Aspenite Leads Forest Bathing and Sound Healing Sessions at Hallam Lake

Aspen —The wind off Hallam Lake cuts through the late afternoon chill, carrying the scent of pine needles and damp earth. In a clearing near the water’s edge, Megan DiSabatino stands barefoot in the grass, her eyes closed, her hands resting gently at her sides. She isn’t meditating in the traditional sense; she is listening. Not with her ears, but with her whole body.

This quiet moment is the heart of DiSabatino’s work. She is an Aspenite, a graduate of Aspen High School, who spent years away — living in Australia, then Manhattan — before returning when her daughter was three. Her journey back to the valley wasn’t just a change of address; it was a search for reconnection.

In New York, DiSabatino found herself overwhelmed by the pace of life. She described one tree down the street as a “lifeline.” “I could feel what was happening to my nervous system … the chaos and the pace of it all,” she told the Aspen Times. That urban isolation mirrored a broader trend she sees across the country, including her own hometown.

“Especially in Aspen, people are being separated and divided more and more, and there is less and less community,” she observed. “I see where everything in our modern world has been systematically designed to keep us in our heads.”

Her solution combines two ancient practices: forest bathing and sound healing. Through the Aspen Center for Environmental Studies, she leads sessions at locations like Hallam Lake and Toklat. Participants put away their phones, lie on the ground, and breathe. Then, DiSabatino uses gongs and singing bowls to guide them deeper into relaxation.

It’s not just about stress relief. For DiSabatino, it’s about restoring a natural connection that has been lost. “People come in, and they’re frazzled, they’re tired, they’re disconnected from themselves, they’re lonely,” she said. “But just putting technology away, laying on the earth… answers come. Resolutions come. Closure, healing, all of these really profound things happen when we give ourselves time and space, and some grace and kindness.”

She calls it a mission. “It’s not too late,” she says. “I want to share this with as many people as I possibly can.”

Back at the clearing, the sun dips lower. The sound of the water lapping against the shore is steady, rhythmic. DiSabatino opens her eyes. She takes a deep breath, inhaling the cool air. She smiles, not at anyone in particular, but at the landscape itself. She turns and walks toward the parking lot, her footsteps soft on the dirt path. The silence follows her, a quiet companion that doesn’t fade until she’s inside her car.