Who's holding the space.
Two people. Direct. Here's how we got here and what we do.
How I got here.
I studied philosophy and religious studies in university, specifically the psychology of religion. How altered states function. How mystical experiences restructure identity. How every tradition, stripped of its cultural packaging, describes the same machine. The perennial philosophy. I didn't know it at the time, but that classroom was the blueprint for everything I do now.
After university, I moved to Taiwan and spent a decade building a design business. That wasn't the plan. The plan was probably academia. But life threw a different path and I walked it, learned to build things, run a business, survive in a culture that wasn't mine, and pay attention to what was actually in front of me instead of what I thought should be.
During those years in Taiwan, I began working with acacia confusa, a tree native to the island with deep roots in ancient ceremonial use across Africa and the Middle East. I didn't know what I was opening at the time. I thought I was exploring plant medicine. What I was actually doing was following a thread that ran back through my own ancestry without knowing it.
That thread led to iboga. I was initiated in the Bwiti tradition through the Ebando lineage in Gabon. That initiation changed everything, not because it gave me a title, but because it opened a ceremony that never closed.
Every plant medicine I'd worked with before iboga broke a different wall. Each one showed me something the last one couldn't reach. But iboga was the one that went all the way to the foundation. It didn't just open a door, it rearranged the house. And it kept going. The ceremony I entered in Gabon is still running. That's not a metaphor. The work with iboga is continuous, it doesn't end when the night ends.
What I practice now grew out of the Bwiti tradition but doesn't stay inside it. The ceremony kept opening, pulling from Vedic, Daoist, Kemetic, and Hermetic frameworks because the medicine itself seemed to recognize them. I don't claim a lineage I'm not living inside. I practice what's alive.
How I see the work.
The human psyche operates mechanically up to a point. You can map it, predict it, interrupt it. That's not woo, that's how the mind works. Suffering is generated by patterns, and patterns are structural. Therapy can name them. Meditation can observe them. Iboga can reach underneath them and show you the wiring.
But there's a threshold where the mechanical explanation stops and something else begins. Call it spirit, call it the unconscious, call it whatever framework makes sense to you. I studied enough traditions to know they all describe the same territory with different maps. I'm not selling a map. I'm offering to walk the territory with you.
This isn't a service I dispense. Every ceremony teaches me something. The people who sit with this medicine show me things about the work that I couldn't see alone. That's not humility, it's how the medicine operates. It works on everyone in the room.
I don't call myself a shaman. I don't call myself a healer. I'm a facilitator. The medicine does the work. I hold the space, read the field, and make sure the container doesn't break.
The body side.
The body side of Moon Soma is held by a facilitator with over a decade in somatic bodywork, deep tissue massage, therapeutic massage, and nervous system work that goes beyond relaxation into genuine structural change. Her yoga practice is expansive, not performative, years of daily practice that she brings into how she reads and works with the body.
In ceremony, the medicine opens things that the mind can't close back up. That's the point. But the body holds its own version of everything the mind carries, tension patterns, guarding, years of bracing against things you stopped consciously thinking about. If nobody works with the body during and after ceremony, insights stay cognitive. They don't land. She makes them land.
She holds the body side of the container: breathwork, somatic massage, nervous system regulation, physical grounding. She reads the field in ways that complement what the medicine opens, where tension is held, where the body is resisting, where it's ready to release. Her work during preparation loosens what the medicine will later reach. Her work during integration helps the body catch up to what the mind just saw.
Moon Soma is both of us. The name carries the practice. Moon is the timing, ceremonies unfold in the evening around the lunar cycles, when consciousness opens and the medicine does its deepest work. Soma is the body, the vessel. That's her domain. The work requires both. Consciousness without the body is just insight. The body without consciousness is just sensation. Together, they become change that holds.
What we're not.
We're not a retreat center. We don't have a building with our name on it. We travel to the location you choose, build the container there, and take it down when we leave.
We're not therapists. There's no intake form with diagnostic codes. No treatment plan. No clinical framework.
We're not spiritual teachers. We don't have a philosophy we need you to adopt. The traditions inform the work but they don't own it.
We're two people who take this seriously, who've done the work on ourselves first, and who show up fully for the duration. That's the offer.
