the woke yogi – Page 2 – The Woke Yogi

Austerity

Welcome to Part 4 of Sounding Off: Austerity. If you’re new to the Sounding Off series, you can quickly get caught up on the series archive!

In the past three weeks, we’ve unpacked a variety of premodern yogic traditions, from ultra-orthodox Brahminical Vedic Hinduism (Aurality, Antiquity) to radically subversive medieval Tantra (Alchemy). Today, we’re tackling the vast swath of South Asian history between the Upanishads and today – roughly 2500 years! – as we investigate the tradition of yogic asceticism and its evolutions through to the 21st century.

As you explore the content in the tabs below, consider the question that we seek to answer, each in our own ways:

Should we really be speaking Sanskrit in our yoga classes?

Check back next week, Wednesday July 24 for Part 5 of Sounding Off: Authority!

Alchemy

Welcome to Part 3 of Sounding Off: Alchemy. If you’re new to the Sounding Off series, you can quickly get caught up on the series archive!

In the first two parts of this series, we covered ancient yogic traditions like Vedic oral recitation and guru-śiṣya paramparā (master-disciple lineage). We discussed Sanskrit mispronunciations and debunked the illusion of antiquity in modern yoga.

This week, we’re jumping a few centuries forward, to medieval South Asia – where yogic tantra flourished. As you explore the content in the tabs below, consider the question that we seek to answer, each in our own ways:

Should we really be speaking Sanskrit in our yoga classes?

Check back next Wednesday, July 17 for Part 4 of Sounding Off: Austerity!

Antiquity

Welcome to Part 2 of Sounding Off: Antiquity! If you’re new to the Sounding Off series, you can quickly get caught up on the series archive.

Last week, in Aurality, we began our journey by investigating the Vedic oral tradition. This week, we’ll continue our discussion of ancient India, but we’ll inquire a bit deeper into the structures of power that make this tradition tick. As you explore the content in the tabs below, consider the question that we seek to answer, each in our own ways:

Should we really be speaking Sanskrit in our yoga classes?

Check back next week on Wednesday, July 10 for Part 3 of Sounding Off: Alchemy!

Aurality

Welcome to Part 1 of Sounding Off: Aurality. If you’re new to the Sounding Off series, you can quickly get caught up on the series archive!

This week, we’re diving in with the Vedic oral tradition, philosophies of sacred sound in South Asian religions, and the spiritual significance of Sanskrit in yoga. As you explore the content in the tabs below, consider the question that we seek to answer, each in our own ways:

Should we really be speaking Sanskrit in our yoga classes?

Check back next week (July 3rd) for Part 2 of Sounding Off: Antiquity!

Welcome to SOUNDING OFF!

When I first started teaching yoga, I was adamant about speaking Sanskrit in my classes. I memorized tons of Sanskrit terms and scoffed at teachers who only used the English pose names.

Then, as I learned more about South Asian history, all those foreign words in yoga class just started sounding…off.

Now, I know that there are two (or three, or a hundred) sides to every story. Written history only preserves the practices of the privileged, and yoga is no exception.

That’s why I’m launching Sounding Off, a 7-part critical series on Sanskrit in modern yoga. This series is intended as a practical guide for yoga teachers and casual practitioners, hobby linguists and aspiring Sanskritists, philosophers, skeptics, and long-time lovers of Indic spirituality. If you’re ready to think critically about the spiritual + socio-political dimensions of Sanskrit in modern yoga settings, stay tuned — for the next seven weeks, I’ll be sounding off right here on The Woke Yogi.

The series archive is live NOW. I’ll be updating that page weekly as I release new content on my blog. Each part of the series will include:

Research essays that translate rigorous, world-class yoga scholarship into accessible information for the general yoga community.
Poetic essays & other short creative pieces that ground these critical ideas in my personal experiences and embodied yoga practice.
Practical guide for yogis, including actionable tips, self-reflection questions, further readings, and other resources to help you integrate your learnings.

All this content is FREE & completely OPEN ACCESS! This is part of my mission to democratize yoga through jñāna (knowledge). Our objectives are as follows:

1. Contextualize Sanskrit within broader systems of power in South Asia.

2. Assess the pros and cons of speaking Sanskrit for yoga.

3. Critically analyze the role of Sanskrit in modern yoga settings.

Go explore the archive, find out what to expect, and come let me know in the comments which week you’re most excited for. Part 1 of the series, titled “Aurality,” will be available next Wednesday, June 26. Don’t forget to subscribe (sign-up in the sidebar to the right) and follow The Woke Yogi on social media (links below) to be sure that you don’t miss any new content!

Reflection Questions to Prime Your Thinking:

Do I speak Sanskrit in my yoga classes? Why or why not?
Do I know WHY Sanskrit is so often spoken in modern yoga classes?
How do I/ how can I honor the roots of yoga in my personal practice?

Tourists in Tiger Territory

The morning air in Basanti was warm, with smog draped over the pink-orange sunrise like a thick layer of grey chiffon. After a 2-hour drive southeast from my Dadu Ji’s (granddad’s) house in Kolkata, we had reached the far edges of the state of West Bengal and indeed the outer borders of the country of India, but we had not yet escaped the ring of air pollution that surrounds the city center.

The streets of Basanti town were abuzz with shopkeepers preparing their wares, mother cows bellowing to their young, and tropical birds cheerfully singing the tunes for which they were named: papiha (Common Hawk-Cuckoo), kokila (Asian Koel), kowah (Crow). Their songs were underscored by the incessant thrumming of mosquitoes, menacing man and animal alike as they flitted in search of their next victims. Mosquitoes, I believe, were put on this planet to humble humans — after all, their mere presence reduces us from power-hungry predators to paltry prey.

We unloaded our car briskly, swatting the air vigorously all the while, then made our way to the waterside, where a sign welcomed us:

Sundarbans National Park & Tiger Reserve

A boat and its crew awaited us at the dock: the Delta Queen, captained by a majestically mustached man named Mrittunjoy. The Delta Queen was our ticket into the Sundarbans, the world’s largest mangrove forest situated within the world’s largest river delta. Spanning two countries (India and Bangladesh) and nearly 4,000 square miles, this region boasts a wide range of flora and fauna, with over 200 bird species alone. But the jungle, we were told, was full of terrible dangers—ranging from tree roots to tigers to territorial bees – and thus the water was the safest place for us to observe its biodiversity.

Mangrove trees are unique in that they have aerial roots or “breathing roots” that grow up and out of the water-logged soil. This incredible adaptation has enabled mangroves to thrive in extremely harsh, saline environments; however, these breathing roots are also very sharp and hazardous for land-dwellers.

Just as the sun began to peek out from behind its ashen curtain, the Delta Queen embarked on its 3-day journey into the Sundarbans Delta, where the sacred Ganges River empties into the Bay of Bengal. Mrittunjoy had a keen eye for spotting birds, and he promptly began to point out Kingfishers concealed in masses of mangrove roots. He soliloquized about the species of the Sundarbans; about the sea and its stringent saltiness; about the sweets that might be served at snack-time. Within only a few hours, we had seen deer, monitor lizards, birds of prey, and hundreds of mudskippers along the canal shores.

This amazing shot of a Black-Capped Kingfisher was captured by my incredibly talented uncle, Partha Pratim Saha. You can check out more of his photography on his Instagram and website.

