YOUR RETREAT INFORMATION UP HERE FOR URGENCY AND SALES

MEET YOUR GUIDE

luna ashwood

Nature Guide | Breathwork Facilitator | Women's Circle Keeper

NOW BOOKING // NOW BOOKING // NOW BOOKING // NOW BOOKING // NOW BOOKING // NOW BOOKING // NOW BOOKING // NOW BOOKING // NOW BOOKING // NOW BOOKING // NOW BOOKING // NOW BOOKING // NOW BOOKING // NOW BOOKING // NOW BOOKING // NOW BOOKING // NOW BOOKING

For fifteen years, I chased stories across continents—a travel writer with a notebook in one pocket and a harmonica in the other. I interviewed shamans in Peru, documented disappearing villages in Nepal, and wrote about everything except the one story that mattered most: my own.

Burnout found me in my early thirties. The deadlines, the constant movement, the performance of it all—it hollowed me out. I returned to the Cascade Mountains where I grew up, thinking I'd stay for a month. That was six years ago.

from pages to pathways

Hello, I'm Luna,

The forest remembered me before I remembered myself. Long walks became daily rituals. Breathwork replaced the anxiety medication I'd relied on for years. I started sitting in circles with other women, discovering a lineage of wisdom I'd been running from my whole life—the sacred feminine, the cyclical nature of healing, the power of simply being present.

I never meant to become a guide. But when you find your way back to yourself, people notice. They started asking to walk with me, to sit with me, to learn what the wild had taught me. Now, I lead others into the landscape that saved my life—not as tourists, but as pilgrims returning home to themselves.

I still write, though now it's poetry that no one reads. I still play music, though now it's around bonfires instead of open mic nights. These days, I'm less interested in capturing experiences and more devoted to creating them—spaces where wanderers and dreamers can shed who they thought they should be and remember who they actually are.

The wild isn't just where I work. It's who I've become.

The land holds what we've forgotten. I've watched the Australian bush return women to themselves over and over again. Not through force or fixing, but through presence. Through the simple, radical act of slowing down enough to notice what's actually true. The wild doesn't demand you be healed before you arrive—it holds you exactly as you are while you remember who you've always been.

Rest is not a reward you earn. It's your birthright. For too long, we've been taught that exhaustion is a badge of honour, that burnout means we're doing it right. I'm here to tell you that's a lie that's stealing your life. The most rebellious thing you can do in a culture addicted to productivity is to simply stop. To breathe. To be.

Women heal in circles, not in isolation. There's medicine in being witnessed by other women who aren't trying to fix you or compete with you. Who can hold space for your mess, your rage, your grief, your wild joy—all of it. The sacred feminine isn't some abstract concept. It's what happens when women gather honestly and remember they're not meant to carry everything alone.

Transformation isn't linear, and it shouldn't be rushed. I work seasonally, cyclically, at the pace of actual growth—not the pace of weekend workshops that promise to change your life by Monday. Real change takes time. It requires you to feel things you've been avoiding. To grieve what needs to die. To rest while the new version of you is still germinating in the dark. I'm here for the long game, not the quick fix.