Soulcraft, Snails, and Synchronicity

How a Mystical Encounter in the Wilderness Became a Symbol of Intentionality

The second night of the Soulcraft Intensive is unfolding with a quiet intensity, the air thick with mystery. The faint scent of kerosene lingers in the air, grounding me further in the present. Every breath seems to carry the weight of anticipation, hinting at what’s to come.

Our guide settles into her seat, her presence calm and grounded, as she gently motions for the group to gather our focus and take our seats. The deep imagery session is only moments away. 

In front of me, a large piece of paper and five Crayola markers lie ready, poised to capture whatever images emerge.

As I lay down on the yoga mat and rest my head on the soft cushion, its familiar textures grounding me, I’m keenly aware of the solid hardwood floor beneath, an anchor in the dimly lit yurt. The voices around me blend into a soft murmur, like a distant stream. 

My eyes close, and darkness envelops me, a soft cloak over my body, as I begin to tune into my breath. Each inhale and exhale draws me deeper into the silent and dark chambers of my being. 

The yurt and the woods fade away as I begin to embark this journey inward. The edges of reality blur, and I can sense the boundaries between my body and the earth beneath me dissolving. The stillness of the moment engulfs me, easing me into a meditative state where time and space seem to converge, leaving only the rhythm of the breath and the promise of whatever lies ahead.

Our guide’s voice, soft and soothing, drifts through the space like a gentle breeze, guiding us deeper and deeper into a state of deep relaxation. Her words comfort us, inviting us to surrender to the moment. 

“I’m going to ask you a series of questions,” she explains, her voice calm and warm, “each one intended to conjure images from the deepest valleys of your psyche.”

She pauses for a moment, letting her words settle into the stillness of the room.

“As the images begin to take shape in your mind,” she continues softly, “I’ll invite you to slowly sit up, allowing the remnants of the vision to cling to the edges of your awareness. When you’re ready, you’ll have a minute or two to draw what you’ve encountered.”

Her voice remains steady and soothing as she continues, “After you’ve captured your image, gently lay back down, letting the earth beneath you support your body as you ease back into the meditative state, open and ready to receive the next question and the images it evokes.”

The first question comes, her voice gently asking, “Where are you now?” In my mind’s eye, an unfurled fern appears, quite like the one I saw earlier today, its delicate fractals clenched tightly, waiting to awaken. I draw it carefully, each curve and line capturing its quiet innate potential.

The second question follows, “What are you longing for?” Instantly, I see an image of my wife and me, our hands intertwined, bathed in a warm, glowing light. The connection between us feels tangible, illuminated by a deep, mutual love. I quickly sketch this scene, attempting to capture the essence of what I desire most in the depths of my heart.

Then comes the third question, “What is the obstacle?” A sudden shift occurs, and a ferocious bear emerges from the shadows, its claws dripping with blood. The image is stark and powerful, symbolizing both my fear of nature and the untamed wildness within myself. I sketch the bear, its presence looming large on the page.

It’s time for the final question: “What hidden resource do you want to call on?” Instantaneously, an unexpected image appears—a bright, rainbow-colored snail, its shell swirling with vibrant hues of purple, blue, and red. There’s something deeply comforting in its slow, deliberate movement. I emerge from the visualization and carefully bring this colorful snail to life on the paper, letting the markers blend and swirl just as the image appeared in my mind

Later, as I trudge slowly back to my tent, rain seeping through my jacket, the image of the snail lingers in my mind’s eye. Its vibrant colors and unhurried movement are etched deeply into my consciousness. Rather than trying to decipher its meaning, I simply hold the image gently, allowing it to percolate in the depths of my psyche, observing it with curiosity while resisting the urge to interpret.

Drifting into sleep, the image of the snail continues to flash in my mind, its presence persistent and vivid. I wonder what it would be like to fully embrace the snail, to embody its slow, deliberate pace.

The next morning, I wake in a damp tent at sunrise, the chorus of birdsong mingling with the distant call of the Barred Owl. Rising slowly, I feel an urge to move with deliberate care, honoring the images from the night before as they continue to work within me. I fumble through my backpack until my fingers make contact with my journal and pen. Sitting up, I write:

“Tired. I think I may have a low-grade cold, though it could be allergies. Runny nose. The cobwebs from last night’s sleep are clouding my experience. Everything is foggy. Feeling the need and desire to take it slow today and allow the images from last night to continue to settle. Slow wanders today. Embrace the snail.”

