Intuitive Flow Yoga Studio

01/04/2026

Dear all, I’m reaching out for your help.

Help Fenil Complete Her Nursing Education

I’m trying to support a young woman in India so she can continue her nursing studies next semester. Her father recently had an accident and is no longer able to work, which has made the situation even more difficult for her and her family.
I attempted to raise funds through Indian platforms, which only accept Indian rupees, and due to current restrictions under the Foreign Contribution Regulation Act (FCRA) ahead of the elections, it has been very difficult to receive support from overseas. So far, I’ve only been able to collect 300 rupees.
If you feel moved to help, I can guide you on how to send support to her directly. I’m also happy to share her details and proof of identity for full transparency.
Thank you from the heart for considering this.

30/03/2026

This fundraising page is open to Indian nationals, those with an Indian bank account, or anyone able to use the QR code.

She is working hard to continue her nursing studies and needs to pay her fees by the end of this month. At the moment, sending money to India from abroad is not easy.

If you feel called to support her, even a small amount would be deeply appreciated.

My name is Fenil Kerisha, and I am a third-year nursing student with a dream of becoming a nurse and supporting my family. Today, I am facing a painful challenge. My father, who is a fisherman and the only earning member of our family, recently suffered a serious hand injury in an accident while

11/12/2025

Join us at Intuitive Flow and anchor your awareness right in this breath 🧘. Let everything else soften for a moment.

This is what we practice together. Not performing, not pushing. Just coming home to your body and meeting yourself with a bit more ease.

We’re tucked into Penestanan Kaja, a long-time home for yoga in Ubud with a steady, heartfelt reputation. If you’ve been craving a space that feels nourishing instead of noisy, you’ll feel right at home here.

🔗intuitiveflow.com
📱+62 822-2162-5200

Roll out your mat with us and feel what opens when you land fully in the moment.

See you at the studio.

23/11/2025

Looking for yoga that feels like coming home? Intuitive Flow in Penestanan Ubud offers different classes in a peaceful space with beautiful view. No performance, no pressure. Just movement that meets you where you are and leaves you calmer than when you arrived.

Drop in, breathe, and let your practice unfold naturally.
Daily classes in Penestanan. intuitiveflow.com 🌿
📲+62 822-2162-5200

05/11/2025

STILLNESS

Stillness isn’t the absence of movement. It’s the quiet pulse underneath everything that moves.
In yoga, we touch that place—the moment between breaths, the pause between thoughts—where intuition lives.

At Intuitive Flow, we return to this inner current again and again. The practice isn’t about perfect poses. It’s about listening. About softening into what’s already true.

Come practice with us in Ubud, where the sound of the river and the whisper of the breeze remind you how natural stillness really is.
📲+62 822-2162-5200
🕊️ www.intuitiveflow.com

30/10/2025

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
This yoga studio made me want to live in Ubud for a month. It’s where I settled after visiting other places. I’ll be back soon!

If you’re in Ubud, come join us at Intuitive Flow Yoga Studio — a peaceful space overlooking the jungle and river valley.
We offer 5 classes a day, from energising morning flows to deeply restorative evenings. Beautiful views, great teachers, and a feeling that stays with you long after class.

🧘‍♀️ Find your practice, your breath, your quiet joy.
📍 Penestanan, Ubud
🌿 www.intuitiveflow.com
📲+62 822-2162-5200

22/09/2025

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧: 𝐀 𝐉𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐈𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐡

It's easier to sit for meditation, chant, or step onto our mat when life is smooth. The breath feels steady, the mind is lighter, everything flows. But life isn't always like that. Sometimes grief hits us, our plans collapse, leaving us feeling unsure of how to proceed.

That's when many step away from our practice, wait to feel better before returning. But those are the very moments when sadhana matters most. Sadhana isn't a hobby we pick up when the mood is right. It's our anchor when life throws us a curveball so sharp that it knocks the wind out of us.

