Photo: The “Village Voice” newspaper announces “The Swami Who Makes the People Glow,” 1968.
It all started in June 1968. I had just graduated from Columbia University with a degree in math and philosophy. But after all those years of studying Eastern and Western philosophy, much of it still felt theoretical. I wanted a real practice.
Then I noticed an ad in the Village Voice for the Integral Yoga Institute (IYI) and Swami Satchidananda. His image was captivating and somehow familiar. I began attending his lectures at the Universalist Church and taking Hatha Yoga classes at the IYI. I had no idea that I was stepping into a community—and a way of life—that would shape the next four years of my life—and beyond.
I gave up everything overnight—drugs, smoking, alcohol, caffeine, meat, sex. I began taking classes every day and became a serious student of Yoga: Hatha Yoga, pranayama, meditation, chanting—the whole path. The next step was moving into the IYI at 500 West End Avenue, a large apartment building on the Upper West Side at 84th Street and West End Avenue. The IYI leased adjoining apartments, 5A and 5B, on the fifth floor. Together they provided a Yoga studio, living quarters, a kitchen, a reception area, bathrooms, and quarters for Swamiji.
The early IYI was an odd mix of ashram and asylum, meditation and medication, with young people, hippies, artists, dancers, and seekers. There was plenty of excitement and plenty of energy.
The Guru
My experience has taught me the importance of having a teacher, mentor, coach, or Guru—someone with experience who knows us and can guide us. Swami Satchidananda, or Swamiji as we called him, was that and much more. He was the Guru, the one who guided us on the path.
Mostly, I tried to be serious in my practice, keep my nose clean, and avoid getting “busted,” as we referred to it in those days. Getting busted meant being directly challenged or corrected by the Guru in a way that exposed an attitude, habit, or bit of ego that needed to be seen. Later I learned that the whole point was to get busted! It meant the Guru was working on you.
One of the great benefits of living in the early IYI ashram and being part of a sangha—a spiritual community—was that there were plenty of opportunities for what might be called “ego collisions.” Living and practicing together continually brought our habits and reactions to the surface, giving us opportunities to grow and learn from one another. In retrospect, I had relatively little one-on-one contact with Swamiji. I can recall only a handful of private interviews. Every student and devotee had a different relationship with the Guru. We were all unique individuals with different backgrounds, and Swamiji seemed to adjust his approach accordingly.
In 1970, I completed my alternative service as a conscientious objector and satisfied my draft requirement. Soon afterward, the IYI manager told me that Swamiji wanted to see me. Clueless, I met with him in his study. He asked what my future plans were. I told him I had always wanted to travel to India. Suddenly it became patently obvious to me that “India” was sitting right in front of me!
Swamiji then told me that the manager had recommended that I become the next Executive Secretary, probably for a two-year term, and asked if I would like to do it. That meant continuing to live at the IYI and helping with the start-up of the new building on West 13th Street. I said yes, not really knowing what the decision would involve, but trusting the Guru. Looking back, it was a major turning point in my life. I was twenty-four.
Ashram Life at 500 West End Avenue
Three of us lived in one room and slept on mats on the floor. It was very basic, very simple, very plain. All my possessions fit into a backpack—clothes, shoes, personal items, and one book, The Bhagavad Gita, which I studied every day. That was it—the life of an ascetic. Just before Swamiji left on a major trip, he initiated me into mantra meditation. It was a simple and powerful ceremony and blessing, and I began my mantra practice.
Photo: Swami Satchidananda tries to lighten the mood during the first formal photo of the 500 West End Ave. members. (Siva next to him; Peter Max standing far left)
I was a serious student: up at 4 a.m. to meditate, daily Hatha Yoga, daily Karma Yoga, Bhagavad Gita study, pranayama, a vegetarian breakfast, and then off to work down 10th Avenue. Sometimes several of us slept on the roof during the New York City summer heat. Not quite camping, but close! We were all expected to meditate at 4 a.m. as part of our ashram practice. The resident who was most regular in his practice led the meditation. Some of the others tended to horse around, although they too were dedicated students. They often stayed up later than the rest of us and then had trouble getting up early.
One task for an ashram newcomer was to announce morning meditation. That meant knocking lightly on each bedroom door, ringing a bell, and calling, “Hari Om, time for meditation.” One morning a young woman who was new to the ashram had the duty. She knocked gently on one door, rang the bell, and sweetly said, “Hari Om, time for meditation”—only to be greeted by a loud expletive followed by, “I’m not getting up!”
I remember taking the bus to Ananda Ashram in Monroe, New York, for one of our first Yoga retreats. It was about an hour outside the city and a wonderful place for Yoga, meditation, and study. Before the founding of Satchidananda Ashram in Connecticut in 1973, Swamiji led programs there and many of us took advantage of its proximity for weekend retreats. It was there that we first experienced an ashram routine outside the city.
I also happened to be there as a Karma Yoga volunteer, teaching Hatha Yoga in July 1969 during the first moon landing. Everyone at the retreat center was huddled around the television. What a time to share together!
