Читать книгу Heart to Heart - Pea Horsley - Страница 12

So that is what brought me across a cold blue London, in the autumn of 2004, to sit in an uncomfortable plastic chair listening to Doctor Doolittle stories. When I imagined everyone else was having lazy Sunday lie-ins and croissants and getting their fix of The Archers.

Twenty people, mostly women, were sitting round in a large circle, with the teacher at the front of the room. He began to tell us how he’d found he could talk to animals. He said he’d realized he’d had this amazing magical power since he was a child, and as a teenager he’d often speak to horses and have conversations with them. What have I got myself into? I thought. He can talk to animals? No, that’s not right: no one can talk to animals, except Doctor Doolittle of course. Then he shared an emotional story of how his miraculous gift had helped a distraught animal and it wasn’t long before 19 people were crying.

And then there was me. Forgive me if I’m wrong, but isn’t this man telling us he actually speaks to animals, and, er, hears what they say back to him? It took all my will-power to stop myself from walking out. I was astonished, soaked head to foot in disbelief, yet everyone else seemed taken in. They must have been bewitched when they came in. Was I the only one who didn’t believe this con man?

By the time we’d reached lunchtime I was hungry and grumpy. I was even more sceptical than when I’d walked in at nine o’clock. The morning had been dominated by animal stories and a couple of ‘getting in touch with your senses’ exercises, but we hadn’t even glimpsed a cat or a dog, let alone talked to one.

During lunch, I made a beeline for the teacher. ‘We’ve got an awful lot to cover if we’re going to be speaking with animals this afternoon,’ I said.

He just smiled and carried on eating his vegetarian scotch egg.

Shortly after lunch I was pleased to see my words had had some effect. We were put into pairs and told to swap the photos that we’d brought of our animals at home. So my partner had a photo of my cat, Texas, and I had a photo of her … well, I didn’t know what. I was given the photo face down and told to guess what animal was in the picture.

How the heck am I supposed to know? I felt foolish and awkward. As much as I didn’t believe in all this hocus-pocus, I didn’t want to make a fool of myself in front of such a large group of strangers, and because my childhood passion had always been animals, there was a part of me that was curious to try it for myself. All my inner demons flew out of my mind and began stabbing me with their spears. What if I’m the only one here who can’t do this? I’ll make an idiot of myself. I don’t want to get it wrong. It’s not real. I took a deep breath and fought my demons: I’ve got nothing to lose. I’ve paid my money now. I’m here, so I might as well give it a go. What if he really can talk to animals? I want to do that too! And I’m probably never going to see these people again anyway.

I looked at the white back of the photo and scribbled a word on my notepad. It was the first word that came into my mind – I just heard it, almost as though it had been whispered in my ear: ‘Rabbit.’

When I turned the photo over, I found myself staring into the soft shiny eyes of a deep rich sepia-coloured rabbit. Lucky guess. It was hardly likely to be a giraffe. The demons had returned, spears at the ready.

My partner told me this rabbit was called Mister Butch. Then the teacher instructed us to ask our animal a few rudimentary questions: ‘What’s his favourite food?’ ‘What’s his favourite activity?’ ‘Where does he like to sleep?’ ‘Who is he in love with?’

The room fell silent as everyone knuckled down. Everyone except me, that is. My mind was racing with doubt, my demons were gaining ground and the opposition was retreating. As I looked down at Mister Butch, my internal dialogue went like this:

‘I’ve been told to talk to you, but you can’t hear me. You can’t hear me because you’re a photo, a photo of a rabbit, and rabbits can’t talk. Let alone photos of rabbits. You can’t hear me, can you, because rabbits don’t talk.’

‘Who do you think is listening to you?’

I heard this response like a voice inside me, but it was a male voice and it wasn’t happy, it was confrontational. Was the rabbit in the photo really talking to me?

‘Did you just speak to me?’ I asked warily in my mind as I looked at Mister Butch in the photo.

‘Yeah! I can hear you, all right!’ came that voice again.

Butterflies were fluttering around my stomach. For the first time I wondered whether I could believe what I was hearing internally.

‘You can really hear me? As I talk to you, you hear me?’

‘Yeah, I said it already: I can hear you. Who the hell do you think is listening?’

I took a moment to gather myself. They’re starting to get to me. All this talk has started to have some strange kind of effect. Yet a part of me really wanted it to be true because I really loved animals and, more importantly, I had a sad dog at home and I wanted to make his life happier. I decided to get the most out of the afternoon.

