Embodied Ecology: How Yogic Wisdom Can Heal the Earth – An Interview with Christopher Key Chapple

What happens when deep spiritual study intersects with a commitment to environmental consciousness?

For Christopher Key Chapple, it has led to a life dedicated to uniting yoga, philosophy, and ecological wisdom. Raised in a household where intellectual and spiritual exploration thrived, Christopher’s journey began with early exposure to Eastern spiritual texts, followed by profound studies in Sanskrit and Tibetan. After a deep immersion in yoga and its teachings, including an influential meeting with his guru, he established a profound connection between the practice of yoga and the interconnectedness of all life. Today, Christopher is a prominent figure at Loyola Marymount University, where he shares his expertise in yoga studies and guides students on their own spiritual journeys.

In this conversation, Christopher explores how the study of yoga philosophy can enhance both personal and collective well-being. Through his work, he highlights the deep connections between yoga, ecology, and environmentalism, offering insights into how ancient wisdom can be applied to modern-day challenges. From the teachings of the Yamas and Niyamas to the profound implications of ecological consciousness, Christopher’s perspective encourages us to honor the Earth as part of our spiritual practice. Continue reading or listen in by subscribing for free on Spotify, Apple Podcasts, Amazon Music, or YouTube to discover how Christopher’s path can inspire you to integrate spiritual and ecological practices into your life.

Can you share the story of your spiritual awakening or journey into consciousness? Did you grow up in a home that had faith or spirituality in it, or was that something that came into your life later on?

Christopher Key Chapple: My journey into consciousness really began in childhood, though not in the conventional sense of religious upbringing. It started with a simple, vivid moment—I was seven years old, standing in the kitchen of our rural farmhouse in the Great Lakes region of New York. I looked at a cracked patch of paint behind the radiator and thought, I will never forget this. But it wasn’t about the paint. It was the awareness itself—that raw presence—that I knew I’d carry with me.

That same year, I began to dream in ways that nudged me toward self-reflection. One dream in particular stood out: I was teething, and in the dream, I became aware of the body as something I would have to inhabit and care for. That was a big realization for a seven-year-old, but it marked the beginning of a lifetime of contemplation.

We lived in a very rural area. My father, as a young forestry student at the University of Toronto in the 1920s, had been invited to learn from the Ojibwe people. From them, he absorbed what he called “body wisdom”—how to move silently, observe deeply, and tune into the rhythms of the land and its creatures. He passed that knowing on to us—not through words, but through presence.

My mother, on the other hand, brought a different kind of awareness. In the 1930s, she was part of the JB Rhine Institute at Duke University, where she participated in research on clairvoyance and telepathy. She had been recruited from the University of Buffalo for her unique perceptual gifts. I grew up hearing stories of those experiments—how she could send and receive sequences of patterns beyond the conscious mind. It was an unusual environment to be raised in, but one that naturally opened my curiosity to subtler dimensions of life.

Books were another early guide. At thirteen, I read The Three Pillars of Zen by Philip Kapleau, which introduced me to Zen breath-counting meditation. That practice became a stabilizing force during my teenage years. At fifteen, a friend brought me to a Quaker meeting in Rochester, New York. The silence there spoke volumes, and it was in that sacred quiet that I discovered my first real scholarly inspiration—a pamphlet on the mysticism of William Blake. That opened the door to deep studies of Blake and George Fox, the Quaker founder.

At sixteen, I was awarded a scholarship through Gannett newspapers to attend the National High School Summer Institute at Northwestern University. That summer, I encountered Carl Jung’s introduction to The Tibetan Book of the Dead, and the Evans-Wentz translation. Those texts expanded my perspective on Buddhism and consciousness. I also discovered Be Here Now by Ram Dass, Everything and the Nothing by Meher Baba, and his three-volume Discourses, which explored yoga, Sufi, and devotional philosophies. These readings stirred something deep within me.

