From Lineage to Legacy—The Tao of Letting Life Choose

In the beginning, the dream of Chevalia took form in the visible realm through the acquisition of magnificent horses—creatures of pristine lineage, exalted conformation, and majestic movement. Their temperament held nobility, their beauty held breath, and their presence stirred awe. What we did not yet understand was that these horses were not only beings of extraordinary genetics—they were sages, seers, and Taoist masters cloaked in flesh. We thought we were stewards of their bloodline. But we would come to see—we are disciples of their wisdom.

What began as an honorable devotion to continue their lineage—through the careful, hand-chosen unions of our mares and stallions—soon unraveled into something far greater. We thought we were guiding life. But life, in her unnameable grace, was guiding us.

Our initial intent was simple: to allow our own beloved horses to bring children into this world. We had planned to place each foal in a forever home, and occasionally offer semen to qualifying mares—only where love and reverence aligned. We sought not industry, but integrity. And so, we began.

Not content to entrust our stallions to cold, clinical methods, we learned every detail of the equine reproductive system ourselves because our horses trusted us in ways they could not trust strangers, especially those who saw them as specimens rather than sovereign beings. In the presence of conventional handlers and veterinarians, we witnessed the subtle shutdown in our stallions—a quiet recoiling, a refusal to be objectified. The sacredness of their offering was being mishandled, and so we took it into our own hearts and hands.

Petite women, considered unorthodox in the world of equine breeding, working with 17-hand stallions—it seemed improbable. And yet, it was done in such stillness, such mutual respect, that it became a ritual of reverence. We created a meditative space, where stallion and women entered a shared frequency. What was impossible for many became intimate and sacred for us. These were not just collections—they were ceremonies.

With the mares, too, we chose a path of devotion over diagnosis. We never relied on ultrasounds or hormonal testing to determine ovulation. Our relationship with the mares ran deeper than any machine could measure. We listened, observed, felt. We knew. And when the time came to inseminate, they welcomed us—not as intruders, but as midwives to the mystery. They enveloped us in their field of creation. These moments were not mechanical—they were sacred. We were no longer just witnesses. We were invited.

And when the foals arrived, we watched bonds form that could never be undone. Mother and child were inseparable, not just in body but in soul. And from those sacred dyads, we realized—we would never separate them. Not for a contract. Not for tradition. Not for any human reasoning.

We had already seen too much loss.

When two of our beloved mares chose to transition into spirit, their departures left a void—not only in their children, but in the herd itself. Though their transitions were sovereign and not from illness, the grief was deep and tangible. The young ones they left behind were devastated, and so were we.

And thus, we became their surrogate mothers, especially our Asterion, whose mother transitioned through the veil to reunite with her mother Stary. Rallying together, trying to hide our pain so as not to impose it upon our two week little gift, we commenced numerous feeding schedules that began as one hour a part and lasted for 6 months, We brought in two baby goats to be his immediate companions and yet we took turns staying with him and through the night; through daily play, morning naps, stary filled skies and monstrous thunderstorms. .

And yet, we knew no human arms could fully replicate the warmth of a mother’s breath, her teachings, herd society, or the rhythm of a heartbeat known since the womb. And for the older children—those who had lived alongside their mothers for years—the ache of their mother's transitions ran deeper still. Years of companionship unraveled into silence. And in that silence, we listened. We heard the truth:

They are forever family.

Not just sovereign beings, but a sovereign herd, a sovereign nation. A sovereign world.

They are beings of divine intelligence.

And they do not wish to be torn from those they love.

Another beloved mare, Diva came to Chevalia, a majestic mare who arrived two months pregnant at the age of sixteen. When her daughter, Nefertiti, was born, we witnessed something raw and holy. Diva was terrified—not of us, but of her past. Her eyes asked: Will you take this one too? For she had known the cruelty of having her babies taken from her too young time and again. And that trauma was imprinted in her bones. In her trembling, we learned what no textbook could teach:

To breed without reverence is to violate.

To separate family is to sever spirit.

The entire world of breeding, in its clinical pursuit of legacy, became our spiritual bootcamp. It taught us what no human guru ever had: how to listen to grief, how to honor sovereignty, how to choose family over profit, and presence over prestige.

And then, Jeff—my husband, our children’s father, the other root of Chevalia—transitioned.

He passed suddenly in the midst of all this, while foals were being born and children were being raised, Along with our horses we mourned and we tried desperately to stand vigil. We were surrounded by both joy and sorrow, birth and loss. The gates of life and loss flung wide open, simultaneously.

