Sanskrit Is Scary (And So Are a Lot of Other Things)
Yoga Nidra. Sankalpa. Pranayama. Koshas. Chidakasha.
These are the words of my passion, my practice, my path. This is the language of ancient wisdom, and of a life’s work devoted to guiding others toward rest, ease, and connection.
I understand—it can sound intimidating. Foreign. A little too mystical. But for me, this work is simple. It's an invitation. A gentle hand extended to help coax the shy, wild soul out from under the brambles. It’s a sharing of what has been generously gifted to me by the mysterious benevolence that brought us all here.
Here. Home. Onto this wild and winding walking path of Earth School. We each carry a unique constellation of gifts, shaped by time and trial, by spirit and stardust. And when we’re brave—and perhaps a little bit tender—we share those gifts, and we remember who we are.
My circle of humans spans the whole spiritual spectrum: atheists, agnostics, churchgoers, mystics, and seekers of the universal truths. I feel held by them all—whether it’s quiet tolerance or a full-on spiritual jamboree.
Somewhere along the way, Yoga Nidra arrived for me. Like a feather on the wind, it floated into my life during a time of deep sadness. It whispered to me with uncommon tenderness. And I listened.
I dove in. I surrendered. And what I found was not just healing, but a profound sense of purpose. This practice moved through me as naturally as my midnight breath—quiet, steady, ever-present.
And then... alongside this beautiful new friend, there came a few unwelcome guests. The inner saboteurs. The doubters. The skeptics and critics, both within me and mirrored in those around me.
They spoke in familiar tones—sharp, confident, and often disguised as logic or concern. Their messages came in layers, like sediment that needed sifting.
Layer One: “It’s just a long nap—who has time for that?”
In a world obsessed with productivity, we’ve grown skilled at doing and checking boxes. “Busy” has become our badge of honor. But in all our efficient striving, we’ve grown disconnected—from our breath, from our bodies, from stillness.
But stillness waits.
Quiet sits patiently within us, whispering: Stop. Right here, with this breath. Come home.
Layer Two: “My mind is too busy. I could never do that.”
Ah, but you can.
Yoga Nidra meets you exactly where you are. Its sequence is designed to gently calm the nervous system and ease the brain into slower, more spacious rhythms. This is the doorway to healing.
The practice draws from the ancient model of the koshas (yes—another Sanskrit word). These five “layers” or bodies—physical, energetic, emotional, wisdom, and bliss—are like the rings of an onion, gradually guiding us inward. Using intention, breath awareness, somatic stillness, and imagery, we move through these layers. And in doing so, we remember ourselves.
This is where science meets mystery and becomes alchemy.
Layer Three: “It’s called Yoga Nidra? I can’t do yoga. (Can you call it something else?)”
I hear this a lot.
Let me tell you something: If you’re out in the world offering kindness, making eye contact, returning lost gloves, supporting your local corner store—even when it’s inconvenient—you’re already doing yoga.
One translation of yoga is “to yoke” or “to join.” I call it interconnection.
You don’t need to stand on your head to embody yoga. You only need to return to yourself. When you’re rooted in your human and spiritual self, you don’t do yoga. You are yoga.
And if it helps you feel more at home, you can call Yoga Nidra a “connection practice.” I’ll still call it Yoga Nidra—because that’s what it is to me: The yogi’s sleep, the resting place where body and soul commune.
Layer Four: “What is this word ‘embodiment’? It’s not Sanskrit, but it feels like a strange and foreign land.”
Yes, embodiment can feel like a foreign country—especially when we’ve spent a lifetime trying to escape sensation. It can feel strange to drop into the body after years of numbing, denying, or avoiding it.
But embodiment is our birthright.
To feel is to be alive. Our senses are the gateways to our deeper knowing. When we finally pause and tune in, we hear the quiet whispers of our own truth—often showing up as softness, spaciousness, or warmth. This is energy in motion. E-motion.
Yoga Nidra invites you back into your body. To receive what’s needed. To release what no longer serves. To land gently in the terrain of you.
Layer Five: “What’s the point?”
The point is remembering.
There’s a beautiful old Hebrew parable: Before we’re born, as we rest in the womb, an angel visits us and reveals all the secrets of the universe. We are luminous, wise, and ready. But just before we are born, the angel places a gentle finger beneath our nose, creating the philtrum—and says, “Shhhhh.”
And just like that, we forget.
We arrive in this world as blank slates, tasked with remembering all that we once knew. And so we walk this Earth, making mistakes, falling in love, losing things, finding ourselves, and rediscovering what’s always been within us.
Yoga Nidra helps us remember.
It reminds us that healing doesn’t have to be hard, that peace lives inside us, and that stillness is not empty—it is full of knowing.
One of the first books that marked a turning point for me was The Road Less Traveled by M. Scott Peck. The very first line reads:
“Life is difficult. This is a great truth, one of the greatest truths… because once we truly see this truth, we transcend it.”
Yes. Life is difficult. Sanskrit is strange. Stillness can be scary. But so is anything that asks us to slow down and be fully present in this precious, fleeting life.
Yoga Nidra isn’t a magic cure. But it is a gentle, powerful doorway back to yourself.
And it begins, simply, by closing your eyes… and listening.