In November, I was on a train on my way to Danny Shmulevich’s Walking Your Promise retreat in Gloucester when I realized I was having a panic attack.
I booked this retreat as I was struggling to recover from COVID-19, crawling through my days in a fog of anxiety and exhaustion, and then spending my nights in the claws of insomnia. It was a few months ago.
Physically, it took a toll on me, but it was more than that. I felt sick and lost. For more than a decade, the darkness and trauma of my professional life as a human rights journalist and the unrelenting force of my home life had broken something deep within me. I felt like I was living my life as if a high-speed freight train had suddenly hit a wall and a vehicle was slamming into me from behind.
I had to escape to heal, but I didn’t know how. And one night, while he was scrolling through her online Yoga Week and Spa hotels, he immersed participants in the solitude of an ancient forest in Gloucestershire for three days while walking your promise to her. I found a retreat. They sleep under the stars, fast for 24 hours, and “tune into the rhythms of their natural environment to reconnect with their bodies and find deeper sensations.”
I registered immediately. But now, as the train approaches Gloucester station, my heart is pounding and my hands are slippery with sweat. The fact that you’ve been paying so much money to be cold and hungry suddenly seems ridiculous. Even more worrying is how scary it is to sit alone in a tree for days without doing anything. No yoga, cooking classes, or craft projects. I had to leave my cell phone behind and I wasn’t allowed to bring any books with me. I’ve never done it before, so I don’t know what will happen if I stop, and I suddenly don’t want to know.
Still, retreating seemed too humiliating, so I made my way to Danny’s house, sweating and panicking. When the taxi stopped, I was greeted by a small man wearing dyed wool and a silver topknot. He is so calm and kind and I felt my heart relax as he was confident that this was where I was meant to be.
An hour later, after lunch and reading some calming poetry, it was time to head into the woods, so I put down my phone and followed Danny’s flashlight into the darkness down a country lane. I moved on. We walk in silence in the darkness, weaving through dark trees as owls hoot overhead. Eventually, I saw a flicker of light in the shadows and the campsite came into view. The campsite came into view. The campsite came into view. The campsite came into view. The campsite came into view. The campsite came into view. The campsite came into view. For me, this is my forest home for the next three days. )
If Danny ever wanted to get out of the conservation business, he could land a job as a breathtaking outdoor hygge stylist. The main camp is sheltered by a giant oak tree, with a canvas stretched over a crackling campfire and a bubbling pot of turmeric and orange peel tea. There are sofas and armchairs, lots of sheepskins, and flickering altar candles in glass bottles. Danny said this was where he would be staying for the duration of the retreat, tending the fire and talking if I needed it. The rest of the camp is all to myself.
He led me through the trees to where there was a surprisingly comfortable-looking bed on the ground, covered with blankets and sheepskins. Nearby, there are hammocks lined with more sheepskins. Beyond that is a meditation space with a view of the forest.
We ate dinner back by the fire and Danny told me stories about his childhood growing up in the Sinai desert. Work with Bedouin tribes. and his search for stillness and connection. He believes that the reason we humans are so unhappy and sick is because we have been conditioned to live in our heads, ignoring our innate ability to sense and connect with the natural world around us. I believe it’s because I’ve been there. He sees his work as helping people rediscover the connection between their body and mind. He’s nice company, smart and thoughtful, and can sit quietly without feeling weird.
After a while (I don’t know what time it will be without my phone), I fill up my hot water bottle, turn on my headlamp, head to bed, and crawl into my sleeping bag.
Above, a velvety black sky is dotted with twinkling stars through the swaying branches. It was my first time sleeping outside like this, and at first I couldn’t sleep as everything felt strange, but soon I fell asleep listening to the trees creaking in the darkness.
In the morning light, the forest glows green, gold, and fiery red. I am surrounded by old beech, oak, and sweet chestnut trees, and tangled bushes of ferns and holly.
After newsletter promotion
You sit by the fire for a while, and when a deep fatigue suddenly hits you, you head to your hammock and fall asleep there. When I wake up, I walk to my meditation space and sit there looking at the trees.
I noticed that my mind, which was usually a torrent of to-do lists, work stress, and self-flagellation, was silent. For a long time I sat there, watching the branches sway in the wind and the leaves spiral to the ground. I’m not bored. I don’t think about my kids, my job, or the big questions in life. I noticed a small mushroom growing at the base of a fallen tree, and a beetle moving in the undergrowth. Everything feels alive and alive. Your nervous system is still, and as the light fades and the forest darkens, you sit and feel your heart beating and your breath moving in and out of your body.
Without cell phones and clocks, time becomes darker. Since you haven’t eaten anything today, you have nothing to do or consume, so it doesn’t matter what time it is. The night ends, the day begins, and unfolds minute by minute. It’s a wonderful feeling.
When I go to bed that night, I dream of dystopian city skylines, trains screaming out of tunnels, and trucks spewing oil. At some point I wake up, lie in my hammock, look up at the butter-colored moon, and watch the night slowly and quietly slip away and the day begin again.
The next morning we broke our fast with nuts and fruit and walked the few miles to the top of Mayhill, where I sat in a clump of old pines and looked out over the Gloucestershire countryside. The things that had scared me before I came here – hunger, cold, loneliness, boredom – turned out to be an illusion. Rather, at Danny’s retreat, I discovered a sense of expansiveness and connection to the world around me, and it’s no exaggeration to say that it changed everything.
Two years later, it’s still hard to explain, but it’s like the forest gave me an inner treasure trove of joy and peace that I now have access to whenever I need it. . Sometimes this feeling comes up while I’m walking or swimming outside, but even if it’s just for a moment, it takes my mind off the clutter and chatter of my mind and allows me to focus on the living world around me. You can become a member.
It still amazes me how something as simple as putting away my phone and sitting in the woods for a few days can be such a transformative experience. But that’s about it. The hardest part was just stopping and looking around. The rest was all around me.
individual Walking Your Promise Retreat 1,150 pounds for 3 days and 2 nights. Group retreat £595 (subsidised)
