on retreat: an arctic circle ice adventure
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The ice hotel, Jukkasjärvi Sweden
the before: preparing for the ritual is the ritual
Last year I asked my community for their favourite retreat recommendations. My heart has been longing for a spiritual container away from home. I did a ton of research and nothing felt exactly right, I put it out of my mind and carried on with daily life.
Then at the end of 2024 one of my long time teachers, Rachel Brathen of yogagirl, announced she was hosting a retreat in Northern Sweden. I have been following Rachel since instagram literally came out in 2012 and consider her one of my favourite teachers. The subject of parasocial relationships is a topic for another time, but I felt like I knew her and felt no hesitancy about the chance to spend a week IRL learning with her.
Rachel has almost two million devoted online followers and I knew my chances of snagging a spot at her first retreat in five years would be slim. I marked my calendar, set my alarm, and when the day came and the clock on her website counted down to zero I had my credit card in one hand and my racing heart in the other. After a few anxious clicks — I did it. I somehow not only secured a spot, but I secured one of only six private rooms. It was real, I was going to Sweden. A confirmation page populated of the other attendees — just bubbles with initials and I thought, wow, some of these bubbles represent my new friends. I wondered who they were, where they were from, and what connections we would form.
A couple months before the retreat we had a group zoom call and I got to match the faces to the bubbles. We got to hear intros from everyone and make first impressions. It turned out to be about 30 women from all over the world. I made notes of who was from where and tried not to fan girl too hard and freak Rachel out. I had a couple of side chats going with girls who I already connected with. Rachel reminded us in the call that “preparing for the ritual is the ritual.” I took that to heart.
Soon after, we made a group chat and the questions of packing and logistics started floating around. We were already bonding as a group! Because of the many different time zones, the chat was buzzing at all times of night and day. We all shared the same nerves and excitement.
In preparation for the retreat, I re-read Rachel’s memoir, To Love and Let Go, and presented it along with a crash course in bakasana (crow pose) to my book club.
I ended up packing my suitcase (carry-on only, thank you very much) a full week before. One less thing to think about.
The days leading up to Sweden I could barely sleep. I would wake up several times a night sweating about the dumbest shit: what kind of socks would be best to wear on the plane? Did I buy too many base layers? Don’t forget SPF! Would Ry remember to water the plants? Would I get lost in the airports? (Fun fact: the hardest part of travelling to Sweden was navigating the godforsaken Newark airport).
I knew the magic groups like this could hold and I knew the importance and potency of travelling alone. Any retreat group I have been in has been magical and we often make bonds for life. I had done this before. When I was just 20 years old I travelled to Bali by myself for my first teacher training and live blogged the whole thing (real ones remember that era) and it changed the entire trajectory of my life. Any time I got nervous, I channeled that brave badass version of myself. This felt like that, but with a decade of wisdom and experience in my toolkit.
the beginning: fast friends and dog sleds
I landed in a tiny Northern Sweden town, Kiruna, a full 24H before we were being picked up (via dog sled!) to leave room for possible delays and to give myself plenty of time to settle in. My plan was to eat and sleep. When I checked in, I asked the front desk guy if the hotel restaurant offered room service. He flipped his blonde shaggy hair and raised his eyebrows, “No, but if you ask really nicely I can bring something up to your room.” Oh. No. No thank you.
I took a sleep aid, closed the curtains, and slept for eleven hours. I ventured out for what I correctly assumed would be my last green juice and chai for the week.
One of the women I had connected with beforehand, K, was flying in with a huge chunk of the retreat group and we arranged to meet in the lobby of my hotel. I saw K’s gorgeous long red hair flowing through the front door and knew this was the new friend I had been chatting with. We hugged like we had known each other for ages and behind her stood maybe a dozen other smiling faces. I introduced myself and hugged them enthusiastically one by one. It was quite the entrance.
Once we sat down, one of the women confided in me that that moment would have been her worst nightmare and she was impressed. “What do you mean?!” I asked. “Oh hugging all the women one by one with everyone watching! Being the centre of attention like that!” We laughed. “I’m an Aries Sun and a Leo moon, this is my best life.” It tuned out that this was A, from Ireland, and she ended up being one of my favourite friends from the retreat. She claimed to be shy but I watched her flitter around the group, making friends with literally everyone with ease and humour the entire week.
It was time to choose our dog sled group: four women plus a guide per 11 dogs. My group of four was K, lil K, A, and J. This turned out to be my core group for the whole week (although everyone got along and we all flowed with each other, it never felt like there were set groups. That was quite remarkable actually, the social experiment of putting 33 women in an intimate container — we all became so close so quickly and everyone got along with everyone).
