I had a spontaneous spiritual awakening in 2018, at the age of 33. It was a complete rupture in my perception of reality—an ego death, a rebirth, an opening that changed everything. Until that point, I had been an atheist, recovering from a forced Presbyterian upbringing by swinging to the other extreme. But the awakening cracked me open and launched me into a pilgrimage that would last three years. I gave away all of my belongings. I meditated in silence. I lived in monasteries. I listened to the trees. I wanted to understand what had happened to me—and I longed for true community.
That longing eventually led me to Sat Yoga Ashram in Costa Rica.

Like so many others, I found Shunya through YouTube. His words were potent. His presence magnetic. The teachings were rich with depth and fire. When I arrived at the ashram for the month-long intensive, I was captivated—by the breathtaking land, the stillness, the rituals, the elegance. There was real beauty there. Real devotion. Shared meals. Movie nights with spiritual reflection. Intentional living. White clothing. New names. It felt like everything I’d been looking for. I hoped I’d found my Sangha. Maybe even my teacher.

But seduction wears many forms.
Shunya came off as a father figure to many. And it’s not hard to see why—he’s intelligent, articulate, funny, and presents himself as a liberated being. He seemed to hold the promise of reparenting our collective father wound. But looking back, I see how deeply this archetype was weaponized.

There’s a moment many of us remember—that first subtle rupture in the illusion. For me, it began in sessions with Radha, Shunya’s partner. I had formed a tender connection with another elder, Marjeeva Ma, who held my history and heart with care. But I was told I had to choose between them. Radha gave me an ultimatum—one I didn’t understand, but complied with. I now see this as my first major red flag. A wedge was being driven between me and someone I trusted. I was told who was “allowed” to see me. That power dynamic would only deepen.

I’m someone who feels emotions like electricity—grief, joy, insight—they move through me swiftly and vividly. In sessions with Radha, when deep emotion would arise, she would prompt me to go further. But again and again, I would suddenly go numb, disconnected, like a switch flipped. I now believe this was the wisdom of my body saying: This person does not get access.

Radha once told me that she and Shunya would be my “spiritual parents.” I remember thinking, I already have a mom, and it’s complicated. I’m not looking for new parents. But I could see why someone would be drawn to that promise of safety, guidance, belonging. I wasn’t immune to the ache. I just didn’t feel the sincerity. Something about it felt off.

Shunya’s teachings became increasingly steeped in fear, particularly around apocalyptic narratives. He used global collapse as a form of spiritual leverage. The world was falling apart, he said, and only here, in this sanctuary, could we be safe. There was a strong “us versus them” energy—a belief that those out there were unconscious, lost, and dangerous. And we? We were the chosen ones, the warriors of light. It’s a seductive story. It flatters the ego while pretending to destroy it.

Meanwhile, I was experiencing daily panic attacks and emotional breakdowns. I told myself this was ego death. I interpreted clear signals from my body as resistance to awakening. I internalized the belief that if I was suffering, it meant I was doing the work right. I now see how dangerous this was. I was spiraling. And there was no space to speak about it.

I remember the day I googled “Sat Yoga cult.” My body knew. The room started spinning. An earthquake in my nervous system. I asked one of the senior members if I could share something in confidence. She said no—anything I said would be reported to Shunya. That was the moment I knew: this was not a community. This was a closed circuit of surveillance and spiritual control. There was no room for doubt. No safe place to process concern.

Friendships were monitored. Sessions were leveraged. Even kindness could be weaponized. And still, I gaslit myself—because everyone else was too.

I witnessed cruelty from senior members, including mocking retreat participants and shaming those who left. Anyone who questioned the teachings was labeled as “egoic” or “not ready.” A failure in the “sangha’s” eyes. Compassion was conditional. Dissent was pathologized. The veneer was spiritual, but the atmosphere was rigid and hierarchical.

In the end, I left under the guise of helping my parents move abroad. That wasn’t untrue—but it wasn’t the whole truth either. The truth was: I had to get out.

I told people I was leaving with love and gratitude—and that was also true. I did learn while I was there. I did meet some beautiful souls. And I’m wildly grateful that I left.

Six months at Sat Yoga left a deep imprint on me. It has taken years to begin untangling. I still don’t know if I’ve fully processed it. Maybe I never will.

There’s so much more I could say—more stories, more layers, more subtle forms of manipulation–but I’m tired. I’ve carried this long enough. And I trust that what I’ve shared is enough. It’s not the whole story, but it’s true.

I now trust myself fully.

I protect my life force because it is a gift.
I don’t hand my power to anyone—especially not a white man claiming to be a master.

I see through spiritual ego when it is masked as liberation.

I know the difference between real love vs control wrapped in care.

The greatest teacher I’ve found is my own heart. The real meditation is how I walk through this aching, gorgeous, brutal world and keep my heart open. God is not only in the ashram. God is in the grocery store. In the grief, the rage, the laughter. Even in the dive bar in the city. God is in the gut wrenching complexity of human life. That’s the real spiritual path, the real pilgrimage.

I’m sharing my story now because truth matters—and stories are medicine.

To anyone who is in a community that doesn’t allow questions: trust your body. Curiosity is a guidepost.
Anyone who shames or prevents you from asking questions, from doubting, is not to be trusted.

To anyone told their suffering is ego: listen deeper—listen with unconditional care, outrageous kindness–that too deserves your tenderness.
To anyone seeking spiritual guidance: your autonomy is sacred, it is not a sin. It is precious. You are a unique fingerprint of divinity.

To anyone who feels alone: you are not. Many have walked this path. Many have changed courses. It’s never too late to leave.

Perfection is not the goal.
Wholeness is. Light and shadow, integrated.
The ego isn’t your enemy—it’s a fragmented part of you asking for love.
And you are already holy…just as you are.