woke yogi – The Woke Yogi

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

A Meditation on Yoga

“Inhale, arrive on your mat.”

It was my very first yoga class, and I was there because I aspired to touch my toes.

“Exhale, shiiiiine your love outward like a rainbooowwww,” the Lululemon-clad instructor crooned, “and remember: yoga is whatever you make it!”

Throughout the 18^th and 19^th centuries, westerners viewed yoga as an esoteric tradition: practiced on the fringes of orthodox Indic societies by magicians and priests; shrouded in superstition. But when Hindu monk Swami Vivekananda spoke about yoga at the 1893 World Parliament of Religions in Chicago, and when the physical fitness revival of the early 20th century swept the globe, yoga exploded into the mainstream. Hindu nationalists hailed yoga with a newfound vigor, touting its indigenous character. New Age hippies were equally enamored; since the 1950s, yoga studios have popped up around the globe, attracting celebrities from Marilyn Monroe to Adam Levine, while brands like Alo Yoga and prAna have seized the athleisure market. Suddenly, yoga is no longer a secretive lineage from the ‘exotic East,’ but a popular fad – a stretching routine. Yoga is…just exercise?

“Inhale, stay.”

I closed my eyes and an ethereal sitar tune began to play, transporting me to the Indian subcontinent of millennia past.

The earliest known definition of yoga appears in India’s oldest text, the Rig Veda, dated 1500 to 1000 BCE. In these ritual prescriptions, yoga means ‘to yoke’ or ‘to connect;’ it is the action of harnessing a horse to a war chariot, therein submitting the horse to the charioteer’s will. Several centuries later, in the Upaniṣadic texts, yoga became a series of exercises for one to restrict the body and discipline the mind, usually as a means to seek metaphysical power or attain mystical union with god. The 3rd century BCE Kaṭha Upaniṣad asserted that yoga is “firm restraint of the senses.” As one harnesses a horse to a chariot, yoga harnesses the mind to the body. I was starting to understand this form of torture self-restraint as the instructor reminded me to return to my breath, even though we had been sitting criss-cross-applesauce forever and I couldn’t feel my feet. Whether the goal is to commune with the cosmos or simply to condition your quads, yoga is control.

“Exhale, downward dog!”

I pressed myself up, relieved to distract my mind, only to discover a new kind of fatigue igniting in my legs and shoulders. My body began to shake, and I fought the urge to collapse back to the ground. Evidently, yoga is as mental as it is physical. In the Bhagavad Gita, the god Krishna tells royal warrior Arjuna that yoga is “skill in action.” He commands Arjuna to be a yogi to fulfill his divine duty–of slaughtering his own family on the battlefield. Like Arjuna, I failed to see the purpose of my excruciating position, and like Krishna, my teacher was strangely militant about demonstrating yogic willpower – albeit through core workouts, not holy war. Yoga, then, is the discipline to do what you may not want to; the patience to serve a greater good that you may not yet understand. Yoga is control.

“Inhale, three-leg dog!”

The room burst into a silent symphony of swaying limbs. The yogis around me contorted themselves into incomprehensible shapes, touching their toes in a thousand ways that I never thought possible. The teacher rattled off foreign words: śvānāsana, añjaneyāsana, uttānāsana…

Āsana means “seat” or “posture,” and it is one technique by which yogis discipline their bodies in pursuit of spiritual power. Around 200 CE, āsana appeared as the third precept in the Yoga Sutra, an aphoristic text on yoga philosophy. At that time, however, the list of āsanas was limited to those suitable for seated meditation: sukhāsana, padmāsana, and vajrāsana. It wasn’t until much later, in the 13th century Haṭhapradīpikā, that āsana was elevated to a foremost priority. The Haṭhapradīpikā codified 84 total postures, and furthermore recommended bandhas (muscular locks), mudrās (gestures), dṛṣṭis (gazing points) and prāṇāyāmas (breath restraint techniques) to train and constrain the body. Yoga is control.

“Exhale, warrior two!”

The pace of class quickened, and the postures began to flow together, fast and fluid.

“Inhale, reverse triangle!”

The music intensified, matching the rhythmic pulse of breaths in unison.

“Exhale, extended side angle!”

A bead of sweat dripped off my forehead.

“Inhale, half-moon!”

My feet hurt. My breath burned in my throat. I wanted very badly to be done.

“Exhale, chaturanga dandasana!”

Really? Push-ups? I thought this was supposed to be relaxing.

“Inhale. Pause.”

I laid down on my back. The sensation of movement lingered in my tissues as my breath slowed.

In the Yoga Sutra, āsana is merely a step taken to prepare oneself for samādhi: a pure state of meditative consciousness. Yoga is citta-vṛtti-nirodhaḥ: “the stilling of the turnings of the mind.”

“Exhale. Rest.”

I dropped into śavāsana: the pose of the corpse. The air in the studio quieted. My body softened, my mind stilled. For a time, I was neither sensing nor sleeping, but simply experiencing. Yoga is the absence of sensory intake; both this moment of uncanny stillness and every moment that builds up to it. First, yoga is just exercise, and then it is control. But ultimately, yoga is surrender.

