Style: Personal Sequence
Teacher: Self
Studio: Home Practice

I'm exhausted. Sometimes it's crucial to take some time to care for yourself. After a robotic Monday I'm back home, carving myself a nook in time. Historically it's been impossible for me to do yoga at home, but in the last weeks of the ninety days I experimented with designing my own sequences and practicing them in my own space. The results are always the same - I feel amazing. It's getting started that poses a threat. In a world of distraction it's surprisingly difficult to stop the gears from rotating for an hour and a half, to take some time to zone in. To get over that initial procrastination, there are a few techniques I've experimented with. Most importantly, it's ideal to customize the space you're in. Candles, plants, statues; all these things set the tone and create an atmosphere conducive to practice. The space around me can stop life as I know it and transport me off-planet, somewhere desolate and undiscovered. It becomes my own personal playground between dimensions. Once the stage is set, practicing is second nature. Suddenly I'm able to disband my thought processes and lose all sense of direction. Eventually I'm building an internal heat, breathing deeply and orbiting through a micro-cosmic precession of the equinoxes. Tonight, alone on my planet, I'm engaged in a battle of the handstands. Using a wall to stabilize my escapades, I'm upside down all over again. This time the fear has genuinely subsided. Chipping away slowly but diligently day after day, the progress becomes easily measurable. My arms are learning how to become the new foundation, my feet are becoming accustomed to life as the skyscraper. Tonight I'm ecstatic, grinding away at an array of handstands until I've used every last ounce of energy. Curling into child's pose and grappling for control of my breathing, I suddenly have a vision of being submerged deep underwater. I see myself drawing a bath, adding Epsom salts and fresh lavender into the hot water. I see myself closing my eyes, being overtaken by the herbal aromatherapy and drifting into an oblivion of relaxation. Deciding that my imagination had come up with the perfect recipe for meditation, I roll my mat back up and spend the rest of my evening reenacting the prophetic dream as accurately as possible.

Style: Personal Sequence
Teacher: Self
Studio: Home Practice

I'm at a loss for words. I'm blatantly suffering from writer's block. I'm tongue-tied. It's been ninety days.

Here I am. Moments after rolling up my mat and placing it back in its bag, my laptop is open and my fingertips are hovering reluctantly over the keys. I'm paralyzed. I have no words. I figured by now I would have a quotable life lesson I could end things with, maybe some words of wisdom that could heal the world. At least some sort of concluding sentiment, some last thoughts to wrap up the trip. I got nothing.

Just like last time, the experience is wholly anticlimactic. Today is no different then any other day. No light from the heavens shone down to bless me with a medal of honour, no rounds of applause can be heard. It's really the simplicity of the moment that is making the most impact. The changes have all taken place under the surface, far below ground level. Deep down I'm experiencing a transformation, a subtle metamorphosis. I can't quite figure out what's going on to tell you the truth. I can't seem to put my finger on it, to narrow it down. I'm not exactly sure. It's a nameless, formless, shape-shifting entity, a mysterious creature that transcends my ability to compose a sentence around it. Tonight I'm not going to put too much thought into it all. I'll do my best to put down my scalpel and stethoscope for the evening, maybe take off my lab coat. I want to keep it simple. For now, I want to let things marinate. I want to calmly digest the experience with no input from my mind. I think tonight I'll just let it be.

Style: Personal Sequence
Teacher: Self
Studio: Home Practice

Naked Yoga? Yes, it exists. Apparently what began as an "underground sensation" has recently gained much more popularity, with Hot Nude Yoga studios popping up all over the United States and Europe. When I ended up on the final day of my last challenge, the hundred-and-first afternoon, I knew none of this.

I was on my way to a Bikram class at Rama Lotus. Arriving for a session at 7:30 pm I realized that it was Friday night, forgetting that places tend to close a little earlier. I was late and the last class of the night had already begun. In other words, I was out of luck. Walking back outside into the late-December breeze, one day away from finishing 101 in a row, there wasn't a class in the city. So, I went home. At this point I had only practiced yoga once or twice at home and it was a complete struggle. For whatever reason, unrolling my mat alone was a near physical impossibility, but that night I had no choice. Getting home to an empty house, unlocking the door and turning on the lights, the experience was more anticlimactic then I had visualized. Here I was at the end of a personal challenge, alone. There was no celebration as I passed the finish line, no champagne corks flying through the air, no interviews from the frenzied media wondering how I felt. Just a regular Friday night in a silent house.

Unrolling my mat across the floor and feeling the reflection in the moment, I could sense the distance traveled. I remember taking some time to let my mind drift back across the weeks that had led me to this point. I had been through a lot. I had moved through different ups and downs, through personal highs and lows, through varying degrees of introspection. I had felt an array of different emotion, had come to so many realizations. It all led here, to a humble evening alone. Setting up my laptop to lead me through a subdued Yin sequence, I dimmed the lights and took off my clothes. Reaching for my yoga gear, suddenly a thought occurred to me. No one is home. It's just me and the endless expanse of the Universe. Maybe I'm actually the only one on the planet. What's the point in wearing any clothes?

So that's how the last challenge ended. In the spirit of keeping it honest and transparent, I did my last yoga practice absolutely and completely naked. Everything about the experience was surreal, nearly out-of-body. Although I was at the end of a long process, moving through the different poses alone, naked in the dark, the experience was more of a re-birth. Interestingly enough, after a few short minutes I forgot all about my lack of attire. I was clothed in darkness, in whispers and candlelight, in the silence of the night. I was dressed in the layers of my own biology and physiology. It felt more normal and natural then anything. As I lay onto my back, shifting into final relaxation, I felt the world spin on its axis and I felt like I was part of the process. Soon I had drifted off to sleep, dissolving out of my known world into something else. I didn't know it at the time, but my journey had only just begun.

