Arrival Day
Imagination and identity
“Because your imagination transcends time, it is one of your greatest touchstones to your own identity.” Jane Roberts/Seth
I have an Inner House.
Tucked into a hillside above the Pacific Ocean, it overlooks a wide beach and the setting sun. All of the humans who reside in the Inner House ride the Inner Horses along miles of flat sand with our Inner Dogs, who lope along and roll in dead fish. There is a headland nearby that curves to create a perfect left break where we surf and swim.
The House is long and low, with a deep porch and wide windows that face the waves. Inside are photographs, sculpture, and hand-woven rugs. Laughter and talking come from the Inner Library, which is the heart of the House. My Inner Selves are there. The Three-Year-Old runs and jumps into my arms. She wraps her legs around my waist, and I carry her on my hip as I greet everyone. The Twelve-Year-Old is lying on a sheepskin rug on the floor. She is reading a favorite book: The Treasure of the Isle of Mist or The Dark is Rising. The Fifteen-Year-Old has her bare feet on the warm hearth of the wood fireplace and is eating an apple with slices of sharp cheddar cheese. She is humming to herself and trying to figure out how to do circular breathing. Jim is on the couch, reading. Sheila is in a chair near the fire, also reading.
The Inner Library is crammed, floor-to-ceiling, with thousands of books in built-in bookshelves. At the far end of the Library, at the very center of the House, is a huge desk. Behind the desk is Uncle Guardian, who is writing in longhand in a leather journal. He watches over my Inner Young Selves and the House itself.
I began to create my Inner House many years ago as part of a therapy known as EMDR. I needed, my then-therapist told me, a safe mental place I could retreat to when my memories got too overwhelming and I panicked. What began as an exercise has become a reality. My Inner House is as real to me as you are; its sense and place-ness are as felt and experienced as the physical bed with flannel sheets I sleep in each night, the dark roast coffee with unsweetened soy milk I drink each morning.
The Inner House changes, as I change, but the fact of the House is unalterable. And as I move through time as I experience it in this life and body, the House becomes more detailed, more clear, and more, well…more me.
Five years ago, when horses were not part of my life, there was not the huge Inner Pasture that stretches from the back of the House towards the woods to the east, and expands south as far as I can see. Five years ago, there was not a barn, with an open-plan arrangement where the Horses can enter and leave as they will. Five years ago, there was not an enormous redwood tree in the center of the Pasture and there were no birds, no animals at all except my four deceased dogs. There were no fish in the ocean, no clouds or storm or snow.
The Inner Horses brought rich life to my inner world. I was not conscious of this fact until recently, but in the past four years and eleven months, my Inner House, really my Inner World, has been transformed by the addition of these potent beings, as my outer world also has bloomed with life and love from the presence of equines.
My earliest horses were the first of the Inner Horses: Tiki. Terry. Twilight. Shadowlight. Then, as I began to engage more and more horses, and as they began to shed their corporeal bodies, they arrived. Kitty, Cinco, Axel, Aesir, Faith, Toby, Aspen, Mack, Will, Enzo, Georgie, Subie, Sparks, Lionel, Lena. I’ve worked on their bodies, or ridden them, or sat with them. Some I was close to, some I had just one or two contact points with. But they died, and they came to my House and have spread out in small horse families across the huge Pasture. They enjoy perfect browse and clean water from the stream. They move under a bright night sky and in warm sun. They roll and sleep deeply, forever safe and loved, and all the humans in my Inner Home watch the shifting, kaleidoscope Herd.
There is no time in my Inner House. Or, perhaps it is more accurate to say: all time is one time, there.
I actually do not perceive time as merely sequential, especially when I consider my memories. If I bring my 12-year-old self to the forefront of consciousness, she is right here, right now. I can feel the shape of her body and her worry about the shape of her body and her raucous giggle and the way she likes to do somersaults down grassy hillsides, with our dog Heidi leaping over her tumbling body and nipping at her butt.