Then, in the late afternoon, as our boat wove down a wider waterway, my sister leapt up from her seat and pointed excitedly towards land. I craned my neck, hoping to catch a glimpse of an elusive Bengal tiger. Instead, I saw…

A woman. She balanced a pot on her head as she retreated from the riverbank, the pleats of her sari swaying in time with her gait. I squinted at this sight, struggling to see what had attracted my sister’s attention.

“People live out here?” my sister asked in awe.

Despite the dangers advertised to us, people do in fact live out there: 4.5 million on the Indian side and even more in Bangladesh. Much of the Sundarbans is protected as a nature reserve, but this region is still one of the most densely populated in the world. The fertile floodplains surrounding the delta are ideal for agricultural production, and there are small fishing villages on the islands within the delta. These settlements are simple and extremely rural, sometimes only accessible by boat.

Discomfort settled over me as I realized that we had been observing these villagers with unabashed scrutiny, just as we had been observing the flora and the fauna. They’re not here for my viewing pleasure, I scorned myself. Yet, I couldn’t tear my eyes away. The sight of this woman was jarring, I realized, because her life was so necessarily attuned and inextricably tethered to the patterns of the earth: the comings and goings of the rains, the cycles of the moon, the ebbs and flows of the tide. Every morning, while I stumble to my bathroom and turn on the tap, this woman carries a pot down to the riverside and fetches her water straight from the Sundarbans Delta. Though united by our shared humanity, I couldn’t help but feel species away from her, as distant as I felt from the exotic Kingfishers.

Over the remainder of our jungle cruise, Mrittunjoy pointed out local fishing boats and informed us about the villagers’ practices of collecting honey from wild rock bees. He explained that the locals fish the delta from June to December, then pause all fishing activities and collect honey between March and May to ensure sustainable harvesting practices. As he continued to intersperse facts about the local people’s customs with his commentary on cobras and crocodiles, my unease grew. I became acutely aware of the separation between us and them; between our tour boat and the Sundarbans – their home.

Indeed, from the safety of our tour boat, it was all too easy to view these villagers as another species altogether; to assume that they are somehow less susceptible to the forecasted dangers of the Sundarbans simply by virtue of surviving there everyday. This is not the case. The villagers enter the jungle at their own peril, for tiger attacks are common. Yet, they have no choice; aquaculture and beekeeping are the only ways for them to make a living. In this way, the villagers are equal contributors to the Sundarbans ecosystem; they survive on the offerings of the jungle, at any time prone to becoming offerings themselves – whether to tigers or to mosquitoes. Sometimes predators, sometimes prey, these villagers remind us that humans are but one species acting within complex, multi-species ecosystems. They challenge the illusion that humans are always, unequivocally, at the top of the food chain.

Some more breathtaking captures of the Sundarbans food chain by my uncle, Partha Pratim Saha.

But then, if the villagers are prey, what is it that seeks to predate them? Is it really the tigers, prowling innocently in search of their next meal? Or is it the tour companies that ferry paying foreigners out by the dozens, predatory in their promise of ‘exotic experiences’ at the expense of ecological peace? These tour companies are required to hold permits, and they are (in theory) regulated by strict legislation. But the laws prohibiting pollution are not enforced – I personally witnessed a great deal of waste during our three days onboard the Delta Queen. Though I remained firmly on the boat, I was drawn into this larger socio-political ecosystem of the Sundarbans, animated not by waters and winds but by neoliberal greed and corruption. We may have been safe from the jungle, but the jungle was not safe from us.

In climate change discourse, humans are usually positioned against nature — and for good reason! Humans have too often exploited nature’s balance to our gain. However, I reject the notion that humans are always and can only ever be antagonistic forces on nature. As we see in the Sundarbans, humans can be protectors and stewards of their lands; they, too, can contribute to ecological balance. We need only to remember that we are – despite our daily differences – the same species as the villagers of the Sundarbans. We are products of our environments, not just polluters of them.

Though protected as a UNESCO World Heritage Site, the fragile brackish ecosystem of the Sundarbans is extremely vulnerable to climate change, and many of its inhabitant species are endangered—including humans!! Rising salinity levels, coastline erosion, cyclones, and floods threaten to disrupt the precarious natural balance of the Sundarbans and displace the millions of people who live there, triggering an environmental refugee crisis. We cannot allow this to happen!

Climate change is NOT inevitable OR irreversible.

We are ALL a part of this global ecosystem, and we all stand to benefit by saving it.

If you are interested in learning more about the Sundarbans, or if you’d like to donate in support of its inhabitants, please visit the links below:

Read about/ see maps of the Sundarbans UNESCO World Heritage Site

Read Misreading the Bengal Delta by Camelia Dewan

Donate to the Sundarban Foundation to support tiger victims and other humans in the Sundarbans through medical aid, employment, and education.

Donate to The Canopy Project Sundarbans to support environmental conservation and restoration.

Donate to AID India to support natural disaster relief and climate resilience infrastructure.

Photo by Partha Pratim Saha

The Truth About Birthright Israel – Part One

I inherited Jewishness from my mother, so I have had the bittersweet experience of visiting Israel for free. Yes, for FREE. The Israeli government runs a program called “Taglit (Discovery)-Birthright Israel,” otherwise known as “Birthright Israel” or simply, “Birthright.” This program sponsors ten-day trips to Israel for all Jews between the ages of 18 and 26, and it covers ALL expenses, including airfare, accommodations, meals, transportation, and cultural experiences. The eligibility requirements are straightforward: you must have at least one parent of Jewish descent or have converted to Judaism through a recognized Jewish movement. As the name implies, the program is founded on the assumption that all Jews have a birthright to discover the Jewish homeland and connect with their Jewish identity. Readers, perhaps you see where this is headed, but dear readers…I did not.

Here, I must pause to make a disclaimer: not all Jews are Zionist. I do not believe that any religion or perceived birthright is justification for violence, oppression, and apartheid. Make no mistake — Israel is an apartheid state. For this reason, I will continue to refer to my Taglit trip as “birthright,” because I do not feel that Jews have any more birthright over that land than the people who have resided there for centuries. Furthermore, I use the terms “Israel” and “occupied Palestine” to refer to the same region; “Israel” occasionally in the context of the Jewish state, “occupied Palestine” everywhere else.

Despite my staunch opposition to modern political Zionism, I do not wish to downplay the beauty of Judaism in my attempt to expose the lesser-known truths about Taglit-Birthright. It was an enormous privilege to visit this region and experience its history. This article covers Jewish history and Israeli culture; please visit Part Two to read about the parts of my trip that left a sour taste in my mouth: the discrimination, the propaganda, and the shocking geo-political realities of the Zionist state.

THE TRIP

My “Birthright Israel” journey took place in summer of 2018, shortly after I trained to become a yoga teacher. By that time, I had connected profoundly with my Indian heritage, and I yearned to do the same with my Jewish roots. I thought, an all-expenses-paid opportunity to learn about Jewish history and culture? Sign me up! Ultimately, I did learn about Jewish history and culture, but I was not entirely pleased by my findings.

Our itinerary was jampacked, and we didn’t even have time to recover from the jetlag before we were piled onto a coach bus with the words “Taglit-Birthright” emblazoned on the side. In ten short days, we were shuttled from border to border to take in all the sights and sounds of occupied Palestine. We never stayed in one hotel for more than two nights; we never ate at the same place twice; we truly experienced a lot of the country through the eyes of Israeli settlers. Here are some of the highlights from my trip:

West Asian Agriculture

In the Shomron region in northern occupied Palestine, we visited Kibbutz Ein-Shemer. A Kibbutz is an intentional community traditionally based on agriculture, so we explored Ein-Shemer’s greenhouses and fruit orchards to learn about the community’s history, as well as the role of agriculture in Israel’s economy. Several Kibbutz members joined us to discuss their lifestyles and daily activities on the Kibbutz, and they even invited us to enjoy some fresh fruits and veggies from the greenhouses!

