I grew up in suburban Atlanta as a first generation American to South Asian parents, where I spent much of my time outdoors — barefoot in creeks, collecting rocks, and listening for something beyond the noise of the world. Even as a child, I felt drawn to the unseen. The mystical called to me through stars, symbols, and silences. Though the culture around me didn’t always reflect it, something inside me never stopped listening.
Those early years shaped a quiet longing — to live close to the sacred, to understand what couldn’t be explained, and to be of service in a deeper way. I was fascinated by dreams, drawn to old spiritual texts, and often felt the presence of something bigger. The world of energy and subtle feeling was real to me, even before I had the language to name it.
Like many paths into healing, mine was born through rupture. In my twenties, I experienced emotional upheaval and periods of disconnection that left me searching for ground. The conventional systems offered little support. But that breakdown became a doorway.
Through therapy, inner work, and plant medicine, I began to unearth the parts of myself I’d abandoned. I learned that healing doesn’t come from force — but from presence. And that wholeness is not something we become, but something we remember.
There were times when I felt utterly lost — disoriented in the modern world, unsure where I belonged. But each descent carried wisdom. The pain became the teacher. I slowly began to see that what I had considered broken was, in fact, asking to be met with love.
Living and training in the Sacred Valley of Peru changed everything. Here, among the mountains and the medicines, I deepened my study in Shipibo plant spirit healing, craniosacral therapy, yoga, energy work, and sacred listening. I learned that the body is not a problem to fix, but a doorway into the soul.
The dieta process — sitting in silence and communion with the plants — continues to shape how I see, feel, and serve. These periods of isolation and deep listening taught me how to attune to subtle realms, honor spirit guidance, and trust the medicine of slowness. I also apprenticed with elders from the Q’ero lineage, learning the art of prayer, ritual, and reciprocity with the earth.
I don’t view this work as separate from life. The teachings continue off the mat, beyond the maloka — in conversations, in dreams, in how I relate to myself and others. The more I return to presence, the more I remember what I’m here for.
My practice is rooted in somatic presence, subtle energy attunement, intuitive reflection, and soul-level support. Whether we work together in healing sessions, integration work, or dream exploration, I meet you as you are — with reverence, patience, and spaciousness.
This work is relational. It’s not about fixing or diagnosing. It’s about being with — in truth, in tenderness, in curiosity. I hold space for your body to unwind, your heart to speak, your soul to be heard. I bring the tools I’ve gathered, but I follow what emerges moment to moment.
I believe in the intelligence of the body, the power of the unseen, and the capacity we all have to remember ourselves whole.
This path is not a profession for me. It’s a devotion. A remembering. A daily practice of listening — to the land, the body, the dreams, and the quiet nudges of spirit.
I’m devoted to walking this path with integrity, humility, and wonder. I don’t have all the answers. But I carry a lantern, and I know how to sit in the dark. I believe in sacred timing, in mystery, and in the medicine of being seen.
If you feel resonance in these words, I invite you to explore the offerings, or simply reach out and begin a conversation. This work isn’t for everyone. But if you’ve read this far, it might just be for you.