That same year, I began having a series of dreams—profound, symbolic, and, as it turned out, prophetic. In one dream, I was walking along Genesee Street near the river in the Finger Lakes region, and Meher Baba appeared. He led me into a house and then vanished. Inside, everything felt both familiar and transformed. I sat at an oak table in a well-crafted chair with an inlaid Dutch windmill tile. Books lined the shelves: The Book of the Hopi, Waters of Life, and others on indigenous wisdom.

There was a woman in the dream, dressed in white, speaking about meditation and yogic philosophy. I wrote the dream down, as I always did, and left it as a mystery. Then, in my first semester of college, I began studying Sanskrit and took a philosophy class at 8 a.m. There, I met a student named Carol Zeiler, who often spoke of her yoga teacher. That Thanksgiving, I traveled over 400 miles from Buffalo to Long Island—and there she was. The woman from my dream.

I transferred universities and began an intensive 12-year journey with Gurani Anjali. Together with the community, we established a yoga ashram, a restaurant that ran for 25 years, a store, an education center, and an art gallery. It was a holistic spiritual life, lived in community and devotion.

At the same time, I pursued my academic path. I continued my studies in Sanskrit and Tibetan at Stony Brook University, then earned my MA and PhD at Fordham University in Sanskrit literature and world religions. After completing my first book and returning briefly to teach at Stony Brook, I accepted a position at Loyola Marymount University in Los Angeles—where I’ve remained ever since.

Many people in the United States enjoy yoga through local studios or casual classes—but your experience carries a deeply academic and embodied awareness. How do you navigate that contrast, especially when someone says, “Oh, I love yoga”?

Christopher Key Chapple: I appreciate that question because yoga has such a rich and layered history—both as a philosophy and a way of life. When people casually say, “I love yoga,” I try to meet that enthusiasm with context. I often begin by sharing the historical roots of yoga in the West. The first seeds were planted by the American Transcendentalists—figures like Henry David Thoreau and Ralph Waldo Emerson—who were reading newly translated texts like the Bhagavad Gita and the Upanishads in the 1850s.

They were also engaging with early translations of Confucius and Lao Tzu. That literary and spiritual circle in Concord, Massachusetts, gave rise to a broader cultural movement. Even Little Women, one of my favorite childhood books, emerged from that milieu. Their writings eventually influenced William James, a foundational figure in American psychology and pragmatism. James quoted Swami Vivekananda, who first came to the U.S. for the 1893 Parliament of the World’s Religions. I’m quite certain he must have heard Vivekananda speak.

Soon after, other spiritual teachers arrived—most notably Paramahansa Yogananda. He began in Boston and later moved to Los Angeles, where he established the Self-Realization Fellowship and authored Autobiography of a Yogi. Yogananda had studied the Bible deeply and wove Christian metaphors into his teachings in a way that was accessible to a Protestant-leaning American audience. In doing so, he continued the bridge-building work that Swami Vivekananda had begun.

This first wave of yoga in the West was remarkably rich, yet it came to a pause with the Asian Exclusion Act, which severely limited Indian immigration to the United States. Despite that, Yogananda and others laid lasting foundations.

In the 1930s, another profound connection took shape when Howard Thurman, a leading African American theologian and mystic, traveled to India and met with Gandhi. During their conversations, Gandhi challenged Thurman, asking, Why do you follow the religion of your oppressors? It was a piercing question. Gandhi wondered why Black Americans hadn’t turned to Islam or another path. That question stayed with Thurman, who began to reexamine the teachings of Jesus—not as a figure of empire, but as one of the disinherited.

Thurman later wrote Jesus and the Disinherited, a book that became foundational for leaders like Martin Luther King Jr. and James Lawson. Its influence helped spark a Gandhian approach to nonviolence in the American civil rights movement. And interestingly, all of it circled back to Thoreau’s essay Civil Disobedience, which had inspired Gandhi in the first place.

By 1965, immigration laws changed, and new waves of people from Asia and Africa arrived in the U.S. The doors reopened. My own teacher arrived during this time, along with many others—Swami Vishnudevananda (Saraswati), Swami Rama, Amrit Desai, and Yogi Bhajan among them. Interestingly, nearly all were men—except for my guru.