At the end of our Kibbutz tour, each of us were given a dove to release. To this day, I have no idea why we did this. Perhaps they were attempting a symbolic gesture of peace? Let me know what you think in the comments.

Graffiti Tour in Tel Aviv

Tel Aviv, a vibrant urban center, plays host to a wide range of artists, many of whose mediums are the streets. As we wandered the city, our tour guide pointed out various works on building facades, mailboxes, fences, and sidewalks. He highlighted motifs in each piece and provided context on well-known graffiti artists, along with the socio-political messages that they attempt to convey through their work. We also visited some indoor galleries that showcased Tel Aviv’s more orthodox artisanship.

Yad Vashem Holocaust Memorial

Perhaps the most chilling and solemn moment of my trip was our visit to Yad Vashem, the World Holocaust Remembrance Center. Located on a hill overlooking Jerusalem, the museum is a long, narrow, dimly lit building with exhibitions designed to be viewed in a linear fashion. Our tour guide explained that the building’s structure invokes the Jews’ experience of the Holocaust, such that the visitor enters a long, dark tunnel with no end in sight. We spent more than three hours inside the museum, observing photos of concentration camps, simulations of gas chambers, and glass cases full of abandoned shoes. In seeing those snippets of Jewish life during the Holocaust, the gravity of their genocide fell upon me. The final exhibit is a dome-shaped room with floor-to-ceiling projections that flash rotating photos of Holocaust victims. In a poignant moment of collective grief, I wept alongside my Jewish peers for the loss of our ancestors.

When our tour concluded, we emerged from the dark building into daylight, where we paused before the vast landscape of the Holy Land. The gaping exit of Yad Vashem, our tour guide told us, symbolizes the liberation of the Jews from concentration camps and the ultimate creation of the new Jewish state, where Jews could finally be freed from generations of violence. Yad Vashem served as a profound reminder that the Holocaust continues to shape contemporary Judaism and its people.

No pictures included of the Holocaust memorial, for obvious reasons. This is the view of Jerusalem at the end of the museum.

Hezekiah's Tunnels under Jerusalem

As the Hebrew Bible foretold, the City of David (the ancient core of Jerusalem), rests upon a series of underground tunnels that were once used to transport fresh water from the Gihon Spring to the Siloam Pool—a life-giving source for the ancient peoples of Jerusalem. Largely regarded as an extraordinary and baffling feat of engineering, these tunnels are attributed to Hezekiah, the reigning King of Judah circa late 8^thcentury to 687 BCE. Biblical scholars believe that Hezekiah constructed these tunnels so that he could fortify against Assyrian invasion without compromising the city’s water source.

Modern Jerusalem has since implemented newer methods of irrigation, so Hezekiah’s tunnels have become a tourist attraction, allowing visitors to wade through stagnant water for a portion of the tunnels’ 533-meter length. Inevitably, this tour is a staple of “Birthright” trips, and we geared up with water shoes and shorts to descend underground. The tunnels are approximately two feet wide and pitch-black, with water levels ranging from ankle-deep to thigh-deep depending on the location (and your height, of course). Needless to say, I don’t recommend Hezekiah’s tunnels for anyone prone to claustrophobia, aquaphobia, or nyctophobia. However, this tour was a once-in-a-lifetime experience, and I was fascinated by the remarkable ancient infrastructure.

To my dismay, my “Birthright” peers did not take this tour as seriously. Rather than listening to our tour guide’s historical talk, they opted to vape, blast obscene music from their portable speakers, and chatter incessantly. As you might imagine, noises ricochet quite loudly in narrow, water-filled corridors. I often wonder whether my tour may have been more educational and less fear-inducing had I traveled with a more respectful group.

Camping with Bedouins in the Negev Desert

The Bedouin are nomadic Arab tribes that have herded animals such as sheep, goats, and camels throughout the deserts of Northern Africa and the Middle East since 6000 BCE. Some Bedouins have adopted urban, sedentary lifestyles in the last two centuries, while many others live semi-sedentary lifestyles. Large groups of the latter now inhabit tent settlements in the Negev desert in occupied Palestine. Despite their exposure to Israeli culture and politics, the Bedouins have retained their traditional customs and language (Arabic), which include “Bedouin Hospitality.” Thus, the Bedouins welcomed my “Birthright” group with open arms.

During our stay, we slept in a Bedouin tent for a night, partially exposed to the hot and sandy elements. The desert was so quiet—that night was my best sleep the whole trip. We shared a meal with our host tribe, comprised of lamb, rice, and a highly anticipated cup of Bedouin coffee: a dark, bitter roast with a unique blend of spices. We ate with our hands (just like in India!) while seated on cushions on the floor. A Bedouin man gave us a talk on their traditional art forms, which range from loom-woven textiles to clay pottery to animal-hoof utensils. The Bedouins also took us for a camel ride through the desert, which was somewhat of a roller coaster—the camels would kneel on their front legs to allow us to mount, then stand suddenly, one leg at a time, requiring us to hold on to the reigns for dear life.

The Dead Sea

The Dead Sea lies at the lowest land-based elevation on earth, bordered by Jordan to the East and occupied Palestine to the West. This body of water is not actually a sea at all, but rather a salt lake with such high levels of salinity that swimming in it is more like floating. Being one of the world’s saltiest bodies of water, the Dead Sea is a harsh environment for plants and animals, hence its name.

This historic landmark, mentioned throughout Jewish and Biblical literature, is one of the most anticipated destinations on the “Birthright” itinerary, but after wading into the waters, I began to wonder why. Within moments of my effortless float, inordinate amounts of salt began to seep into my skin and burn my nose, ears, nailbeds, and other unmentionable parts of my body. The experience of being lifted to the water’s surface was uncanny, but I didn’t linger to relish it. Nonetheless, I enjoyed the white sands and sunny sights of this natural marvel, grateful for the opportunity to visit.

Perhaps more famous than the Dead Sea itself is its mud: silt from the lake’s shores that has absorbed the water’s salinity. Many health and wellness companies have profited by packaging this mud into commercial mud masks, which are now sold globally. These entrepreneurial claims are not mere pseudoscience—medical researchers have established that high concentrations of salt and magnesium, among other minerals in the mud, can effectively treat a wide range of conditions, including psoriasis, arthritis, acne, and chronic pain. However, I was surprised to discover that Dead Sea tourists cannot simply dig up this miraculous mud. Instead, you must visit nearby spa shops that sell mud products for 70 to 350 Shekels. My group leaders graciously purchased several masks for us all to share, so I slathered myself in the magic elixir of yore. Maybe it cured me of all my ailments? Only time will tell.

Hiking Masada

Hebrew for “fortress;” Masada is a UNESCO World Heritage Site for two palaces built by Herod the Great. Masada was fortified during the 1^st century BCE to protect the palaces against Roman Siege. Situated atop an isolated plateau in southern occupied Palestine, Masada is only accessible by foot and by cable car. There are two trails that lead to the top of the plateau, both of which are perilously narrow and steep. My “Birthright” group traversed the Roman Ramp trail in the darkness of early morning, hoping to reach the summit in time to see the sun rising over the Dead Sea. Not much remains of the palace structures at the top, but the scenery was certainly stunning.

