During the gathering, events unfolded with remarkable synchronicity—it felt as though everything that needed to reveal itself arrived at precisely the right moment. The horses, together with the group dynamics, helped draw to the surface what had long been hidden inside us. Whenever a suppressed feeling stirred in one of us, or whenever our inner shadow shifted, the sensitive horses responded. Sometimes it was their deep, steady gaze; other times a gentle step toward the woman in question, or—just as meaningfully—a respectful retreat. With these subtle gestures, the horses seemed to say: “I see you. I see what you feel.”
Watching the horses and the entire group act as a mirror, in which our inner shadows could appear more clearly, was fascinating.
This safe, present-moment confrontation with our shadows proved deeply healing. What usually remains tucked away in the darker corners of the soul could now be seen and processed in the light of awareness. The instant we recognized and accepted an inner shadow, it lost its invisible power over us. No longer was it an unknown bogeyman controlling our reactions from behind the scenes. The shadow stays a part of us—everything we experience shapes who we are—but by seeing and naming it, we strip it of its hidden strength. Rather than influencing us covertly, it becomes a conscious aspect of ourselves, one we can continue to work with and lovingly integrate.
Another profound insight for me was how little—or how much—we are able to sense the flow of our own attention inside the body. During silent moments with the horses, I tried turning my focus inward and noticing where it went. I found that I often perceive only surface sensations—the wind on my skin, the warmth of the sun on my face, or the heartbeat pulsing in my chest. But what about the deeper layers? Can I follow how energy moves in the depths of my body, in my belly, along my spine, all the way to my fingertips? I realized there is a landscape of feelings and signals not only on the surface but also in the inner recesses of the body—a terrain I often overlook.
Modern life tends to pull us outward rather than inward. We frequently distance ourselves from our own experience, fleeing from bodily sensations and emotions that cannot be neatly controlled. Instead of listening to the quiet voice of the body, we rely on technology and external indicators. We wear smartwatches that tell us our heart rate, yet ignore the anxiety tightening our stomach. We follow apps that track our sleep but fail to notice how we actually feel in the morning. We depend on technology, data, and rational analysis while our own bodies and intuition speak ever more softly. This distraction and separation from the body became painfully clear to me whenever I tried to focus fully inside—my mind wandered, and bringing it back was not easy.
When we finally attempt to reconnect with ourselves and truly feel our inner world, confusion can wash over us. Subtle sensations long ignored suddenly rise to the surface, and we don’t know what to do with them. I realized, however, that this chaos and bewilderment can paradoxically be part of the journey back to ourselves. It is as if an awakening sensitivity erupts stormily before it finds new order. Perhaps it’s like stepping into bright light after a long time in the dark—at first we have to squint and grope, but gradually we begin to see clearly. I believe that even through a momentary inner turmoil, we are retuning to ourselves. Every confused breath and uncertain step inside our own bodies teaches us how to feel our wholeness again without constant outside validation.
At the end of this meeting, I felt a quiet joy and humility. The atmosphere of the “horse baths”—that silent dance of souls with horses—left a deep imprint on us. Each of us took away something valuable: one a new insight about herself, another a sense of calm and acceptance, yet another simple gratitude for the time spent together. The circle slowly closed, and we knew the process would continue within us.
With gentle excitement and curiosity, I look forward to our next gathering. I feel that with every shared experience with the horses, we move closer to ourselves and to one another. The horses remain faithful guides on this path—patiently teaching us silence, presence, and the courage to look within. I drove home feeling that whatever comes next, our women’s group is ready. Gratitude and trust in the direction of this feminine journey with horses stay alive in my heart. It is a path toward deeper understanding, healing, and authenticity—and I am thankful that we can walk it together.