Following the Shadow to Survive
Animal Cruelty in Oaxaca, February 2024
It was a hot and dry summer day in Oaxaca City. I was driving through unfamiliar streets, a little lost in navigation, when I noticed a calf tied up on the side of the road.
I stopped the car right there and looked at him. He was standing in the only shadow he could find on that burning-hot day—a small patch of shade offering the only relief from the heat. My heart sank into my stomach.
“I’m not made for this,” was my first thought.
The second: “I don’t think anyone is, if they see what I see.”
And third: “I know—not everyone sees the way I do, not everyone allows their heart to be pierced by something like this. Certainly not the one who tied him up here.”
But maybe you do. Maybe you’re someone who feels with the heart, who senses life in a deeper way. If so, I hope this story reaches that part of you—touches your pain, your quiet knowing, and helps loosen the grip of beliefs that were never truly yours.
Because even in the midst of this cruelty, what I saw was a powerful soul—his deep instinct to survive, his quiet wisdom to stand exactly where he was: in the one place that offered even a trace of safety. That little piece of shadow was the best spot he could find, and he took it. Isn’t there something so deeply dignified about it?
Reading time: 9 Minutes
A Yes to Life
This little calf reminded me of a book I read many years ago: Viktor Frankl’s Yes to Life. It speaks to the human capacity to find meaning, even in the face of unimaginable suffering. Frankl, a Holocaust survivor, writes about how our ability to endure often doesn’t depend on the circumstances themselves, but on whether we can locate some deeper sense of purpose—especially in the midst of pain and darkness.
His words are a quiet but powerful reminder that even within the most limited conditions, there is still a kind of freedom: the freedom to choose how we relate to what is, what we see, and what we hold on to.
If you’ve read a few of my blog posts, you already know—nature is my greatest teacher. Not through grand gestures, but through the quiet intelligence of observation. I watch what doesn’t work, and I look to nature for clues on how it may be done differently. That practice keeps me grounded. It helps me accept what needs to be accepted, and gently care for what wants to change.
The following little story is about what happens when we are set free—and why freedom alone isn’t always enough. It’s about the invisible ropes of our false beliefs, and how easily we stay within the limits of what we’ve always known. These beliefs are built to help us survive, but at some point, surviving isn’t enough—at least not for me.
Breaking them is what allows us to thrive, to love, and to find meaning—not just in the story we’ve lived, but in the one we are still capable of becoming.
What a Horse Taught Me About Healing
Pavones Costa Rica, January 2021
Five years ago, I lived in Costa Rica, Pavones. A little Surftown right at the Border of Pananma. We lived only 50 steps from the ocean—literally. I spent my days barefoot, in a bikini, walking the same path each morning with my dog Fatou to the beach. It was a slow, sun-drenched life, surrounded by wildness.
Pavones has wild horses. They live free on the beach. Sometimes you’d see them galloping along the shoreline, other times bathing in the river.
I had never lived anywhere so close to nature. I could simply observe—horses, guacamayas, the way everything moved, unbothered, belonging. And the longer I stayed disconnected from civilization, the more my perception began to shift.
My eyes changed.
I started to see more—with my heart.
One day, I took a different path to the beach and saw a horse tied to a palm tree. The first day, I just walked by, noticing. The second day, I chose the path again on purpose and walked a little closer. The horse was standing in the shade, and something about its posture struck me—fatigued, sad, resigned.
On the third day, I passed again. And this time, I could feel it—this silent, desperate plea pouring from every part of its body: Help me. I’m miserable.
By the fourth day, I brought a bucket of water and two carrots. The horse struggled to eat the carrots, though it really tried. But the water was gone in two minutes. I had never seen a horse drink like that—sucking it in with such urgency, as if it hadn’t known relief in days.
I felt awful. No one was taking care of it—not the way it needed. It was tied up, neglected, left in a state that felt more like abandonment than care.
It’s hard to describe what this did to me. There was a deep ache in my chest, like a door to something infinite had swung open—a dungeon of loneliness and despair I couldn’t unsee.
The sadness was made sharper by the contrast: the wild horses running free, just a few hundred meters away, and this one, confined, walking in small circles through the same strip of shade.
I began to watch it closely. It was always following the shadow of the palm trees, adjusting its position hour by hour, staying within the only relief the rope would allow.
Every day, the same path.
Every day, the same limitation.
