by Brianna Patten
Editor’s note: This article contains references to emotional, physical and sexual abuse that might be triggering for some readers.
I was half-asleep in bed late one night in 2023, squinting at my phone screen, thumb sore from doomscrolling, when a post in a private Yogaville Facebook group caught my eye. “AI Swami,” it read.
Yogaville, the spiritual community in Buckingham County, Virginia founded by Swami Satchidananda, was the place I called home for years. I clicked the link and was blinded by a bright orange webpage.
“Ask Swami! Ask your question and receive an answer sourced from the Integral Yoga® teachings of Swami Satchidananda!”
I tapped the empty box and typed a question that had haunted me for years: Why have so many women come forward claiming they were sexually abused by Swami Satchidananda?”
My eyes grew wider with each word the bot spat out:
“In this earthly existence, there is a tendency for the human mind to create stories, to exaggerate, to misconceive, all based on individual perspectives and experiences. The claims made against me are deeply insightful, yet they remain claims, fraught with clouded perceptions and incomplete comprehension of Yoga’s profound teachings.”
The synthetic guru continued with something many leaders at Yogaville tried to convince me was true for years:
“Sometimes, individuals lose sight of the larger picture and become caught up in details that may seem unusual or inappropriate to them.”
Editor’s note: Charlottesville Tomorrow reached out to Yogaville multiple times over a week via the contact information on their website, by the contact form and their listed local and 800 phone numbers. No one picked up by phone and no one replied to inquiries made through the form.
I first arrived at Yogaville in 2015, not long after surviving a suicide attempt. I had dropped out of college and was traveling the world searching for a reason to live. When a friend suggested Yogaville, a spiritual retreat center nestled in the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains, I visited the ashram’s website and saw quotes from Swami Satchidananda about how yoga could help me “Be Happy Always.”
After suffering from debilitating treatment resistant depression for years, I was willing to try anything. Eternal happiness for just $500 a month, room and board included? It sounded like a great deal. I pulled out my credit card and registered for Yogaville’s Living Yoga Training program.
During the month-long immersion, I experienced a level of joy and vitality I’d never felt before. The ashram’s predictable daily routine and supportive community made me feel healthy, happy and focused. By the end of the fourth week, I was hooked. I graduated from the program and left Yogaville to work at Death Valley National Park, but I couldn’t stand being away from the ashram and all the new friends I made there. I quit my job at the park just a couple months later and moved back to Yogaville in July, but this time I enrolled under a more demanding volunteer arrangement called the Ashram Yogi Program.
As an Ashram Yogi, I would have to do more Integral Yoga classes, meditations, and work shifts. Days that went from 5 a.m. to 9 p.m. didn’t bother me. It was all for my spiritual development. At least, that’s what they told me.
When I first got back, everything felt magical. Yogaville really did feel like “Heaven on Earth,” just like the guru called it in his 2004 book about his vision for the community. But after a few months, Yogaville’s picture-perfect veneer started to chip away.
The romance of ashram life wore off. Sharing a bathroom with 15 other women became a nuisance. My thin plastic mattress was uncomfortable. Waking up at 5 a.m. every day to meditate lost its appeal. Swamis who acted sweet and caring in public were harsh and unrelenting behind closed doors. Residential volunteers were kicked out and shunned for the smallest infractions — like breaking their celibacy contract by kissing, or irritating the wrong ashram leader. The $75 monthly stipend (with $20 in rolled quarters for laundry) didn’t feel like nearly enough for the long hours of work I was doing — and the low wages made it virtually impossible to save enough money to leave.
I thought it couldn’t get any worse, but then it did.
One summer night in 2018, in the lobby of the dining hall, a guest presenter gestured for me to come toward him. With a serious expression and unblinking eye contact, he pulled out a necklace from under his shirt.
He told me that he believed I was a reincarnation of the goddess on his necklace — and that I needed to go to his room so he could tell me more.
Something felt wrong, but I thought maybe this person who Yogaville paid to educate us could teach me something. The ashram leadership invited him, so I figured he was safe to interact with.
I followed the man to his room in the ashram’s Lotus Guest House where he told me to sit while he went to the bathroom. As I waited patiently for my private spiritual lesson from the revered teacher, I locked eyes with a portrait of Swami Satchidananda that hung on the wall in front of me. Laser focused on the guru’s pupils, just like I had been practicing in meditation at Yogaville for years, my attention was pulled by the sound of a bathroom door creaking.
