Epiphany

I love epiphanies. Don’t you?

That sudden insight—the moment when disparate threads finally weave together into something cohesive, something that takes on its own shape and form.

There is another "ten-dollar word" I love, one that doesn’t often get much play in day-to-day culture: sacrament. A definition has stayed with me since my seminary days: a visible sign of an invisible reality.

Sacrament. Epiphany.

Something invisible—perhaps just out of reach, just beyond our knowing or sensing—all of a sudden shows up. It comes into being; it makes itself known.

Yesterday, I took Luna out for a ride. It had been over a week since we’d ridden, thanks to the holidays and the rain. Even though it was nearing dinner time, I could sense she wanted to go. Luna is remarkably clear in her communication; if you pay the slightest bit of attention, you "know" what she wants. So, despite the encroaching sunset, I got her from the corral, brushed her, saddled her, and headed toward the beach.

When Luna realized this wasn’t just a stroll to the nearest patch of green grass, she had second thoughts. But I knew she needed a break from the muddy slog of the ranch. I envisioned a nice gallop down the beach at sunset, but I forgot to factor in Pacas.

Pacas, now an eight-month-old puppy—is half German Shepherd, half Australian Shepherd. She is a herding dog who hasn’t quite learned the "how" of herding. As we rode, Pacas was super happy, but she was also directly underfoot. Luna is not the most easy-going horse, and she certainly doesn’t like other animals invading her personal space. Pacas, like that awkward relative at family gatherings, has no sense of boundaries.

We reached the beach and the sunset was, in fact, beautiful. Pacas chased birds. Luna considered turning back for the grass, but we kept moving forward. I could feel her energy. I could feel her power. She wanted to run. I wanted to run.

But there was Pacas, swerving like a drunken sailor directly in front of us. As much as I wanted to gallop, I didn't want it badly enough to go flying when Pacas inevitably caused a sudden rerouting of our path.

So, Luna and I simply walked—at a fast, powerful, driven pace. After the sun dipped, we turned for home. As we passed the patch of green grass I’d promised her, Luna reached down, but her being was focused on movement. She didn’t actually want to eat; she wanted to be that force. I could feel her strength surging beneath me.

There was a time when that feeling—the tremendous power of a horse who is strong and ready—would have terrified me. But Luna and I have a decade together. We have grown from the "green" rider and mount we were at the start.

As her energy escalated, a rattling pickup truck came up behind us, splashing through muddy puddles. The driver actually slowed down just to watch the "show" of Luna’s dancing. In the past, my fear would have forced me to trample that explosive energy down. I would have tried to force her into "submission" simply for my own self-preservation.

But yesterday, I simply let the energy pass through me. I didn’t put a lid on it, but I didn't escalate it, either. I felt it, noticed it, and let it move. With horses, standing still during a high-energy state is the opposite of peace—it’s a restriction. To find balance, their feet need to move. So, we kept moving forward: dancing, prancing toward home.

It was exhilarating. Not unlike an epiphany.

Lately, I’ve had a sense of a creative vision that wants to be born. Rather than me "thinking it up," it feels as though this thing is asserting itself. Like a sacrament—the invisible taking on form.

This is the energy behind Take the Reins. It began as a quiet realization about how we manage our own lives—our power, our energy, and our pace. It has now grown into a practice of reclaiming the "engaged rein,” moving forward with strength without the need to suppress our own natural fire.

I’m beginning to share this practice with others who feel that same "prancing" energy—that desire to move with power even when the path is muddy or crowded. It is a way of being that doesn’t require submission, but rather, a shared dance. If you feel like it's time to take your own reins, I’d love for you to join us. Send me a message and I can tell you more.