In February 2012, a group of musicians gathered in the basement of Brooklyn Urban Zong, a space that had become a hub for yoga and spiritual practice in the borough. The occasion was Maha Shiva Ratri—"the great night of Shiva"—and the vehicle for celebration was kirtan, an ancient form of call-and-response devotional singing that had made a remarkable journey from Indian temples and ashrams into concert halls, yoga studios, and community spaces across North America over the past fifty years. Sri Kala, alongside musicians Jesse, Ran Baron, and Kevin Hylton, with Eric Levinson and Kevin Hylton serving as hosts, had organized what they called the Healing Salon—the inaugural event in what was envisioned as an ongoing series. The stated purpose: "information and networking for greater awareness of mind body and spirit." What unfolded that evening was a window into a particular spiritual movement in American culture—one in which ancient devotional practices were being adapted, preserved, and offered as a path toward transformation in contemporary secular life.
Maha Shiva Ratri occupies a unique place in the Hindu calendar. Occurring on the new moon night in late February or early March, it commemorates several overlapping traditions. In one narrative, it marks the marriage of Shiva and Parvati, one of Hinduism's most celebrated unions. In another, it honors the night when Shiva performed the cosmic dance—Nataraja—the rhythmic movement of creation, maintenance, and dissolution of the universe. Across Hindu temples and homes, the night is observed with all-night vigils, fasting, meditation, and worship.
Who is Shiva in the Hindu tradition? Shiva occupies what might seem, to the Western mind, a paradoxical role. Within the trimurti (the trinity), Shiva is the Destroyer—the force that dissolves and ends things. Yet Hindu philosophy makes clear that destruction in Shiva's realm is not merely annihilation but transformation. He is the destroyer of illusion, the burner of ignorance, the force through which the old makes way for the new. Shiva is also the supreme ascetic and yogi, often depicted in deep meditation (samadhi), withdrawn from the world yet simultaneously the source of all cosmic energy. He is associated with both fierce power and ultimate peace, with both the ecstatic and the transcendent.
In practice, worshipping Shiva on Maha Shiva Ratri is understood as invoking these transformative energies within oneself. Devotees sing, chant, and stay awake through the night—a practice called jagrana—specifically to deepen their connection to Shiva and to facilitate inner transformation. In contemporary Western contexts, particularly in yoga and spiritual communities, this celebration has been reimagined through modern devotional music forms, especially kirtan.
Kirtan is not a performance in the conventional sense. To understand its practice is to understand a fundamentally different relationship between music, musician, and listener than Western secular audiences typically encounter. A kirtan session typically involves a lead musician or group of musicians and an ensemble of participants. The musicians begin with a simple call—often a mantra or sacred phrase in Sanskrit, though they might be in Hindi, Bengali, or other languages. They sing this phrase, and the gathered group responds with the same or a complementary phrase, creating a call-and-response pattern.
What makes this simple structure powerful is the intention and structure embedded within it. The call-and-response format is not incidental but purposeful. As the same phrases are sung again and again, the intellect gradually quiets, and the participants begin to settle into a state that is less about understanding words and more about the vibration, the rhythm, and the community of voices. This is the point: kirtan is designed to move consciousness beyond the thinking, analyzing mind into subtler states of awareness.
The musical elements support this internal shift. The lead musician typically plays the harmonium, a hand-pumped keyboard instrument that produces a warm, resonant drone—the sonic equivalent of settling into stillness. The tabla player, if present, adds rhythmic complexity and grounding. Other musicians might play the sitar, sarangi, or other instruments rooted in the Indian classical tradition. The sruti box, a small wind-driven drone instrument, often provides a constant harmonic foundation. Together, these elements create a soundscape designed not for active listening but for meditative absorption.
The mantras themselves carry meaning within Hindu and tantric philosophy. A mantra dedicated to Shiva might invoke qualities of transformation, meditation, or divine power. A mantra to Krishna might emphasize love and devotion. The repetition of these sacred utterances is understood as a container of power and vibration—not poetic license, but a specific philosophical and physiological claim embedded in mantra theory. This is not something sung to achieve an effect; it is something that, through sound and intention, creates an effect.
By 2012, kirtan had established a foothold in Western yoga and spiritual communities, but it remained relatively specialized. Major cities like New York, Los Angeles, and San Francisco had regular kirtan events and well-known kirtan leaders. But the creation of the Healing Salon in Brooklyn represented something deliberate: an effort to build community infrastructure around these practices, to create recurring containers where people could gather not just for entertainment or exercise but for collective spiritual practice.