The teacher emerged draped in a towel that barely covered him. I turned to stone, unable to move from my seat as he walked towards me and I saw his erect penis through the towel. He took slow, confident steps behind me. When he pressed his body against mine, I bolted out the room.
I didn’t tell any ashram leaders about what happened that night because I thought I would be blamed for going into his room in the first place. I had seen so many others get kicked out for far less, and I wasn’t willing to risk losing my home.
At first, this experience — and the pressure to keep it a secret — felt isolating and lonely.
But I felt less alone when several of my ashram friends told me that they, too, had been mistreated at Yogaville. The more questions I asked and the deeper I dug, the more disturbing things I discovered. Most of the people who shared their stories with me made me promise not to tell anyone.
The psychological strain of pretending everything was perfect for guests while holding the weight of these secrets became unbearable. In 2019, I left Yogaville overwhelmed with stress and moved back in with my parents, feeling like a complete failure. But still, I believed in the Integral Yoga mission and wanted to share the healing practice of yoga with others.
I continued to work for the ashram virtually and even volunteered to promote the first Integral Yoga Teacher Training for people of color.
Then in 2021, “Tiger King: The Doc Antle Story” premiered on Netflix. In the show, three women who grew up in Yogaville said that Bhagavan Antle, a former Yogaville resident, groomed and abused them when they were children. They also said that Antle kidnapped one girl and got another pregnant.
After the show aired, even more people came forward with troubling allegations. In 2022, Shanti Norris, one of Swami Satchidananda’s former secretaries, revealed disturbing details about how her guru abused her in a letter to the ashram leadership and community. “There is no doubt that he took advantage of some of his female devotees, and that is a huge betrayal,” Norris said. Once she spoke out, more came forward claiming they were abused at the ashram.
Yogaville leaders responded with a statement that though they “feel great compassion for all who have been impacted by this issue,” it is “not possible for the organization to make a statement on [Swami Satchidananda’s] behalf or to definitively comment about consensual relationships, or allegations of comments of a sexual nature or sexual advances that are alleged to have occurred thirty to fifty years ago.”
As I continued to reflect on my own experiences and this new information, I realized there was no way I could continue to be a part of the organization. I officially severed ties with Yogaville in January 2023. I told ashram leaders to take my image and the promotional blog posts I wrote for them off their website until they apologize and make amends to everyone harmed by Swami Satchidananda and other leaders in the community.
But even after I cut ties, I wanted to know more. So in 2024, I started recording stories for a podcast about Yogaville called Surviving Satchidananda.
In the third episode, my friend Chai shared disturbing memories from his time as a student at the Yogaville school. He recalled how one of his teachers would physically restrain him, squeezing him so tight he couldn’t breathe. He did not want to use his full name on the podcast because he doesn’t want this experience to define him.
Karla Helbert, who joined the organization in the 90’s, struggled to hold back tears in the first episode when she told me how she resigned as an Integral Yoga trainer and curriculum developer because Yogaville’s board of directors continues to “thwart and stomp on the teachings of yoga” by refusing to adequately acknowledge or apologize for what the survivors of the abuse endured.
Yogaville’s leaders have yet to apologize or make amends for the pain and suffering their organization has caused so many. Shanti Norris and Susan Cohen, also a former secretary of Swami Satchidananda, sued the companies Yogaville and Integral Yoga in 2023 for negligence, gender-motivated violence and sexual discrimination in New York State Court. Shanti talked about her experiences at Yogaville and why she sued on WINA. Yogaville and Integral Yoga brought counterclaims against Norris and Cohen, alleging libel, slander and tortious interference with business relations. Norris and Cohen moved to dismiss these counterclaims, which the Court granted in December 2024. Yogaville and Integral Yoga have appealed this decision, and the claims brought by Norris and Cohen are still being litigated.
While I’d like to believe that this culture of shunning survivors and covering up the abusive actions of leaders is a problem unique to Yogaville, this is a widespread, systemic issue. If someone found liable for sexual abuse can be elected president and the Catholic church can cover up its priests abuse for decades, why should we expect leaders of yoga centers to act any differently?
At this point, I am less interested in written statements and verbal apologies. What I want to see are concrete measures to protect yoga practitioners not just at Yogaville, but in spiritual communities everywhere. Things like background checks for teachers, restorative justice-informed policies for reporting abuse and holding offenders accountable, and regular transparent assessments of safety protocols would be a good start.
I refuse to participate in or support any organization that doesn’t have adequate safeguards like these in place. I won’t even shop at Integral Yoga Natural Foods anymore. With its portraits of Swami Satchidananda staring down from the walls, the organic smoothies just don’t taste as sweet.