Because I was the smallest, I got to sit in the very front. I arguably had the best view but I also was taking the first hit of all the snow spray and husky toots (!). My god.
The ride to The Ice Hotel (did I mention we were staying in a hotel made of ice!?) in Jukkasjärvi was an hour long and I could hear squealing and laughing from the back of the sled with every bump, and it turns out it was A who “had to wee!” This all just made us laugh even harder and jury’s out on whether A had to exchange her snow pants or not. (She’s gonna kill me for this).
The dog sled company has over 100 dogs bred and trained for this work, many from the same litter, so brothers and sisters were running alongside each other. With the size of our group, I think we had over 80 dogs. The sound of all of them barking and playing was so loud and fun, forever embedded in my memory. As soon as the guides told them it was time to go, they stopped barking, got in line, and got to work. At first I couldn’t help but worry for the dogs (I don't even support horse and carriage rides) but our guide assured us they loved to work. They lived for it. A few minutes into the ride I could see what he meant. They were smiling and running and taking chomps of snow from the snowbanks to cool down. Being March, this was nearing the end of the season and despite the negative temperatures, the pups were running warm. These dogs are living their dharma.
We crossed frozen rivers, frozen lakes, and snow kissed forests. We crossed the energetic threshold of the start of the retreat. It was the unrivalled feeling of crossing the line between before and after.
One by one the sleds parked and Rachel was there to welcome us. She gave us all hugs and repeated our names. I have since got to hear her POV of seeing us all roll in and the feeling of welcoming a retreat group again for the first time in half a decade. She was just as nervous, if not more than we were. Epic.
Opening circle was in a traditional Sámi tent, a lavvu, with a roaring fire in the middle, billowing smoke into an opening revealing the starry arctic sky. We were grounding in the new reality of our circumstance. We were all looking around the circle with wide eyes and bewildered glances — we were really here. We were in a tiny northern Sweden village in the Arctic Circle, even further north than Iceland.
There were 33 women from 11 countries sitting around the fire. 33 stories. 33 hearts. One common present purpose.
Each woman shared her name, her story, and why she was there. When someone cried, I cried. These women were remarkable. The many paths walked, lives lived, and love loved were palpable and it was only the beginning. While I cannot share their stories out of respect for their privacy, each one was deeply moving. Despite the differences in backgrounds, age, cultures etc. we all had so much in common. We had the same hopes. The same insecurities. The same hurt. The same wishes. This was a magical group.
Finally, we got to check out the resort. The Ice Hotel in Jukkasjärvi is considered to be the worlds first, established in 1989. It opens every December using ice harvested from the nearby Torne river. After the season ends, weather depending but usally around May, the entire hotel melts away and returns to the river it was made from. There are several buildings: the first is the aforementioned Ice Hotel, which melts every year, and then there is a second ice building, called 365, which remains frozen all year round with a grand cathedral, thanks to the power of generators. Then of course, there are cabins and warm hotel rooms. Most people do one cold night and the rest warm. There is a restaurant, lounge, bar, shops, and a separate building with a huge ice heart carved in front of it that was transformed into a yoga shala just for us.
the during: aurora and reindeer
We had five days together. The schedule was packed from 6AM to often times well past 11PM. We started our days with yoga asana and ended them with rowdy dinners, Rachel’s homemade herbal tea, and chasing the Aurora. Due to the jam packed schedule and the jet leg, I was averaging 4 hours of sleep a night. At one point my oura ring warned me of “major signs of strain” which I hadn’t even received when I was sick, but it didn’t matter. I was committed to trying everything. After a few sleepy down dogs and some lingonberry pannkakor, I was always ready for the next adventure.
The first practice with Rachel I felt incredibly discombobulated, disembodied, and in disbelief. The voice I had listened to for the better part of thirteen years was right in front of me. When I closed my eyes, I felt like I was just flowing in my living room. It felt like a dream. I was overcome with gratitude. I tried my best to stay present and soak it all up. I had the foresight to know that this would be over all too quickly but that I would carry it with me forever.
We visited a Sámi village and had the most incredible guide. She was around my age but seemed to have lived a thousand lives and her wisdom and humour was carefully layered in each and every story she wove. She told us of the great injustices of Swedish colonialism, children snatched from their families and given to white Swedish families instead. “Mute Agreements” were signed so the child could never learn of their true heritage. She cried telling us the story, and we cried with her. It is not unlike the horrific histoy of Canadian Residential Schools.
