~~Welcome to Narayan Beauty ~ Where Beauty is Wild & the Medicine is Sacred ~ For the Awakened & Aware Women~♡~Please get yourself on the THE LIST for weekly discount and musings from Narayan ~~
~♡~sacred heart sessions are back.~☆~30% OFF PINON PINE MEDICINALS ~☆~20% off wild beauty~☆~ GIFT WITH PURCHASES OVER $150.00 2 OZ HELICHRYSUM GOLD HYDROSOUL
When I learned and faced the darkness, I left. When I tried to warn others and was labeled loud and difficult, I left. I left because staying meant I was supporting it — supporting the perpetrators. When I learned up close and personal who was running the magazines, fashion and beauty industry, and that I was just a little cog putting nail polish on celebrities in the Hollywood beauty-fashion industrial complex — built on lies and manipulation and the destruction of the sacredness within each woman — I left.
When I learned the spiritual community I had aligned myself with was guilty of sexual abuse, fraud, and trafficking — groups of women abusing women and children — I left.
When I thought I was about to financially set my life up with a deal through a major shopping network — after scrubbing feet for thirty years, I thought I had finally found my retirement fund — I saw that what they wanted, and the decisions being made, were not based on my needs at all. My creativity, my name, my association with celebrity — all of it was there only to serve their numbers. And so I left.
Let's get honest about who was actually running those magazines — and now social media — who was sitting in those editor's chairs, who was deciding which women's bodies were acceptable, which faces got platformed, which products got to define beauty for an entire generation. It was largely women. Women from elite families, daughters of wealthy businessmen who needed something to occupy their time until the right husband came along. The first fashion magazines were quite literally founded as finishing projects for privileged girls, something tasteful to tend between debutante balls and marriage proposals. That system never crumbled. It just got a masthead and a mission statement.
And then Hollywood came to the table. When fashion, beauty, and Hollywood locked arms they built something that had never existed before — a total environment. A closed loop. The magazine told you which actress to worship. The actress wore the designer. The designer bought the ad. The ad told you who to be. Hollywood decided who was a star and the magazines canonized them and the beauty industry sold you the products to close the gap between you and them — a gap they were carefully engineering wider every season. They told you who to put on a pedestal, who to dress like, who to want to be.
And then they sold you the cure. Except the cure didn't go to the most effective product, the most sacred ingredient, the most honest formulation. The cure went to the highest bidder. Shelf space was purchased. Editorial features were bought. The products that got platformed were not the ones that worked — they were the ones backed by the most money, the most industry relationships, the most willingness to play the game. And when the natural wasn't profitable enough, they went further. They convinced women that the very face they were born with was a problem requiring a medical solution. Botox. Fillers. Procedures that paralyzed, inflated, and restructured — sold as self care, sold as empowerment, sold by the same machine that had spent decades telling you that you weren't enough to begin with. Women injected neurotoxins into their faces and called it confidence. They didn't tell you what it was doing to your nervous system, your lymphatic system, your capacity to express emotion. That information was not profitable. Your fear was.
And Big Pharma was watching. They saw exactly how it worked — engineer the wound, sell the cure, never let the patient heal. They had been running that playbook in medicine for decades, but the beauty and wellness industry handed them something even more valuable: a direct line into healthy women who didn't yet think of themselves as patients. So they moved in. The same magazines that sold you moisturizer started selling you the idea that your hormones were broken, your anxiety was a chemical imbalance, your natural aging was a disease requiring management. The ads changed but the architecture didn't. Fashion told you how to look. Pharma told you how to feel. And both of them made sure you kept coming back — because a woman who knows her own body, who trusts her own rhythms, who can find her way back to herself without a prescription or a procedure — that woman is worth nothing to either industry. A woman in her sovereignty doesn't need what they're selling.
And the women running those rooms — the editors, the stylists, the publicists, the executives — they kept the machine fed and gleaming. They didn't dismantle it. They dressed it up, called it empowering, and kept the machinery of female diminishment running with a smile and a better aesthetic. They sold women the cure for the wound they were simultaneously inflicting. That is not sisterhood. That is not the feminine. That is the patriarchy in a better outfit.
Before I left the spiritual community, I tried to warn them. There is a fox in the hen house. And then the hens defended the fox. They looked me in the face and told me this was not to be spoken of, and then they shunned me. You see who people are in these moments. I learned how truth was not as valued for them as it is for me. And when the abuse did become more public, what surprised me most were those who grew even more vengeful toward me in their defense of the abusers.
And I want to be clear — the abusers were not only men. Some of the most vicious defenders of these systems, the most aggressive silencers of truth, were women. Women who had been given a taste of power within these structures and chose to protect that power over protecting each other. This is how the patriarchy does its most effective work — not always through men, but through women who have been so conditioned to serve the structure that they turn on their own. We are so quick to point at men, and yes, men built these systems and men have abused their positions within them. But the women who covered for them, who shamed the ones who spoke up, who chose their guru's reputation over a sister's safety — they are not innocent. They are the inner architecture of the very oppression they claim to be healing. The feminine is not destroyed from the outside alone. It is destroyed from within, when women abandon each other at the altar of belonging.