One colt—unborn at the time—had been previously promised to another home before the world came to a halt, and so at 7 months, his mother Isabeau departed this world, and he too departed but to someone else when he was just a year. Not backing from our promise, he left his beloved home. And though we grieved his departure, we knew it was his soul’s journey to do so. But the loss of so many at the same time was like the walls of our world crushing in all around us. And in that moment, the door to the breeding program happily came to a decided and relieved end. All the other children born of this sacred land would never experience loss of that kind again. That we could control. The departure however in the form of transitioning was not of our choosing as we soon learned, but a sovereign destiny we could only embrace.

Because if I would not want my children ripped from my arms, how could I justify doing that to theirs?

There is no line separating the sacred from the so-called animal. They are not “like” us. They are us. They just possess a more clear memory of who they’ve always been.

And perhaps most mysteriously, it was the mares themselves who began to decide who would conceive and when. Wodi—the goddess, the lead mare—made these decisions long before we could. No matter our plans, she was the one who chose. And so did the stallions.

Navarre , in particular, stunned us.

He had found his soulmate in Isabeau. His love for her was so tender. And the two brought into this world two beautiful colts. Isabeau's heart was broken when her first passed through the veil at only 7 days, and then she chose to join him after her second son was 7 months old. Void of human emotional demonstration, we knew Navarre's heart would never be the same. And while his lineage was requested from people across the country, the collection rituals he had once engaged in with his dear Isabeau, no longer held meaning. While he went through the motions of the ritual, he would never provide his life giving essence again. And so we honored his decision. his sovereign choice.

All that was happening around us and through us was a whirlwind of unlearning and remembering, a deeper truth—one not written in any manual, but in the living field of love.

And thus it was...

In the beginning, the dream of Chevalia took form in the visible realm—though it had long existed in the invisible. The land called, the horses gathered, and we began what we thought would be a lineage project: a place to preserve the ancient lines of Spanish and Friesian horses, chosen with devotion and bred with reverence. We sought purity, integrity, and the divine beauty these bloodlines held. But what unfolded was not just a program. It was a revelation.

Chevalia was never meant to be a place of production. She is a sanctuary of sovereignty, a temple for the equine soul, and a mirror that showed us who we really are.

Each birth taught us something eternal. Each death initiated us further. And every horse who arrived, whether born here or adopted, was not here by accident. They were all sent by something far greater than us—threads in a tapestry that only becomes visible from the soul’s eye.

Empressiosa was one of these divine threads. A young Spanish mare, she was adopted when she was just turning two years old. From the moment she arrived, Wodi—the matriarch—embraced her as her own daughter. Empresiossa was instantly enveloped in Wodi’s love, and she and Wodi’s daughter, Xena, became inseparable. Black and white, the two grew up together, not just as friends, but as sisters. They shared everything—the pasture, the play, the dance, the seasons of joy and grief. Empressiosa, we came to learn was a seer, a sage; deeply empathic. She knew of things to come. Her eyes have always carried glimpses of futures not yet known, and we knew she was always right..

When Wodi transitioned, it was deeply divine and in a way that none could refuse it to be otherwise. Pacing the field that morning, she called to all of us and with each one present, she would press her body into us gently as if to give a hug and try to hold us with her entire body. Several times she repeated this and then asked us to open the gate to let her go to her three sons to give one last loving look at them and fond farewell before returning to the mares, to Xena, where they all encircled her in sacred stillness. My daughter Alexandra, whose heart is a big as the ocean went to her to check on her later that afternoon. Without words, she told her that she was leaving now, and not to stay. Alexandra felt a surge her love, taking over her entire body which gave her not only calm comfort, but strength to do as she willed. Wodi knew that to have us resisting the transition would make it difficult for her and there was no time left. A portal had opened, and she seemed pressed to cross over before it closed. To this day, I have yet to understand the veils that open and close and the essential timing of them, but this seemed to be the beginning of a mass exodus of Chevalia that I am thrust into the rapids of letting it guide me without knowing the mystery of it. But I trust Wodi. I still do. Just as I trust all those who have transitioned when they felt called to do so. It is not for me to control anything, but to flow and trust in complete unconditional love.

