I came to move my body.
I left understanding it.
Naomi Park
Therapist between clients, Seattle
4 hours · barefoot · unscripted · no talking · no choreography
The forest
holds you first.
You arrive to a clearing in old-growth forest, forty-five minutes outside the city. No phones. No agenda handed to you. Someone greets you by name at the tree line.
You leave your shoes at the edge. The ground is soft — pine needles, damp earth, a few exposed roots that become landmarks by the end of the day.
What to bring:
- Comfortable clothes you can sweat in
- A light layer for the opening circle
- Water bottle (we provide food)
- An open body — not an open mind
40
people maximum
per gathering
Something in me let go that I'd been holding for three years. I didn't even know it was there until it left.
Miriam Chen
Somatic therapist, Portland
The circle
remembers you.
Forty strangers stand in a circle in the trees. No introductions. No names spoken. The facilitator rings a singing bowl — one long tone — and asks everyone to feel their feet on the ground.
For twelve minutes, you breathe together. Not guided breathing with counts and holds — just the sound of a group finding a shared rhythm, like a forest finding its wind.
By the end of the opening circle, something has already happened that you won't be able to explain later.
Opening Breathwork
12 minutes · unguided · collective
No instruction. The group finds its own breath. This is the first act of trust.
40 people · one breath
My yoga students ask why I seem different lately. I keep saying: I went to the woods and danced until I forgot my name.
Dario Reyes
Yoga teacher, Austin
Four hours of music
your body already knows.
Drone
0:00 – 0:45
Ambient drone. Single sustained tone. Your body finds stillness first — the kind of stillness that is actually full of movement.
Pulse
0:45 – 1:30
Low percussion enters. West African talking drums and a heartbeat bass. Your feet start before your mind gives permission.
Peak
1:30 – 2:45
Electronic crescendo. Forty bodies moving without watching each other, which means somehow moving together. This is where people cry.
Descent
2:45 – 3:30
The music slows like a tide going out. Instruments drop away one by one until only breath remains. Then: silence.
Then: three minutes of silence.
The loudest three minutes of most people's lives.
I work from home. I hadn't been touched by another human in six weeks. By hour two I was weeping and laughing at the same time.
Saoirse Brennan
UX designer, remote
You arrive back
in your own skin.
The cool-down is slow. Floor work. Long stretches. Some people stay horizontal for twenty minutes and nobody rushes them.
Then the sharing circle — optional, always. No pressure to speak. You can sit in the ring and let other voices wash over you. Some of what gets said changes people.
Afterward: a long table in the forest. Simple food. Soup, bread, roasted vegetables. The meal lasts as long as it needs to.
What people report afterward:
- Sleeping differently for several nights
- A looseness in the shoulders they forgot was possible
- Crying on the drive home for no reason
- Texting someone they had been avoiding
Ready to come home to your body?
Reserve My SpotChoose your day
in the woods.
Every session is capped at 40 people. Each silhouette below is a real spot.
for the person in your life who needs to come home to themselves