The SoulHaven Residency: My Reflections on Resting, Creativity, and Embodying Freedom

“Let freedom ring from the snow-capped Rockies of Colorado” - Martin Luther King, Jr. 

“Soul is a constant. It’s cultural. It’s always going to be there, in different flavors and degrees.“ -  Aretha Franklin 

I spent ten days in Lake City, Colorado on retreat. The SoulHAVEN Collective exists to provide safe spaces of retreat, healing, and rejuvenation in nature for BIPOC artists, visionaries, equalizers, and trusted accomplices, with curated experiences that replenish the human soul. As a board member, I was invited to participate in this year’s retreat, which was the first Artists in Residency program since SoulHaven officially became a nonprofit.

The drive into Lake City, Colorado from the Gunnison Airport was dark and dry — literally. All I could see while nestled in the back seat of one of the cofounders’ van was the two-lane street before us, illuminated by headlights. I was immediately instructed to triple my water intake by my friend, Brittany (one of two cofounders of SoulHaven), as we encroached upon 9000 feet above sea level, new terrains and heights for my lil’ Atlanta heart. I could feel my skin tightening due to the dry air, but this feeling was no test for the intensity of the excitement bubbling within me to arrive and settle in bed after a long day of connecting flights. After about an hour of chit-chat and winding along the road in the backseat, we arrived at a humble inn with a maple-syrup-colored wooden exterior. Darkness still enveloped me, but the sky above was illuminated with more stars than sky. Brittany showed me to my room, and pointed into the blackness to our right, before leaving me with an instruction: “When you wake up tomorrow morning, walk right outside of your door and look straight ahead”. I entered my room, a cozy woodland-themed bedroom with forest green quilting on the bed that I was desperate to lie in, sent texts to my loved ones to inform them of my arrival and dozed off into dreamland.

It was bright and early when my eyes opened the next morning, but the room was bright as the sun beamed through the shades. I looked at the time on the alarm clock beside me. It was 7:00 AM, which would typically be waaay earlier than the world usually sees me awake, but the two-hour time difference worked to my advantage as an early riser in my new surroundings. Drearily but expectantly, I crept over to the window to peer through the blinds — a wall of bright gold trees trailing up to a mountain I couldn’t even see the peak of stretched across my first-floor window. Brittany was right, I couldn’t have seen THIS during the late-night drive the night prior. I exclaimed “Oh my god!” to myself (the first exclamation of many during the 10 days), and bundled up so I could take a better look at the tease of a view I received through the blinds. I stepped out of my door and froze. The mountain of trees I could see through my window wasn’t the only mountain in sight I was surrounded by mountains, golden trees, and crisp Colorado blue at every glance. Joining me in the middle of this majestic yellow-brick-road-lined valley of trees was a creek, leading to a vast lake that perfectly mirrored a snow-capped mountain in the water’s reflection. Oh my god!!! For the next ten days, I’d be residing in a postcard.

Unlike most residencies where artists are required to produce a work product by the end of their participation, SoulHaven invites BIPOC artists and activists to do nothing — there is no requirement or deliverable to showcase. In a world that socializes us into believing that we are worthless unless we are producing something, and how capitalism wants us burnt out, exhausted, and numb, The SoulHaven Collective radically encourages the opposite: attendees can rest, dream, and create only if they are moved to do so. As Tricia Hersey aka the Nap Bishop boldly proclaims: Rest is Resistance. Not only does SoulHaven encourage rest, but the organization curates their residency with rest and rejuvenation as its entire premise. 

This is one layer of the magic that is the SoulHaven experience. Each artivist is personally invited to Lake City, Colorado, provided with lodging, food, a curated community of fellow BIPOC artists, and a front-row seat to Mother Nature’s beautiful earth and her wonders. There are no obligations during the programming, and while there are hiking excursions, yoga, and other activities available, they are all invitations and not requirements. If we wanted to show up and do literally nothing, that was okay too. Did I mention that the SoulHaven Artists in Residency program is free for participants (and heavily relies on donations?)