Shabbat (The Old City & The White City)

Also known as the day of rest, Shabbat is an ancient Jewish tradition wherein Jews refrain from work activities and take rest. Every week, Shabbat begins at sundown on Friday and continues through sundown on Saturday evening. Each Jewish family has unique Shabbat practices, but traditionally, Shabbat consists of three required meals: Friday night dinner, Saturday lunch, and Saturday dinner, with the first of these three being the most commonly observed. Religious Jews attend synagogue on Saturday morning to read the Torah and perform special Shabbat prayers. Other traditions include indulging in meat and other fancy foods, wearing nice clothes, lighting candles, and greeting others with the traditional greeting, “Shabbat Shalom!” Any form of work is strictly prohibited on Shabbat, so Jews perform housework on Friday to prepare, then spend Saturday socializing, eating, worshipping, and relaxing.

My “Birthright” trip spanned Friday to Sunday, so I celebrated two Shabbats in occupied Palestine. The first was spent in Jerusalem, the Old City, where we visited the Western (Wailing) Wall and learned about religious Shabbat customs. Then we lit candles, shared sentiments of blessings and gratitude with the group, and enjoyed a meal together.

Our second Shabbat took place in Tel Aviv, the White City. Not everyone who lives in occupied Palestine is Jewish, but many are—as a result, most businesses close at sundown on Friday and do not reopen until sundown the following day. It was fascinating to walk the deserted streets of this normally bustling city, knowing that everyone was at home, enjoying restorative communion with their friends and families.

The Western Wall

At the center of the Old City of Jerusalem is the Temple Mount, the holiest site in Judaism. The Temple Mount is thought to be the location of the Holy of Holies, a term used in the Hebrew Bible to denote a spiritual junction between Heaven and Earth; an inner sanctum where God’s presence appears. As such, two temples have been built in this spot to house this sacred sanctuary and its precious treasure: the Ark of the Covenant. The first temple was commissioned by King Solomon circa 10^th century BCE and stood until its destruction by the Neo-Babylonian Empire in 587 BCE. A second temple was constructed nearly a century later and served as a site of worship until its destruction by the Romans in 70 CE. A Third Temple has not yet been built, as the Temple Mount is currently occupied by the Dome of the Rock and Al-Aqsa Mosque, a site of religious significance in Islam.

Even still, this site retains historical importance and divine presence for Jews. The Temple Mount rests on a hill surrounded by retaining walls, one of which is the Western Wall. Entry to the Temple Mount is restricted, so Jews gather at the Western Wall to pray in proximity to the Holy of Holies, which is believed to lie just behind the wall.

Of all the things we did on my “Birthright” trip, our visit to the Western Wall was by far the most powerful and profound. The women were asked to cover our hair with scarves, and we were separated by sex; the men were directed to the left side, the women to the right. When we got close, we were permitted to touch the wall and pray for as long as we felt compelled. I must admit, I don’t have much of a relationship with the Jewish God (assuming He/ She is different from the divine forces I believe in), but I couldn’t help but be overcome by the tangible spirituality surrounding me as I approached the wall. On all sides, women pressed their faces and palms against the worn stone—some muttered prayers in hushed tones, while others loudly expressed their devotion; many more simply wept. A deep sense of loving faith hung in the air, like a warm blanket embracing all of us at once. I saw then and there why the Western Wall has been nicknamed the “Wailing Wall,” for even I was brought to tears.

To understate the great history and spiritual power that I experienced on my trip would be an immense disservice to occupied Palestine, as well as the people of all cultures and faiths that comprise its population. This small swath of land is a globally significant site for archeologists, biblical scholars, followers of Abrahamic religion, and world travelers alike; I consider myself lucky to have been able to explore even a fraction of it, let alone in the capacity Taglit enabled me to.

However, I cannot in good faith discuss the good parts of my “Birthright” trip without giving equal attention to the ethically concerning parts. I know now that my luxurious experience came at the expense of Palestinian lives. Please visit The Truth About Birthright Israel – Part Two to read about the not-so-subtle agenda of Taglit-Birthright Israel.

Let the Good Times Roll

Did you know that there are no open container laws in New Orleans?

I didn’t. Frankly, I didn’t know what to expect when I flew into NOLA on the eve of Mardi Gras. I have always wanted to celebrate Mardi Gras in New Orleans, but only because of the living room in my childhood home. My mother painted the walls a dark, royal purple and hung feathered masks to match. I had a strong visual of the iconic event, but in my mind, it was completely distanced from its context. New Orleans couldn’t possibly be a city in Louisiana, not in the United States at all, but rather, a whimsical land outside of space and time where sequined fairies shower you with beads and court jesters dance in the streets.

My conception wasn’t entirely false. Sequined fairies do shower you with beads, and court jesters do dance in the streets. New Orleans at Mardi Gras embodies liminality. Everyone is either coming or going, yet no one has any real place to be. All other affairs come to a screeching halt. The laws and morals of everyday life needn’t apply—after all, it’s Mardi Gras, baby. At least, this seemed to be the attitude held by my friend Payton, who lived in New Orleans and hosted me for the week. His job gave him the week prior to Mardi Gras off, so he spent his free days attending parades and collecting festive paraphernalia. He proudly showed off his favorite “throws”—stacks of plastic cups and handfuls of fake doubloons—while boasting his tried-and-true method for capturing a Krewe member’s attention aboard a float. I won’t reveal his secret, of course; everyone must discover their own methods.

Unsurprisingly, the debauchery and chaos of Mardi Gras are steeped in age-old religious tradition. And who better than the Catholics, of course, to throw a raucous sin fest every year to commemorate the season of salvation?

Rather than tell you where it all starts, it’s easier for me to explain where it ends, and that’s Easter Sunday. Easter falls on the first Sunday after the Paschal full moon, and the forty days preceding the feast are called Lent. This is a time of fasting and religious observance, wherein Catholics honor the forty days Jesus spent wandering in the desert prior to his crucifixion. They will usually make a Lenten sacrifice (such as a food or habit) and/ or undertake a spiritual discipline (such as daily devotional or prayer) to honor Jesus’s ultimate sacrifice. Many Catholics also forgo meat. Easter, then, is a welcome respite; the breaking of the long fast; a light at the end of the tunnel. The period of grief is necessarily ended by celebration of the great miracle of Christianity.

But let’s keep winding the clock back. Lent kicks off with Ash Wednesday, when Catholics attend mass in the morning to formally begin the fast. If we go back one day further, we land on the Tuesday before Lent. This Tuesday is known as *Fat Tuesday* in honor of the gluttony that you’re meant to indulge in on the day before you fast. Traditionally, Catholics eat rich, fatty foods the night before Lenten season, then repent their sins one last time before the piety begins. It’s a classic pre-game celebration, and because it’s such a great idea, lots of non-Christians have joined in on the Fat Tuesday festivities as well. Mardi Gras is a literal translation of “Fat Tuesday” in French, and you don’t even have to be Catholic to partake!

France, a nation that proudly celebrates Carnival, is responsible for bringing the festivities to Louisiana. In 1699, on the eve of Lent, French-Canadian explorer Jean Baptiste Le Moyne Sieur de Bienville arrived on a plot near New Orleans and declared it the “Pointe du Mardi Gras.” I guess the people of New Orleans took that title and ran with it, because now the city is infamous for its rowdy pre-Lent party. Suffice it to say that the world has Catholicism to thank for this thrilling tradition.