All my time is this time. There is no division between the Katy of my childhood and the Katrina of my current moment. There is a sneaky amusement in being 12 when I have gray hair. That Katy could not have imagined what my body feels like at 60, nor could she have imagined what it is like to live in a consciousness that enjoys the hell out of its relationship with itself. She had no idea of the sweet pleasure to be found in loving yourself. (I know also I am 90 years old, reading this post and chuckling at everything I do not know, in this time that is all time and no time.)
A few days ago a horse dear to me and many others died from colic. Sally, a stately black Clydesdale, was the kind of horse who stuck out a hoof with a smile. Hi! My name’s Sally! Who are you? The horse never met a stranger, and was one of the most delightful equines of my acquaintance. [In September I wrote about Sally here: Opening.]
I burst into tears at the news of Sally’s death, even though I know horses die and the number-one cause of death in domestic horses is colic. My sharp loss and grief were due to how very special big Sally was in her time on this side. How, in her last job as a therapy horse, she helped so many humans feel better in their bodies. How, in her role as my teacher, she showed me a pathway towards greater empathy and expanded my abilities to help horses feel better in their bodies.
During meditation, I invited Sally to come live with the other Inner Horses, and everyone in the Inner House decided we needed to begin the practice of having Arrival Day for each horse who has left his or her body on this plane and moved on to the next reality. Sally’s Arrival Day was 17 December 2025.
Arrival Day is special. Each Horse arrives and is in glowing good health. We braid flowers and ribbons into shining manes and tails. Each Arrival Horse is given all of their favorite treats—as many peppermints, mangos, bananas, apples, and carrots as they want, because in my Inner House there is no need to fear metabolic disorders or gut health or colic. The Arrived Horses will forever remain in perfect, happy health.
Everyone in my Inner House gathered to greet large and lovely Sally, who, true to her nature, greeted each in return with a massive white nose in the face and a gust of warm horse breath. Each of us expressed joy and awe and gratitude for her presence in our Home. We told Sally how she affected us and others. We celebrated Sally’s life with stories and admiration. We encouraged the black mare to bask in pride about what she had accomplished in her 20 years of Earth-life. We scratched her favorite itchy spots and leaned against her sides and felt her huge heart. We loved Sally and felt her love for us. We took many pictures of her Arrival Day party, with everyone getting a special photo with the guest of honor, and we put them up around the Inner House.
Then we took Sally out to the Inner Pasture, where Finney, glowing deep gold and radiant with black dapple, was waiting for her. There was no tension between mare and gelding. They breathed into each other, her huge black head meeting his smaller golden one. They blinked, together, communicating ease and peace.
Finn, that powerful soul-being who transcends place and time, turned and walked into the Pasture, with Sally following. In the distance, the Inner Herd waited to greet the Arrived mare.
Watching, all of my younger Selves smiled. “Can I ride her some day?” the 12-year-old asked, eager, and I saw Sally glance over her shoulder at us as she walked away. Her thick lips were relaxed and curved, and she smiled with a soft-eared, confident, and friendly expression on her white-blazed face. We heard and felt the loving pulse that is the signature of that particular equine:
OF COURSE
and then she was with the Inner Herd, being greeted and acknowledged. Sally dropped her great head to the grass, perfect ease in every line of her huge body, and began to graze.
Welcome, Sally.
That said, if you like the writing and want to support horses, you might want to join our Prodigious Pledger Herd. Every dollar you pledge will go to support an organization that supports horses. We will choose the organization in November and donate our hard-earned dollars in December of each year. You can check out my Substack About page for more information.
I love to hear from you, so feel free to give me a shout by clicking the “Message Katrina” button in the app or online. It might take some time, but I promise I will respond.
Thanks for being a Substack reader.
TO THE HORSE!
Thank you for sharing your amazing insights and beautiful connections to all the realms! And the artwork as well!!
I’m 83 years old-after reading this, I’m starting construction on my inner house. Thank you for sharing this beautiful idea!