We got to feed the reindeer. It felt like a true pinch me moment straight out of Frozen.
We went on a late night snowmobile safari — chasing after the northern lights. My closest friend from the retreat J, is a mom of five year old twins and jut the sweetest soul. J was hesitant to take her turn to drive but when she did I could sense the accomplishment emanating from her as we sailed over the frozen lake. I woooped and cheered for her and was overcome with pride as I had been so many times over the week witnessing women overcome their fears.
That night, on the safari, we stopped at a clearing and all laid down in the snow waiting for the aurora. Someone starting singing “Let it Go”. Out of 33 out of us, somehow the exact number of us that could hold a tune amounted to zero. We could not stop laughing. It was one of those moments in life where you look around and realize a core memory is being formed. We didn’t see any aurora but all manifested it for the next night.
The next night at dinner, my bestie J was using an aurora tracking app and when she was satisfied with the projected percent chance of visibility, she decided to run out without her jacket and check it out. A few moments later she texted me and told us she found them. I told the group and Rachel yelled, “LET’S HAUL ASS!” and with a smattering of forks and a skittering of chairs we ran out of the dining room. J found them! We all looked up to the starry night sky, some shivering, some in jackets that weren’t theirs but all of us in awe. We found the northern lights. They found us. I had tears in my eyes and goosebumps on my arms that I knew weren’t just from the arctic night air.
We snowshoed up a mountain. That was the hardest part of the week for me! (My boots were three sizes too big and hikes and I are not copasetic, but even still I was determined to do and try everything). I started out at the front of the pack and quickly deemed myself unfit to lead. Remember A? My Irish friend? She later admitted through a cheeky grin to ditching me because I complained too much. I found myself commiserating at the back with lil K and giggling through our misery. Then I found K and talked her ear off about reiki to distract ourselves from the work. The way down was much easier.
We participated in a traditional ten step sauna ritual. I should preface this with saying, I knew there was going to be a cold plunge, and I took to training and had a 43 second record. Let me tell you, a bougie Boston spa cold plunge is extremely different than a hole carved out of a frozen lake in northern Sweden. I lasted less than 17 seconds. But I did it. It was exhilarating. We each cheered each other on and were slipping and sliding on the ice bursting into giggle fits to ward off the hypothermia. We warmed up in the sauna by smacking ourselves with birch leaves (they smelled like tea). Our guide wafted the hot air towards us with a towel in what seemed like a choreographed dance. The air was so hot it was burning our faces so we hid behind our hands. He led us through the most intense and gorgeous session, bringing the heat up to really challenging crescendos, matching the crashing music. It was a reminder that the breath is the anchor: no matter how hot or how cold.
Glennon Doyle’s “We can do hard things” became somewhat of a group mantra over the course of the weeks challenges. But my favourite motivational quote came from my new friend T, from Tennessee. One night, we had a fancy five or six course “ice” dinner where everything was served on… you guessed it… a block of ice. One of the starter dishes was thinly shaved lox (my vegetarian equivalent was shaved carrots). T had been extremely brave all week. I really admired her. I think she was one of the oldest from the group, and I loved her wisdom and zest. I really felt a kinship with her. During particularly challenging moments, you could see fear disguised as skepticism creep over her face and then the exact moment when she chose a brave smile instead. “Listen ladies,” she said in her thick southern accent in reference to the lox, “it’ll just slide right down your throat!” From that moment on, when anyone was hesitant about anything, I channeled my inner T and quoted her. At the end of the week she thanked me for being her personal cheerleader, and I just couldn't help it, I found her so damn inspiring.
the during: how you move through dynamic meditation is how you move through life
Authors note + Trigger Warning: What follows is a direct reflection of my experience during a Dynamic Meditation. Triggering topics such as abuse, violence, deep anger etc. may be described or alluded to. Please take good care and skip this part if you are particularly sensitive to this energy or have any specific triggers or traumas.
I meditate every day. I sit in circles often. I “do the work” and yet nothing could have prepared me for our 7AM Dynamic Meditation. Rachel described it clearly the night before, and again that morning. I had read about it in her memoir. I had seen the tote bag of one of the women who also did Rachel’s YTT. V’s tote bag said something to the effect of “I survived Dynamic Meditation so I can survive anything.” I think V had made it herself. It doubled as a joke and a warning.