Festivities

The NOLA Mardi Gras celebration consists mainly of lavish parades, hosted by exclusive groups called Krewes. The Krewes, usually named for Classical heroes and Gods (Bacchus, Sparta, Dionysus, etc.), build their own floats, plan performances, and design costumes, all of which are shrouded in secrecy until the grand Mardi Gras reveal. Unless you’re one of the lucky few privies to a Krewe gathering, you’ll have to set up camp on the parade route to see the resulting masterpieces.

Parades start as early as a month before Fat Tuesday and each follow different routes, though most of them travel west through the French Quarter. Festivalgoers stake out spots hours before the parade to socialize, dance, eat, drink, and generally cause a ruckus. I attended my first parade with some of Payton’s friends, who prepared an entire parade-side cookout. We hauled a charcoal grill and carts full of food to the street, where we commenced a needlessly elaborate barbecue. Our neighbors to the right blasted music from their boombox while the couple to our left danced in matching sequined outfits, and we offered hot dogs to both parties in the spirit of Mardi Gras abundance. I opted for a smoky veggie skewer, of course.

Most parades are still led by Flambeaux—a line of flaming torches that were once crucial for providing light for the festivities. Even after the advent of streetlights, they remained a symbol of the party to follow. The Flambeaux announce the arrival of the Krewe and its parade: gargantuan floats, costumed dancers, and showers of petty treasures—namely beaded necklaces and plastic masks. Attendees crowd the floats as they pass by, pleading and performing for a chance to catch the krewe’s exclusive throws. Some of my favorite catches included a set of plush dice and a Krewe of Orpheus coin.

Masks, the iconic symbol of Mardi Gras, allow wearers to temporarily transcend borders of class, status, race, and religion. They grant the wearer freedom to behave freely during the Carnival season. Masks lend to the liminality of the event; no one is who they usually are. You can find plastic masks littering the streets after a parade, but the best ones require exquisite craftsmanship and painstaking detail. I quite enjoyed perusing the mask shops on Bourbon Street, where each mask alluded to a different culture or time, from 18^th century Commedia Dell’arte to 14^th century plague doctors to ancient dramatic traditions all over the world.

Now, Mardi Gras doesn’t have to be all booze and belligerence (although you’ll see plenty of that!). In the name of contextualizing the chaos, I have some travel recommendations for my readers.

Food

Union Ramen: Japanese cuisine curated by a Vietnamese chef and a Filipino restauranteur—a true melting pot! Try the beggar’s purse dumplings, the shishito peppers, and the miso ramen with oyster mushrooms.

Juan’s Flying Burrito: Creole-tinged Tex-Mex with an emphasis on burritos. Chips & queso are great, of course, but the vegetarian options are numerous; order the tofu Juaha roll, the veggie punk burrito, or the BBQ mushroom quesadillas.

The Vintage: a classy little café bar with a tantalizing selection of beignets, baked fresh daily with rotating flavors. They also serve hors d’oeuvres and wine if you’re into that. I was extremely tempted by the truffle parmesan fries.

San Lorenzo: an ode to coastal Italian cuisine nestled in the historic St. Vincent Hotel. The lounge is spacious, warmly lit, and the dishes showcase the diversity of flavors in NOLA. I recommend the zucchini fritti and the arugula salad.

Creole Creamery: a local ice cream joint with a large selection of novelty ice cream flavors ranging from lavender honey to petit four. My favorite was chocolate doberge, but the flavors rotate regularly. Go check out the new menu when you’re there!

NOLA Caye: a contemporary take on regional New Orleans cuisine, which is a hybrid of European, Indigenous American, African, and Caribbean flavors. Unfortunately, creole food leaves something to be desired for vegetarians, but Caye has struck a beautiful balance. They’re known for their seafood, but I loved the crispy plantains and the jalapeño-cheddar grits.

Bittersweet Confections: a quaint café/ bakery on Magazine St. They offer delectable pastries as well as a full breakfast-lunch menu. I practically inhaled my veggie wrap (okay, maybe I was just starving).

Sucre Bakery: a pastry haven. If you’re like me, you’ll be craving a traditional macaron in this French-influenced city. This bakery has every flavor of the delicate dessert that you can imagine, plus coffee and other baked goods. Even if you don’t like macarons, you’ll love seeing the vibrant rounds stacked in cake form behind the case.

Magnolia Sugar and Spice: a hot-sauce-shop-slash-bakery in the French Quarter that specializes in a classic nutty confection: the praline. Incredibly sweet and impossibly good; I wish I could load a whole suitcase full to take some home with me.

HONORARY MENTION- Auction House Market: a stunning food hall that WAS in the Warehouse District. Sadly, this co-op closed shortly after my visit, but it was so adorable that it deserved a mention here. The central bar was adorned with trailing plants and provided a perfect workspace for local professionals. The back room featured a gorgeous moss wall—I sat there sipping my latte and enjoying the botanical view for hours.

City History & Culture

Café du Monde: OKAY, you caught me, the first one is just more food. I came to realize that between creole cuisine and French pastries, food is a large part of NOLA culture. If you’re wondering where to find a classic New Orleans beignet, look no further—this is THE spot. Their outdoor stand in the French Market offers the full experience: freshly fried pastry dough copiously coated in powdered sugar that is simply *impossible* to not get all over your clothes and face. You can also sip a chicory coffee while you people watch, which is sure to be an exciting sport around Mardi Gras time.

French Quarter: the historic district around which everything in New Orleans revolves. This area has something for everyone: upscale boutiques, restaurants and bars, horse-drawn carriages, voodoo shops, and ghost tours that tackle NOLA’s dark history of slave torture. Bourbon Street, a 13-block stretch of bars and neon, plays host to late-night gatherings and streetside parties. This neighborhood showcases the wrought iron balconies and lush courtyards that characterize NOLA architecture.

Mississippi River: the waterfront bisects the French Quarter and offers a bustling snapshot of the city, with commemorative statues and street vendors galore. Throughout history, the river has signified commerce, but large industrial complexes blocked the waterfront from public access. Since the warehouses were removed in the 1970s, visitors have enjoyed the river with beachside picnics and riverboat tours.

St. Louis Cathedral: the oldest continuously active church in the United States!!! Also known as the Cathedral-Basilica of Saint Louis King of France, this cathedral stands at the edge of the French Quarter and the Mississippi River, boasting jaw-dropping architecture and stained-glass art. The building undergoes regular renovations to reinforce the 200-year-old structure, but Catholics still attend Sunday morning service every week. Interestingly, the site has been a place of worship for even longer, but the original building was burned to the ground in 1788. The current cathedral has stood since 1793.

The Swamp: New Orleans belongs to a temperate deciduous forest biome with marshes all along its tributaries. These boggy inlets create one of the longest coastlines in the United States! Sadly, I did not encounter any gators while down in the bayou, but these forested wetlands play host to complex ecosystems with turtles, pelicans, mosses, and cypress trees, the latter of which play a vital role in protecting the swamp from soil erosion. The rough terrain of this fragile ecosystem has long protected New Orleans from Southern attacks, while providing access to important oceanic trade routes.

Buckner Mansion: built by a cotton kingpin in 1856, this mansion is one of many in the Garden District, featuring grandiose gates, stone columns, and not one, not two, but three ballrooms! The property is rumored to be haunted by the Buckner family’s slave, Josephine, which explains why it was chosen as the set for American Horror Story Season 3: Coven. Nowadays, ghost enthusiasts, AHS fans, and ambitious property buyers alike flock to the Buckner Mansion to admire the architecture and catch a glimpse of poor old Josephine.