Xena, being Wodi’s daughter, who was together with her mother for 11 years, felt the loss in a way that pierced all worlds. She had witnessed the departure of her herd sister, Echappe, who took the journey to be with her mother a year earlier and we could see in Xena's eyes, she was contemplating the same. So, in the wake of Wodi's passing, we had thought - perhaps naively - that the creation of new life might soften the grief Xena felt. Empressiosa became pregnant, but Xena never did. After many attempts, we realized that Xena's grief was too great and that she had made her choice. Her path was not to birth life, but to rejoin it on the other side. She had already begun her transition, holding her love for us in one hand and her longing for her mother in the other.

We witnessed her soul torn by devotion in both directions. For years she remained with us, lingering between realms, until one day she made her final decision. We honored it, though it broke our hearts. We wrapped her in a blanket and said goodbye, and in the quiet of dawn, she returned to her mother. What we witnessed was not the death of a horse. It was the fulfillment of a soul’s vow.  

Empressiosa, who, although majestic and striking in grand stature, holds the tender spirit of a young soul, and we feared that we might lose her to her own grief as well. But to our joy, although devastated by Xena’s departure, found new purpose the moment her son Xenophon Ra (named after Xena and his father aRamses) was born. From the moment he was born, we knew they were inseparable. Empressiosa enveloped him with a kind of love that glowed from within her being. And through that moment, our entire perception shifted—of breeding, of guardianship, and of what it truly means to honor life. Xenophon Ra or Raja or Xena as we affectionately call him, is like seeing Xena and Empressiosa again, mother and son, but also twin souls; just like it was with her Xena.

Isabeau's transition was also one of sacred right. But even she would not leave until we said we’d be okay. That’s how much they love us. Their transitions are not escapes; they are communions. And I learned that I should be stronger from the many that I have had to let go, and I found that too to be illusion. For when someone loves unconditionally, the pain will also be present; and I embrace that too. But I found in the stillnesss, in the presence of these great souls who are making their way through the veil, I have learned to completey surrender. For in that moment with Isabeau, as I held her, I felt the entire Tao—radiant, loving, eternal. The veil vanished. I was more alive, more loved, more brilliant than I’d ever felt.

And in these past years, we began to see and understand that these were not isolated losses. The transitions came in such rapid succession—beloved souls one after another—that we could no longer attribute it to coincidence or even illness. It is a sacred exodus, a calling home.

We stepped back from the world. For five years, we grieved in silence. We shut the gates of the visible and walked through the forests of the invisible. We healed alongside our animals—not apart from them, but with them. Every loss expanded us. Every death opened something wider. And in time, we realized: this is not a tragedy. This is ascension.

They are not gone. Not truly. Their presence is now everywhere. In the wind, in the soil, in the breath between heartbeats. They speak not only to us, but through us. We have learned to thin the veil to the point of dissolving it. And they are with us, as surely as the ones still embodied.

And so we saw clearly:

We have no right to determine their lives, but to be stewards of them and their desires to live, breath and breed at their own timing and choosing and to honor the lives and the departures of each sovereign soul.

So we closed the breeding chapter. But before the door sealed, one final miracle unfolded.

Diva, a senior mare who had once lost a stillborn foal, had long been retired from breeding. She had come from a place where choice was not hers. We vowed to give her that choice. She had never shown interest again—until the time of deepest sorrow, when Jeff—my husband—transitioned, along with Isabeau, Xena, and so many others. But in that liminal space, something awakened between Diva and our lead stallion, Descarat.

We felt Jeff’s presence strongly. Due to business travel, he sadly always missed the miracle of birth of every foal that we helped bring into the world. But now, on the other side of the veil, he was here. Present. Encouraging. Participating.

So, on Jeff’s birthday, we performed a single insemination. Feeling fragile, we were reluctant, but we knew Descarat and Diva wanted to bring in a life. we were witnessing a force beyond what we could control. And just as much as we had decided to honor the horse's sovereignty to no longer breed, we must honor this mystical command that was coming from not only the two of them, but from from the veil, from Jeff. You see, Jeff loved us so much that he never wanted to be apart. His only fear in life he said was to be a part from us through the veil. So you see, his presence continues and he has much to say and to relate on those through the veil as well.

And so, on Jeff's birthday, I consented to trust in the two of them, Diva and Descarat, that if this is meant to be, it will be. And with just one dose of Descarat's essence, she conceived. I knew from the moment it happened. There was something that enveloped all of us when we surrounded Diva during the inception ceremony.

