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It Wasn’t Magic. It was Sacred.

It Wasn’t Magic. It was Sacred.

by | Sep 7, 2026 | Basics of Natural Lifemanship

When We Call It Magic

There are moments with horses that can take your breath away.

A horse who quietly walks over and rests beside someone who has spent a lifetime believing they were too much. A herd that shifts when a client softens into their body. A horse who chooses connection over walking away. Moments that leave us speechless, wiping away tears because we can’t quite explain what just happened.

People often call those moments magic.

I understand why. But I’ve come to believe that calling them magic actually diminishes what really happened.

The Conversation That Changed Everything

This concept gave way to deep discussions during one of our Natural Lifemanship EAS Residencies this summer. One of our participants had a difficult session with her horse. Things didn’t unfold the way she had hoped. She left the arena looking discouraged. “That sucked,” she sighed as she sat down. I think she even uttered the words, “I sucked.”

As we processed together, she contrasted that session with all the “magical” experiences she had previously shared with this horse.

I paused and gently challenged her. “What if those earlier moments weren’t magic?”

She looked puzzled.

“What if they were every bit as real as this difficult moment?”

She was quiet, but I could see something major shifting.

Evidence, Not Magic

Because if the beautiful experiences are dismissed as magic, as something mysterious or unexplainable, then they become almost accidental. They don’t belong to us and our experience with the horse. We can’t trust them. We can’t learn from them. And when things get hard, all we’re left believing is the painful story we tell ourselves.

“I suck.”

But what if those earlier moments weren’t magic at all?

What if they were evidence? Evidence of genuine connection, of profound attunement. Evidence that two nervous systems had found one another in safety. Evidence that this horse had responded with honesty.

And evidence that the person had done something, too. Maybe they had softened. Maybe they had listened. Maybe they had become clearer, more present, or more responsive. Maybe, together, the horse and person had created something real—something neither one created alone.

That matters, because now there is something to return to.

Not a magical moment we hope will somehow happen again, but an experience we can get curious about. What was happening in me then? What was happening between us? What did I offer? What did the horse offer? What helped us find each other?

Those moments weren’t less real than the struggle. If anything, they revealed something deeply true. They were evidence that this person and this horse had already found their way into connection once—and perhaps could find their way there again.

We Found a Better Word

Throughout the rest of the residency, our cohort kept returning to this conversation. It began changing the way we talked. Not only about our own experiences, but also about the experiences our clients were having.

We found a different word for these experiences.

Sacred.

There was something about that word that felt different. It was more grounded, more honest.

Because sacred doesn’t suggest something imaginary or supernatural. It points to something deeply real, something that changes us precisely because it actually happened.

What Horses Are Really Responding To

Natural Lifemanship has always taught that horses are not magical creatures. They don’t possess mystical powers. They aren’t reading minds or performing miracles. What they’re doing is, in many ways, even more extraordinary. They are responding through relationship.

They often notice our tension before we do. They recognize incongruence between what we say and what our bodies communicate. They respond to regulation, presence, authenticity, boundaries, and connection.

What feels like magic is actually nervous systems communicating exactly as they were designed to. It’s attachment. It’s attunement. It’s co-regulation. It’s relationship. And relationship has always had the power to transform us.

Sacred Is Not Another Word for Magic

Sacred isn’t simply another word for something mysterious, unexplainable, or beyond our understanding. We aren’t replacing one word for mystery with another.

The science helps us understand the very real processes underneath these moments—the ways nervous systems communicate, attachment takes shape, safety is experienced, and connection changes us. Understanding those processes doesn’t make what happens any less extraordinary. It gives us something we can notice, learn from, and practice rather than something we can only hope happens again.

And science, awe, and wonder are not opposites. We don’t have to choose between understanding something and standing in awe of it. For me, the more I understand about what is actually happening between two beings in relationship, the more wonder there is.

And that’s what makes sacred different from magic. Sacred doesn’t describe what we can’t explain. It speaks to the meaning and significance of something profoundly real.

Two beings finding one another in safety, responding honestly, and creating something together that can change them both—and that is sacred.

Understanding more about how it happens doesn’t diminish its sacredness. If anything, understanding it more deeply has only deepened my reverence for what is taking place.

Thin Moments

Natural Lifemanship co-founder Bettina Shultz-Jobe often speaks about what she calls “thin moments.” Similar to the concept of thin places, these are moments when the space between the ordinary and the sacred feels remarkably close—when something profoundly meaningful emerges in what appears to be an ordinary encounter.

I love that image because it invites us to become fully present—to notice, receive, and honor what is happening.

Sometimes what appears ordinary from the outside—a horse moving closer, a person softening, two beings simply being still together—holds something much more profound. These are moments when we experience something every human nervous system longs for: to be seen without judgment, to be met without pretense, to be known without having to perform.

More Beautiful Than Magic

When we call these experiences magic, we unintentionally take something away from both ourselves and the horse. We take away the truth that we were capable of showing up in relationship. We take away the truth that the horse was offering an authentic response. Not because of mystical powers, but because of a willingness to be in relationship with us.

And perhaps most importantly, we miss what was created between us—the relationship itself.

The horse doesn’t create the transformation. Neither do we. The relationship does. We participate in creating it together. And relationships are real. Perhaps that’s why they are so powerful.

So yes, there are moments that still leave me speechless. Moments that bring tears to my eyes. Moments that feel almost impossible to describe. These moments truly are sacred. Because sacred reminds us that something profoundly real just happened.

Something the horse participated in. Something we participated in. Something we can learn from, remember, and return to.

