What we offer at Forbidden Yoga is something closer to what our ancestors practiced before the sanitization of tantra, before yoga became an industry of platitudes and pretty Instagram poses. We work with kriyas that were considered too dangerous, too sexual, too raw to survive the colonial purification of Indian spiritual traditions. These are the left-handed practices that got hidden, suppressed, and eventually forgotten because they refused to separate the spiritual from the carnal, the divine from the primal.
So what can you actually expect?
You’ll move between states of consciousness most people spend their entire lives avoiding. One moment you might be in a kriya that awakens such intense primal energy in your body that you understand why these practices were called “dangerous.” Your shadow gets invited to the table: all the rage, grief, sexual hunger, and raw power you’ve been taught to cage. Not to be “healed” in some patronizing way, but to be *met*. To be recognized as the fuel that’s been waiting to alchemize.
The next moment, you might find yourself in a meditation so subtle, so still, that the boundary between your body and the space around you dissolves. Not as an escape from the intensity, but as its natural culmination. Because in authentic tantric practice, the path to the most refined states of consciousness runs directly through the body’s deepest instincts.
We don’t transcend the “lower” to reach the “higher.” We recognize that your kundalini, your life force, is already moving through every desire, every fear, every ache for connection. The work is learning to ride that energy rather than suppress it.
Trauma doesn’t get bypassed here
Paradise on earth consciousness doesn’t mean blissed-out dissociation. It means being so thoroughly present in your body, so unflinchingly honest with what lives in your cells, that even your trauma becomes transparent. Not gone. *Transparent*. Workable. Part of the human condition rather than evidence that you’re broken.
In our kriyas, especially those working with the Daśa Mahāvidyās, the ten wisdom goddesses who each represent a different face of reality, you’ll encounter practices that were specifically designed to work with what we now call trauma. The ancient texts called it *saṃskāra*, the deep grooves of conditioning and unmetabolized experience that run your life from beneath conscious awareness.
Some of these kriyas are fierce. They might involve working with breath patterns that deliberately destabilize your nervous system before teaching it a new baseline. They might involve movements that unlock holding patterns in your pelvis, your throat, your jaw: places where you’ve been gripping against life itself. They might involve practices with partners that ask you to be seen in your vulnerability, your hunger, your imperfection.
We’re not doing therapy. We’re not replacing professional help when that’s what an experience requires. But we are continuing lineages that understood something modern psychology is just beginning to recognize: the body keeps the score, and the body knows how to release it when given the right container.
The shadowself gets a seat at the table
Most spiritual paths want you to conquer your shadow, integrate it, or “love it into the light.” That’s still making it wrong. That’s still trying to fix something that was never broken.
Your shadow, your rage, your jealousy, your destructive fantasies, your shame, all of it is raw energy with a story attached. In Forbidden Yoga, we practice kriyas that let you access that energy directly. Not to act it out. Not to suppress it. But to *burn* with it in a contained way until you realize it’s the same fire that fuels devotion, creativity, and presence.
You’ll likely encounter moments where you’re asked not to hold back. Where the instruction is to let sound move through you without editing it. To let your body move without choreographing it. To let desire speak without immediately spiritualizing it into something more acceptable. The practice becomes forbidden not because it’s transgressive, but because it asks you to transgress against your own inner judge.
Can we even call this spiritual practice?
Maybe not. The Sanskrit texts we draw from don’t have a clean separation between “spiritual” and “worldly.” The goal isn’t to become more spiritual. It’s to become more *alive*. More capable of metabolizing the full catastrophe of human experience. More able to fuck, work, grieve, laugh, and die with your whole being rather than the curated version you’ve been performing.
What we offer is closer to what the Kaula tantrikas understood: reality isn’t divided into pure and impure, sacred and profane, spiritual and material. Those divisions are the problem, not the solution. Paradise on earth consciousness means recognizing that this moment, with all its mess, all its desire, all its limitation, is already it. Not potentially it. Already it.
The kriyas don’t create this recognition. They remove what’s blocking you from seeing it.
The container matters
None of this happens in a vacuum. These practices were traditionally transmitted in extremely specific containers: particular teachers to particular students, within intimate communities, often over many years. We can’t recreate the medieval Bengal lineage houses, but we can create structures that honor why those containers existed.
And yes, some of these practices involve partners. Some involve working with sexual energy directly. All involve a level of embodied presence that can’t be faked. That’s why preparation, screening, and ongoing consent aren’t bureaucratic add-ons. They’re part of the practice itself.
What you’re actually signing up for
When you book a Forbidden Yoga experience, you’re not purchasing a product. You’re stepping into a lineage that has survived precisely because it refused to be commodified, refused to make itself safe and marketable. You’re agreeing to be accountable for your own experience rather than expecting someone else to manage it for you.
You’ll learn kriyas you can’t find on YouTube. You’ll receive transmissions that work on levels your thinking mind can’t track. You’ll probably have moments of resistance, confusion, and wondering what the hell you’ve gotten yourself into. Those moments are part of it.
You’ll also likely have moments where you realize you’ve been living at half intensity. Where you feel more embodied, more energetically alive, more connected to your own power than you thought possible. Where the artificial separation between your spiritual aspirations and your human desires collapses, and what emerges is simpler and vastly more satisfying than either.
Paradise on earth as a quality of now
Paradise on earth isn’t a destination. It’s a quality of consciousness available right now. Not after you heal all your trauma. Not after you integrate all your shadow. Not after you become enlightened. Now. In this body. With its scars, its hungers, its mortality.
The kriyas teach you how to find it, not by transcending your humanity, but by descending so fully into it that you discover what was always underneath: awareness that doesn’t depend on circumstances, energy that moves freely because nothing needs to be defended, and a capacity for presence that doesn’t require everything to be okay.
That’s what you can expect. Not comfort, but aliveness. Not answers, but better questions. Not arrival, but the wild satisfaction of moving full-speed toward something real.
Welcome to the edge of the forbidden, where practice becomes life and life becomes practice.
love@forbidden-yoga.com
