The taboo, broken out loud
The relief that they finally died. The anger at them for going. The detail nobody knows. Said in a circle that does not flinch, which is something most grieving people have never once experienced.
← All upcoming datesYou do not have to
A grief retreat · Lake Atitlán, Guatemala
You do not have to
cross this alone.
May 1–7, 2027 · 6 nights · A rite of passage
Six nights for people carrying a loss. An altar lit for a week, a fire held by the elders of this lake, and a room where the things you are not allowed to say out loud finally get said out loud. You will not leave finished. You will leave with tools, and with people who saw you.
- A rite of passage
- separation, threshold, return
- From $3,180
- room & all meals in
- A year afterwards
- included, not upsold
- San Marcos
- three volcanoes, one lake
What this is
A rite of passage, not a workshop.
Every culture that lasted built a rite for this, and ours mislaid it. What is left is a fortnight of casseroles and then the expectation that you carry on with a dead person inside you. It will not make your grief smaller. It will stop you carrying it alone.
Ceremony of this land
The sacred Maya fire and the temazcal of four doors, held by elders of that path who live on this lake, not a version of it borrowed and performed by us.
Then a year of company
The week is the threshold, not the cure. Twelve months of meetings afterwards with the same people, because the hard part is month seven at home, not day four on a mountain.
Six nights, 1–7 May 2027. Places are limited by the number of beds.
Nothing is charged online · $1,000 holds your place
When someone close to you dies, you die too.
That is okay. That is the passage.
Why this week exists
The day before my father died, I cut off my hair.
I didn't plan it and I couldn't have explained it. I only knew the person I had been was ending, and my hands went ahead of my understanding. He died the next day. Because of that one irreversible thing, I could see what was happening to me as a passage instead of only as damage.
That was several years ago. Getting from pain that could have killed me to something I can make work out of took years, not days. I say so because many people will offer to transmute your grief in a week, and you already know that isn't true.
What I did not have in month two was any of this: an altar, a fire, elders, and anyone willing to sit in it with me rather than move me along. That is what this week is.
San Marcos La Laguna, Guatemala. Every photograph on this page is of this land.
The arc
Seven days, and one real date at the centre.
Separation, threshold, return. The shape of each day, not a timetable. Nothing is compulsory, and nobody is watching to see who opted out.
- May 1SeparationThe altar, and the end of the silenceWe build the altar: their photograph, their favourite food, the sweets they liked. Then a circle where you say their name out loud, and how they died. No processing tonight. Just the end of the silence.
- May 2Everything you never saidMorning in the woods, in silence. Then one long letter of everything unspoken. Most people find out today what they have been carrying.
- May 3What the body has been holdingSomatic release, including the sound you have never made in a house with neighbours. Then you write the eulogy for the version of you that ended when they did.
- May 4The thresholdThe day the fire is litThe sacred Maya fire, held all day. Eulogies read aloud and burned. Then the temazcal of four doors: what was, what broke, what must be left, what is being born. Your letter burns at the third. The cord is cut.
- May 5ReturnNothing, on purposeThe day after asks nothing of you. Woods, water, long silence. Crying is allowed to stop on its own. Somewhere in here you make the thing you take home.
- May 6The collective fire, and who you are nowGrief as something larger than one person. Then the question with no answer yet: who am I now? You write one letter to yourself, a year out. We post it on the anniversary.
- May 7What you take down the mountainYou take your guardián from the altar. We say the honest thing, that this did not finish your grief. Then the year begins.
One heavy day, and the day after it deliberately asks nothing. We never stack two intense processes into one day.
If this is your week, hold a room before the beds go.
Or ask me anything first. A call costs you nothing.
The tools
Eight things you are given, and get to keep.
None of these were designed in a workshop. Each one carried our founder through her own passage, or is native to this lake.
The altar
Lit all seven days, with their photograph and the sweets they liked. Not invented for the retreat, it is the living practice of this country.