And from that sacred union came a beautiful filly, Aditi—Sanskrit for the Supreme Goddess of Goddess's. She was the final soul born at Chevalia, a celestial blessing whose arrival affirmed what we had always suspected: that this is not just a farm. It is a portal. A place where veils grow thin and the divine walks openly.

Chevalia is no longer a breeding farm. It is a sanctuary of the eternal. A sacred living library. A realm where animals, humans, nature spirits, ancestors, and interdimensional beings walk as one herd, governed not by dominance or hierarchy, but by truth and the Tao.

We owe everything to the horse. To the chickens and snakes and dogs. To the cats and to the goats. To the wild ones in the trees. To the unseen ones in the forest mist. To the whisper of hooves at dusk.

We love all the souls we call family at Chevalia. And we know that through our experience, our message to those reading this will know the beauty of soul families, the beauty of stallions and mares, to the sacredness of birth and the mystical reality of transitioning. That all animals are sovereign. All are here that are meant to be and all go onto the next as is meant to be as well.

Our sanctuary is not built on land—it is built on love.

And this path—this sacred, spiraling, spirithood of sovereign choice—is our vow. Every breath we take, every hoofprint in the dust, every sunrise feeding, every final goodbye… is a prayer.

We have not lost them.

We have become them.

Day by day, year by year, season by season, they have taught us more than any philosopher, preacher, or spiritual teacher ever has. Not because they say more, but because they are more. They live truth with every breath. They reflect the illusion of separation. They pierce the veil of ego.

They reveal the Tao.

They are not our students.

They are our superiors.

And we have been changed, at a cellular level, because of them.

And their message is this:

The horse is not ours to control, but to cherish.

They feel, choose, grieve, and love with a depth far greater than we’ve been taught to see.

When we honor their sovereignty, we remember our own.

Let us walk beside them—not above—as kin, as humble stewards of this sacred earth; as family.

They came not to serve, but to awaken—

with hooves that echo ancient truths, and eyes that mirror the soul.

The horse carries the wisdom we forgot when we wandered from the forest.

To honor them is to return—

to reverence, to stillness, to love, to family.

They are not commodity.

They are home.

This is the story of our evolution—from breeders to guardians, from handlers to kin, from caretakers to devotees. And though it begins in the flesh, it ends in the spirit.

It ends in truth.

And the journey continues...

Let the Horse Lead Us Home

We love them all—the wild and the wise,

Those born beneath our sheltering skies,

And those who came with silent ache,

With stories etched we could not fake.

Not once did they arrive as less—

They came as teachers, nonetheless.

With sovereign eyes and breath so true,

They showed us life made ever new.

No, they are not ours to claim,

To breed for pride or bind by name.

They are the wind, the star, the flame—

Unbroken by the human game.

The stallion sings the song of soul,

The mare, she holds the living whole.

Together they do not obey—

They choose with heart, they show the Way.

They birth not by our schedule’s time,

But by a higher, sacred rhyme.

And when they die, they do not leave—

They walk with us, though we may grieve.

We watched a daughter follow through

The veil her mother once passed to.

We saw the herd hold space for pain,

And in that silence—truth remain.

The horse has taught us how to die,

How to be still, how to ask why.

How to release, how to forgive,

And most of all—how love should live.

They’ve shown us how to step aside,

To honor soul, not human pride.

To stop deciding who belongs—

To right our old domesticated wrongs.

Chevalia is not land alone—

It is a temple, flesh and bone.

A vow to bow to all we meet,

To walk with reverence at their feet.

No more removal from their kin,

No more cages dressed as “win.”

No more lies that birth is sold—

Life is sacred, brave, and bold.

So let us lay our weapons down,

Remove the rope, the bit, the crown.

And listen—not with ears, but heart—

To where all healing truly starts.

For every hoof that touched this ground

Has left a message—deep, profound:

All beings walk a path, divine.

All life is sacred. Yours. And mine.

Let us be students, not the kings.

Let us protect the ones with wings.

Let us remember we are clay,

And they—the ones who light the way.

Let us build not barns of stone,

But sanctuaries of the known

And unknown realms that horses see—

Their silence holds eternity.

Let the world be changed by this:

That animals are not amiss.

That every soul, both wild and tame,

Deserves to live without our claim.

Let us return to what we’ve lost—

To love without the hidden cost.

To meet the earth, the herd, the flame—

And never see them quite the same.

Let us kneel upon the loam…

And let the horse

lead us

home.