Yoga in the 1970s: Consciousness, Astrology, and Alice Coltrane

During the American obsession with yoga over the past half century, our perception and interpretation of it has changed significantly with each decade. Take the seventies. Here, curiosity about consciousness and the desire for greater connection with self and others was as much a part of the practice as the physical postures. Seekers wanting more were introduced to yoga in a variety of ways, from Alice Coltrane to Lilias Folan, against the backdrop of the era’s iconic bellringers, disco and peaceful resistance. The following article explains all this and more as part of Yoga Journal’s 50th anniversary coverage of yoga’s evolving role in America in the 1970s, 1980s, 1990s, 2000s, 2010s and 2020s.

In 1972, the United States was in a state of cultural and political turmoil – still reeling from the Vietnam War and the Civil Rights Movement, spurred by the rise of feminism and environmentalism, and fueled by anti-war protests and political scandals. A restless, youth-driven counterculture challenged the status quo and reinterpreted art, music and fashion as tools of resistance and self-expression. Peace, free thought and social justice echoed like battle cries.

Amid all the turmoil, one of the most common questions I heard was not political, but personal. “What’s your sign?”

That year I was a sophomore at Howard University and going through a time of transition. I had just moved into my first apartment and transferred from the School of Liberal Arts to the newly established School of Communications, eager to explore creative, academic, and career paths.

I had recently picked up a copy of the book Astrology: the divine sciencea book that grew out of a dissertation by two Harvard graduate students. It connected with my curiosity about the cosmos, fate and the self.

One evening a classmate, an older student and Vietnam veteraninvited me to our humanities professor’s home. The moment I stepped inside, I felt a change. The room was decorated with vibrant paintings, amethyst, quartz and agate crystals on tables, brightly colored drawings and tapestries, and the scent of unfamiliar herbs. Beads waved gently in the doorways, while pillows covered in kaleidoscopic fabrics and scattered across the floor invited us to sit and unwind in the moment.

Our professor and his partner – a woman born and raised in Thailand – engaged us in a rich, thought-provoking dialogue that took the mind in unexpected directions. At one point she emerged from the kitchen, gracefully carrying trays of fragrant dishes. It was my first introduction to Thai cuisine, an explosion of flavors like I had never experienced before.

At some point in the evening she put a record on the turntable, and for the first time I heard the music of Alice Coltrane. Travel in Satchidananda. I was immediately fascinated. There was something mystical, haunting and spiritual about it, and I fell in love on the first listen.

Moved by the moment, she began to flow gracefully through what I would later come to understand as a yoga vinyasa. Her constant movement from one position to another resembled a slow, spiritual ballet. She waved me up from the pillows to move with her. That evening was a turning point: a fusion of ideas, flavors, music and movement that left an indelible mark on me.

A few days later, as I was flipping through the TV channels – manually of course, as remote controls were not common at the time – I came across a public broadcaster program called Lilias, Yoga and you. On screen, Lilias Folan gracefully raised herself into Shoulder Stand (Sarvangasana).

I was immediately fascinated. I had practiced that exact move countless times in middle and high school gym class, although at the time it was simply called “the bike.” During those gymnastics classes, I had often experimented with lowering my feet above my head in what I later learned: Plow Pose (Halasana).

Until then, I had no idea these movements had names, let alone ancient origins. This led to a question that has stuck with me: “What exactly is yoga?”

In the early 1970s, I knew of no yoga studios in Washington, DC. Sangha– there would be a gathering of like-minded individuals and spiritual seekers. The focus was usually on meditation, art, music and philosophical discussions about the meaning of life. Hatha yoga, the physical practice, was rarely included.

After it happened Lilias, Yoga and youI started practicing regularly and following along in my living room. Although yoga classes for the general public were rare at the time, the Sangha gatherings were plentiful and allowed us to explore consciousness, creativity and spirituality.

The physical practice did not challenge me. I searched deeper: to understand what kind of person I wanted to become and how I could live with purpose. Eventually I found group classes that took place not in studios, but in non-denominational churches, bookstores, and other living rooms. It was in those spaces that I began to explore the philosophy of yoga. During this time I never paid for yoga.

And there were books. A Sikh in white clothing handed me a copy of the Bhagavad Gita on a street corner in DC that I bought The first and last freedom by J. Krishnamurti and received The Kybalion as a gift from a kind bookstore clerk. Finally I came across Yoga: science of the self– by the same authors as my beloved astrology book, Marcia Moore and Mark Douglas – and I felt a convergence of all these seemingly disparate events. My journey from self-studyor self-study, had begun.

I have had many conversations in different rooms and places. There were discussions and arguments with individuals that challenged and expanded my thinking. We debated, pondered, cried and quit and rekindled friendships, if only because there was no one else who would tolerate this discourse. We were motivated by a shared search for meaning. These exchanges, while diverse, were linked by a single theme: yoga. Not the kind practiced in leggings on a mat, but the lived experience of oneness – of integrating the many facets of yourself into something complete. This was the union of my life.

My ambition was to understand what kind of person I wanted to become and how I would express that in everyday life. Through marriage, motherhood, divorce and the loss of loved ones, the study and practice of yoga has helped stabilize my mental and emotional state. It taught me to see myself more clearly and to distinguish between the personality I projected to the world and the real me I was in my private life. That distinction became a powerful form of self-liberation.

I began to understand how easily the mind and emotions can be manipulated and how this becomes more difficult with explicit self-awareness. I have learned to be honest with myself, embrace my strengths and acknowledge my shortcomings.

Over time, I realized that my best teachers were not certified yoga instructors. They were my maternal grandmother, my parents, my eighth-grade English teacher, a big sister’s mentor, a college professor, and many friends and strangers. This acharyas– spirit guides – shared their lived wisdom with me.

From them I learned that yoga is not just something you practice on a mat in a studio while wearing special clothing. Yoga is not a state of doing. It’s a way of being. Yoga is life. I am my yoga practice.

Years later, during my 300-hour yoga teacher training in Kripalu, I met a teacher named Carolyn Deluomo, spiritually known as Vidya, which means clarity. Like many students, I felt unsure about how to authentically step into the role of teacher. I was still searching for my own voice and presence. One day, as we passed each other in a stairwell, Vidya paused and said, “I have been watching you and I sense some disagreement. Let me say this: You are enough. Just learn from your life.”

Those five words-just learn from your life– were some of the most powerful I have ever heard from a yoga teacher. It was then that I realized that the essence of what I had to offer was not something I needed to invent or perfect. It was present in the life I had lived. The lessons, losses, joys, and questions: it was all the yoga I embodied long before I stepped into a training room.

The training did not teach me how to live with integrity, conviction, or truth; it confirmed what was already inside me. It gave language to what I had been practicing for a long time: the everyday sadhana of conscious life. I continue to study because, while I live, I continue to learn. And as I learn, I get to know myself better. That, I have come to understand, is enough.

Editor’s note: Yoga diary was launched mid-decade in 1975, but remained primarily a newsletter for teachers for its early years. As such, it was not yet available to many, yet it was already well entrenched in its mission to share the wisdom of the age-old practice. Below is an overview of the themes explored in the first issues.