The letter, and the fire
Everything unspoken, written out, given to a sacred Maya fire. Nothing is read by us.
The temazcal of four doors
Rebirth from the womb of the earth, led by an abuela of that path. Optional. The door opens from the inside at any moment.
The voice
Somatic release for what has no words. Held by someone trained to tell release from re-injury.
Tobacco, read
One to one with a nana elder, in her own tradition. Not a fortune. She tells you what she sees.
The birds and the woods
Every morning, same hour, in silence. The smallest tool here, and the one that keeps working for life.
Your own eulogy
A version of you died with them and nobody held a funeral. Here you write it, read it aloud, and burn it.
El guardián
A cord worn all week, cut at the fire. From it, your letter's ash and something from this land, you make one object to take home.
The kitchen
Six days of not thinking about food.
Grief does things to appetite. Some cannot eat, some cannot stop, and nobody wants to think about a menu, so for six days you do not. Three plant-based meals a day, our premium menu, cooked here.
1 / 13
Photo 1 of 13: A trainee laughing while drizzling honey over rice cakes with banana and granola
Breakfast, and the honey jar going round the table.
Greens from our own gardens, ozone-washed produce, filtered water. Allergies are normal, not a special request. More about the food →
What's included
One price, and then you stop thinking about logistics.
Six nights on the land
A safari tent, an A-Frame cabin, the Tree House or the Tea Temple. Every room has a door that closes.
Three meals a day
Our Premium Vegan menu, the high-protein one. Allergies are normal, not a special request.
Ceremony held by elders
The sacred Maya fire, the tobacco and the temazcal, held by people of that path.
Circles and the making
Daily circles, morning contemplation, voice work, and every material for your guardián.
A psychiatrist on call
Licensed in Guatemala, reachable all week, able to stop anything.
The year afterwards
Twelve months of group meetings online, wherever you live.
What it costs
One tuition, and then whichever room suits you.
Every price is the whole week: tuition, your room, three meals a day, all ceremony and materials, and the twelve months afterwards. Nothing is added at the end.
| Room | Bathroom | Whole week |
|---|---|---|
| Glamping — private, just you | Shared | $3,180$150/night room |
| Diamond Room — private, just you | Shared | $3,300$170/night room |
| A-Frame Cabin — private, just you | Shared | $3,300$170/night room |
| Casita, Low — private, just youCosy lower-floor room, made up as a bedroom for this week | Shared with the Top room | $3,300$170/night room |
| Tree House — private, just youQueen bed, its own private bathroom | Private | $3,420$190/night room |
| Casita, Top — private, just youBright top-floor room with its own balcony over the lake | Shared with the Low room | $3,420$190/night room |
| Tea Temple, First Floor — private, just you | Shared | $3,600$220/night room |
| Tea Temple, Master Room — private, just you2nd floor, king bed, private bath with tub and a balcony | Private with bathtub | $4,260$330/night room |
Coming as two? Prices for the two of you together
- Glamping — the two of you, one bed$5,700for two
- Glamping — the two of you, twin beds$5,748for two
- Diamond Room — the two of you, one bed$5,820for two
- A-Frame Cabin — the two of you, one bed$5,820for two
- Tree House — the two of you, one bed$5,820for two
- Casita, Low — the two of you, one bed$5,820for two
- Diamond Room — the two of you, twin beds$5,880for two
- A-Frame Cabin — the two of you, twin beds$5,880for two
- Casita, Low — the two of you, twin beds$5,880for two
- Casita, Top — the two of you, one bed$5,940for two
- Tree House — the two of you, twin beds$6,000for two
- Casita, Top — the two of you, twin beds$6,000for two
- Tea Temple, First Floor — the two of you, one bed$6,180for two
- Tea Temple, First Floor — the two of you, twin beds$6,360for two
- Tea Temple, Master Room — the two of you, one bed$6,840for two
- Tea Temple, Master Room — the two of you, twin beds$6,960for two
Two people, one room, both tuitions and both sets of meals included. Sharing a cabin with a friend rather than a partner is arranged by email. Write to us and we will hold it properly.