While I spent the majority of my time sleeping, writing, reading, and having the most inspiring conversations with the cohort, I did partake in a few experiences that were highlights I will cherish for a long time.

Forest Bathing, Star Gazing, and Awakening My Inner Artist

When I heard that “forest bathing” was on the agenda as an optional excursion, I thought we’d be rolling around in some leaves somewhere. I wasn’t opposed to the idea per se, but it definitely felt foreign to me as a self-proclaimed city girl. However, when the forest bathing guides level set on what forest bathing was and the real health benefits that the activity provides, I was first in line to be a part of it. Forest bathing is an embodied, sensory meditation where you connect to the land through your senses. The term emerged in Japan in the 1980s as a physiological and psychological exercise called shinrin-yoku, which literally translates into forest bathing. Japan began encouraging and instituting shinrin-yoku as an eco-antidote to tech-boom burnout and to inspire residents to reconnect with and protect the country’s forests. Of course, we weren’t in Japan, we were in Lake City, Colorado, but the benefits of forest bathing can be felt anywhere where there is natural earth and trees.

I have always struggled with meditation — I am so used to operating in what feels like the opposite of a meditative state, a diagnosed “busy body” that couldn’t really quite slow my mind down enough to “just sit there”, which is how I would have described meditation before forest bathing for the first time. I didn’t feel capable of tuning out my thoughts, and lowkey I was scared of whatever boogeyman was hiding in my inner shadows that I stay too busy to acknowledge. However, what was beautiful about forest bathing was it wasn’t a “tune out” but more a “tune in”. We were guided by two amazing facilitators, who held a few guided prompts for us to wander within ourselves, while the forest was our container. During all of the prompts, we were tuned into our senses: what did we hear around us? What was the closest sound? What was the farthest sound? How does my breath blend into the sounds that I hear? Explore the land around you. Get into the details of the leaves, the river, the tree bark (I opted for a teeny tiny pinecone that I found in the grass). What do you see?

There are a few versions of this that I’ve seen in literature: in The Artist’s Way, for example, Julia Cameron refers to this feeling of tuning in as simply “paying attention”. I’ve seen others speak on the power of “mindfulness”, but I’m not sure if I’ve tapped into it as a practice. Whatever it is, we were out forest bathing for what felt like hours. I felt in real time what the forest bathing instructor prescribed at the beginning of the session but certainly downplayed, which were the long-term health benefits of connecting to nature for real for real. Not only are there proven health benefits, some of which connect to anti-cancer proteins in the body, but there was a deep spiritual, ancestral cleansing that I experienced while lying in the grass, supported by the earth, surrounded by glittery gold trees, underneath a crystal blue sky.

Forest Bathing was one of the key formative moments during my SoulHaven experience. What tripped me out the most was how calm I was. Calm, cool, and collected, as they say. Afterward, one of the cohort members described the physical state as being comparable to getting a massage — we were that calm. The next morning, when I woke up without an alarm and floated into the dining area, I ran into Brittany and burst into tears. At that moment, I realized something: I don’t think I’ve ever, ever, EVER, felt THAT calm EVER in my entire life. The way I was socialized into surviving, everything was urgent, and being ‘twice as good’ not only meant that I always had something to prove about why I ‘deserved’ to be in elite spaces, but by proxy I was carrying twice as much work, twice as much societal pressure, and twice as much systematized trauma, that kept me on go go go all the time. I don’t think I would have ever described myself as “calm” at any point in my life. Are high achievers even allowed to be calm? Do I have any examples of calm around me that I look up to? Does capitalism profit off of us being calm and connected to our breath? And yet here I was, cleansed by the forest, being held by the people before me that tended to this sacred land, and CALM.

