Dark therapy

Ever wondered what it would be like to spend a few days without seeing the light? I hadn’t, to be honest, but I met Nils, who runs something called dark therapy. Out of curiosity, I decided to give it a try.

I entered the dark on the full moon, August 9th—just a day after the peak of the *Lion’s Gate—and came out on the 14th, which was the tidal wave of this significant portal.

*The Lions Gate portal refers to the aligning of two strong cosmic energies—the star Sirius and the star known as our Sun—in our cosmos.

At the time, I was standing at a crossroads—feeling stuck, a little lost, and unsure about my next direction in life. On top of that, I was lonely, annoyed by my neighbour, and melting in my tiny apartment in Tenerife. The heat and humidity were unbearable, the nearest beach was crowded, and the water was dirty. On top of everything, my very loud neighbour made it even harder to enjoy any peace in my otherwise quiet flat.

I remember so clearly wanting to go with someone to watch the sunset at the beach—and realizing I had no one to call. That was the moment it struck me: I am alone. I do meet people, but I connect with very few. Many have little to share, or their vibration feels low, and I end up feeling lonelier than when I’m by myself. As a Number 9, I’ve learned that we’re often natural loners. Our depth can be difficult for most people to match, and loneliness arises when our level of connection falls short of what we long for. The island itself is beautiful, but people are people everywhere, I have to say. And then there’s life under Spanish control—which is a whole different story, and perhaps one for another post.

Anyways, I longed for a break from my daily life. So I went into the dark for five full days. Complete, utter pitch-black. Some people call this space a cave because it’s underground, but in reality, it used to be a bodega—a wine cellar—later transformed into a place for inner work and therapy.

Upon arrival, I was given some time to familiarise myself with the "cave" while candles were lit. The place was bigger than I had imagined, with two rooms and a bathroom. The larger room held a double bed and enough open space in front of it to practise yoga or flow movements. The acoustics were incredible here, and I often found myself singing to pass the time. Through singing, I was able to reconnect with and heal parts of my soul. I remember when an old lady randomly turned to me on the bus in London and said, "You have a nice sounding voice." Although she meant my speaking voice, I actually have a nice singing voice as well, sort of like Norah Jones-y, if I practice enough.

"Darkness is strong energetic medicine. It can shift things, emotions, and life perspectives, depending on the direction you choose to take." 

I kept returning to the same two medicine songs—even though I didn’t fully remember the words, I could still produce the sounds, hitting the high and low notes closer to perfection each time. Singing these songs stirred something deep within me, unlocking a sense of healing and freedom.

I also began to use my voice as a way of sending healing to others. One of my former colleagues kept coming to mind, and I cried for her through the song, knowing she was going through a difficult time. The other two were my father and my ex. With my father, I managed to work through some heavy emotions, releasing what I could on his behalf. But with my ex, it was more difficult. I couldn’t reach his emotions; he felt shut off, trapped in his head, unavailable to me emotionally.

Other than singing, I also used the space for yoga—I particularly got hooked on doing headstands and handstands by the wall—for eating the meals that Nils brought every morning, sleeping, and simply staring into the darkness. I often tried to make sense of the shifting grey patches or played with the flickering “inner light."

"The darkness is the sacred primordial feminine from which the light is born. If your pineal gland is healthy, and it suits your development, you may be able to see this light. We usually project it outside of us onto the dark screen so that we can perceive it better. But it can also be that it shines out of your head. Before it comes (for many, after about three days and three nights), it typically announces itself with a flicker. It comes and then goes in waves until it stays longer."

On the fourth day, I had an encounter with an alien-looking blue being. It had an upside-down egg-shaped head and the kind of large eyes you often see in UFO drawings. It wore a green sleeveless top, and its “hair” was made of what at first I thought were hands—but then I realized they were trees. My mind immediately connected this being to something I had randomly drawn by hand in the snow in Andorra, three years ago. In that moment, I felt a bit scared—mostly because of the UFO-like head. As a child, I used to be afraid of aliens. I tried to overcome this fear and stared into the eyes of this blue being wondering what it was. Then I heard an inner voice say: “I’m the guardian, the protector of the Earth.” And just like that—everything was over in a split second.