In those moments, I think of the mountain. The winds blow, the rains flood down its slopes. And yet, the mountain stays rooted. It doesn't run. It doesn't wait for brighter skies. Our sadhana makes us that mountain. Breath, asana, mantra, meditation, prayer, whatever form our practice takes, it's what keeps us steady when life tries to shake us loose.

When challenges arise, we are in a perfect state to meet our fears, not with force or charge, but with a calm, steady strength. Instead of getting lost in the stories of the mind, we can bring our attention to the raw sensation of it. Fear itself can become the teacher when we don't resist it. Where does fear live inside us? Maybe it's tightness in the chest, a knot in the stomach, or a lump in the throat. We notice it, we don't push it away. We meet it with curiosity, as if we were encountering it for the first time.

Then we remember the mountain, solid, grounded, unmoving. Fear is only the storm: wind, rain, clouds passing overhead. However intense, it cannot move the mountain. In the same way, we are not our fear. We are the ground beneath it, the steady presence that watches it come and go. Vedānta reminds us: we are not the body, not the mind, not even the waves of emotion; we are the Self (ātman), unchanging, infinite, untouched by the storm. The more we rest in that Truth, the more we discover courage, not as boldness, but as a quiet, unshakable strength that is already ours.

If we only start sadhana when trouble hits us, it's like planting a tree in the middle of a storm. It won't take root. The roots need to be there already, deep in the earth, so that when the storms do come, we can bend without breaking.

So when we feel low, we don't abandon our practice. We show up anyway, even if it's just five minutes. Even if all we can do is sit in silence with tears streaming down our faces. That is still sadhana. That is still courage. And over time, this is how we become unshakable, like the mountain, knowing storms will come and go, but they never stay.

On a more personal note, I now understand why Ramana Maharshi, one of the great sages of modern India, said that Arunachala, the holy mountain in South India, was his guru. To him, the mountain was not just stone and earth but the silent presence of Truth itself: unmoving, steady, endlessly still, yet alive with a force beyond words. When I reflect on his devotion to Arunachala, I see how the mountain embodies what Vedānta teaches us: the storms of fear and emotion may pass across the surface, but the Truth itself remains untouched. This image reminds me that the true guru is not outside; it is within. The mountain leads us to our own essence, anchored, unshakable, untouched by storms. When we unite with that inner Arunachala through sadhana, we understand why Ramana bowed to the mountain: it reflected the eternal Self. This unchanging reality is always present.

The mountain is not outside—it is who we truly are.

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞—𝐢𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐰𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐫𝐞.

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19/08/2025

18/08/2025

𝐎𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 - 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘞𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘙𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦

Last week, I visited the Niki de Saint Phalle exhibition at the Musée National des Beaux-Arts de Québec with a friend. Her art is powerful, raw, and luminous all at once. One part of the show was a video that touched me so profoundly. Niki spoke about forgiving her father for molesting her as a child. What struck me most was not only her words, but the way she said them. It was clear that her forgiveness came from the heart, not from reasoning, not from forced spirituality, but from lived truth. Her story stirred a memory in me.

Afterward, my friend turned to me and said, I don't understand how she could forgive him. Her words pulled me back to my past, to another moment when forgiveness seemed impossible.
I was waiting for the bus one day, tucked into the entrance of a building to escape the Canadian cold. I began talking with a couple, and what they shared has stayed with me for life. They told me they had forgiven the murderer of their child. At the time, I was as stunned as my friend was at Niki's story. How could anyone possibly do that? But then they explained. They forgave not for the murderer's sake, but for their own. To release themselves from carrying corrosive anger that would otherwise eat them alive.

That was my first profound lesson in forgiveness. It's not about declaring what someone did is acceptable. It's not about forgetting. Forgiveness is a way of saying: I will not let this wound dictate the rest of my life. I will not feed my spirit with resentment.

