Hey everyone, I’m Janice 🙂 I’m the founder of Soulestial Sounds based in St. Pete, Florida. I create sound healing experiences using crystal bowls, chimes, wave drums, frequency, and whatever else im called to use that helps the body actually let go. My sessions are for people who feel overstimulated, burnt out, emotionally heavy, or just needing a real reset. It’s not anlways about being perfect or “zen” it’s more about giving your nervous system a place to exhale. Sometimes my work is poolside and floating, sometimes it’s cozy and grounded indoors, sometimes it’s LIVE on TT, but the intention is always the same… slow down, come back into your body, and let sound do what it do. Really happy to be here and excited to connect with you all 💛✨

Hi, looking forward to chatting and learning. I'm particularly drawn to plants and what we can learn from them.

I am making an oracle deck and just wanted everyones opinions on it. Its chaotic, its a mess 🤣 but I love it! Im going to share one and I'd love everyones thoughts, opinions, or even what you feel intuitively through the picture! I hope you all love it as much as I do.

In a village where everyone survived by making something with their hands, there lived a Weaver who never lied with thread. Others wove to sell. Others wove to impress. Others wove to keep their grief busy. But this Weaver-she wove like prayer. Like prophecy. Like a confession you couldn’t take back once it left your mouth. People began to visit her doorway the way they visited shrines. Not because she called herself holy, but because her cloth did something strange: it showed you the pattern you’d been pretending not to see. A woman who wore the Weaver’s scarf stopped returning to the man who bruised her spirit. A merchant who bought the Weaver’s tapestry suddenly couldn’t stomach his own greed. A mother who wrapped her baby in the Weaver’s blanket finally let herself rest. And soon, the village started whispering a dangerous sentence: “She weaves better than the one who taught us all.” The Teacher heard. The Teacher was not cruel by nature. She had built the village’s first loom with her own hands. She had taught the children how to count their stitches and the elders how to mend what was torn. She had earned her reverence honestly. But reverence is a hungry thing. It doesn’t like to share a table. So the Teacher came to the Weaver’s home disguised as an old traveler with tired eyes. She asked for a cup of water and a place to sit. She watched the Weaver’s hands move-steady, fearless, precise. “This is beautiful,” the traveler said softly. “Who taught you?” The Weaver didn’t look up. “No one taught me what I weave,” she said. “I learned it the way storms learn the sky.” The traveler’s smile tightened. “Careful,” she warned. “Pride makes a person clumsy.” The Weaver finally lifted her gaze. “Pride didn’t make my hands,” she said. “Truth did.” The Teacher dropped her disguise like a cloak. The room sharpened. The air turned metallic. The loom creaked as if it recognized its maker. “If you believe your truth is stronger than mine,” the Teacher said, “then prove it.”

Good evening everyone, Sorry for the late notice but we are cancelling book club tonight. I also have a question, what night of the week works best for everyone? I am thinking of moving book club to a different night and want everyone’s input on what night would work best. Please drop a comment below 🫶