As I emerge from my tent into the damp forest, the scent of wet earth and birch fills my lungs. A thick veil of mist envelopes the forest, and droplets of water gather on my tent like tiny crystals, reflecting the soft morning light. 

Embarking on a new day, each step mindful, feeling the soft give of the rain-soaked ground beneath my feet, moving with intention and fully embracing the present moment.

The morning passes in a peaceful blur of quiet exploration and reflection. By the time afternoon arrives, the forest has dried slightly, but the sense of connection to the woods remains strong. 

Our guide gathers us together and speaks calmly, “During our afternoon wander, I invite you to move through the woods and perhaps find an object that feels deeply connected to you. As you wander, pay attention to any hesitation or resistance you might feel. If you encounter fears of blockages, I encourage you to move toward and through it.”

I take a deep breath and nod to myself, then set off toward the edge of my wander from yesterday—the place I was too afraid to move beyond. Instinctively, I follow the faint tracks I made, the path familiar yet still tainted with unease. The hesitation and resistance linger, a whisper of fear—bears, the unknown—but beneath it all, there’s a deep trust that this is the right direction.

As I move along the path, the dense canopy above begins to thin, and the shadows underneath my footsteps give way to a soft, filtered light. The air feels different here, warmer, lighter.

I stop abruptly, eyes widening in awe. “Oh, wow,” I mouth, the words barely audible as the shock of pure wonder spreads across my face. Before me, in the center of the clearing, two dozen multicolored butterflies congregate on the ground, resting and taking flight. They flutter and dance in the air, moving in a graceful, unchoreographed pattern, as if they’re spontaneously performing for me.

The sight is mesmerizing, and I feel a deep sense of connection, as though they are beckoning me, guiding me further into the heart of the woods. For a moment, time stands still, and I am rooted in place, caught between the desire to linger in this magical moment and the pull to follow where the butterflies lead.

"Embrace the snail," I say audibly to myself as I move slowly, deliberately, each step placed with care, careful not to disturb the delicate rhythm of the butterflies and the stillness of the woods around me. A question begins to stir in my mind: Where am I supposed to go from here? What am I meant to uncover in these woods?

Tuning into my body, I sense a pull to continue down the narrow, wooded path ahead. Yet, with each step, a subtle fear lingers, a resistance to venturing deeper into the wilderness. The thought of what might be lurking in the shadows causes a flood of unease through me, but something deeper urges me forward. 

As I move deeper into the woods, fully embracing the slow, deliberate pace of the snail, the fear that once gripped me begins to dissipate. Step by step, I proceed gently, trusting in the unfolding of this wander. Ten minutes pass. Then twenty. I continue down the wooded path, the waves of fear gradually receding, replaced and guided by a subtle knowing.

Suddenly, a small clearing catches my eye to the left, a patch of negative space within the dense wilderness. I’m inexplicably drawn to it, the openness a stark contrast to the shadowy forest surrounding me. Stepping into the clearing, I feel the warmth of the sun as it bathes the space in a golden light.

My eyes are drawn to the back corner, where a small, weathered fire pit sits nestled among the trees, its stones worn by time and the elements. It feels out of place, as if it has magically appeared just for me, materializing in this hidden spot in the wilderness. The fire pit, though simple and unassuming, feels like a mystical relic, waiting for my discovery.

I notice its construction—a circle of large rocks, a recurring symbol I've observed since I arrived at the retreat. Circles. I’m drawn in. My eyes scan the ashen rubble, spotting decomposed plant matter and a few rusted, empty cans. 

Then, resting on an ashen log, I see it: a white snail.

I uncontrollably start laughing, the sound emerging from a place of sheer disbelief. It’s absurd, almost magical—I haven’t noticed a snail in decades, not even in the dense woods I’ve called home for a decade. Yet here it is, this unlikely discovery, as if some unseen force guided me to this exact spot, deep in the heart of the wilderness.

