January 2, 2026
Today I step into fire.
Infrared sauna. Red light. Heat as medicine.
Winter slows me. I feel it in my bones, in my blood, in the way my body turns inward. My systems move differently this time of year — especially my lymph. This isn’t resistance. It’s information.
So I meet the season with intention.
Before I enter the sauna, I bring ceremony to the element. I anoint my body with oil from Soulgasm. Today, I work with the Queen of Descent — not as something to fear, but as a guide through thresholds.
I bless myself and speak aloud:
I descend so I may rise again.
Renewed like soil after wildfire.
I surrender all that no longer serves my highest good.
I walk beside the Queen of Death through this threshold,
knowing I will rise clothed in sacred remembrance.
I feel presence — not dramatic, just unmistakable.
I stand at the door of the sauna and welcome the heat. I give it permission. Permission to penetrate, to loosen, to release what my body is done carrying.
Then I step inside.
I settle in. I start my fire playlist. Every movement deliberate. Every choice conscious. Not rushing. Not escaping. Inviting spirit into the process, not asking it to do the work for me.
This is what I’m learning:
The body knows.
Healing doesn’t need force — it needs presence.
When I slow down enough to witness, release happens naturally.
No distractions.
No performance.
Just heat, breath, and trust.
A Reflection on Fire, Sweat & Sacred Release
We're coming up on almost a year of working with the heat element in my healing journey. Nearly a year of infrared sauna, of showing up, of allowing the fire to become a part of my ritual. For the last several months, I've been in her daily, and I honestly can't explain how deeply my body craves this element, especially now, with fall in full swing and winter energy slowly creeping in.
As I write this, I've turned on my Fire Day playlist. I can feel Spirit here with me. There is something happening in these moments that reaches beyond simply stepping into a sauna. It's the connection. The intention. The quiet knowing that healing isn't always about doing more. Sometimes, it's about creating the conditions for ourselves to soften enough to feel what's already there.
And it has me reflecting on sweat.
Long before infrared saunas and modern wellness spaces, cultures around the world practiced forms of ritual sweating. Sweat lodges, communal bathing, and other heat traditions have held different meanings across different peoples, often bringing together physical warmth, spiritual practice, community, prayer, and renewal.
There is something deeply humbling about remembering that we didn't invent the relationship between heat and healing. Our ancestors understood the importance of creating space to slow down, gather, sweat, pray, and reconnect with the body and the world around us.
And if you've ever experienced a deep sweat, you know what I'm talking about.
Those first little beads begin to gather on your skin. One meets another, and another, until suddenly the liquid begins to travel down your body like a tiny river flowing down a mountainside, making its way back to the earth below.
Pachamama, receiving each little drop. The Earth that holds us, nourishes us, and transforms what falls back into her soil.
There's something about witnessing this process that reminds me of how much beauty lives inside the things we so often overlook. Our bodies are not separate from nature. We are nature. We carry her rhythms, her cycles, her ability to adapt, release, restore, and begin again.
And then my brain takes me to our culture, and the complicated relationship we've developed with sweat itself.
We've been taught to fear the smell, hide the evidence, and keep our bodies looking as though nothing is happening beneath the surface. We've built entire routines around suppressing what can be a completely natural bodily function. Antiperspirants, for example, temporarily block sweat ducts to reduce how much we sweat. And while personal care choices are individual, I find myself wondering how often we've been encouraged to view our body's natural processes as something to correct rather than something to understand.
What if, instead of immediately asking how to stop a bodily response, we occasionally paused to ask what our bodies were doing?
Sweating is one of the ways our bodies regulate temperature. It's part of the remarkable intelligence that keeps us functioning, adapting, and responding to our environment. And while sweat itself isn't a major detoxification pathway, the process of sweating can still feel deeply restorative when we create space for warmth, rest, and intentional care.
I don't think this reflection was supposed to turn into a mini TED Talk about sweat and all its beauty, but here we are. Haha.
So, my loves, I invite you to embrace your body's humanity. Let yourself appreciate the glisten on your skin. Get curious about your body's rhythms. Release the shame around being a living, breathing, feeling human who sweats, changes, and moves through seasons.
And when something feels out of balance, let curiosity lead you toward understanding rather than judgment. Sometimes there are patterns worth exploring, whether they're connected to stress, hormones, medications, or other aspects of our health. We don't have to assume something is wrong, but we can learn to pay attention.
This is what my own healing journey continues to teach me: the body is not our enemy. It is not a problem to solve or a machine to force into submission. It is a living relationship, one that asks us to slow down, become present, and learn its language.
And if you find yourself wanting support as you begin to explore those patterns, well, I know a girl with years of experience, a whole lot of trial and error, and a few shamanic tools in her back pocket. 😉
She's also a pretty great shaman.
But truly, beneath all the rituals, the playlists, the heat, and the words, this is what I keep coming back to:
What changes when we stop trying to overpower our bodies and begin learning how to be in relationship with them?
For me, the fire has become more than heat. She's become a place to return to myself. A place to remember that healing isn't always loud or dramatic. Sometimes it looks like sitting still, allowing the sweat to gather, feeling the breath move through my body, and trusting myself enough to simply be there.
No performance. No forcing. No running from what rises.
Just heat, breath, presence, and the willingness to meet myself where I am.
Today, I step into fire. And today, I remember that I am not separate from the elements I call upon. I am made of them, held by them, and continually transformed through my relationship with them.
In Peace, Love and Service,
Rebecca
