Snake Yoga Is Terrifying and Transformative

Growing up in South Florida, a mere 30 minutes from the Everglades, the creatures that go bump in the night never really scared me, especially when it came to snakes. When I discovered snake yoga was offered an hour away from my current home in West Los Angeles, California, I was intrigued. I’ve been practicing yoga for four years and have enjoyed my fair share of vinyasas and sun salutations, but synthesizing my practice with snakes would take it to an entirely different level.

On a cloudy December day, I embarked on an hour-long trek on the 405 to LXR Yoga. Studio owner Tess Cao opened the door to a private entrance, and I was greeted by by macrame wall art and the tangy smell of incense.

Tess and her husband, Huy Cao, opened LXR studios in 2019, but it wasn’t until the pandemic that the idea of snake yoga was born. Some people picked up baking bread or running during isolation, but Tess decided to pick up a ball python. She bought her first snake, Howlite, and integrated it into her daily yoga practice.

In June 2024, the Caos launched snake yoga. Today, LXR offers two snake classes every week for $160 per class. As it is a private practice, only one to three people are allowed in the class.

I sat on a bench in the welcome area as Tess introduced me to one of her beloved pythons. She demonstrated how to correctly handle one: gently supporting it behind the head, ensuring to keep the belly down, and not touching the snake’s face or neck. I took a turn holding the snake in my arms while sitting on the bench and getting a feel for the support and weight of the animal before meeting the one I’d hold during practice.

Next, I selected a bowl from a row lined up on a table. Each contained a different crystal hidden beneath it that represented which snake I would be paired with. I picked the Larvikite crystal, which was the size of my thumbnail and had a silver-blue shimmer; it represents grounding, tranquility, and transformation.

After the meet-and-greet and selection process, I headed to the practice room. As I rolled out my mat, I took in my surroundings of the studio’s backdrop. There were python cages all stacked on top of each other that formed a wall of snakes. I settled into the jungle-like space, and it was time to begin.

Practice started like any other: cats and cows and deep inhales and exhales. But when it was time for the first Mountain Pose, Tess gently placed Larvikite into my palms. I looked in front of me at the four-foot long, six-pound, bone-white snake as it settled into my hands, grounding itself in the space between my thumb and index finger. It wrapped around both of my arms and slithered up to my chest before descending back down to my hips.

Fear bubbled up in my chest, and my diaphragmatic breathwork turned into nervous tension. From there, my classmates and I moved into Tree Pose, using our snakes as extensions of our branches.

At this point, I was sweating—my forehead was soaked, and I was breathing deeply with anxiety and apprehension. I’m used to practicing in a room heated to 112 degrees Fahrenheit, and this class was closer to 75 degrees. But adding a six-pound weight in the form of a snake mimicked my usual Yoga Sculpt classes. While meditating in a pose, my limbs began to shake from the weighted resistance.

Breathwork, the act of breathing in and out in conjunction with various poses and movements, is a key component of yoga practice. The added python made it difficult for me to breathe, causing me to break into a sweat. I found it hard to focus on my breath while I felt the spine of a snake crawling over my shoulders. Larvikite and I were only one-third of the way through the class and I already felt exhausted. But as I got used to the snake, it became easier to keep up my concentration.

After Tree Pose, I transitioned to a Warrior Pose. I have never felt more like a warrior than with my legs spread wide, in a fighting stance, with a serpent wrapped around my neck. At the precise peak of our Warrior Two, Tess recounted the ancient royals and pharaohs of 50 B.C. who would wear snakes as accessories to display their power and status. At this moment, Larvikite was no longer a focus in my practice but had become a part of it.

Next, came Camel Pose. While I placed my hands on my lower back, opening up my chest to the ceiling, Larvikite explored my posterior. I felt the push of her muscles contracting as she slithered down my spine, giving me a slight massage. Because pythons are cold-blooded and use their environment to regulate their temperature, Larkavite was attracted to my body heat. I felt her forked tongue flick out to take in her surroundings as she slithered from my back to between my arms.

The practice was closing and our cool-down to Supine started. I went to touch my toes and Larvikite stretched with me, both of us grounding ourselves from the practice. We went into a Runner’s Lunge, and I felt at peace focusing on the deep stretch while Larvikite wrapped around my neck. We then transitioned into our final Savasana, Larvikite gave a final slither across my body before Tess came to collect her. By the end of our practice, I missed having a friend attached to me by the hip, arm, or shoulder.

Since I’ve taken the class, I’ve successfully boasted about the experience to every person who will listen. Initially, I expected the practice to be just another trendy yoga class that substitute goats with snakes, but Larvikite helped me find new depths to my breathwork and concentration. I won’t be adopting a ball python anytime soon, but I’d practice yoga every week with a snake if I could. For now, though, I’ll keep working on my cobra pose.