I know the darkness. I have faced it up close and personal. I have dove deep into my own. I don't fear the dark the way many do — but one cannot truly know the light without the dark. And while this has been said across eons, it still holds true today.
I started this small business in my Hollywood apartment after so much had fallen apart, and after I had seen clearly that so many of the systems in place were never going to serve me or the people I wanted to reach.
When I left Los Angeles altogether and moved to Ojai, I was very guided to go it as a solopreneur. No investors. No partners. Do not align yourself with any spiritual groups. Do not work for any wellness centers. I left LA with no money, no support of any kind — but Great Spirit. I lived in a 10x10 "cabin" with an outdoor kitchen I built and a hike to the washroom for the first year in Ojai. It was glorious and exactly what I needed — because I had learned enough in those previous environments to know that my sovereignty was the first priority.
There have been moments I wanted to start a truther channel — since the inception of YouTube, in fact. But each time I thought long and hard and brought it to my heart, the answer always came back the same: you are not the wrecking crew, you are the building crew.
And so that is what I have done. Quietly, stubbornly, with dirt under my fingernails, through struggles that would bring many to their knees, and tears I don't always understand. I have built.
I love beauty — deeply, almost painfully. It is not a preference for me, it is a calling. It is why I named my business Narayan Beauty. Being a Taurus, beauty is not decoration — it is devotion. When beauty moves through me, something cracks open. My chest fills. My eyes spill. There is a grief in beauty that I have never been able to explain, only feel — a grief that says this matters, this is real, don't let this go. A morning walk through my garden brings me to tears.
It's been almost twenty years since I left Hollywood. I have been weathered and wary — not afraid of the darkness, in fact I laugh in the face of it — yet wise enough now to know where not to align. And so I continue. On my little plot of land with my apothecary and a true cottage home , with my plants and my hands and my heart. Cords cut from systems that were never built for me, never built for the people I love. Building something slower, something rooted, something that will still be standing when the noise dies down.
This is what I chose instead of the wreckage. This is what I keep choosing — creating the new earth.
While people call for Chopra to make a statement of accountability — which I find rather humorous, that people actually think he cares — I turn that call back to you: how could you not see? And when you did, why did you stay? Where is your accountability for not knowing who you were attaching yourself to? I am watching people jockey for his space already, and yet those same people are as dark as him. They supported him. They supported decisions and figures that led us here, riding coattails — coattails that lead nowhere.
And let's talk about how those coattails got made. When the New York Times bestseller list has been documented as pay to play — when PR firms and bulk purchase schemes determined who became your spiritual authority — you have to ask yourself: who had that kind of money? Who had those industry connections? Look at the names who dominated that list for decades. Chopra. Williamson. Bernstein. Tolle. Browne. Virtue. And so many more. The same names. The same machine. The list wasn't a reflection of truth or transformation — it was a reflection of who could afford the platform. And that platform told you who to trust. Who to follow. Who to hand your inner life to.
I knew this before I had the language for it. I remember the moment clearly. I had gathered up stacks of books — fifty of them, magazine-sized, half an inch thick, lectures from a teacher whose every word I wanted to absorb. I arranged them all around me on my bed in my Hollywood apartment, that warm afternoon light coming through the window, completely focused, completely sincere. I did this because when I read a teacher I can feel into their deep intent — I can sense what is actually underneath the words. And so there I was, surrounded, searching.
And then it happened.
An energy entered the room and pushed me back against the bed. Pinned me. I could not move. My eyes closed and my third eye opened like a camera lens, and then pages and pages of ancient writings began moving past it — fast, so fast — for what felt like a minute but existed outside of time. And then a voice. So loud I thought all of Hollywood heard it. Put them down. You will never read another spiritual book again. I lay still for a few minutes after it released me. And then I got up, closed every book, gathered the entire stack, and brought them straight back to the yoga studio. That was twenty-five years ago. I haven't read one since.
Because here is what I know: if a set of teachings, no matter how ancient, no matter whose name it carries, a teacher, a healer, a guide, is not bringing you back to your own heart, if it is awash with narratives that are indirect and steeped in magical thinking, that leave you wandering in the emptiness of nothing, this is not a coattail to ride. This is not a path to follow.
When I went through my own kundalini awakening of the heart, when I was shown how to enter the most sacred space within my own body, everything changed. That is what I have spent more than twenty years tending. That is what I bring to you now, not spectacle and performance, not celebrity, not someone else's borrowed light.
The direct path to your own heart and soul.
There is something I have come to know deeply in these twenty years that I want to leave you with. The most radical act available to us right now is not protest. It is not exposure. It is not the wrecking crew — though the wrecking crew has its place. It is the deliberate, conscious withdrawal of your energy from every system, every teacher, every product, every platform that does not serve your sovereignty and your healing. These systems are not self sustaining. They are powered by your attention, your fear, your money, your compliance, your unhealed wounds. Every time you pull that energy back, back into your own body, your own land, your own knowing, your own heart, you are not just healing yourself. You are withdrawing the fuel. And a machine without fuel does not need to be destroyed. It simply stops. This is how we change the world. Not all at once and not with noise. One woman reclaiming her sovereignty. One garden planted. One cord cut. One heart found. Multiplied across thousands, across millions, and the old world has nothing left to run on. Build the new earth. That is the only revolution that has ever truly worked.