I was really shook by how calm I was, and more specifically, how foreign the state of calm was to my spirit. In “Soulfulness as an Orientation to Contemplative Practice”, Shelly P Harrell connects the dots between soulfulness, a deeply resonant concept, particularly for BIPOC folks that intertwine the spiritual, psychological, and cultural dimensions of our inner worlds. Harrell then identifies and prescribes how tapping into the soul can be a gateway for contemplative practice (things like meditation, journaling, movement, and oh I don’t know, forest bathing lol), particularly for Black girls like me who hadn’t quite gotten the hang of it. In her work, Harrell brilliantly notes that contemplative practices are usually individual pursuits, particularly in Western frameworks that push the individual as the masters of our fates — however, our ancestors of African and other Indigenous descents understand ‘self’ in a more interdependent framework, such as Ubuntu (I am because we are). Harrell notes: “Implications of these ideas suggest that contemplative practice applications that emphasize individualism (eg detachment and separation, control and mastery, appealing to personal success and happiness) may not resonate with people who have more communal or collective sensibilities.” She then introduces the concept of soulfulness as “the quality of experiencing life in a deeply connected and connecting way, an enlivened inner attunement that illuminates…it is an ‘interconnected aliveness’ that is often experienced as a resonating, liberating, life-enhancing, spiritually infused energy of deep connectivity and inspired expression”.

How fitting then is the name and mission for the SoulHaven Collective, and for them to be the stewards and curators of my experience, inviting me to be in community with and in nature with other BIPOC artists during this re-awakening of my senses and spirit. In this space, my spirit and my soul were supported. I was able to just be — not being pulled here there and everywhere like I always had been. Instead, Iil ol’ Asile from Vine City, who then found her way to and through elite academia, the nonprofit sector, the COVID-19 pandemic, and the constant terrorizing of Black folks along the way, was out here in these Colorado streets forest bathing! Calm! Lol!

Because of how supported I was in this space, I was able to introduce Morning Pages into my contemplative practice, and I’ve been journaling every morning ever since. While I was in Colorado, I began reading The Sovereignty of Quiet by Kevin Quashie, who talks about how Blackness is typically correlated to loudness and expressiveness – this is partially because of the tightknit connections between Black culture and organizing movements that usually include a public or expressive showcase of political values and beliefs, such as a march, a chant, or a song. Quashie offers a counter to this typical stereotypical narrative by sharing how “quiet” can serve as an intentional choice to let the multiplicities of our inner world shine, the inner world that we may suppress or hide for various reasons. During the SoulHaven retreat, I was able to access this inner world, and in it, I am an artist. You may be reading this thinking “Duh, Asile, you’re an artist, you create stuff all the time”, and that’s totally valid. I guess that version of Asile was tucked away, suppressed somewhere waiting underneath all of the imposter syndrome, a combination of the personal and systemic villains that have made me think otherwise along the way. Even as I was invited to attend and serve on the board for SoulHaven, which is clearly for artists (and activists), I didn’t identify as an artist until being surrounded by other artists who were invited to the retreat.

As my ten days progressed and I became familiar with the comrades I’d be in community with during my stay, I realized quickly that these weren’t just artists — these were icons!!! I was with muralists, public art sculptors, poets, singers, and political strategists (oh my!) from across the country, who all had such transformational points of view that were expressed through their artistic media. What particularly compelled me about the group was the diversity and intersectionality of the group’s identities — there were artists and activists present across races, ages, geographies, mediums, and years of experience in their craft. However, despite the “on-paper” differences displayed by the group, almost immediately we clicked. I was partaking in deep conversations about political liberation, systems of oppression, Beyonce, astrology, and sustainability as organizers, you name it! Had I met these people before?! Do they already know my dossier of talking points? Have they scoped me out? Nope — as a matter of fact, this was my first time meeting these folks, yet I immediately felt like I had known these people for ages, almost like a beautifully blended alchemy of personalities and passions. Outside of my core inner circle, this is the most seen, heard, and accepted I’ve ever felt. And if these people I feel so at home with, strangers who became family, are all artists… what does that make me?

look at the milky way!!!!!

