If you feel torn by your attraction to the art of Bad Bunny—despite knowing that much of his artistic expression clashes with your deepest values—read this.
Just a few weeks ago, a Puerto Rican former priest posted on social media that Bad Bunny’s concert had been a spiritual experience. Spiritual? Perreo as communion? The claim jolted me. I laughed—then, uncharacteristically (I’m not the trolling type)—commented twice, full of judgment and rage. How could anyone call “spiritual” a show where the lyrics say “I like Puerto Rican’s p***y”? Where the cycle of hypersexualization of Latina women that belittles our intellect is repeated? Where heartbreak, ego, rage, and unbridled desire are glorified?
That visceral reaction felt familiar—like the disbelief I felt during the 2016 election, when many women still voted for Donald Trump after the release of the infamous Access Hollywood tape. In that video, he said, “When you’re a star, they let you do it. You can do anything… Grab them by the p***y.” The contradiction between that statement and the support he received from women left me stunned.
That feeling stirred something deep. Beyond my values as a yogi and spiritual teacher, I was deeply attracted and curious about the success of my compatriot Benito, and recognized a kindred fun “urban poetry” in his art, his presence, and his magnetism. That curiosity wouldn’t let go. Despite my resistance, I felt compelled to witness the final night of his residency.
As I watched the young women with drinks on their hands pushing their butts out and the men rubbing their crotches against them, I felt my heart center tighten. How can someone who sings “I’m the worst” have such a hypnotic effect on so many people? How can an artist who seems to complain about women in every verse, who normalizes heartbreak and promiscuity, become a symbol of connection for thousands?
Yes, some of that magnetism comes from the catchy, hypnotic beats that feed our shortened attention spans—but to understand the deeper pull, I turned to the eight-limb system of yoga.
In yoga, before we reach higher states of awareness—before we cultivate discernment, intuition, and energetic mastery—we must first confront the layers of conditioning, identity, and emotional entanglement that cloud our perception. The yamas and niyamas, the ethical and personal disciplines, are designed to purify the heart and clarify the mind. Without that foundation, we’re vulnerable to charisma without consciousness, magnetism without substance. It’s as if Benito bypassed the foundational limbs and landed directly in the siddhis. His art, his production, his presence on stage… everything vibrates with an intensity that cannot be denied. And that, even if it doesn’t come from a traditional spiritual practice, is yoga in action. It’s energetic resonance. It’s a human magnetic field.
His last concert in Puerto Rico was proof of that. “This show isn’t just mine, it’s yours, it’s ours, it’s everyone’s—it’s Puerto Rico’s,” Benito said. And I have no doubt he said it from the heart. With tears, with gratitude, with love. He sang “Preciosa” alongside Marc Anthony as if it were a national anthem. He knelt. He surrendered to his musicians, dancers, and fans. And in that moment, thousands felt what in yoga we call darshan: the transmission of spiritual energy through presence. A sacred vibration that can be felt at church, concerts, and anywhere people gather with openness, emotional resonance, and high spirit.
That moment led me inward. Just as he expresses in his songs, I too have felt disappointment and pain from men I’ve loved deeply but who weren’t right for me. Creative, charming, magnetic men… like Benito. And the truth is, we all carry the immensity of God’s eternal and unconditional love within us. We love many people throughout our lives—for different reasons, sometimes for no logical reason. But when that attraction isn’t aligned with our dharma, with our higher purpose, the universe—which is always seeking harmony—pushes us to let go. And sometimes, we do so in ways that seem cruel, contradictory, even out of character.
I’ve stood on both sides of heartbreak—hurt and hurting. And by the end of our lives, we'll all experience those polarities. Because the human experience is duality. Not because of a lack of love—love is infinite—but because of misalignment. And that impacts us in ways that force us to decide whether those lessons will break us or elevate us. Sometimes, as in Benito’s lyrics, those emotional scars are released through art. Complaints that, if repeated over and over, can become emotional mantras that reinforce pain, rage, and heartbreak.
This is the moment to pause—to examine what we’re consuming and why. Because we live in times of addiction—sexual addiction, drug addiction, consumption addiction, control addiction—instant gratification, and confusion between desire and connection. Repeating mantras that glorify hypersexualization, wounded ego, heartbreak, and unconscious desire has consequences. Not only does it perpetuate harmful stereotypes, but it also reinforces emotional patterns that keep us stuck.
And this brings us to something often overlooked: words are powerful, and what we listen to attentively, sing, repeat, what we dance to… shapes our energy.
In yoga, shabda—sound—is considered a subtle form of energy that shapes consciousness. Mantras are vibrational codes that purify, elevate, and align us with divine truth. What we repeat becomes what we embody.
This spiritual insight isn’t exclusive to yoga. The Bible echoes this reverence. “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.” (John 1:1) Words are portals. They create worlds. They bless or curse. They heal or wound. “Death and life are in the power of the tongue.” (Proverbs 18:21)
This understanding of sacred speech reminds me of a quote from Phillips Brooks I often return to: “Preaching is truth through personality.” The phrase emphasizes that effective preaching involves not just delivering accurate information but communicating truth through the unique character, experience, and being of the preacher. It highlights the importance of authenticity and a preacher's personal journey with Ultimate Divine Truth in connecting with an audience and making the truth relatable and impactful.