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.

The Prophet from Tennessee

Like most children, I grew up with a healthy fear of geese. Until last summer, I had never had reason to bother these wrathful creatures, let alone get close enough to admire them. But in the summer of 2020, when my college friend, Payton, invited me to his family’s floating cabin in LaFollette, Tennessee, I found myself quite literally living in goose territory.

I arrived at Norris Lake in mid-May, when all the ducklings and goslings were freshly hatched and still covered in soft down. The mallard and wood ducklings matured gracefully, but the baby geese…well, let’s just say they looked worse before they looked better. Their necks and talons lengthened; their beaks curved downwards into disapproving frowns; they began to traverse the lake’s surface with more speed and urgency. Yet, their grey fuzz lingered for an uncomfortably long time.

Undoubtedly, the strangest thing about this gaggle of geese was their family dynamic, made up of three adults and eleven children. And what a sight they were: fourteen lanky things, mostly covered in fur, gliding in perfect synchronicity with all their dark eyes fixed on a single point. They moved in formation, but you never saw them coming. They were simply there or not there, within eyesight until they weren’t. And trust me—you should have been able to spot those things a mile away.

Payton and I theorized that our amphibious neighbors were swingers. We called them velociraptors, owing to their striking resemblance to their prehistoric ancestors. We even accused them of being disguised surveillance drones once they started to loiter near our cabin with unforgiving stares. We watched in dismay as eleven children were whittled down to ten, and then nine, and then eight. These eight eventually shed the last of their down, becoming homogenous with their three parents. Eleven identical geese were, somehow, an even more unnerving sight than the original fourteen.

Eventually the geese stopped making their rounds. We assumed they’d migrated for good—whether that was to Mexico or simply to another offshoot of the lake, we didn’t ask. I must admit I didn’t miss them all too much. The marina where I lived was a constant cacophony of events and celebrations, so there were plenty of other things to focus on.

One evening, Payton and I were relaxing on the front deck of our floating cabin, waiting for the bats in our roof to depart for the evening (yes, we had hundreds of bats living in our roof, but that’s a story for another time). Across the marina, I noticed a strange shape. Unable to shake my curiosity, I hopped in the kayak and paddled over. The lake was eerily still at twilight and a pit began to form in my stomach as I neared the mass. I could make out a floating log, but what was on top of it? How was it balancing?

At last, I cleared the shadow of the farthest floating cabin in the lagoon and the mysterious figure came into light. It was one of the geese! He had been injured; one of his wings hung limply in the water and his body frame leaned to counterbalance the weight of it. In that final shred of daylight, the creature didn’t look at all robotic or cruel, like I had always thought. He looked helpless. It dawned on me then that it had been weeks since I had seen the rest of his family. They had left him behind.

I had no means with which to help the goose, so I paddled home sadly. I wasn’t even sure if he could still swim. The sinking feeling in my stomach told me that he most likely wouldn’t survive through the night. I tried to put the poor thing out of my mind.

A few days later, I took my paddleboard out on the water for a yoga session. I began my practice and, as usual, the current gently drifted me away from my starting point. Only a few sun salutations in, however, I spotted a goose. I stopped dead in my tracks. Could it be the one? All the other geese had left; this was the first I’d seen in a long while.

Sure enough, the straggler was the injured one that I had condemned to die a few days prior. It still looked worse for the wear, dragging his crumpled wing in the water as it paddled furiously with its webbed feet. Nonetheless, it was swimming! It hovered cautiously near my paddleboard as I completed my prone series, seemingly unbothered by its disability.

When I got back to the cabin, I announced the news of the goose’s reappearance to Payton, who had also been thoroughly invested in its survival. We agreed that the goose possessed a sort of otherworldly quality; though not Godly, perhaps it bore wisdom from the heavens. After all, it did seem as though it had been rebirthed from the lake after escaping certain death! Thus, we dubbed this goose “The Prophet.” Still skeptical as to whether it would survive, we watched it carefully for divine signs.

Over the next several weeks, The Prophet regained its energy and grew bolder. We coaxed it closer and closer to our floating cabin with scraps of bread and, once we learned that it shouldn’t eat bread, dog kibble. Despite our initial resistance to the velociraptor pack, Payton and I grew quite fond of their black sheep gosling. Feeding it became a morning ritual no less important than our meditation practice. Payton, especially, got up close and personal with our new friend and would even get in the water to earn its trust. By the end of the summer, The Prophet was eating out of Payton’s hand!

We never did receive any spiritual teachings directly from The Prophet, but the process of befriending it was just as valuable. We learned not to judge creatures by their appearance, even if they start off (or continue!!) looking like vicious dinosaurs. We learned that being a goose is a lot harder than it seems, and that maybe there’s a reason they’re so hostile all the time. Most importantly, we learned that nature, in all of its limitless creativity, can overcome just about any obstacle. In the words of Jeff Goldblum: life finds a way.

Tag: woke yogi