‘OK, Mister Butch, if you can hear me, tell me what your favourite food is,’ I quizzed.

‘Leaves.’

I scribbled it on my pad. Then I heard the negative voice in my mind again: Well! If that wasn’t obvious!

I carried on. ‘And what’s your environment like?’

In my mind I could see a picture of a plush lawn, then the image changed and I saw a bed, and then it changed again and I saw a two-seater sofa. I wrote it all down.

‘Are you in love with anyone right now?’

There was another brief picture, this time of an espresso-coloured rabbit. It came and went ever so fast.

‘And what’s your favourite activity?’

There was another flash of that sofa.

Quite a long time had passed whilst I was doing this exercise, but it felt like just a few minutes. The moment came to share the information I’d written down with Mister Butch’s guardian. Even though I felt as if I’d made up every word of it, I went through each response.

My partner told me some of the things didn’t make sense, but some of them were correct. Mister Butch’s big love was an espresso-coloured rabbit and apparently I’d really tuned into his strong character: he was an impatient rabbit with attitude. As it turned out, he’d also done this before: he’d communicated with our teacher. No wonder I’d been able to sense his disapproval as I’d groped about in disbelief – he was an old pro. My partner even elaborated on the image I’d seen when I’d asked the question: ‘What’s your favourite activity?’ She told me Mister Butch would come inside and sit on her sofa at the same time every Saturday evening. He would expect the television to be on and switched to his favourite programme, You’ve Been Framed. When we shared our communications with the entire group, the other students thought this snippet was hilarious and our teacher was even able to corroborate the story: he’d been to visit Mister Butch at his home and witnessed his TV addiction for himself.

As outlandish yet wonderful as this experience seemed, I still found it hard to believe that I had communicated with a rabbit using a photograph. Let alone a rabbit that watched TV. I thought his guardian was just being kind and encouraging, and maybe it was the law of averages that had produced a couple of accuracies.

Then it was my partner’s turn to tell me everything she’d received in response from my cat, Texas. This complete stranger started to describe the layout of my living-room, the colour of my sofa and Texas’ favourite place to sit in the garden. How could she know this? How could she get all this from a photo?

And if this complete stranger was able to receive accurate information from Texas, was I, maybe, just maybe, also receiving accurate information from Mister Butch?

My God, this is really happening. I’ve just talked to a rabbit. From his photo.

It was the most miraculous idea: animals can talk and we can hear them.

My body and mind felt in conflict with what I’d experienced during the day and my belief system prior to it. In a daze I drove home, feeling excited, awestruck and completely overwhelmed. I felt that I was sailing out into the ocean without a paddle, surrounded by the deep blue sea. I didn’t know which way I was heading or how far I would travel. I didn’t know how many fathoms of undiscovered secrets lay beneath me. These were unchartered waters. I began to think of how my friends might respond if I were to tell them I’d just had a conversation with a rabbit.

And yet, even though I had this logical fear, I couldn’t help but question my sceptical beliefs. The idea of being able to communicate with animals was changing my perception of reality. It was changing how I viewed animals. If people were to realize they could talk to animals, just think how much happier animals could be. They’d be able to tell us what they wanted and how they felt. If everyone learned to talk to animals – my God, that could change everything. Animals everywhere could be recognized as feeling and thinking creatures who can make their own decisions and form their own relationships. I was getting so excited, but then I had a thought that brought me crashing down to reality: What about all the animals behind bars in zoos? I suddenly felt a heavy weight in the pit of my stomach. And all the animals in shelters with no one to love them and make them feel special – what must they be feeling? My chest heaved and my eyes filled with tears as I thought of cosmetic testing, the fur industry and vivisection.

This discovery didn’t feel quite so delightful anymore. Joy had been replaced by unbearable anguish. And that’s when I realized the journey into animal communication might not be so easy after all. It was coupled with enormous responsibility. The joy of communicating with animals would always go hand in hand with the anguish of how my fellow human beings would treat them. I realized that during my communications with animals, I would hear what they thought and feel what they felt. On the one hand, that would be their loving connection with people. Yet, travelling down the same path, I’d also feel all their suffering: their feelings of sadness, confusion, betrayal and loneliness, even their anger.

In just one day I felt my life had changed and I was looking at the world with fresh eyes.