This second wave of yoga, which I was part of, carried forward the spirit of the first. Most yoga centers then were meditation and cultural centers, often structured as nonprofits focused on education and spiritual growth. That framework shaped my own approach and inspired me, along with others, to bring yoga into academic settings as well.

Then came the third wave, beginning in the 1990s. My good friend, Dr. Larry Payne, was pivotal in this shift. He encouraged people to structure their studios not as nonprofits, but as LLCs. This gave rise to the modern yoga studio model we know today.

This era was largely shaped by the disciples of T. Krishnamacharya, a towering figure in modern yoga. He transmitted three major lineages: Pattabhi Jois Ashtanga in Mysore, B.K.S. Iyengar’s method in Pune, and the more therapeutic and individualized approach taught by his son, T.K.V. Desikachar, in Chennai. These approaches gave rise to a more physical and studio-based style of yoga, which appealed to Western audiences—though it didn’t exclude the philosophical or spiritual roots.

In the 1990s, as this wave gained momentum, I began hosting small study groups at my home. Many of the people coming through—founders of YogaWorks and other prominent teachers—were beginning to feel that pull toward deeper understanding. They wanted the wisdom behind the physical practice.

Eventually, our study group grew into something more formal, and in 2001, we launched a yoga philosophy certificate course. It was born out of that hunger for depth—for the philosophy, history, and sacred roots of yoga that go far beyond the mat.

Tell us more about the program you’ve developed at Loyola Marymount University. You mentioned a certificate in yoga philosophy and also a master’s degree. Who is this for, and what does the program entail?

Christopher Key Chapple: We began offering the Yoga Philosophy Certificate in 2001. It’s designed for people from all walks of life—yoga practitioners, educators, healers—really anyone with a sincere interest in deepening their understanding. The certificate is part of the university’s continuing education program and is open to both in-person and online learners.

The curriculum is immersive. It includes 20 hours of study on the Yoga Sutra, 20 hours of Sanskrit, and 10 hours each on the Bhagavad Gita, the Sankhya Karika, and the Upanishads. Students also choose five elective courses, 10 hours each, based on their interests. Altogether, it’s a 120-hour program—rigorous, but deeply rewarding.

We also just completed a 40-hour sequence on Yoga Sādhana, focusing on the ethical and spiritual foundations of yoga. We explored the Yamas—non-violence, truthfulness, non-stealing, celibacy, non-possessiveness—and the Niyamas, which include purity, contentment, discipline, self-study, and devotion. We also studied elemental meditations, which I’ve written about in my book Living Landscapes: Meditations on the Five Elements in Hindu-Buddhist and Jain Yogas.

Another 10-hour module covered meditation, visualization, and mantra recitation, including the Gayatri Mantra and Devi Mantras. These experiential practices are essential to grounding philosophy in the lived body and spirit.

It sounds incredibly comprehensive—almost like a full degree in itself!

Christopher Key Chapple: It truly is a gateway into deeper academic study. Around that same time, I met Dr. Larry Payne while he was guest lecturing at UCLA Medical Center. He introduced the idea of launching a yoga therapy certificate. This was just as the International Association of Yoga Therapists was taking shape. We created a comprehensive program, and within a decade, more than a thousand students had earned certifications in yoga therapy, yoga philosophy, and a third certificate we developed—yoga and ecology.

The university took notice. They asked about the people going through these programs, and I told them: they’re exceptional. That led to the creation of the Master of Arts in Yoga Studies in 2013. Since then, we’ve graduated over a hundred yoga masters.

What kinds of paths have your graduates gone on to pursue?

Christopher Key Chapple: A wide range. Some have continued on to PhD programs. Others have secured tenure-track teaching positions in community colleges, bringing yoga into academic spaces. Many have integrated yoga into their existing work—whether in counseling, activism, or spiritual leadership. One of our graduates, Gayatri Segal, came to the program as a passionate animal rights activist. Today, she works as an emotional support counselor for other activists, helping them sustain their work through yogic tools and inner resilience.

Some have become spiritual teachers in ways that are grounded and deeply authentic. It’s inspiring to witness the diversity of paths that emerge from the same roots.