Though I had no idea what Mardi Gras in NOLA entailed, I was so grateful to discover southern hospitality, amazing food, and ritual transformation, all steeped in fascinating history. If I were to celebrate Mardi Gras in NOLA again (which is something I definitely plan on doing), I would arrive a week or two before Fat Tuesday to experience more parades from the other prominent Krewes. I would also reserve a spot on a ghost tour because WOW this city has some dark lineages. I did not have nearly enough time to explore all this city has to offer. However, my first Fat Tuesday celebration was an absolute riot, and it’s all thanks to Payton and the friendly people of N’awleans.

11 Quirks of Seattle

Hello friends! As I am sure many of you know, I recently moved to Seattle, and it has taken every single one of my feeble brain cells to figure out this city. I traveled a bit before my move, but I’ll write about those adventures later—for now, I am completely enamored with the Pacific Northwest, and I thought it would be fun to share the first eleven quirks I noticed about this city.

Ever-Greenery (+ Pesky Ivy)

I was immediately struck by it on the drive up from Colorado. My Northwest-bound route was mainly monotonous: desert and dry shrub throughout Western Colorado, Northern Utah, Western Wyoming, and Southern Idaho. But as I wound down dark roads through Eastern Washington with a Uhaul trailer in tow, I found myself suddenly enveloped in lush forest. A light rain greeted me, alluding to the countless warnings I had received about Washington state’s climate. The towering hemlocks, firs, and cedars welcomed me in a way that Colorado’s flora never had.

After being here for a few months, the greenery continues to be the most comforting aspect of West Coast city life. I am incredibly fortunate to live half a block away from a forested park with over five miles of trails—my urban oasis with a surprising amount of foraging potential. I won’t even get into the insane greenery I saw on my recent trip to the Olympic Peninsula, which shall be a whole article of its own.

A good chunk of Seattle’s greenery comes from English ivy, which is quaint & cute cottage-core vibes….until you realize that it’s a rampantly invasive plant to this region. It takes over everything. I guess it’s good for the wildlife, though, because the ivy patch in front of my apartment is home to a family of large rats. Super fun for my cats, not so much for me.

Go Huskies!

Besides my unsatiable thirst for exploration, I was drawn to Seattle by a very exciting development: my acceptance to graduate school! Starting in the fall, I will study comparative religion and women & gender studies in South Asia. I am looking forward to building on my undergraduate research in Hindu women’s rituals and incorporating my new studies into my Yoga practice. The best part is that I’ve been offered a Foreign Language and Area Studies fellowship to complete this degree in exchange for studying Hindi (which I was going to do anyway).

I am also unbelievably lucky to have found an apartment near the university district in Seattle, so I live within walking distance of campus, and I am constantly surrounded by college culture. Though I don’t start classes until the end of September, I can tell that University of Washington (colloquially known as U Dub) students are full of pride in their school, and I am extremely optimistic about the faculty I will be working with during my two-year program.

Land Acknowledgements

Seattle occupies the traditional land of almost thirty indigenous American tribes, and the people here seem more aware of our continued colonization than most other places I’ve lived. I encounter land acknowledgments to the Coast Salish people and the Duwamish tribe almost everywhere I go, from natural landmarks to touristy urban destinations. I especially appreciate the ones at Snoqualmie Falls, which emphasize that sacred sites and resources were stolen from Indigenous Americans and commodified by colonial settlers. The Snoqualmie (meaning “moon” in Salish) region encompasses vast fertile valleys and a 268-foot waterfall, which was once coveted by indigenous Americans as a source of natural abundance and the birthplace of many formative myths. These myths speak of the Moon Transformer, Snoqualm, who birthed fire and trees from the sky unto the earth. The Moon Transformer receives offering from the falls’ water, so the land surrounding the falls served as ceremonial grounds and burial sites for the Snoqualmie people.

Unfortunately, the Snoqualmie land was settled by pioneers in the 1850’s, whereupon it was pillaged by loggers and later channeled into an underground power plant. Those hydroelectric generators still exist and operate today, appropriating the sacred energy of the Falls to provide electricity for surrounding areas. The natural marvel of Snoqualmie Falls, along with the power plant, continue to draw hordes of tourists that impact the remaining members of these indigenous tribes, as well as land back efforts.

While hiking at the falls, I was grateful to see plaques that were truthful about the power plant’s ugly history. Yet, written statements seem a feeble consolation for the native peoples’ loss of land, resources, and rituals. I wonder whether these acknowledgements are backed by tangible social action, and I must ask myself how I can make reparations to these indigenous Americans as I reside in their territory.

Water Water Everywhere

The wonder—and sometimes the terror—of living in Seattle is being surrounded by formidable bodies of water. Flanked by the Puget Sound to the West, Lake Washington to the East, and Lake Union in the North, there is never a shortage of water activities. I haven’t spent much time on the water since my summer in Tennessee, so I am soaking up my proximity to the ocean. Each morning, the tide recedes, making way for my newest hobby, the sister science to foraging in the woods: tidepooling!!! So far I have spotted anemones, starfish, hermit crabs, harbor seals, and sea otters all within thirty minutes of my apartment. I have never been an ocean girl, but I have a feeling I’m about to become one.

Lake Washington and Lake Union teem with wildlife, as well. Kaleidoscopes of swallowtail butterflies perch on the sandy beaches (fun fact: a group of butterflies is called a kaleidoscope!) while beavers build dams and Great Blue Herons dive for fish in the clear waters. I’ve been channeling my inner duck when I paddleboard through swampy enclaves.

Seattle Freeze

Okay, ouch. People warned me about this phenomenon before I made the big leap, but I wasn’t prepared for the honesty of the expression. “Seattle Freeze” refers to the tendency of Seattle residents to be cold, distant, and unwilling to make new friends. This disconnect has obviously been challenging for me as I attempt to find my people in this city. Seattleites aren’t downright mean—no, the freeze manifests in subtle ways, like the total rarity of smiles shared between passersby. The grocery clerk never asks me how my day is going, which isn’t an earth-shattering tragedy in and of itself, but my inability to connect with strangers has certainly hindered my transition. I’m used to the welcoming warmth of Coloradoans and the sickly-sweet hospitality of Midwesterners, so I’m curious to know why Seattle hardens everyone here. I fear I’ll succumb to the freeze if I stay here too long!

Native Fruit

My mom grew up in Tacoma, Washington and I fondly remember picking cherries from a tree in the backyard of her childhood home. Growing up in sub-desert Colorado, though, I always imagined that a backyard cherry tree was an unusual luxury, even in Washington. I could not have been more wrong. In hunting for mushrooms, I accidentally stumbled into the cherished PNW tradition of native berry picking. It was impossible to ignore—as I reached through thick brush to harvest an oyster mushroom, my hand met with a bushel of orange berries. I soon came to identify these enticing morsels as salmonberries, edible native fruits that have long been enjoyed by indigenous tribes. The Salish people ate the young plant shoots and the berries (which resemble salmon roe) with dried salmon, hence the name.