All the mats and blocks were cleared. In their place were folded blankets, mapping where each of us were to stand in safe proximity of one another. The work was to take place over an hour, each part roughly ten minutes in length.
I found a blanket. I found a blindfold. I stood, waiting.
A gong indicated the first of five parts. Loud tribal music began to play.
Part One: Bellow Breathing
We were told to breathe erratically and with our whole bodies. The demo looked like flapping your arms, bending your knees, and breathing out quickly through the nose. A human bellow, fanning the flames. This lasted for ten minutes but felt like longer, I was already exhausted.
Part Two: The Catharsis
We were told to cry, scream, throw a tantrum. Hit the blanket. Stomp our feet. If we didn't feel like it, we were told to fake it to make way for something real.
Immediately the room erupted in primal screams. We were all blindfolded but I could sense the women close to me, and far from me. The music was loud with a heavy bass and intense drum beat but the screams were louder. My first response was to cover my ears and sob. It was too much. It was too loud. It was too raw. It was too real. It was too visceral. The pain of 33 women and the ancestral, generational trauma that we all carried was coming to a head and being released. It was the most terrifying sound. I sobbed and sobbed. I could feel the floor shaking. Every cry carried so much pain. I could hear words, too. “No!” “Get away from me!” “Stop!” More sobbing. I had a sense of who was around me and I desperately wanted to rip my blindfold off and console my friends. I wanted to hold them and tell them it would be okay. My instinct was to help, and comfort. I made myself as small as I could and cried. I thought, well, I am sure I have anger in me, I should try screaming too. I did. It felt inauthentic. I sobbed some more. I cried for myself, I cried for these women, I cried for the state of the world. I cried for every time I was told I was too much, or not enough. I cried for each of our necks being choked by the boot of the patriarchy. I cried for my privilege to do this, even though every woman in the world should have the opportunity. I cried for all the times my anger was not allowed simply because of my gender and societal conditioning. I cried for the baby I have not had yet. I cried for the world I was going to bring them into. I cried and I cried.
We were a room of daughters, wives, mothers. We were dismissed, cast aside, humiliated, talked down to, degraded, in some cases abused. But together, we were sisters. The sound of another woman’s guttural cry gave you permission and space for your own.
What was happening here was important work. Vital release.
However, I was left shaking. I am a sponge to the energy around me and instead of releasing, I felt like I had soaked it all up. Was I taking on pain that wasn't even mine?
Part Three: Hoo Jumping
The gong sounded again. We transitioned into what we had been told earlier: with arms raised high above your head, jump up and down shouting the mantra, “Hoo! Hoo! Hoo!” as deeply as possible. Each time you land, on the flats of your feet, let the sound hammer deep into your centre. Give all you have; exhaust yourself completely.
Sporadic “hoos!” broke out around the room but soon we were in synch. We were jumping and chanting and landing on the earth at the exact same time. Even though we were exhausted, our throats sore from screaming, tears still streaming down our faces, snot in our noses, we jumped as one. Hoo. Hoo. Hoo. The power of one. Where I had just felt scared and overwhelmed, I now felt empowered and supported.
Part Three: Silence
The gong sounds. We freeze mid air. Silence.
This stretched on and on. I became internally obsessed with how I looked. The teachers were watching, I couldn’t drop my arms, I had to freeze in place and be perfect. Eventually, my knees buckled but I remained standing. I felt myself waiver, but then I remembered what Rachel said when she described the exercise: how you move through dynamic meditation is how you move through life. I wasn’t going to give up. I wasn’t going to sit down. I am strong and fromiddible with an inextinguishable fire. That is how I move through life. I also move through life wanting to be perfect, and to please. This was extremely revealing.
It felt like an hour. Rachel later admitted that it was fifteen minutes.
Part Four: Dancing
Gong. New music, happier music. Even though I was still blindfolded, I found the sun. I could sense the blinds being lifted. Rachel later described us all as sunflowers turning to the light. We danced. We shook it off. We welcomed the day.
Find out more about OSHO Dynamic Meditation here.
Later that day a few friends approached me with looks of concern asking if I was okay. I think the truth was that I wasn’t. At first I made jokes about how fucked up it was to ask how we all were during breakfast, because the truth was we just moved something really heavy. Later in the privacy of my own room, I palo santo’d myself and took some deep breaths. I said a prayer. I was grateful for a spiritual hygiene practice and tried to shed what wasn't mine. J came to my room and we had a good conversation. I palo’d her too and read her tarot.
