How I accidentally manifested a whole sound Studio in 3 months

Inside my cozy little studio where I can accomodate 7 peaceful guests at a time.

I never set out to be a sound healer. Not even remotely. If you had told me six months ago that I’d be spending thousands of dollars on bowls and gongs and harps, and then asking my husband to build me a sound studio in the backyard, I would’ve laughed so hard I might’ve spit my coffee. It would’ve sounded like the most ridiculous plot twist of my life.

But here’s the thing about plot twists: they don’t ask your permission. They just show up disguised as something ordinary—like a Facebook ad—and suddenly your whole life swerves in a direction you didn’t even know existed.

That ad popped up sometime before Christmas 2024. It was for a floating sound bath—you know, the ones where you float in a warm pool under the stars while someone plays singing bowls? It looked like the most magical thing I’d ever seen, and I thought, that’s it, that’s the date night Tony and I need. Except every time I went to book it, all the way out in Palm Springs, solid three hour drive away, they were sold out. I tried again and again, and it was always the same: fully booked. Finally, in that bratty voice I sometimes get when the universe won’t give me what I want, I thought, Fine. I’ll just do my own sound baths.

That’s when I remembered my Aunt Squiggs—her real name is Alene, but she goes by Squidge, and I’ve shortened it further into Squiggs—had this old set of frosted quartz singing bowls she showed me years ago. They’d been sitting in her house in Santa Fe forever, collecting dust. So I called her: “Hey… do you still have those white bowls? Do you ever use them? Can I have them?” She said yes, but warned me that the set wasn’t complete, maybe had duplicates, and they were big and heavy, so I’d have to come to Santa Fe with a truck to haul them. That’s when my first “nope” landed. Too much work. Too much hassle. I shelved the idea.

But Squiggs, being Squiggs, came back with, “Why don’t we go to the Conscious Life Expo in LA this February? I used to go when I lived there. They always had sound healing stuff.” That sounded a lot easier than driving to Santa Fe with a truck, and honestly, my life was already so full of chaos at that point that a little hippie field trip with my aunt felt harmless. So we booked it. No pressure, no expectations, just a fun weekend with my aunt.

And to be honest, my plate was already full. Tony and I had just bought our new house in Thousand Oaks, on Sirius Street after the wildest rollercoaster of escrow drama. We’d refinanced my old house just 3 months before that, poured a small fortune into fixing it up, swore we’d be there for years—and then stumbled across the Sirius house with its dreamy backyard and Tony’s beloved two-car garage. It was too perfect. We put in an offer, was accepted, turned in all the paperwork, everything seemed fine. Except the loan fell through. We lost the house, then got it back again when another buyer fell out and a different bank took pity on us. By the time we closed, we were broke and emotionally spent. Sabrina, my best friend and realtor, looked around that backyard and said, “You should turn this into a spa. Like a mini Glen Ivy.” And I remember thinking, Sure. Right after I invent money and time out of thin air. The idea of starting another business was laughable. Impossible. Off the table.

So the Expo? Just a fun day trip with my aunt. Nothing more. At least that’s what I thought.

When we got there, the people-watching was unreal. Imagine every stereotype of “woo-woo convention” turned up to eleven: bearded women, purple mohawks, gauged ears, nose chains, feral outfits that looked stolen from a Burning Man afterparty. It was like walking into an alternate universe where the dress code was “mad shaman chic.” We were equal parts entertained and horrified, and I kept wondering if you had to be a little bit unhinged to belong here.

That’s when we passed the Crystal Tones booth. At that point, I didn’t even know what Crystal Tones bowls were. Singing bowls? Salad bowls? Fancy home decor? No clue. The booth was packed, so we stood back and pointed out the ones we liked. I spotted a peach-and-turquoise bowl that looked like a desert sunset, like my Jeep, like all the wild adventures I’ve had. Squiggs loved this tall golden-peach one. And we both pointed at this huge translucent aqua-colored bowl that just glowed. They were breathtaking, but we moved on.

Later, in the middle of the madness, we came across Ashlee’s booth. And she stood out because she looked… normal. Polished. Grounded. Like the kind of woman I’d actually want as a friend. Same thing later with Adrienne at Soundbird Healing, and Rana at Crystal Tones. Amid the chaos, these women were like lighthouses. Beautiful, successful, radiating calm. I didn’t realize it then, but those were the signals my soul was already reaching for.