Once I worked up the courage to put my fruit identification to the test (by eating them and not dying), I discovered that the PNW is rife with streetside pickins. I have since found native thimbleberries, huckleberries, salal berries, raspberries, grapes, cherry plums, and blackberries—OH, the BLACKBERRIES. They are everywhere. The native species, rubus ursinus, is harder to spot as it grows close to the ground, but the invasive and incredibly noxious Himalayan blackberry has taken over every street corner and city park. While most edible berries have now gone out of season, the Himalayan blackberries are just now starting to ripen. I plan to take this opportunity to perfect my jam recipe. I have also honed my ability to spot poisonous berries, including snow berries and deadly nightshade. A tip for foragers across the world: 99% of aggregate cluster berries (like blackberries and raspberries) are edible, so munch away!

Cultivated Fruit

Finding free fruit on the streets is a novel thrill for me, but I have also noticed that people in Washington are crazy about their fruit in general, even the non-native cultivars. I moved to Seattle in time for peak fruit season, July through September, during which grocery stores and farmer’s markets boast fresh, locally grown peaches, apples, cherries, and numerous other stone fruits. If you’re lucky, you can catch the fruit vendor just after his daily delivery and enjoy divinely juicy nectarines that were picked and shipped from Yakima that same morning! Rainier cherries are the main summer craze, hailing from Washington state and named for the region’s beloved glaciated peak, Mount Rainier. I never would have guessed that two species of red cherry could combine to produce a new fruit that makes every other fruit’s taste and aesthetic value pale in comparison. Nonetheless, I have hopped on the Washington fruit bandwagon, and I now indulge in melt-in-your-mouth white peaches every morning for breakfast.

Daily Commute

I knew Seattle traffic was dreadful, but nothing could have prepared me for the haphazard road infrastructure, which necessarily accommodates odd land shapes formed by surrounding bodies of water. The specifics of the driving terrors I have encountered are not important, but I have finally drawn a conclusion as to why driving is so frightening here. I have driven through more than half of the states in the U.S.., and I find the middle states to be the easiest to navigate. Driving in East coast states like New York and New Jersey can be intimidating due to urgency and aggression on the road, while driving through the American South can be mind-numbingly slow and boring.

Somehow, driving through Seattle encompasses the worst aspects of both extremes. For some downfalls, I question the urban developers—why do they hate turn lanes? Why don’t they understand what signage is relevant? Why is the speed limit 25 MPH on every road? Most of the time, however, I ask myself about the people that commute in this city. Drivers, pedestrians, and cyclists alike seem to have very little regard for their own fragile lives. Suffice to say that my Yoga practice has become even more integral to my daily commute.

Ethnic Cuisine

Seattle boasts diasporas from many nationalities (namely from Asia and Pacific islands), so it comes as no surprise that the cuisine of the city is likewise diverse. Yes, there are espresso shops on every corner, but no one talks about the boba tea shops, of which there are twice as many. Indian food, Ethiopian, Thai, Vietnamese, Mexican, Italian…I could go on. If you want it, you’ll find it in Seattle. I haven’t done too much foodie exploration yet, but I do enjoy living near Din Tai Fung, a tantalizing dim sum restaurant in University Village.

The Rain (or lack thereof)

Ah, yes, the dreaded Seattle gloom. Before my move, I met so many people who lived in the PNW and moved away because they couldn’t stand the climate. Some emphatically advised me to get a “Happy Lamp,” while others just shook their heads and said sadly, “you’ll never see the sun.” I heeded their forecasts and bought a light therapy lamp off Facebook Marketplace as soon as I got into the city. The previous owner told me she was moving out-of-state: “somewhere sunnier,” she bragged, referring to Colorado. Indeed, Colorado boasts 300 days of sunshine, which makes even the coldest, snowy winter mornings feel bright and beautiful. In the meantime, Seattle was prophesied to be dreary all winter without even a good powder day to ease the pain.

I worried that constant overcast skies would affect my mood and my spiritual practice, but I came at a good time. The daily rains subsided in early June, and since then we’ve had an *uncomfortably* dry and hot summer. Historically, Seattle summers haven’t even been hot enough to warrant air conditioning in private residences. It’s temperate here year-round, traditionally with highs in the 80’s and lows in the 30’s (Fahrenheit). Sadly, climate change has brought heat waves over the city for the past few years, and this summer was no different. For two weeks in mid-July, temperatures passed 100 degrees every day, and Sky and I scrambled to keep our cats and reptiles cool with only a couple of fans.

I know I’ll regret saying this come January, but I’m looking forward to the Seattle rain that I was promised. We’ve had the occasional morning shower, but the lack of moisture is seriously impeding my current favorite hobby, which is of course…

MUSHROOMS!!!

My love for mycology was undoubtedly the #1 driving factor behind my West coast relocation. Sky and I have been getting more confident in our identification abilities recently, so we were itching to test out our skills in new territory. The timing of our move was perfect because we had an excellent month of spring mushrooms before the forest dried out. The park near our apartment has proved fruitful for smooth puffballs (edible), scarlet bonnets (inedible, but stunningly beautiful), and fly agarics (poisonous and psychoactive). My favorite spot so far is an adorable mossy clearing that flushes with oysters (edible and choice!) almost every week. Though we haven’t found much during the dry season, September is sure to bring enough moisture for the mycelium to fruit. I’m hoping for chanterelles this autumn!

Have you noticed the trend in my observations? I’m not sure that I’m cut out for city living…driving is unpredictable, a dark winter is coming, and let’s be real—shit’s expensive up here. Unsurprisingly, nature has been my saving grace. Whenever I need to escape this urban enigma, I can venture into the woods or hop on my paddleboard.

My Yoga practice has also been integral for my sanity throughout this wild transition, and I am proud to announce that I began teaching at a new studio called Shefa Yoga Roosevelt! I am so grateful to have this studio and community as I get oriented in my new life. I also adore having students who are receptive when I share traditional aspects of Yoga such as mythology, philosophy, and subtle body attunement. If you happen to be in the Seattle area and would like to practice with me, I teach on:

Tuesdays @ 6:00 AM

Saturdays @ 4:30 PM

Sundays @ 9:30 AM

I get one buddy pass for each class, so please reach out if the drop-in cost ($25) hinders your ability to practice. I would love to move and breathe with you, as well as hear your thoughts about Seattle. What did you notice first? Do you like the rain? What’s your least favorite thing, and why is it the driving?

Thanks for reading, and stay tuned for more on yoga & adventures in Seattle!

9 Coolest Immersive Art Experiences

I have been captivated by theater and the performing arts for as long as I can remember. Uniquely from other art forms, performance exists exclusively in its moment of conception. Performance carries urgency; it requires active audience participation. For these reasons, the performing arts can respond to current events in our communities and engage in topical conversations in ways that paintings and photographs cannot.

In recent years, though, a new genre has emerged that straddles the line between theater and fine art. These installations, dubbed “immersive art experiences,” combine the immediacy of performance with elements of sculpture, narrative, and audio-visual art forms. They’ve already popped up in just about every major U.S. city!

I’ve made it my quest to visit these immersive exhibits wherever I can find them. These are NINE of my absolute favorites across the United States.

Arcadia Earth- Manhattan, New York

Perhaps the best example of timely art with a political statement, Arcadia Earth is constructed entirely from recycled materials—mainly, man-made debris that was discarded in the ocean. This exhibit, located just outside Washington Park in New York City, takes viewers on a journey through imaginative forests and underwater realms, inviting us to consider the damaging impacts that humans have on the natural world. The combination of augmented reality technology, shocking statistics, and thousands of plastic grocery bags incites a powerful call to action. The experience concludes in a room plastered with campaign posters by environmental activists; attendees are encouraged to sign their names on the wall as a means of joining the fight against climate change. Get tickets to this thought-provoking adventure here.