When time for formal sharing came, we sat cross legged, knees touching, eyes gazing across to our partner like we had done so many times that week. One person shares for two minutes, completely uninterrupted, while the other holds space. You may not assure your partner or speak in any way. Just deep listening. Just generous holding. My partner shared how much lighter she felt and how a knot in her chest that she has carried for years was finally unraveled. When it was my turn to share, I told the truth. I told her I found it traumatizing and that I felt like I had soaked up pain that wasn't mine. We cheated a little at the end and gave each other replies and she said she was sorry. I had to explain that it wasn’t anything to be sorry for — I am so glad she had the release. I just had to figure out how to set stronger energetic boundaries and as an intuitive and an empath, that environment was the ultimate test.
the ice room: a literal sign from the universe?
As if dynamic meditation wasn’t challenging enough, this was also the day we would venture into the ice rooms and “sleep cold”. The rooms were minus 5 degrees celsius/ 23 degrees fahrenheit. We had toured them all to admire the art, as each room is unique and artists from around the world are brought in to make their mark. They were simply stunning. I couldn’t even carve a block of ice properly in the ice sculpting class, I had so much appreciation for these artists who made full rooms, chandeliers, furniture etc. out of ice. Some of them were beautiful, some of them were freaky. One of the rooms had this huge iguana lizard thing and a carving of an otherworldly person trapped in ice and another lizard with red LED eyes “watching” the ice bed and I immediately said to J, “nope, nightmare fuel!” and peeled it outta there.
We were given a sleeping bag with a hood that zips all the way around so only your face is peeking out and were advised to just wear base layers, socks, and a toque (ahem, Canadian for beanie). Your phone could come with you in the sleeping bag so you had an alarm but nothing else was to be brought in the room or it would literally freeze. A few people opted out and kept their warm rooms, however I think I was the only one that kept my warm room as back up and also booked into a cold room. I wanted the security of knowing if I really couldn’t sleep, I could go back to my warm room and catch some zzz’s as to not totally ruin the day ahead.
It was around 11:30PM by the time I checked into my ice room. J got the cutest room with the bed flanked my love doves that we took as a symbol of her twins being with her. We did a little photoshoot together, said our goodnights, and with my sleeping bag wrapped around me I wandered down the hallway to find my room. I was met with a literal sign: “OUT OF ORDER” Oh. How is an ice room out of order? That’s weird. I went to the front desk and they explained that my room was MELTING. It had been a warm day and it was nearing the end of the season. Was this a sign from the universe? Could I say, oh well, I tried, good thing I have my warm room!?
I decided to ask for another room, after all this was a highlight of the trip and I wanted the experience. The front desk took a few moments to figure it out but when they did they had huge smiles on their faces. “We are going to give you one of our nicest rooms, the deluxe room. It is in hotel 365.” I was escorted over to the other ice hotel (everyone else was in the traditional melt away building). I opened the door to be greeted by the giant iguana lizard thing. Yep. The nightmare fuel room was my room. It was sprawling, huge. What I didn’t know the first time that I toured it though, was that it had an anti-chamber that connected to a warm bathroom, tea area, and a private sauna. Woah. I guess this is what they meant by deluxe. It was gorgeous.
I tried to call J to see if she wanted this room because I was pretty sure I wasn't gonna last all night. I hadn’t passed a single soul in this side of the hotel and between the eerie silence of the ice and snow, I felt incredibly isolated. Her phone was on DND and I imagined she was already fast asleep nestled between her twin love doves.
Well after midnight now, I quickly FaceTimed Ry to show him my luck. If he was here with me it would have been a lot more fun, but it was cool that I got to share the moment with him regardless. I climbed into my sleeping bag which was layered over reindeer pelts on a massive ice bed. I did a little meditation and turned off the lights. Luckily the red LED lizard eyes turned off too. Then, I ran into a little problem: Imagine you are a caterpillar in a snuggly cocoon but you want to sleep on your side. It is not really possible, it seemed like being on your back is the only way to go while bundled up so tight. 90 sleepless minutes passed. I heard the wind howling through the “walls” and I decided to call it. At least I tried! Nearing 2AM now, sleeping bag slung over my shoulders, I waddled over to my warm room. Let me tell you — I have never felt so grateful for room temperature. Praise fucking be! No part of me felt defeated, I was really proud that I tried and grateful for the icy experience.