After a few more days, I felt bold. I wanted to do something powerful for this horse—to make a difference. So one night, I returned and loosened the rope. I hoped something would change. That he’d sense his freedom. That maybe, he’d find the wild horses and … live happily ever after.
Well, I was naive to believe that freedom alone could create change.
Pain Feels Safer Than Freedom
Untied, he remained in the same spot, walking his familiar rhythm in the shade of the palm trees. It was as if nothing had changed.
The rope was gone, but it had already done its work. It had become his reality.
Eventually, his owner returned and tied him up again.
It’s like helping a friend struggling with addiction. You pay their bills, buy them clothes, get them a job… You think: Now they have the opportunity to turn their life around.
But it’s too much to handle. The structure is unfamiliar. The fear unbearable. And so they fall back into using—back to what they know.
And so it was for the horse.
And that, to me, is the perfect analogy for the false core beliefs we carry inside us.
When we grow up in a home where we’re taught—directly or silently—that we don’t matter, that we’re not good enough, or that love must be earned, something forms within us.
A belief. A rope.
And even when life gives us the chance to be free from it, we often stay exactly where we are—because we don’t know how to live without it.
We either don’t know it’s possible, or we fear the unknown more than the pain we’ve grown used to.
We choose the familiar discomfort over the risk of being wild and free.
So no, cutting the rope is not enough.
What that horse needed was something else entirely.
He needed to discover that a different life was possible—and more than that, that he was capable of living it.
He needed curiosity, compassion, and a whole lot of patience.
He needed someone to walk beside him, step by gentle step, to help him understand what freedom actually means.
And he needed to feel safe at every tiny step along the way.
And we humans are no different.
A person struggling with addiction might receive help—money, shelter, a job—but without the inner foundation, it’s just another rope cut too soon.
If they’ve never known their own potential, they won’t know how to inhabit that new life. They, too, need someone to walk beside them—to guide them with love, patience, and steadiness into a life they can’t yet imagine.
And it’s not just addiction. Even those who seem highly functional, who appear to have it all together, may still be circling their own invisible ropes.
They may not even know they’re tied.
Living Life Beyond Survival
That’s why the calf from the beginning of this story still moves me so deeply.
His instinct to survive, to find whatever shade he could, was beautiful. Wise. It was what kept him going when there was nothing else. And that’s very powerful.
But my longing in this life is not just survival.
I want to cut the ropes—my own, others’, and even those who tie up animals and don’t care for them. Even those who neglect and abuse their children. Even those who murder.
I want this freedom for everyone.
I want us to walk beside each other on our try to break free.
To guide with compassion, with patience, and with love.
Into a kind of freedom that doesn’t just remove the rope—but teaches the heart how to live without it.
I’ve had many moments in my life when someone walked beside me—patiently, step by step—guiding me out of false safety.
Am I living my full potential now?
No. I still catch myself in old beliefs that whisper, That’s not for you.
But that’s not the point.
The point is to keep seeing.
To recognize the dances we all do around old shadows.
And to gently encourage ourselves—and each other—toward freedom.
Pavones Costa Rica, Lisa & Fatou, March 2021
Thriving Means Facing Our Deepest Fears
For the little calf, nothing feels more dangerous than stepping into the sun.
Still tied, it would make him suffer deeply—maybe even die.
But when someone cuts the rope—and frees him—the only way out is to step into the sun and walk through what he’s most afraid of.
The panic is real…
But the rope isn’t.
And that’s why there is no way around the sun, the panic.
We have to go right through it.
And maybe, if you’re lucky, there will be someone right there beside you when you do.
It’s that presence—that encouragement—that quiet, persistent love that I believe will set us free.
We are here to witness. To love. And to grow.
Lisa’s Note
March 2021 in Pavones Costa Rica - “Little did I know.”
This story is not just about animals, or trauma, or belief systems.
It’s about the invisible threads that shape us, the ways we survive, and the quiet, brave steps it takes to live differently.
I wrote this as a way of understanding what I’ve witnessed—both in others and in myself. If something in these words touches a place in you that has felt tied, unseen, or afraid to step into the light… I want you to know you’re not alone.
We are all learning to unlearn. We are all walking our way toward freedom—sometimes slowly, sometimes with help, always in our own rhythm.
Thank you for meeting me here, with your heart open.
Always with courage,
Lisa
