In Spiritual Partnership with Animals on Planet Earth
By Allen and Linda Anderson



Perhaps it’s humanity’s innately nurturing nature that draws us to animals. Often people look at an animal and identify with him or her as a child and/or an understanding companion. Often human beings gaze into the eyes of an animal and see, not a member of an alien species, but a soul. Intuitively we recognize a sentient being with emotions and free will who inhabits the same planet with wisdom borne of having lived in this world for eons longer.

Over the years, thousands of people have entrusted us with stories about their profoundly sacred experiences with animals. A story in “Angel Horses: Divine Messengers of Hope”, ‘Pegasus in Disguise’ by Renee van Asten of Santa Fe, New Mexico (excerpted below) illustrates the point that when people deeply connect with animals, healing and divine intervention can occur. Animals and people tend to each other in ways that are unique to relationships that are in reality, spiritual partnerships among equal souls.

Mother Mary and a Divine Messenger of Hope
Renee van Asten writes:
My arms were folded around his head and across his chest. He lifted up his head to look at the monitors and noticed his heartbeat had slowed down to thirty-four. “I am almost there,” he said. I stared blankly at the number and at him, not able to think. Then, a few seconds later, he took his last breath. My most treasured husband was gone.

Returning home, still blank, still incapable of thought. I had gone numb. I had died along with him.

After I parked my truck near the house, I stumbled out and dragged myself over to the nearest corral. The moon was at its fullest. In its white light, I saw my horse Comanche standing still, not moving a muscle or a hair of his silver mane. His white coat had a bluish sheen. His tail draped to the floor like a silver waterfall. It looked as if he were not even breathing.

The epitome of the magnificent white stallion, depicted in so many paintings, Comanche had a muscular, broad-chested frame that belied his 15 hands. Most people guessed his heritage to be Andalusian, that magnificent Spanish breed. Yet he was part quarter horse, part carriage horse, part Welsh pony, and the rest Arabian. With his huge eyes set above broad jaws, he made an impact of immense proportions wherever he went. People always gawked at him admiringly.

I put both of my arms over the top rail of the corral, hanging on for it to steady my now weak legs. Devastation washed over me. I thought I would faint. My eyes riveted upon Comanche as I tried to make sure I was still alive and that he was real.

The two of us stood motionless for some time. Then Comanche suddenly moved. He reared up. While holding himself airborne, he stepped to the right, on and on and on, turning a complete circle before bringing his front legs back down to the ground. All the while, he shook his magnificent mane to the left and to the right. Dipping his broad neck to the ground, he gathered his strength and reared up again. Dancing in a circle and weaving his neck, once again, he shook his silver mane.

His mouth was slightly open, and it looked like he was trying to talk to me. Numbly I watched in awe. How could this be? I seemed to be thinking while in a place beyond where my mind could go.

I stared at Comanche’s feet, wondering why they did not thunder loudly. As he danced and danced, his hooves made not the slightest sound. The dust did not fly when they touched the ground after every full turn. I must be having a vision. This thought came to me as wordless talk which formed without thought and seemed to be coming from the front instead of the back of my head.

On a higher level I knew I was witnessing a miracle. Comanche had never been trained like a Lipizzaner, the magical white horses trained and shown at the Spanish Riding School of Vienna. Although he loved to rear up after a long, fast gallop up any hill, his muscles usually only supported rearing half as high as he did that night.

Now, at 1:30 in the morning, in the glimmer of a full moon, he stood totally straight up in the air. Like the feather on an eagle’s wing, he flew around and around. I sensed that he was trying to tell me something, to get through to me in my sorrow. I knew instinctively that Spirit was here, doing this with him, lifting him up. Comanche was being held in the arms of unseen angels, visible only through the eyes of my deepest grief.

He had been his unearthly self and lived up to the nickname Pegasus that I had given him, after that magical horse with wings of ancient Grecian lore.

This night, when my Pegasus transformed into a guardian angel and gave me an angelic vision, he transported me into a state of nothingness, of altered awareness. Comanche had danced into my being with the message that my husband was not gone. No, no, no, he had said as he shook his head over and over again. Your Beloved is not gone. He is free. He is dancing into Creation itself. Be joyous for him. Dance with him and with me. But I was gone. I could not hear. I knew I should rejoice — being enlightened about crossing over and knowing that death does not exist. I was petrified of living without my comforter, the light of my life. I had hit bottom. On this night, Comanche had danced in the moonlight to bring me out of my despair.

For twelve more years, I kept Comanche with me, even at times cutting down on my food to pay his board at our friend’s ranch. He always smiled when I came to see him. Always carried me bareback around the neighborhood. Always leaned into me as I whispered into his ear, “You are my Pegasus. You know that, don’t you?”

When Comanche passed away at age twenty-six, his spirit refused to leave his body. As he lay on the ground, struggling to get up again, I understood that he didn’t want to leave me. In my panicked mind, even though I am not Catholic, I called out to the only person who I knew could help and that is Mother Mary. “Please, please, please, Mother Mary,” I desperately prayed, “make yourself look like me. Put on my grubby little cap, my scruffy shirt, and my faded jeans. Please come and take Comanche by the halter and lead him home.”

In my inner vision, as clear as crystal, I saw a figure that looked and dressed like me. She took Comanche by the halter and calmly walked him up the road. Home.

Allen and Linda Anderson are founders of the Angel Animals Network and authors of New World Library’s two new books, “RESCUED: Saving Animals from Disaster” and “Angel Horses: Divine Messengers of Hope” (the latest in their Angel Animals series). Subscribe to the Angel Animals Story of the Week at Visit their new website


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