True forgiveness transforms memory. It allows you to remember differently. If you've lived through an abusive relationship or trusted a business partner who betrayed you, the point is not to wipe the slate clean as if nothing happened. The fact is to remember differently. To learn the lesson so you don't repeat it, without letting the wound keep defining you. You can carry the memory and the wisdom, without holding the bitterness.
In the case of Niki, her forgiveness was a form of liberation, not a lesson she was supposed to learn. I see Niki Saint Phalles' art as both a wound and a release. Her 'Tirs' violent performances, where plastered targets exploded in a rain of colour, made the wound visible, and the release undeniable. Her journey is much more than just a question of forgiveness. She expressed her healing through art, through anger, through creation, and finally through letting go. This forgiveness came later in her life, when she found an inner balance.

The murder of a child or child abuse is brutal to face, let alone forgive. Yet resentment, too, takes its toll. I think this couple's faith gave them a way to forgive. Niki found another way, through art, through creation, through truth-telling. What unites both paths is the understanding that resentment takes a toll. Our health, our nervous system, our joy all pay the price when we hold on too tightly to rancour. Forgiveness, on the other hand, makes you feel alive.

Hindu philosophy and yoga speak to this: to hold on to anger is to bind yourself. To forgive is to free yourself. Patañjali's Yoga Sutra (II.33, pratipakṣa bhāvanam) teaches that when a destructive thought arises, we can invite its opposite. Holding on to anger is duḥkha, suffering. Forgiveness is sukha, ease. In yoga, we also say the body remembers. Each exhale is a chance to let something go. Practicing asana with conscious breathing, supported by pranayama, can open that release even further.

For me, Yoga Nidra has been powerful. It guides us into the subconscious, where old wounds lie hidden. In that stillness, forgiveness doesn't have to be forced. It rises on its own, like the body's natural softening, like a hand finally unclenching.

Of course, forgiveness doesn't come easily. Sometimes it takes years, lifetimes. And not everyone will be ready to embrace it. But when you are, some practices can help. Some find solace in their faith, some in the Serenity Prayer from AA, for example. Others might turn to the universe itself.

Even if those words feel impossible in the face of certain crimes, the essence is this: forgiveness is less about them and more about you. And when it is real, like Niki's, it comes from the heart, fragile perhaps, but still a doorway to peace.

Standing before Niki's work, I felt forgiveness not as an abstract idea but as a current moving in me, a reminder that, like yoga, it is a practice of opening into freedom. Something that ties back to your own lived experience.

Read more of my articles on my Substack https://yoginilindamadani.substack.com/.../posts/published

10/08/2025

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐐𝐮𝐢𝐞𝐭 𝐏𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐑𝐢𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐬: 𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐖𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬

Revisiting my home country, I notice how few rituals remain. People might call themselves spiritual, but it's often a private idea, not an active part of life. Many churches are tourist stops. About one in four people has no religious affiliation at all. It's not judgment; each person's path is their own, but I can't help feeling that rituals, rites of passage, and shared sacred moments feed something deep in the human spirit.

Modern life has stripped away many of our markers for transition. We change jobs, lose people, end relationships, become teenagers and pass through menopause very often without pausing to name or honour the thresholds we've crossed. We're expected to keep going as if nothing has changed. But inside, something sacred is asking to be witnessed.

When my mother died, there were just my cousins, a priest, and a short service. It was her wish. Back in Bali, I made my own. Together with close friends, I led a fire ceremony, chanted mantras, and offered prayers to help her move on. Afterward, we sat in silence. That ceremony didn't remove the grief, but it gave it somewhere to rest.

In Bali, where I live, ritual is woven into the everyday. It isn't always extravagant, not the kind with towering temples or clouds of incense, but it keeps the heart steady. Every morning, I place offerings on my altar, on all my statues, and chant mantras. No one is watching. It's simply how I return to myself.

Offerings are made daily to the land, to the ancestors, to the unseen. Children learn to honour the sacred simply by watching their mothers and grandmothers. The rituals may be small, but the message is that every part of life is holy.

