12/17/2025
How Clarity Does Not Kill the Magic for me:
I do not believe that focusing on observable behavior takes away the myth or the magic of horses. I believe it relocates it.
What people often call magic arises, imo, when gaps are filled with projection. I have seen when we attribute intention, wisdom, healing power, or moral meaning to a horse without grounding those attributions in what the horse is actually doing, we are no longer in relationship. We are in a story. That kind of magic depends on distance. It requires the horse to remain partly unknowable so that human longing, hope, and unmet need can be placed onto him or her.
My work moves in the opposite direction. I pursue clarity because clarity brings us closer.
When I focus on observable behavior, how a horse shifts weight, how he orients his body, how she regulates distance, how approach and withdrawal unfold over time, I am not reducing the horse to mechanics. I am meeting a living being as he or she actually exists in the moment. True observation does not flatten experience. It sharpens it. It demands attention, humility, and restraint.
What falls away through observation is not magic. It is fantasy.
Fantasy is comfortable. It allows people to feel chosen, mirrored, or healed without asking whether the horse consented to the interaction or whether the human presence altered the horse’s behavior in a measurable way. Fantasy collapses the moment a horse refuses contact, disengages, or responds in a way that does not fit the preferred narrative.
What remains after fantasy dissolves is a quieter and far more durable form of wonder.
I see it when a horse regulates distance without force. When she maintains clarity under pressure. When he adapts to subtle environmental changes without dramatization or collapse. None of this requires mystical language. In fact, mystical language often obscures it. It replaces seeing with believing.
Focusing on observable behavior also restores ethical weight.
When I stop saying “the horse knew” or “the horse healed,” responsibility returns to the human. The horse is no longer positioned as a tool, a symbol, or a carrier of human transformation. He or she becomes a participant whose signals matter, whose limits matter, and whose wellbeing cannot be overridden by a good story.
This shift is sometimes experienced as disenchantment. I see it as sobriety. And sobriety is frequently mistaken for loss.
For me, wonder deepens when it is earned.
There is something profoundly moving about recognizing that a horse does not need to be magical to be extraordinary. His nervous system, her social intelligence, their capacity to remain present without narrative or justification, these are real. They are observable. They hold up across contexts. They do not disappear when the story is removed.
The myth says the horse gives us something.
What I see, when I am willing to look closely, is that the horse IS somebody.
And that recognition does not diminish mystery. It replaces a romantic projection with a living reality that is more demanding, more honest, and ultimately more respectful - in my opinion.