And knowing it’s real makes it even more transformative.

Your Invitation to Step Into the Work

If this reflection resonates with you, the Fundamentals of Natural Lifemanship offers a place to explore more deeply what is happening within these moments of connection. We study the science underneath relationship—the neurobiology of trauma and healthy brain development, attachment, and the ways nervous systems communicate—while also practicing the relational skills that help us participate in genuine connection with horses and humans.

Because understanding relationship doesn’t take away the awe and wonder. It gives us more capacity to notice what is happening, learn from it, and return to it when things get hard.

Fundamentals is also the first step toward Natural Lifemanship Certification.

We invite you to step into the work and discover more about what becomes possible when we learn to understand—and participate more intentionally in—relationship.

 

 

 

Finding My Way Back to Yield

Finding My Way Back to Yield

by | Jun 7, 2026 | Equine Assisted Trainings, Testimonials & Reflections

Beth Burgmeyer shares a reflection on the profound impact Mark Taylor and NL’s Life on Land: Vertebral Patterns had on her life

There are some experiences that are hard to explain unless you’ve felt them in your own body. This was one of those.

I recently attended a Natural Lifemanship training called Life on Land: Vertebral Patterns, led by Mark Taylor. Mark is a registered somatic movement educator with a background in dance and choreography. But what he brings is so much more than movement. He brings a way of listening. A way of sensing. A way of coming back into relationship with your own body.

At its core, the training focused on the developmental movement patterns we are all designed to move through in the first year of life:

Yield.
Push.
Reach.
Grasp.
Pull.
And then release.

Simple, right? But also… not simple at all. Because these aren’t just movements. They are the foundation of how we relate to ourselves, to others, and to the world around us.

When the Body Remembers What the Mind Can’t

We spent time crawling, scooting, rolling. Moving over the top of a yoga ball, reaching into space with a kind of abandon that felt both freeing and deeply familiar.

I remember thinking: How can something so simple create such a profound shift in my entire being?

But it did.

I’ve loved these patterns since I was first introduced to them through some other Natural Lifemanship trainings (including the Personal Immersion). I could stay in the rhythm of yield, push, reach, grasp, and pull all day. They feel complete in my body in a way that’s hard to describe.

But in this NL training, we went deeper. We slowed down enough to sense the subtle spaces within us: between the ribs, within the flow of cerebrospinal fluid, within the weight and presence of blood.

And I could feel the difference.

There were moments of lightness, almost like floating, when I connected with the fluidity of cerebrospinal fluid. And then moments of grounding, of being deeply held, when I sensed into my blood.

Both were true. Both were needed.

The Patterns Show Up in Our Relationships

There’s a quote that goes something like: how we do anything is how we do everything. These patterns don’t stay within the walls of the room where we practice these movements. They show up in our relationships.

Early in the training, we were invited to reflect on where we might feel stuck in one of these patterns.

For me, it was yield.

At the time, my young adult son was experiencing a relapse of severe depression after several years of stability. It was heartbreaking. Disorienting. And if I’m honest, it felt impossible to know how to be with him in a way that truly helped.

I realized something in that moment: I had skipped yield entirely. I had gone straight into push. Push felt safer, more proactive, like I was doing something. But it wasn’t helping. If anything, it may have been adding more pressure to an already fragile space.

Yield, on the other hand, felt vulnerable, uncertain. Like I might lose myself if I softened too much. And yet yield is where it all begins. It’s where connection begins.

Dancing Between Attachment and Detachment

We didn’t just explore these patterns on the ground. We brought them to the horses. With my horse, Leo, I experienced these patterns as a kind of dance. The rhythm of attachment and detachment.

And in that space, I began to understand something more deeply: Yield doesn’t mean collapse. It doesn’t mean losing structure or abandoning yourself. It means allowing, receiving, letting yourself be impacted while still staying connected to your own center.

Something Shifted

At the time of the training, I was also on the other side of cancer treatment. I had technically “healed,” but there were lingering effects: fatigue, brain fog, a heaviness in my body that felt hard to shake. Like my blood itself had been weighed down.

About two weeks after the training, I noticed something had shifted. I remember saying to my friend, “I feel different since Mark’s training.”

And I did. I had found my yield. It was changing my relationship with my son. I could be with him in a way that felt more grounded, more present.

But there was more. The fog of chemo brain had lifted. My body felt lighter and I moved better. There was a new balance between lightness and grounding, between flow and structure.

And perhaps most importantly I felt like I had stepped fully back into myself. Not back to who I was before cancer. But who I am now.

Some Things You Have to Experience

It’s been almost two months since the training, and I can still feel its impact. I still find joy in yield. In the full expression of all these patterns in my body and in my life.

It’s hard to explain this work in a way that fully captures it. Some things aren’t meant to be understood only with the mind. They’re meant to be experienced, felt, lived.

What I do know is this:

This was one of the deepest, most personal experiences I’ve had. I love somatic work, but what Mark brings goes to a level that few people reach. We are incredibly lucky to have him as part of the Natural Lifemanship community. I find myself hoping and praying that this series is offered again.

Because it doesn’t just teach movement. It brings you back to yourself.

Experience It for Yourself

Mark Taylor’s Embodied Developmental Movement training is offered through Natural Lifemanship. If Beth’s reflection stirred something in you, that may be worth paying attention to.

This training is open to anyone drawn to somatic work, whether you are a practitioner, a horse person, or simply someone who wants to come home to their own body.

Your body already knows the way. These trainings help you listen.

Learn more and register here.