The inclusion of "networking" in the Healing Salon's stated purpose is telling. This wasn't purely a concert or meditation session; it was understood as a space where like-minded people could connect, share knowledge, and build relationships around shared values. This reflects a broader evolution in Western spirituality—the move away from the model of the isolated seeker going to an ashram or guru, toward a more peer-oriented, community-based approach to spiritual practice. The timing is significant too. This was before the explosion of online kirtan, before livestreamed yoga and meditation, before the full commercialization of wellness culture that would follow in the coming decade.
A kirtan evening typically unfolds in recognizable stages, though they may blend together. It often begins with a simple grounding sound—the sacred syllable "Om," or perhaps a brief meditation or centering practice. This settles the gathered group, inviting everyone to transition from the external world into a more internal, receptive state.
The lead musician then introduces a mantra, often chanting it a few times to establish the melody and rhythm before inviting the group to join in the response. The response might be identical to the call, or it might be a different phrase that relates to the first. As participants join, their voices add texture and energy to the practice. Some kirtan sessions maintain a relatively simple melody and rhythm throughout; others build in complexity, layering different melodic lines or adding instrumental textures as the evening progresses.
One crucial aspect: there is typically no performance anxiety in kirtan for participants. You are not being evaluated for your singing ability. The entire framework is about participation and inner openness, not about creating a "good" performance. This removes a significant barrier that keeps many people from singing at all, whether in spiritual or secular contexts.
The physical and emotional experience of kirtan varies widely. Some people report waves of emotion—joy, sadness, peace, or a sense of expanded awareness. Others feel a quieting of the mind, a dissolution of the constant mental chatter. Still others describe a sense of connection with the other people in the room, a feeling of being held by the group's collective voice. These are not invented effects; they are consistently reported by participants across decades and multiple cultures.
Kirtan as a formalized spiritual practice has roots stretching back at least to the bhakti (devotion-focused) movements of medieval India, particularly the fifteenth through eighteenth centuries. These movements, which flourished across different regions of India, emphasized that the direct worship of and devotion to the divine was accessible to everyone—not just priests or ascetics, not only men, not determined by caste. This was a radical democratization of spiritual practice.
The bhakti poets and saints—figures like Kabir, Mirabai, and Chaitanya—composed devotional songs and poetry that were sung, shared, and passed down through generations. Kirtan, as a practice of group singing of these devotional verses and of the names of God, became a central practice within bhakti traditions. The music was meant to be a shortcut, a direct path to encountering the divine, to experiencing bhakti (devotion) as a transformative force.
When kirtan arrived in the West in the latter twentieth century, it came primarily through Hindu teachers and yoga practitioners who had themselves trained within specific lineages in India. Figures like A.C. Bhaktivedanta Swami Prabhupada, who founded the International Society for Krishna Consciousness (ISKCON) in the 1960s, brought chanting and kirtan to Western audiences, often in public spaces and gathering areas. Over the decades, kirtan has been adopted, adapted, and reimagined by countless Western musicians and teachers, many of them trained in yoga and spiritual practice. By the time of the Brooklyn Healing Salon, kirtan was established enough to be recognized within yoga and alternative spiritual circles, yet it remained sufficiently outside the mainstream that gatherings like this one were noteworthy and drew people seeking something different from conventional entertainment or exercise.
If you're interested in exploring kirtan as a practice, the most direct path is to find a local event—whether in-person at a yoga studio, spiritual center, or community space, or increasingly online. Kirtan is fundamentally a participatory practice; its effects are most fully felt when singing with others, though recordings can provide introduction and solace. Visit www.srikalogy.com to learn more about Sri Kala's teaching and practice.
For deeper understanding, explore the philosophy behind mantra and sound in Hindu and tantric traditions. Learn about specific deities and their significance. Many kirtan teachers offer classes or workshops that weave educational components into the practice itself. The combination of intellectual understanding and direct experience of the practice can enrich your engagement with it.
If you're drawn to the Healing Salon model—the creation of recurring community containers for spiritual practice and connection—look for similar initiatives in your area, or consider helping to create one. The questions at the heart of the Healing Salon remain vital: How do we gather in authentic ways? How do we support each other's spiritual development? How do we create spaces that honor both ancient wisdom and contemporary life?
