped cut glistened against his sighing chest.

We stood together like that—breathing together, the warm energy flowing—for maybe ten minutes. But I don’t remember for sure. Because it felt like time had stopped, or maybe like we had stepped outside of time.

When he’d had enough Reiki, he quietly shuffled away from me and stood next to the window in his stall. The morning sun streamed around the steel bars encasing the window and bounced off his long, black neck.

Just before I left, I gently put my hand on his shoulder. And for a few seconds, we talked to each other in a language that few humans ever hear.

Then I slid the stall door shut behind me and went back to filling water buckets.

If you liked this article, please share it on Twitter and Facebook. You can read more about the work Joe does with dogs and other animals by clicking here.

June 8, 2010   1 Comment

Komatsu Goodbye

The man swung the trailer’s metal ramp onto the muddy ground. As he nodded good morning to me, I saw the word “Excavating” on the driver’s door of his bright red truck. He unchained the yellow Komatsu backhoe, and backed it down the ramp.

Behind me I heard horses in the barn calling for their morning grain. I finished dumping the five-gallon water bucket and, before going back inside, looked across the pasture to my left. A hundred yards away, on the other side of the pond, lay a large brown heap; I couldn’t see his form clearly, but I knew it was him.

“I just wanted to let you know,” another volunteer told me earlier that morning, “Dozer died last night. Grass got stuck in his throat and swelled it up. The vet said it was a chronic condition, his throat swelling up. He was surprised it hadn’t happened before. Your daughters haven’t seen him in the field yet, have they?”

“I won’t tell them,” I promised her. My children had seen death before, but I saw no reason to make them cry. And now, as the Komatsu trundled toward the pasture’s gate, I heard them laughing and playing in the barn. I felt a few drops coming down from the quiet gray sky. “Girls,” I told them when I went back inside, “just play in the barn today. It’s starting to rain.”

The next time I went outside to dump a water bucket I saw the large teeth of the Komatsu’s bucket arc toward the sky, then drive deep into the earth. I tried to remember what Dozer had looked like: brown and powerful, he towered over me in his stall. But now the mound of earth the Komatsu had dug up stood higher than that lifeless horse. I left the backhoe to its work, and went back inside to clean stalls.

When I last saw the yellow Komatsu it was moving slowly toward the gate, its job done.  I looked across the pasture past the backhoe but saw only one large mound of brown dirt. The big brown horse was gone.

I said goodbye to Dozer, and slipped the hood of my jacket on against the rain. There were many other horses to care for that morning, all of them still standing.

If you liked this article, please share it on Twitter and Facebook. You can read more about the work Joe does with dogs and other animals by clicking here.

April 19, 2010   Comments Off on Komatsu Goodbye