I recall a swami in India saying that if you cannot perform an agni hotra (fire ceremony with mantras), then put water in a bowl, take a spoon, and transfer the water to another bowl while chanting a mantra 108 times, and then drink water from the receiving bowl. You will feel completely refreshed, and it works. It is simple, easy and efficient.

That's the difference between routine and ritual. Routines get you through the day. Rituals bring you back to the sacred. Even cooking can be a ritual if done with reverence. The form doesn't matter as much as the intention. A simple gesture becomes holy when you give it your full presence.

There is also a ritual for letting go. We don't always need to rush to move on. Sometimes we need to mark the ending. Whether it's leaving a country, closing a chapter, or saying no to something that no longer fits, lighting a candle or burying something in the soil matters; these small acts honour the shift, letting us feel what we might otherwise avoid, and make space for what comes next.

Rituals may not solve everything, but they remind us of what endures, even when everything else falls apart. In the small, steady acts, a flame lit, a spoon of water moved from one bowl to another, an offering of flowers, we remember who we are, and what we love, even when the world forgets.

Check my other articles on https://yoginilindamadani.substack.com/

03/08/2025

💫ᴀ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ꜰᴏʀ ᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴ, ✨ ᴀ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ꜰᴏʀ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇᴍᴘʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴ

As we progress in life, we all experience different seasons, some requiring action, and others contemplation. In one of those long seasons over the last few years, I've found myself in a slower, more tranquil space, where the drive to push is easing, making room for something quieter. It is not that I'm stuck or giving up; I am just letting things settle without rushing to control them. It can be uncomfortable sometimes, yet it is an essential passage, as I know something beneath the surface is being rearranged. The universe is clearing the way for the next chapter of my part in the divine unfolding. You may be in a season like this, too. If so, I hope these words remind you that you're not alone.

In the same way, some moments are meant for stillness, not laziness or escape, but an honest pause where you let your inner voice arise. You're not stopping because you're scared or unsure. You're pausing because you trust that something important is on the way, and you want to meet it with clarity, not confusion.

Right now might not be the time for bold decisions or big reveals. It may be a time to linger, to let the outlines blur a little, to forget what day it is and let the edges soften. That doesn't mean you're lost; you're recalibrating and quietly returning to your center.

Stillness requires trust, and trust isn't always easy. The Buddhist metaphor of the glass of muddy water has helped me understand stillness more clearly. If we agitate the water, the mud clouds everything, but if we let it sit, the mud settles, and the water clears. Contemplation is not stirring, allowing clarity to return on its own.

When we're always in motion, we miss the subtler invitations. The ones that arrive when we stop performing, stop proving, stop running toward certainty. Contemplation doesn't always come with answers, but it clears the noise so something genuine can rise.

Stillness can feel awkward, especially in a world that keeps asking for proof of progress. But transformation doesn't always come with a roar; sometimes it comes with a whisper. Sometimes it looks like stillness on the outside, but everything on the inside is different.

The Soul works like that: subtle, steady, and never loud. The invisible integration happens when we stop forcing and trust what is unfolding. It's not just your circumstances changing; it's how you meet them.

There's a rhythm to this becoming. One that doesn't follow a timeline. One that honours both the doing and the undoing. Action will come. I'm reminded of the story of the rice farmer who tried to make his plants grow faster by pulling them up at night and who ended up killing them. It's a simple lesson: growth can't be rushed. Sometimes the wisest thing we can do is stop interfering and let things unfold in their own time. You'll know when it's time. But you're not off-course if you feel unanchored, unsure, or in-between. You're in a different kind of clarity. The kind that arrives after everything else has quieted down.

So let yourself be where you are and allow what's shifting to find its place. Let old pieces fall away without rushing to replace them.

There is a time to act. And there is a time to listen.

You don't need to push. Just stay close. The next right thing will find you — and when it does, you'll know.

Until then, breathe. Be here. That's enough.

You can read all my articles on my Substack: https://substack.com/