When I lived in Venice Beach, I used to attend a Sunday morning Bhakti Yoga class that was always packed. Mats edge to edge. The room would fill early, bodies already humming with anticipation. We moved through traditional asanas, yes—but that was only the beginning.
The real practice began when the harmonium rang out and the call-and-response chanting began.
The kirtan leaders were sincere, grounded, and luminous in that way people are when they’re not performing, just offering. We would chant together, row by row, voice by voice, merging in sound and spirit. I swear the walls had a pulse. The air felt electric and soft at the same time. There was something ancient happening, disguised as a yoga class.
In that room, we weren’t just doing yoga.
We were remembering who we really are.
That’s Bhakti.
Not as performance. Not as dogma. But as the ecstatic surrender of self into something greater. As love, pure and unguarded as a spiritual path.
And in that surrender, there’s a moment when the separation dissolves. Where the veils lift. And what’s left is union. Aliveness. Presence. The Divine.
Not everyone has access to a space like that.
And maybe you’re reading this thinking, I want that. I miss that. I’ve never had that…
Maybe your life right now feels far from sacred. Far from pulsing walls and shared song.
Still, Bhakti can meet you where you are.
It doesn’t require a room full of chanters.
It doesn’t even require a perfect voice or spiritual certainty.
It just asks for sincerity. For a heart willing to remember—even for a breath—that love is the thread.
And from that thread, you can begin to weave something beautiful:
🌸 Light a candle and sing to the flame.
🌸 Dedicate your yoga or walk or cleaning to the healing of the world.
🌸 Offer flowers—yes, even from the grocery store—to your altar or windowsill.
🌸 Listen to a chant that opens your heart and hum along.
🌸 Place your hand on your heart and whisper, “I remember.”
Bhakti is not about spectacle.
It’s about sincerity.
In a time of mass chaos and fractured attention, to choose devotion is a revolutionary act. It realigns your frequency. It softens your system. It reconnects you to the sacred.
And that reconnection ripples out.
Not loudly, but deeply.
A Simple Bhakti Practice to Try
Chant:
“Lokah Samastah Sukhino Bhavantu”
(Pronounced: Low-kah sah-mah-stah soo-kee-no bah-vahn-too)
Meaning:
May all beings, everywhere, be happy and free. And may my thoughts, words, and actions contribute to that happiness and freedom for all.
Practice:
Sit quietly. Place one hand on your heart, the other on the earth or your lap.
Repeat the chant aloud or silently 9 times.
Each time you chant, visualize the sound radiating out like light:
First to your own heart
Then to someone you love
Then to someone who is suffering
Then to your community
Then to the Earth itself
See it traveling like a gentle wave, creating coherence where there is chaos.
When you finish, sit quietly for a minute.
Feel the pulse again. It’s always there.
I'd love to hear from you…
Do you have a devotion practice that brings you back to yourself?
Have you found quiet ways to return to love, even when the world feels loud?
Hit reply and share with me—your reflections are always welcome in this space.
Sounds beautiful…I practice kundalini yoga and there’s a palpable resonance felt in it 💫
I sit with my tarot cards and journal. They bring me back to love, back to myself because they feel like a supportive, affirming witness of my life.
Works every time 🥰