Learning to Teach
Things were moving quickly in those days, and the IYI was growing at a tremendous pace. It was part of a much larger spiritual ferment: Zen centers, Krishna Consciousness, Jewish study groups, Christian study groups, and many other communities were flourishing during the late 1960s and early 1970s.
I became proficient in the Yoga asanas and was eventually asked to teach. After going through a certification process, I was added to the class rotation. One day I walked across the street to a drug rehabilitation program and mentioned the benefits of Yoga. They immediately asked me to teach there, and it became the first IYI community outreach program. At the time, I had no idea how widely Yoga would eventually be used in therapeutic settings — the early days of Yoga therapy! Many of the senior IYI teachers were sent out to help start centers in other cities, including Los Angeles, San Francisco, Dallas, and Detroit.
I think I also taught the one and only Hatha Yoga class ever offered at the New York Zen Center! Some Zen students invited me. The Roshi seemed skeptical at first, but once the class began, he quickly saw the benefits.
With the wide range of Yoga practices, each of us had our preferences and strengths. Mine was Karma Yoga. I was proficient in the asanas and practiced meditation, but service was what came most naturally to me.
An Emerging Interfaith Vision
From those early days, Swamiji had warm friendships with spiritual teachers and clergy from a number of faith traditions. They visited the IYI, and it was inspiring to spend time with them. Brother David Steindl-Rast, OSB, was a frequent visitor, as was Rabbi Joseph Gelberman of the Little Synagogue. We also loved listening to the concerts of Rabbi Shlomo Carlebach.
Photo: Carnegie Hall “Concert” – Yoga demo, music & lecture
Carnegie Hall—and A Brush with the Law
In early 1969, before the summer when Swamiji opened the Woodstock Festival and became widely known as the “Woodstock Guru,” the IYI organized a Yoga lecture for him at Carnegie Hall. Several IYI students demonstrated asanas onstage and chanted kirtan. The event sold out and generated considerable interest in the young IYI.
Before the lecture, several of us volunteered to paste up posters around the neighborhood. We put them on empty walls and fences. I became a little too enthusiastic and pasted one on a subway entrance. Oops! A police officer stopped me and issued a misdemeanor citation. I paid the fine the next day. It was probably worth it!
I was rewarded in another way: as part of the set-up crew, I got to stand on the Carnegie Hall stage. What a thrill—a once-in-a-lifetime experience.
How I Became Siva
People often ask me how I received my Yoga name, Siva. The story still makes me smile. One evening, Swamiji invited the IYI residents to an Indian dinner at a neighborhood Upper West Side restaurant. That same evening, I had been asked to teach a private Hatha Yoga class at the Park Avenue apartment of one of our patrons. It meant missing the dinner with Swamiji, but as a dedicated Karma Yogi, I went to teach.
When I returned, the first person I met in the lobby was the IYI manager. Instead of saying, “Hi, Barry,” he said, “Hi, Siva.” I looked at him, puzzled, and said, “Huh?” He explained that during dinner Swamiji had asked, “Where is Siva?” The manager replied, “Do you mean Barry?” Swamiji said, “No, Siva.” And that’s how I got my Yoga name.
Siva is the name of one of the three major forms of God in Hinduism. The word means “auspicious,” and in its deeper sense refers to the infinite Consciousness that Siva represents. I liked the name immediately, and it has stayed with me ever since.
A Call from Home
In the lobby at 500 West End Avenue was a payphone shared by all the residents. One evening someone called out, “Siva, phone.” Even before I answered, I knew what it was. My mother was calling to tell me that my father had died of a heart attack. Somehow, I had already sensed it. I told her I would fly home to Phoenix in the morning.
I made a reservation on the first flight out of LaGuardia and then walked the streets of New York all night. I couldn’t sleep. I shaved my head, beard, and eyebrows. Only later did I learn of the Indian mourning custom of shaving the head and beard. I flew home and joined my family for the funeral. When I returned, Swamiji noticed that my head was shaved and my beard was gone. He gestured toward me. I told him that my father had passed away. He nodded. He understood.
Photo: Halloween Party at the new 13th Street building, 1970.
A New Home on West 13th Street
Our new IYI home at 227 West 13th Street had once housed artists’ studios. The entire north side of the building had glass skylights that had provided light for the artists. Built in 1940, it had a basement and six floors.
The basement eventually became the Integral Yoga Natural Foods store—the first fully vegetarian natural food store in Manhattan. The rest of the building became classrooms, a kitchen, a family room, offices, and rooms for residents. Swamiji stayed there when he was in the city. We also enjoyed the roof, where we had a spectacular view of the World Trade Center being built.
Classes continued at 500 West End Avenue, though most IYI activities shifted to West 13th Street. As Executive Secretary, I had the good fortune of signing the contract for the new building.
In general, all of us who resided and/or served there were compatible, and it was a fun place to live. For our first Halloween in the building, Swamiji joined us as we all dressed up in costumes and danced. He dressed as Santa because he would be in India for Christmas. Of course, curfew was still 10 p.m. so everyone could get up for 4 a.m. meditation! Kitchen duty rotated. Some yogis were better cooks than others. One resident was the baker, and he was excellent. It was wonderful to smell the fresh bread coming out of the industrial ovens. The bread was sold through the IYI’s natural food store.