The other room was called the temple because it was closer to Mother Earth, with its carved lair, polished finish, and use of mostly natural materials. Nils seemed very proud of this temple space. Personally, I didn’t feel any special vibration there. What I did notice was that it was cooler and darker, and I perceived the darkness slightly differently compared to the other room. The atmosphere carried a heaviness, almost a crushing energy, and my breathing felt slower—like I was buried underground. I slept there twice and had very chaotic dreams. The one dream that felt different happened on the last night. I dreamed that my previous employer was yelling at me for not signing a document and for taking it to a lawyer instead (a true story, by the way). In the dream, I shouted back, “You’re a liar, and you don’t deserve us!” By us, I meant my colleagues and me. It definitely came from my subconscious.

"Naturally, many thoughts, images, dream scenes, memories and future potentials come to you in the dark. Whatever you see in the dark always depends on your feelings. Any scene that arises in the dark wants to be noticed, whether in your meditations, multidimensional travel, dreams, self-talk or perceived thought flows. Is there something to learn about this subject, is there something to work on internally, to transform, to heal, to let go or to forgive?"

In the dark, you completely lose your sense of time. I never knew when I actually fell asleep or for how long. I only had a rough idea when night came, based on sensations in my body and the long stretch of time since the morning meal had been delivered. Sometimes, faint traffic noise from the motorway also helped me guess whether it was night or day.

Coming out to the light again.

Leaving the darkness behind and stepping into the light felt almost ceremonial. I had been looking forward to this moment so much, and I’d heard that many people experience it as a kind of rebirth. My eyes were the most sensitive—I needed time to recover my spatial sense. That’s why I chose dawn to come out: to protect my eyes and to let the light return gradually.

I smiled as I looked up at the dark sky and saw the stars. The moon was so bright that I couldn’t look directly at it yet. My body was trembling—partly from the chill, partly from the weakness in my legs. I couldn’t walk straight; I stumbled like a drunk. The outside world—with its shapes, smells, and sounds—was overwhelming. I wondered if this was how a newborn feels, leaving the safe, warm, dark bubble of the womb behind.

Nils recommended taking at least two hours before heading home, and he was right. I needed that much time to fully come back to myself. During those hours, I watched the sunrise and felt such gratitude. I had to pinch myself: I live on an island—something I dreamed of as a child. I forgave myself for not appreciating my life here, for getting caught up in worry. Over the summer, I had surrendered to my doubts and questioned what I was doing here. I’d lost connection with myself and with nature, focusing too much on the negatives in my life—something quite unlike me. I hadn’t really seen the good things I already had. But in that moment, watching the sun rise over the mountains and seeing the colours slowly return to the world, everything shifted. I felt appreciation, pride for what I’d achieved and for the challenges I'd navigated through on my own. And after an hour or so in the light, a wave of joy and openness washed over me. I felt happy. Elevated. Reborn.

When I arrived home, I kept life quiet and simple. I avoided contact with people and barely looked at my phone. I didn’t want anyone to interrupt my process or dim my light. For two days, I stayed close to the things that nourish me, enjoying my own company and moving slowly, as if weaving the silence of the dark into daily life. I was very tired on the first day—most likely worn out by the sensory overload. Nils checked in on me the next day, a gentle reminder that I wasn’t alone in the process.

I was a little sad, though. It was the same sadness I had felt after Ayahuasca retreats—the ache that comes from knowing I’ve stepped out of the bubble of safety and deep connection with myself, leaving behind my higher self and my guides. I know they are always with me, yet it feels so special and comforting to actually meet, hear, or see them.

That strong inner connection, which had been my focus for five days, was quickly replaced by the noise of the outside world: crowded streets, motorway traffic, work troubles, my loud neighbor, and even the Calima—a weather phenomenon where winds carry hot, dusty air and sand from the Sahara Desert, creating a hazy, dry heat that reduces visibility and raises temperatures.

In the days that followed, I tried to stay grounded by going on barefoot hikes and eating food that came directly from the ground and trees. But gradually, I felt myself slipping back into uncertainty, into the unknown of the changes waiting ahead.

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If you are interested in doing "dark therapy" in Tenerife, write to me and I will share Nils contact with you.