There are so many more sacred moments that I can share, but there’s one that sticks out to me the most. One evening, a few of the other artists and I decided to partake in some campfire s’mores after dinner. There was a fire pit and wooden benches right outside, and the only stipulations for using this area were to make sure to put out the fire before we left, and to make sure the s’mores basket (you read that right — a basket just for s’mores) made it back to the kitchen. So, we grabbed our teas and hot cocoas, I grabbed some extra layers, and we made it to the fire. We talked, we laughed, we told stories, and I looked up at the tapestry of stars above us in the blackness. I could not get over how many stars were visible in the sky — I’ve never seen that many stars in my life. There were big stars, little stars, and stars that twinkled in different colors of yellows, oranges, and reds. I could see a hazy, cloudy stripe across the sky, that I learned was The Milky Way. As I continued to bend my neck back in awe of the worlds above me, one of the participants noticed me and mentioned that if we ventured farther from the inn, deeper into the darkness of the inn grounds, there would be even more stars visible. Because we wouldn’t be surrounded by lights from the inn or the brightness of the campfire, our eyes would adjust to the lights in the sky and the stars would become more vivid. He then suggested that we could even grab some chairs or blankets and lay out for a while with the group.

At that point, I was sold. Just as quickly as we assembled for s’mores by the fire, we grabbed some blankets and chairs and made our way down to the darker area of the land. We set up shop close to the lake that we couldn’t see because of the darkness, but we could faintly hear a creek nearby with trickling water beside us. I took a sip of my hot toddy, laid a blanket down on the cold, firm ground, and looked up. Wow.

I felt like a five-year-old, excited by the world around me with giddiness and wonder. There were so many stars!!!! Not only was I seeing the Milky Way, I was also now seeing planets — Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, by my naked eye, accompanied by stars and far away galaxies in what seemed like infinite twinkling lights in the night sky. After the initial exclamations from what we were seeing, the group fell silent. All of us, in our inner worlds and universes, stared in silence at the worlds and universes above us. We were silent, but we were connected. The same fullness I felt while forest bathing, the awe and sheer disbelief at my calmness, pulled me into a deep meditative state. The universe inside of me felt so big, so infinite, so grand and marvelous and wonderful, yet I felt so small and humbled as I gazed above, and lying beside my newfound family as they explored their universes, too. As a group, we lay in silence for what felt like at least half an hour. Then, a bright orange streak of light dashed across the sky, and of course I was the one who broke the silence out of excitement. “Did y’all see that?!” A shooting star!!!!! For a moment, I rushed in my mind to make a wish — I realized though, in that moment of calm and restoration within my spirit, that I had everything I wanted: 20-year-old Asile, running rampant in school with what felt like 100 years worth of homework and deadlines on my plate, would be wishing for where I was in that moment, calm, at peace, and surrounded by community. In that moment, I realized that all I’ve ever wanted, wished for, and organized on behalf of was peace of mind. A moment to breathe and relax. Calm in my spirit. A haven for my soul.

The Return Home: Tuning Into My Inner SoulHaven

With SoulHaven, I spent ten days restoring my soul, calming down my nervous system, and reigniting my creativity. From star gazing to forest bathing, from s’mores nights around the fire to witnessing my first Indigenous drum circle through the Ute Mountain Tribe during the ring of fire solar eclipse (wow), I felt ready to embark on my newly catalyzed identity as an artist when I returned home. The SoulHaven residency spiritually fortified me. I was grounded, connected to the indigenous stewards of the land, and in tune with my higher self in a way that I’d never been before. I was so tuned into my spirit, my senses, and Mother Nature, that when I returned home to Atlanta, I immediately noticed what I had been tuning OUT: the whirring of the fridge, the vrooming and clattering of the 18 wheelers transporting to and from on the busy street outside of my window, the leaf-blowers that show up bright and early on Monday mornings to make ruckus our alarm clocks for the day. My senses felt like they were turned up to 500%. I remember describing to my folks that I felt like Catwoman. I was suuuuuper overwhelmed, I couldn’t multitask listening to music while journaling, and don’t even get me started on my first time trying to work at a coffee shop, the whirring of the espresso machine and the yelling for orders to the customers — long story short I was back in my apartment with earplugs in within the hour.