Art is truth through personality too.
Benito’s lyrics reveal an internal struggle with romantic love—a love shaped by unresolved emotional wounds and protective parts that seek connection through intensity rather than intimacy. This reflects the concept of “negative love”—a distorted imprint of love that's been internalized: that love is painful, conditional, or unsafe. Why does Benito want to fall in love but can't, because we unconsciously seek partners who mirror our unresolved wounds, hoping to resolve them through reenactment rather than transformation.
As a result, what emerges from his artistic processing is art from the wound, not from healing—and it reinforces the old paradigm of love as chaos, craving, and control, rather than love as conscious connection for spiritual evolution.
Which begs the question: why is this kind of wounded art so magnetic?
Because of the conviction of the artist—it arises from lived experience, not performance. That internal narrative resonates. It’s a protective part of the artist speaking from its emotional pain, and when that pain is familiar to the listener, it creates instant rapport.
Benito—like many artists—is processing his pain through his art.
Many people unconsciously carry narratives of love shaped by abandonment, betrayal, or emotional volatility. When an artist expresses those wounds through music, it doesn’t just entertain—it validates. Unresolved trauma often leads us to seek out emotional environments that feel familiar, even if they’re painful. The wounded narrative feels like home. So instead of challenging our emotional patterns, this kind of art reinforces them. It keeps us in terrain we know—where heartbreak is expected, connection is replaced by intensity, and love remains elusive. That familiarity is comforting, even when it hurts. And that’s why wounded art, when unexamined, can magnetize us more than healed art: because it speaks the language of our wounds.
Yet, if we keep feeding our psyche with that negative love, it keeps us stuck in the cycle of seeking connection through familiar wounds instead of choosing conscious healing love.
This is why, as a spiritual teacher ad designer of communications, I meditate and pray, to teach and communicate from my healing—not from my wound. We are living in times where the pursuit of instant gratification is eroding not only our capacity for genuine connection, but also the health of the only planet that sustains life. Which is why I believe anyone with a substantial following carries a sacred responsibility to do the same.
To communicate our version of truth, we must filter it through our unique character, experience, and being. Authenticity matters. Our personal journey with the Ultimate Truth is what makes our message resonate. But love is only lost in our minds when we’re unable to process and transform it. There are infinite versions of love. Like all of nature, some love lessons emerge for a reason, some for a season, and some are perennial. If we don’t learn the lessons or receive the gifts these loves bring—what we resist persists. In doing so, we miss the opportunity to transform separation—be it nationalism, otherism, or romantic loss—into the ultimate reality: non-duality. We fail to turn fruitless attempts to grow love into the experience to grow fruitful, perennial love.
Benito says he comes from a loving family. That’s what nurtured his success. Love & Support. He would've succeeded at anything he poured his heart into. That energetic support is the yoga of Bad Bunny’s success. I know this because at the end of his show, Benito said he was going to take that and the energy of his fan's support with him on tour and reminded the audience what he hoped they’d take away from the excitement of the production they had just experienced:
“As long as we are alive, we should love as much as we can. Value every second that life gives you… The past cannot be changed. We can only learn from it. Nobody knows what’s going to happen tomorrow. So don’t worry so much about what’s coming. Focus on the now. Seize the moment that God and life give you to make better decisions, to grow, to learn, to be a better person. But above all—to love. No matter what the situation is. No matter what your problem is. Of all the options, love is going to be the best one. Trust me.”
Still conflicted even after that, I started wondering if the attraction to Benito was tied to that colloquial expression that can be humorously rephrased as: “Women want a Good Bunny during the day and a Bad Bunny to enjoy the nights.” I'm sure that some of you may have gone straight to sex when you read that. But but a lot of women, me included, is more than that—someone to dance and have fun with, to express their femininity and sensuality safely with. Someone who can hold both tenderness and passion.
Now, I know some minds may have gone straight to sex reading that. But for many women—myself included—it’s about more than that. It’s about someone to have fun with, to dance with, to laugh with, to feel safe expressing our femininity and sensuality with. Someone who can hold both tenderness and passion. Someone who honors the full spectrum of who we are.
The questions lingered. So after the show, I took my conundrum to the meditation cushion. And that’s when more clarity came: it wasn’t Benito who triggered me—it was the memory of the Benitos I’ve loved deeply. The ones who made me vibrate, but didn’t help me bloom. And I laughed. Of course I’d feel conflicted watching thousands worship a man who reminds me of my exes.
But when we see art for what it truly is—internal processing—we can begin to extract the medicine from it. The medicine of Benito’s art—like all successful art—is the energy transmitted by the artist’s courage to feel deeply, express fully, and make a living doing what they love and deeply enjoy. And that, in times of emotional disconnection, if we recognize it for what it is and don’t internalize it as a justification for bad behavior, I have to admit… it’s a spiritual act.
As one of my spiritual teachers, inspired in what she learned from A Course in Miracles, says:
“The way of the miracle-worker is to see all human behavior as one of two things: either love, or a call for love.”
The highest lesson, then, is this: to listen deeply and show up for each other with the same unconditional acceptance we offer our favorite artists. That’s the highest expression of the practice of the first two limbs of yoga. That’s the spiritual revolution Bob Marley sang about—one love.