The next morning, the group consensus was mixed. T claimed she had the best sleep of her life, while J barely clocked an hour and was feeling pretty rough. It sounded like everyone else fell somewhere in between. What we all agreed on though, was this was a bucket list quality experience and how cool it was that we got to do that. Pun intended.
the closing: deep gratitude and brave changes
Somehow the last day had arrived and it was time for our beautiful closing circle. Candles everywhere. The mood was calm and the energy of the room was soft. Rachel shared that we had used the last match and the last tissue. It was simply poetic.
At closing there were more laughs and tears, but this time we were not strangers anymore. It had felt like we all journeyed much longer and deeper than just five days. Some women felt an immense shift and could already tell the retreat changed their life. We were given a journal prompt: what is your heart’s longing? The first thing that came to mind for me was that I longed for everyone to be able to get the opportunity to meet themselves as deeply as we met ourselves this week and to connect with others as deeply as we connected with each other. My heart’s longing is for everyone to have the opportunity to do something like this. Taking time off from regular life to fly across the world is the ultimate privilege and I wholly acknowledge that. It doesn’t have to be a retreat, perhaps we can find micro moments of connection and self exploration and sisterhood in our daily lives. Perhaps we can carve out this intentional space and bring it home to our friends and communities.
the after: integration and collective care
A bunch of us were on the same flight from tiny Kiruna to Stockholm. The line through security was long. Rachel and her family were behind us. Even though I had travelled with the same carry on liquids through multiple global airports, this tiny airport had a problem with my liquids and my vitamins (!). The security guard yelled to me across from her x-ray that she found glass vials and I would have to unpack my bag. I explained they were vitamins and not liquids, but she wasn't having it. The line was so long and I was holding it up, I felt so embarrassed. I was exhausted and overwhelmed and this just sent me over the edge. Tears staring prickling my eyes while I went through my bag and had to throw things away. Some girls had full size lotions and body butters and security didn’t bat an eye but for whatever reason I was made an example of. J said maybe they wanted to point out the “dumb American” and I laughed and took more offence to the latter adjective than the former.
The seal had been broken and hot tears continued to flow down my face. I was blubbering in front of everyone in the fucking security line. Ugh.
What happened next completely captures the essence of my retreat: in my feeling of overwhelm I was not alone. My girlfriends were all there to help me. Item by item, my liquids were passed down the line as they fit them in their bags. M told me a funny story to distract me while she and J took some of my lotions and potions. Security seemed to be annoyed with me but couldn’t dispute that we made it work while technically adhering to the rules.
I felt so held and supported in that moment. Collective care. Under normal circumstances, I would not have broke down like this. I had been pretty level headed and surprisingly not super emotional all week but this conflict straight after the lovely retreat container was incredibly jarring. My friends carried me through. J had my jacket, my bag, and I boarded the plane in a daze. I cried some more behind my mask on the plane and J just held me. We ate chips and laughed at the preposterous nature of it all. And that is how I said goodbye to Northern Sweden.
Once we arrived in the Stockholm airport, I was meeting up with Ry so we could have a vacation week of our own.
I was with the group, maybe 15 of us, when Ry found me. He scooped me up in front of everyone and I could hear a collective “aweee!”. I hugged and said goodbye to everyone. It was just like the way I started the trip. But this time my heart was bursting with love and a deep knowing that this was not goodbye. It was quite the exit.
Mindfully integrating into “real life” is imperative after intense containers like retreats or trainings. You have to go slow and be gentle. Be mindful of sensory overwhelm and try to stay grounded.
The first night in Stockholm, Ry and I went to a restaurant that must have been hosting a work function and it was just jam packed with men. Huge, tall, oblivious Swedish men. We had to push past them. I found myself extremely sensitive to masculine energy after being immersed in the divine feminine for so long. I conferred with the retreat group chat and it turns out I wasn’t alone. The group chat continued to buzz and there were many “I miss you!” texts and selfies. A text from V came in while I was brushing my teeth one morning, “I know this is a long shot but is anyone at the airport? I could use a hug.” I thought that was the sweetest thing and probably represented how we were all feeling.
It’s almost two weeks since we all said goodbye to each other and I already have plans to see a few of my retreat friends this year. I am going to North Carolina in June and might meet up with K, J is coming to Boston in August, and I am going to Ireland and will meet up with A in September. The group chat is alive and while overtime it will likely fade, the time we had together will live on forever through our courage, our loving actions, our self tending, and our collective care. This was so much more than a yoga retreat, as they often are. This was magic.
Thank you Sweden. Thank you Rachel. Thank you to my 33 new sisters. Thank you thank you thank you.
Wishing you connection and adventure,
ty