I bend over and carefully pick it up, turning it in my hands to inspect its white and black marbled shell. The spiral pattern draws me in, intricate and mesmerizing. As I gently turn it over, the snail recoils, retreating into the safety of its home.

I say it out loud working to believe: “Just last night, less than 18 hours ago, I envisioned a snail. This morning, I set the intention to embody the snail. And now, here I am, holding one in my hands. I can’t even believe this is happening to me.”

I instinctively reach for my phone to capture this moment—only to realize I don’t have it with me. With a shrug, I think, Guess this is meant to be sacred. I spend time with the snail, really inspecting it, wanting to get to know it, to feel the significance of this encounter.

Eventually, the lengthening shadows of the trees remind me it’s time to head back to camp. I gently place the snail back on the ground, watching as it slowly begins to unfurl from its shell. I linger for a moment, feeling the weight of the encounter, before turning to make my way back to the group.

But as I walk, I realize I’m not the same person who first ventured into these woods. Something deep within me has shifted—an intimate connection with the world, with nature, and with myself has quietly taken root. The farther I get from the clearing, the further I travel into a new understanding.

As the day fades into night, the experience lingers in my mind, weaving itself into the fabric of my psyche. By the time the trance dance ceremony begins, I am already in a heightened state of consciousness. 

I step into the center of the yurt, the rhythm and beat of the music pulse through me, vibrating in my bones, tissues, and psyche, compelling my body to move in ways I can’t consciously control. The image of the snail flashes in my mind’s eye, and an overwhelming urge overtakes me—to curl up on the ground, to ball up like the snail I envisioned.

I drop to my hands and knees as the others gyrate and swirl around me, their forms blurring into a whirlwind of motion and energy. Beneath them all, I fully embody the snail, breathing deeply and surrendering to the rhythm that pulses through the space. Stillness. My head rests next to the speaker, where the deep percussion vibrates through every fiber of my being. Each breath I take is slow and deliberate, syncing with the drumbeat.

The snail refuses to fade—it clings to my consciousness with a stubborn intensity, insistent and unyielding. Tears spill down my cheeks as my body begins to tremble, overwhelmed by the profound significance of our encounter. The awe, the wonder, the deep, almost primal love of nature, the synchronicity of existing in this exact moment—it all converges in an unstoppable wave of emotion.

I feel not merely connected, but deeply intertwined with something far greater than me. It’s as if I am fully plugged into a cosmic conversation, one that hums and vibrates, unfolding well beyond the limits of my comprehension.

Embodying the Snail: A New Way of Being

Several days later, as the retreat center and the backwoods of Vermont vanished in my rearview mirror, I knew I had undergone a profound shift in my life. I felt deeply plugged into something bigger—connected to the rhythms of nature and in tune with the depths of my own psyche.

When we slow down and connect with ourselves, our intuitions and longings, previously hidden patterns, connections, and rhythms begin to emerge from the ether. We find ourselves in a kind of communion with our innermost selves and the environment around us.

This communion is not merely a fleeting moment of clarity and connection; it’s a profound merging of the inner and outer worlds, where the boundaries between self and nature blur. It’s as if the very pulse of the earth synchronizes with our own heartbeat. In these moments, the noise of the world fades away, and we are left with a deep sense of alignment, not only with our thoughts, emotions, and actions but with our environment. This communion is a return to our natural state, where we are not just observing life but fully participating in it, feeling the interconnectedness of all things. It’s a sacred dialogue with the universe, where every step we take is both deliberate and intuitive, guided by a force that is both within us and beyond us.

With this newfound understanding, I settled back into my daily routine, setting an intention to embody the snail in my everyday experience. I wasn’t entirely sure what that would look like in practice, but it was something I felt my way into, step by step. 

Steered by my guide’s invitation to create art and other expressions that embodied the snail or reflected my experience, I embarked on a journey of expression—exploring what the snail truly signifies to me.

Inspired, I created a vision board to represent the snail encounter and the threads that emerged during my time in the woods.

Encounters Beyond Explanation

What began as a simple exercise soon evolved into something much deeper. Since I returned from the retreat, I’ve started to notice snails everywhere—not just as a metaphor, but appearing in the world around me in the most unexpected places, as if they are guiding me further along this path of self-discovery.