Coming with someone? 20% off, for both of you.
A friend, a sibling, the other person who lost them too. An A-Frame each is $2,640 instead of $3,300. You each book your own room and we match you by name.
$1,000 holds your place.
The balance is due by 31 Jan 2027, or pay in full at the start if you would rather not think about it again. The deposit is non-refundable but moves to next year's dates if you cannot come. Grief does not keep to a calendar.
Payment plans are normal here, not an exception. Ask and we will build one around your dates. There are also a small number of scholarship places each year; write to us, and you will not have to explain yourself at length.
Where you'll sleep
A room on the land for all six nights.
A safari tent is the simplest way in; there are also A-Frame cabins, the Tree House and the Tea Temple. No dorms and no camping this week: on a week like this you should not have to hold it together for the sake of whoever is in the next bed, and you should not be doing it in a tent in the rain. Some people want company at night this week and some want a door that closes. Both are right, and both are here.
Real photos of the sanctuary. See every room →
May 1–7, 2027
Places are limited by the number of beds.
Nothing is charged here. You choose a room, it is held for 48 hours, and the next page asks a few questions. A person reads them, then your payment link follows. That order is deliberate: this week is not right for everyone, and we would both rather know before you pay.
1. Where do you want to sleep?
May 1–7, 2027 · 6 nights. Every price is the whole thing: the retreat, your room and three meals a day.
Before you book
What this week is not.
It is not therapy, not treatment, and not a substitute for either. We are facilitators, artists and ceremony holders, not clinicians. It is also not a cure: six nights will not finish your grief, and anyone telling you otherwise is selling something. There are no plant medicines here of any kind.
If you are in acute crisis, in the first raw weeks of a loss, or being held right now by a professional, please write to us before you book. We will give you an honest answer about whether this is your week, and “not yet” is an answer we give often and without judgement. If you already work with a therapist, tell them you are coming, and book a session for when you get back.
If you need to talk to someone right now, please do. findahelpline.com lists free, confidential support in most countries. This week will still be here.
Before you decide
Or talk to me first.
Half an hour, no pitch. Bring the questions you would feel silly asking anyone else: whether it is too soon, whether you can afford it, whether you will be the only one crying. If this is not your year, I will say so on the call.
1. Pick a day
Loading the calendar…
The honest answers.
- Will this fix my grief?
- No, and anyone selling you that in six nights is lying. You get the tools, the ritual, the witnesses and a year of company afterwards. That is the whole promise, and it is the true one.
- How recent does my loss have to be?
- It doesn't. Ten days after, ten years after. There is no correct stage and no expiry date.
- Why is the middle of the week the heaviest day?
- That is the shape a rite of passage has: you leave, you cross something, you come back changed. The days after are for the return, which is the part that decides whether any of it lasts.
- Do I have to do the temazcal?
- No. Nothing here is compulsory, the door opens from the inside, and nobody asks why you left. Tell us at booking about a heart condition, pregnancy, or medication that affects how you handle heat.
- Are there plant medicines?
- None of any kind, and none permitted on the land that week. The ceremony here is fire, sweat, breath, voice and making.
- Is this therapy?
- No, and it isn't a substitute for it. If you're already working with a therapist, tell them you're coming, and book a session for the week you get back.
- What if I fall apart?
- Then you fall apart among people who won't flinch, and someone stays with you. If you are in acute crisis or recently bereaved by suicide, write to us before booking. Sometimes the honest answer is not yet.
- How big is the group?
- Small, capped by the number of beds, so nobody is a face in a crowd on the hardest day of their year.
- How do I pay?
- $1,000 holds your place, or pay in full. Bank transfer or Wise, no card fees. Payment plans exist, and a few scholarship places each year.
Still unsure? Email hello@arcoisisatitlan.com. A real person answers.