This feeling of sensory overload was really tripping me out, because outside of my schooling experiences in college-town environments, I have always lived in a city. None of these noises had bothered me before — or did they? 

In this moment of interrogating my new spidey senses, I realized how deep the implications of the SoulHaven experience really are, and why everyone should support SoulHaven as an organization. During my residency, I was in deep embodiment mode — the ‘do nothing’ atmosphere that was only enhanced by forest bathing, the deep connection we had with nature, the stars, the earth, community, our senses — and how my environment right now is the literal opposite of that. “Tuned in” applies spiritually, yes, in terms of the pathway towards connections to God and the ancestors that tended to the land, but in Colorado with SoulHaven, I was also tuned in to my body, too. I’ve always struggled with meditating, but of course I was struggling! I have been conditioned to ignore the rumble in the concrete jungle. The world around us, and the systems we interact with, encourage us to get out of our senses and tune out, tune out, tune out, as a means of survival and protecting our sanity. This shows up, for example, in the literal disconnection to nature and the land in exchange for awful political agendas like Cop City, and also implicitly through multitasking as a means to tune out and “get through” the day (hello social media culture), not focusing in the present moment and tuned into our senses, but instead on auto-pilot.

As I dug deeper, my ‘wait a minute this sounds like capitalism’ sense, a sixth sense if you will lol, began tingling. I discovered an excellent article on the intersections between sensory overload and capitalism. Ayesha Khan, a writer who connects her background in advocacy and science together as “The Science of Social Justice”, discusses how Capitalism overwhelms our senses while also insulating us from the connection we need. She validates the very feeling that I felt reacclimating to my once-normal city life. She then asks some awesome questions connecting the dots between the freedom that we want in this world, and how that freedom can live within us through our senses: “What sensory inputs are we receiving under capitalism & how are we impacted by them? How can we collective be more active rather passive in seeking the sensations that facilitate connection to each other & the land… the sensations we truly need to feel alive? What do we need to hear/ see/ taste/ touch/ smell/ feel/ sense to be free?”

At the SoulHaven Artists in Residency retreat, I sensed this freedom. The freedom I felt witnessing a shooting star for the first time. The freedom of trusting the group as I closed my eyes and sank into the grass, forest bathing in crisp Colorado air and sunshine. The freedom of feeling safe, cared for, connected. The freedom to slow down. The freedom of feeling seen, heard, and validated in my experiences as a Black woman, an artist, an activist, a person. As I integrate these new downloads from my experience into my everyday life, I now know a few things to be true:

• I need to be in somebody’s nature somewhere as often as possible.
• The SoulHaven experience was invaluable, and I hope that every other artist, activist, and person who needs healing and rest can experience the SoulHaven retreat at least once.
• My name is Asile, and I am an artist.

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Reflection Questions to Consider: 

- Look around you. What do you see? Hear? Smell? Taste? Feel? 

- Would you describe yourself as “creative”? Why or why not? What memories or thoughts inform this answer? 

- What does feeling “calm” look like for you? Do any “calmness” muses come to mind? (For me, Oprah’s harvest day photos come to mind as a picture of tranquility lol). 

- Adapted from the Black Emotional and Mental Health Collective: “My body is trying to tell me ________”. 

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To donate to and learn more about the work of SoulHaven, click here. Your support of this work is super valuable to people like me, who would have never dreamed of an experience like SoulHaven in their wildest imaginations. Any amount, no matter how big or small, is appreciated. <3