Each encounter with a snail feels like a gentle nudge—a reminder to slow down, to pay attention, and to embrace the deliberate, unhurried pace that the snail embodies. It also serves as a reminder of the wonder, magic, and mystery that surround us daily. The snail has become a symbol of the presence and intentionality I aspire to cultivate in my life. The more I attune to its quiet presence, the more connected I feel—not only to the natural world but also to the deeper currents of my own psyche.

The more I embraced this, the more synchronicities began to surface. 

A few days after the retreat, I received a random and mysterious tweet from a stranger, marked by a snail emoji.

After I settled into Cophenagen for my July sabbatical, I began to notice snails everywhere I went. Dozens of them, in all colors and sizes! 

At playgrounds and in stores.

All of these encounters inspired me to get a snail tattoo on my forearm while abroad.

A few days later, as the ink was still fresh, I noticed a snail tattooed on Carm’s forearm in the latest season of The Bear.

Then, when I visited The New York Times website for the first time in months, a curious story about 'Championship Snail Racing' was prominently featured on the homepage.

On my very first morning home from Denmark, I stumbled upon a tiny snail—the first I’d encountered in nearly a decade of living in these woods.

And, just yesterday, on a camping trip, I stumbled upon a snail nestled on a rock within two minutes of arriving at the campsite. Just as surprising, my friend Basker revealed he had a snail tattoo on his leg.

Resisting the Urge to Explain

When I first envisioned the snail, I didn’t try to make sense of it or question whether it was the right or perfect image or resource. Instead, at the invitation of my guide, I allowed the image of the snail to do its work on me, letting its qualities settle deeply into my psyche and body. I focused on embodying the resources it reflected rather than trying to analyze it. There was a trust that took place—I couldn’t explain it, but I sensed a deeper intelligence within me that knew what I needed. It was a process of trusting and surrendering to the image.

The longer I’ve sat with this image, the more layers it reveals. What initially seemed like a simple encounter with a small creature has unfolded into something far more profound. The snail has become a mythopoetic identity for me, a symbol rich with meaning that hints at the unique ecological niche I’m meant to fill in this next chapter of my life. It’s a reminder that the slow, deliberate pace of the snail is not a limitation but a strength—a way of moving through the world that allows for deeper connection, greater intentionality, and a more grounded presence.

In a society that often values speed and productivity above everything, the snail’s unhurried journey invites us to slow down, to pay attention to the details we might otherwise miss, and to cultivate a sense of intentionality in everything we do. This, I believe, is the role I am called to play: helping others decelerate, reconnect with themselves and the world around them, and discover the beauty and depth that lie just beneath the surface when we take the time to look.

But there’s a challenge that comes with explaining the significance of things. When we over-intellectualize an experience—especially one that’s mystical, magical, or transpersonal—we diminish its essence by trying to assign meaning or put it into words. There are many ways we can over-intellectualize experiences. We might take a scientific reductionist approach, applying concepts like "frequency illusion," also known as the "Baader-Meinhof phenomenon," to explain why we suddenly start noticing something everywhere. Alternatively, we might lean into philosophical or spiritual explanations, believing that we are one with nature and exist in a dynamic interplay with the universe. While these perspectives might hold truth, they can also diminish the wonder and mystery of the experience.

Some moments are simply too vast to be reduced to a single explanation—whether scientific, philosophical, or spiritual. And the meaning of things is often beyond words. It’s enough to sit with the awe, wonder, and mystery of the moment without trying to understand what has transpired. We can embrace the magic that surrounds us every day, appreciate it, honor it, and invite more of it into our lives. When we slow down and stay present, we begin to see how remarkable and special life truly is, even when we can’t fully explain it.

As a writer, it’s my instinct to make meaning and explain what’s happening as I experience it. But I’ve come to realize how limited that role can be. Some unexplainable, sacred experiences are meant to be held closely and cherished—words can be too small to capture the gravity and immensity of these moments. Sometimes, we must simply think less and feel more.

What I’ve shared here is just a fraction of what truly happened. My hope is that you, too, find your own moments of wonder, that you allow them to unfold naturally, and that you embrace the mystery they bring. In a world that often demands explanations, I encourage you to find the beauty in what cannot be fully explained and to let it guide you, as the snail has guided me.