Ashlee was offering psychic readings. I booked one because I love impulsive timing, and she had an opening right then. At first, she read my family—my kids, my mom, my aunt, Tony. Then she leaned in with this very direct question: “Have you been thinking about a career change?”

“Sort of,” I told her. But I’d already dismissed it. I explained about photography, about working with GenRight, about the new house we could barely afford, about how a friend suggested a spa but it felt impossible. That’s when Ashlee snapped into this laser-focused intensity. She said, “You NEED to do this. Even if it’s just for friends. Start now. It will change everything. Your whole life will open.”

I joked, “So you’re saying I should bust out my credit card and go wild at this Expo?”

And she didn’t even blink. “Yes. Exactly that.”

She added, “Follow the birds. They’ll guide you. Light-colored birds are your mom. Dark ones are your dad.”

I laughed. “I’m not into birds.” But then my brain started ticking. My photography logo? A bird. My bedspread? Covered in birds. And the giant tattoo stretching across my ribs? Birds in flight, honoring my babies—Julian and Aria, Joey and Hudson. Their exact footprints hidden among branches and flowers, marked forever into my skin. Yeah. I was into birds. I just didn’t realize it until she said it.

When I walked out of that booth, the synchronicities came flying. Literally. The very next booth had a moon gong. I bought it on the spot. Lotus Moon Sound Spa was seeded right there. The “moon” came from that gong, but also from the Buddhist name I was given at fourteen: Lotus Moon. Then I bought a Therapy Harp, because why not? It sounded like angels whispering secrets, and my credit card was already on fire.

When I went back to the Crystal Tones booth the next day, I got paired with this sweet employee, Sara. She was trying so hard to help, but she kept pulling random bowls, setting them down, switching them out, stacking and restacking like a stressed-out waitress who couldn’t decide which plates went to which table. Every time she’d line them up, she’d frown, change her mind, and start over. I sat there for what felt like forever, smiling politely, while inside I was thinking, maybe this isn’t for me after all.

Finally, Rana herself drifted over like a calm wave. She took one look at the chaos and said gently but firmly, “What are you doing, Sara? You must be tired. Go take a break.” Then she turned to me and said, “Come with me.”

And here’s where it gets crazy. Rana didn’t ask me what I liked. She didn’t ask my budget. She didn’t even hesitate. She just walked straight over, lifted three bowls from the shelves, and set them in front of me with this serene certainty: “These are your bowls.”

And I froze. Because those three bowls — Laughing Buddha, Grandmother, and Aqua Aura — were the exact same three Squiggs and I had pointed out the day before when we couldn’t even get into the booth. The peach-turquoise sunset one. The golden Grandmother. The big aqua shimmer. Without knowing a single thing, Rana pulled our exact bowls out of hundreds.

I got chills all over. It wasn’t just a sales pitch — it was like the bowls had chosen me, like the universe was saying, “Yep, you were paying attention. Now it’s time.”

I picked up the mallet, played them, and the sound that poured out was so alive, like the bowls were laughing and sighing, like they already knew me. That was the moment. That was when I knew — these were mine.

I fell in love, then asked the price. $5,600. My stomach dropped. But then Rana offered a payment plan, and Ashlee’s words rang in my ears: You NEED to do this. I handed over my card, shaking.

That night, I sat Tony down. “So… I went to that hippie Expo… and now I need you to build me a sound spa studio.” He gave me the “I love you but you’ve lost your mind” look. Fair. Reasonable. But then the universe doubled down. The very next day, I called about our car insurance and discovered we’d save $450 a month by combining policies. That just happened to equal the payment on a studio loan. I ran back to Tony like a madwoman. “Babe! It’s a sign!” And because he’s my golden retriever of a husband, he caved.

That weekend, I charged more than $10,000 on instruments and enrolled in Susy Schieffelin’s Sound Healers Academy. I found it online the same night I got home from the Expo. She wrote back within minutes, welcomed me in, and told me my Crystal Tones bowls would change my life. It was all so aligned I couldn’t ignore it. By Monday, I wasn’t just dabbling in sound baths. I was building a studio, starting a business, and sprinting headfirst into a whole new world.

That’s the real story of how Lotus Moon Sound Spa was born. Ridiculous, magical, and one hundred percent true.