House of Eternal Return- Santa Fe, New Mexico

The first of MEOW WOLF’s three permanent installations tells the story of an experimental scientist who mistakenly deports himself and his family into the multiverse. They leave behind their home and several unstable portals which can be freely traveled by attendees. Meow Wolf’s attention to detail is unmatched, and the (mostly) realistic house is chock full of narrative allusions, such as pages upon pages of the scientist’s copious notes documenting portal phenomena. Step through the bookcase or inside the refrigerator, however, and you’re instantly transported to the destination of your choice, from snowy wastelands to decrepit beach towns. All 70 rooms in the House of Eternal Return were created by local artists, but kiosks throughout the exhibit unravel an underlying storyline: the dark origin of the multiverse. I visited this exhibit alone and spent five hours exploring the 20,000 square feet—do yourself a favor and snag an early slot here.

Natura Obscura- Englewood, Colorado

Set in a magical forest shrouded in secrecy, this exhibit sure lived up to its name. Animal spirits peered out of frosted mirrors; trees and flowers twinkled in gentle shades of white and pink. Tickets to these wintry woods included the use of UV flashlights, which revealed secret messages throughout the installation. This experience also had a corresponding mobile app which allowed attendees to scan glowing symbols in the forest, revealing the mystical origins of its spirits. Sadly, Natura Obscura closed in December 2019, but its creators, Prismajic, are onto bigger and better installations!

Sleep No More- Manhattan, New York

My colleague, Olivia, and I attended this film noir retelling of Shakespeare’s Macbeth during our spring break in 2017. We were welcomed into the lobby of the Mckittrick Hotel in Chelsea, New York with cocktails and expressionless white masks, with instructions to remain masked for the entirety of the experience. We made a quick decision to split up and entered the performance space separately. I highly recommend this approach for future attendees.

Through haunting choreography timed to ethereal soundscapes, the characters enacted their respective storylines throughout the hotel. They crossed paths with one another in raunchy culminations of love and violence, occasionally shepherding the masked attendees together for climactic events such as Macbeth’s feast. I was often distracted from one performer by the dramatic intrusion of another, and at times, I stepped away to explore the empty rooms, which were each filled with carefully crafted props. This 360˚ attention to detail is precisely why I love Sleep No More—between the concurrent narratives and the interactive set, Olivia and I saw two entirely different performances! It was a decadent, riveting theatrical experience that fortunately, survived COVID-19. Sleep No More returns to the Mckittrick Hotel in February 2022. Try to grab the earliest time slot so you catch the whole story 😉 Book tickets here.

Omega Mart- Las Vegas, Nevada

Like Meow Wolf’s first permanent installation, this psychedelic grocery store starts off innocently enough…until you start to look closely at the products lining its shelves. Cream of Mushroom Sop, Infinity Watermelons, Tattoo Chickens, and MILLLLLLLK are just a few of the not-quite-lifelike items available for sale inside Omega Mart. If you dare, step inside the soda cooler or crawl through the tent display—with portals to the multiverse abound, you can even find a route via the lockers in the employee break room! I adore that the Meow Wolf experience is never a linear one; each room has three dynamic exits and countless unexpected pathways leading you back through each one. I continued to stumble upon the headquarters of the mysterious Dram Corp, where each of the dozen computers were loaded with unique case files and video recordings. Similar devices throughout the exhibit implicate Dram Corp in agendas to obscure truths about missing children and leaks of dangerous contaminants.

At twice the size of its predecessor, Omega Mart offers a grander, flashier presentation. It relies more heavily on projection mapping technology and other multi-media art forms than HOER. It also incorporates more elements of performance, such as the grocery store employees who converse “helpfully” with attendees and seem to turn off when certain portals are activated. These changes are especially fitting given that the new exhibit is in downtown Las Vegas, in an art collective a few blocks away from the Strip. People flock to Vegas for the spectacle, and with impressive artist collaborations like Alex & Allyson Grey, Omega Mart does not disappoint. Give yourself plenty of time to interact with each arresting design—book early tickets here.

Otherworld- Columbus, Ohio

The concept of alternate realm tourism is not exclusive to Meow Wolf’s vision. This experience invites attendees into a restricted laboratory, where the gateway to other worlds lies open and unattended. Venture beyond and you’ll discover bioluminescent plants, alien creatures, and vast dreamscapes of light and sound. Otherworld offers attendees several mazes and puzzles to solve throughout the exhibit, and even occasionally serves as a performance venue for experimental musicians. This extraterrestrial mission is located about twenty minutes outside of Columbus, Ohio. Grab tickets here.

ARTECHOUSE NYC- Manhattan, New York

ARTECHOUSE is a digital art production that has brought permanent installations to Washington D.C. and Miami Beach as well as the famous Chelsea Market in New York City. These installations play host to rotating exhibits for up to six months at a time, each one a pioneering fusion of art, science, and technology. When I visited ARTECHOUSE in Spring 2020 (just two days before the national travel advisory was issued), I saw Intangible Forms by Japanese artist Shohei Fujimoto. The main attraction was a stunning laser display that stretched from floor to ceiling in a three-story warehouse space. Brilliant red beams danced effortlessly in time to the unearthly music, creating perfect grids and fluid images. Multi-media projects in other rooms used similar patterns and projections of light to mimic the lasers’ operatic movement. Though Intangible Forms is no longer, ARTECHOUSE NYC continues to lead the quest for innovative audio-visual art forms with a brand-new exhibit called Geometric Properties. Check out availability here.

Shiki Dreams- Denver, Colorado

From the creators of Natura Obscura comes another whimsical wander through the woods. Shiki Dreams exists in the same universe as its precursor but follows the story of a gentle Yeti named Shiki. His home is a winter wonderland teeming with enchanted trees, lore-filled relics, and snowy owls in flight. This experience, too, is enhanced with an augmented reality mobile app which encourages attendees to engage with their environment and unravel the secrets hidden among the trees. Named as one of the top 5 immersive art experiences in America, Prismajic’s current endeavor will run until the end of October. Don’t miss this charming adventure- get your tickets here.

Convergence Station- Denver, Colorado

Easily my most anticipated experience of the year! Meow Wolf impresses yet again with an immersive psychedelia guised as an interdimensional train station. Visually stunning and intelligently mapped, Convergence Station seamlessly blends compelling narrative with diverse installations by local artists to guide attendees on a multi-sensorial tour of the realms. This experience takes elements of reality and runs with it, propelled by plotlines of lost memory and alien technology. Exhibit employees serve as diegetic characters (each with a unique backstory) that can answer attendees’ questions about the world. Elaborate props in each room spell out the history of the multiverse. My favorite? A thick, metal-bound storybook that offers clues on how to contact the Gods of the cosmos.

Building upon the sculptural labyrinth of House of Eternal Return and leaning less on spectacle than Omega Mart, Meow Wolf’s third permanent installation is the largest in size and infinitely more creative. Even the building inspires curiosity, being nestled between the footprints of I-25 and I-70 in Denver, Colorado. It also houses a small music venue that boasts groundbreaking, interactive projection tech. The venue, “The Perplexiplex,” has already hosted international artists with the likes of GRiZ and Clozee—all within just one month of its public opening! Convergence Station is my favorite immersive art experience yet, so much so that I now consider it a Denver destination. If you find yourself in the area, you simply must arrange for tickets to this mind-bending voyage here.