I was really intrigued by the yoga and ecology focus. Is that a separate track or woven into the larger program?

Christopher Key Chapple: Both. It’s a certificate in itself, but it’s also woven throughout the master’s curriculum. We emphasize attunement to the human-Earth relationship, which has always been an essential thread in yogic tradition. Even in the earliest Vedic texts, there’s a recognition that the elements—earth, water, fire, air, and space—are intimately connected to the human experience.

Cultivating this relationship leads to a deep appreciation of nature’s rhythms. Spring, summer, even the stillness of winter—each season offers something to love, to honor, and to protect. When yoga is lived with that awareness, it naturally brings about a lifestyle of environmental stewardship and gratitude.

And your book Living Landscapes explores this in depth, right?

Christopher Key Chapple: It does. And I also have another book coming out this May with Simon & Schuster titled Embodied Ecology: Yoga and Environmentalism. This work has been evolving over more than 50 years. I’ve traveled extensively through India with these questions in mind and have interviewed thought leaders like Vandana Shiva, the renowned food sovereignty activist, and M.C. Mehta, a pivotal environmental lawyer in India.

Mehta helped protect the Taj Mahal from pollution and led efforts to replace kerosene-fueled tuk-tuks in urban centers with cleaner compressed natural gas. These conversations and experiences have shaped my understanding of how yoga can serve as a foundation for ecological consciousness—not just as a personal practice, but as a worldview.

You’ve spoken about the deep connection between yoga and ecology—but when you visit India, there can be a noticeable disconnect in day-to-day infrastructure, especially around waste management. How do you reconcile that contrast?

Christopher Key Chapple: That’s such an important question, and one I’ve wrestled with for decades. Gandhi himself commented on India’s poor waste practices—even back when trash was mostly biodegradable. You can visit the Gandhi Museum in Delhi and find his reflections on this. And that was long before the arrival of plastics or industrial packaging.

The truth is, when plastics and packaging entered Indian society, there wasn’t an infrastructure in place to handle them. The traditional mindset had been to toss waste over a wall—literally. There was an unspoken assumption that someone else would take care of it, often rooted in caste-based divisions of labor.

The Indian government has made significant efforts in recent years, especially with the Swachh Bharat campaign, which encourages citizens to take responsibility for civic cleanliness. It’s a major shift in cultural mindset, and while change takes time, the progress is real.

I’ve been traveling to India since 1981, and while newcomers often comment on the visible trash, I can assure you—it’s vastly improved from what it was. Back then, there were no systems in place. Today, at least awareness is growing, and people are beginning to take action.

I remember walking through town with new Indian friends, and after finishing a snack, they just dropped the wrapper on the ground. I was stunned. In the U.S., that kind of littering feels like a moral offense.

Christopher Key Chapple: I completely understand. But if you rewind just a few decades in the U.S., it wasn’t so different. I’m a baby boomer, and I remember sitting in the back seat of a car—no seat belts, windows down—and as soon as you finished your popsicle, the wrapper and stick went right out the window. That was normal.

It wasn’t until the early 1960s, when Lady Bird Johnson launched her anti-littering campaign, that awareness began to shift. Then came the formation of the Environmental Protection Agency under President Nixon, followed by the Clean Air Act and the Clean Water Act. That’s when we began to realize that burning trash wasn’t a solution, and we needed proper waste management systems.

So when I first landed in India in the early 1980s, the lack of infrastructure didn’t surprise me. It reminded me of the U.S. just twenty years earlier. Of course, India now faces unique challenges—particularly with air pollution related to agricultural practices—but the path toward change is unfolding. It will take sustained political will, cultural participation, and education.

Let’s wrap with this—where can people find more about the program and follow your work?

Christopher Key Chapple: We’re very easy to find. Our department has an Instagram presence and a detailed website. We’re always offering new continuing education courses, and we encourage people to dip their toes in. The certificate programs are a wonderful entry point, and for those feeling called to go deeper, everything about the Master of Arts in Yoga Studies—including how to apply, the curriculum, and our faculty—is available online.