A Wedding—and a Lesson in Mantra
My first wife, who was also an IYI member, and I were officially married at City Hall. We then asked Swamiji to marry us in a spiritual ceremony. Two other young Yoga couples were married at the same gathering at the 13th Street building, attended by family, friends, and Yoga students. It was all very festive. We shared South Indian food—upma, raita, and halva.
It was there that my mother met Swamiji for the first time. He was always gracious with family members, particularly parents. My mother lamented, “Guess I didn’t do such a good job with him.” Swamiji beamed and replied, “Oh, not at all! Otherwise, he wouldn’t be here now!” My mother and twin sister smiled. Swamiji enjoyed the festivities and even rode a bicycle around the gathering.
After the wedding, my new wife asked Swamiji whether we should use the same mantra. He thought that was a good idea for a married couple. First he asked her, “What is your mantra?” She recited it perfectly, with all the syllables and the correct pronunciation. Swamiji was pleased. Then he asked me. I fumbled around and told him what I thought it was. Swamiji frowned and said, “That’s not a mantra! You had better take hers.” I guess I blew that one!
Retreats at Annhurst
A few of us organized the first Annhurst Yoga retreat in 1970 at a private Catholic college in Connecticut. The grounds and facilities were beautiful and so well suited to the program that it seemed as though the place had been made for us. The retreat was so well received that several more followed. Later, the week-long retreats shifted to the new Connecticut ashram, Satchidananda Ashram–Yogaville in Pomfret.
The Annhurst retreats lasted eight days and included daily Hatha Yoga, meditation, fasting, silence, and cleansing practices. The one major problem was registration. We really botched that! For Annhurst II the following summer, Swamiji asked the Catholic Sisters to take over registration. That was a good idea. Some of the Sisters even joined the Hatha Yoga classes.
Word Out of Silence
At the end of the summer of 1972, my then-wife and I were invited to participate as the Yoga representatives at the “Word Out of Silence Symposium” at Mt. Saviour Monastery in Elmira, New York. It was an extraordinary opportunity to take part in an early interfaith symposium organized by the Center for Spiritual Studies, founded by Swamiji, Brother David Steindl-Rast, Rabbi Gelberman, and Shimano Roshi.
The gathering brought together a remarkable range of spiritual teachers and speakers, among them Alan Watts, Ram Dass, Sasaki Roshi, Swami Venkatesananda, Father Thomas Berry, Gesshin Roshi, Pir Vilayat Khan, Rabbi Carlebach, and Bishop Kallistos Ware.
It was a wonderful week, but it was also bittersweet. We knew it would be our final IYI function before leaving New York to begin a new life elsewhere.
Photo: Siva with Swami Satchidananda during a visit to Colorado, 1974.
Leaving New York
Following the symposium, we made the difficult decision to leave our first home as a married couple—the IYI urban ashram. We had been talking about having a family and felt that New York City was not the right place for us. After some research, we decided to move to Seattle for careers and family. We packed up, said goodbye to Swamiji, and committed ourselves to organizing future programs for him in Seattle. Then we loaded our station wagon with all our belongings and headed west.
I was leaving the IYI ashram, but I was not leaving behind what those years had given me. Swamiji visited us in the years that followed, and we helped organize programs for him. Decades later, I would help bring former residents of those early New York days together again for reunions. Many of us remained connected across the years.
Those four years in New York had changed the course of my life. One chapter was ending; another was just beginning.
Postscript
As this remembrance is being published, another chapter in the life of 227 West 13th Street has just come to a close. In September 2026, after more than half a century as the New York home of Integral Yoga, the building was sold as the IYI faced financial difficulties that made it impossible to continue as its owner.
There is poignancy in saying goodbye to a place that has held so much history—the classes, satsangs, celebrations, friendships, service, and spiritual practice of so many Integral Yoga students. Yet there is also something deeply reassuring in knowing that the building will continue to serve a spiritual purpose under the auspices of the organization founded by Mata Amritanandamayi, widely known as Amma. Her organization has also graciously made it possible for the IYI to remain on one floor of the building for up to a year while it seeks a new and suitable home. A new chapter begins in a place that has been dedicated to spiritual life for more than fifty years.
About the Author
Marcia & Siva Wick, poolside.
Barry “Siva” Wick became involved with the Integral Yoga Institute in New York in 1968, shortly after graduating from Columbia University. He lived in the early IYI ashram, taught Hatha Yoga, served as Executive Secretary during the IYI’s early years on West 13th Street, and participated in some of its pioneering outreach, retreat, and interfaith programs. After leaving New York in 1972, he remained connected with Integral Yoga over the years, helping organize programs for Swami Satchidananda and, later, reunions of early New York IYI residents. He and his wife, Marcia, live in Colorado, where he enjoys spending time with his two sons and four grandchildren. A longtime avid swimmer, swimming remains one of his favorite activities.
