The rain fell gently as I made my way down the moss-lined trail, boots squishing quietly against the damp earth. Towering evergreens stood like sentinels around me, their limbs heavy with mist. It was the kind of Washington weather that hushes the world into stillness—a perfect invitation to turn inward. As I walked toward the yurt tucked away in the woods, I felt something ancient stir within me. Despite my inconsistent yet deeply valued practices of yoga, meditation, and journaling—and the noisy hum of parenting, work, and life—this was a moment I had long been seeking. The theme of the day was “Phoenix Rising,” and everything—the rain, the forest, the air thick with quiet—seemed to honor that powerful metaphor.

This sacred dwelling journey was facilitated by Kylee, a grief doula and heart-centered guide who has dedicated her life to helping others alchemize pain into peace. Her presence was calm and grounded, and her voice carried a warmth that invited vulnerability with ease. We were a group of ten people all connected by one mutual friend who had weathered profound challenges in both health and relationships. Our circle formed around a central altar adorned with flickering candles, feathers, stones, and herbs—symbols of grief, hope, and rebirth. Just beside it, a prayer flag station invited us to write intentions, memories, and prayers that would later dance in the wind as blessings released to the sky.

The day unfolded like a ceremony, rhythmically moving through cycles of letting go and welcoming in. We began by sharing what we were ready to release—grief, fear, shame, and the stories we’ve outgrown. There were tears, laughter, and quiet nods of understanding. Through breathwork and guided body movement, we softened the armor around our hearts. We were witnessed. We were held. Kylie’s gentle facilitation made space for each voice, each story, and each rising Phoenix. We were not broken souls. We were shedding old skins, allowing the fire to cleanse us.

After our first journey, we lay down together, blankets wrapped around us, as a sound bath artist began to play. The vibrations from crystal bowls, chimes, and gentle percussion washed over us like an ocean wave. Sound baths, I’ve learned, are not just musical experiences—they are deeply therapeutic. The frequencies help guide the body into a parasympathetic state, where healing can begin on a cellular level. I could feel the resonance travel through my chest and belly, unlocking tension I hadn’t realized I was still holding. It was as though my soul had exhaled for the first time in years.

This experience, born from friendship, love, and a shared desire to heal, was unlike anything I’ve known. It wasn’t about fixing ourselves, but about remembering who we are beneath the wounds. Washington’s wild beauty provided the perfect container, Kylee offered the sacred space, and we—ten people with open hearts—brought the magic to life. As I left the yurt that afternoon, the rain had stopped. The sky opened slightly, and through the trees, I saw a clear and vibrant rainbow. Phoenix rising, indeed.