Style: Personal Sequence
Teacher: Self
Studio: Home Practice

It hasn't hit me yet. Flying across the planet to study yoga on a tropical jungle island? I've done a bit of jet-setting here and there, but nothing that compares to this. It still doesn't feel real.

Who will I meet there? What will it be like? Questions like these flow through my minds eye as I work through a self-styled yoga sequence at home. My imagination turns Van Gogh, painting vivid images of beaches, blue skies and palm trees. I see temples and statues and smoothies. Coming out of a few spinal twists, I am equal parts "what have I gotten myself into?" and "let's do this, when does my flight leave?", a chemistry of nervous and excited energy doing the Samba through my consciousness. Practicing yoga non-stop for three months, I haven't had a chance to look up and look around. Suddenly I'm here, a world away from where I was when I started. Everything happened in a blur and I feel dizzy, discombobulated. Once again time evaporated into thin air, a suspended condensation above my life experience, just slightly out of reach. In one day I've single handedly managed to extend my challenge by a month and solidify a second intensive month of training around the world in a jungle. Things just got a lot bigger.

Style: Personal Sequence
Teacher: Self
Studio: Home Practice

I'm a liar. I'm a fraud. I'm a fake. I've been misleading you all. It's all a sham. I didn't actually do ninety days the first time around. Okay maybe I'm exaggerating a bit. Allow me to explain.

When I started my original ninety day yoga challenge back in September of 2009, I had only ever done yoga a few times. It wasn't initially a ninety day challenge. It was supposed to be a thirty day challenge. My mom is an avid yogini, and it was her idea. She challenged me. She said I couldn't, I said I could. For me it was a great excuse to exercise, but at the time, thirty days straight practicing yoga seemed like an insurmountable task. As that first month progressed however, something started to shift. I began to realize that there is something special about yoga, something mysterious that I was only beginning to scratch the surface of. I decided that thirty days wasn't enough. My mentality at the time was, each yoga practice is an hour and a half, which is ninety minutes. If I did ninety classes in a row, it would be like each class represented one minute and in effect I would be doing one massive, intergalactic yoga class. Also, the first class of the original challenge auspiciously landed on September ninth, or 09/09/09. There was just too much numerology indicating that I had to triple my thirty day challenge. It was as if life itself was gesturing me to continue. So my mother and I each extended our challenges to ninety days. When we got to the eighty-ninth class, she told me she was going for a hundred. At this point I was a complete yoga-junkie and the thought of everything coming to an end was depressing, so I decided I would go to a hundred as well. (Also, truth be told, there was no way I was going to be outdone by my mom who would live on with eternal bragging rights unto the end of time.) In the end, we did one-hundred-and-one days in a row. Coming as far as we did, we really needed to hit the triple digits. We made it. 101 Dalmatians.

After the three weeks off, I decided to repeat the challenge, only this time I would blog about it. The challenge of practicing along with writing down my experience every day has completely amplified the journey, propelling me deeper within myself at an incalculable speed. As the days and weeks added up, I thought about the finish line. How was it going to end? Should I stop at ninety? Should I go to a hundred? How will I find any closure with this project? Am I actually able to stop? These questions perplexed me behind the scenes every now and then. What to do, what to do. This time around, I wasn't too sure. I'm still not sure. Ending my experience in 4 more days seems premature. But then again, I laid out that goal and I'm almost there. Somewhere in the seventies I decided I should go past ninety, at least to 101, maaaaybe 102, just to top the last challenge. As I came closer, the idea of simply wrapping things up at 90 was just so seductive. Even though something inside me was still persuading me to continue, no one would be the wiser. On the ninety-first morning I would have nothing to write. I could just do other things, get back to having a real life again. I'd be off the hook. It's an easy way out. Just let it go.

As I sat with that conclusion, I knew I couldn't. Here I am, so close, yet I'm going to have to continue. This challenge will go on past ninety days. In effect I will have obliterated the name of my blog, leaving it with absolutely no meaning or relevance, but I will still be writing about my experience for some time to come regardless. It's something I have to do. I just don't know how long. I have a feeling the answers will come to me. They always do...

Style: Personal Sequence
Teacher: Self
Studio: Home Practice

Meditation, meditation, meditation... Easier said then done. Over the weekend during teacher training, we were given a few items of homework and they all involved thirty-day commitments. One of them was to, for 15 minutes everyday, do something we've always wanted to do but never got around to actually doing. Maybe you always wanted to write a book, maybe you always wanted to learn a second language, maybe you always wanted to cook. For fifteen minutes every day you do that and only that. Write a bit, read a bit, cook some food... but do that with no distractions. Focus your entire energy and do it every day for thirty days. I've always wanted to meditate, so it seemed like a good idea. At the time.

Sitting in quite solace surrounded by aspiring yogis, it has never been easier to slow my tempo and focus inward, breathing in and out, maybe gently om'ing in my mind, whatever. My first day meditating in "real life" is turning out to be more of a challenge then I seemed to realize. Now that it's a thirty day commitment, there is no way around it. I will take the time every day no matter what the circumstance. On this Easter Monday, I have no time to be alone. Eventually I decide to barricade myself in my room and lock the door. Soon I settle into a somewhat comfortable cross-legged position and try to focus. Then I realize my sister and some friends are in the backyard having a conversation. My mind pokes and prods, sticking to their words like a magnet as they drift in through the window. Moments later I'm back up, looking for another room. No luck. It's a holiday, people are around, that's all there is to it. Eventually an idea dawns on me and I'm both interested and repulsed. Where can I go where I know I will be undisturbed? What is the only room people don't bother interfering with you? Yes. That's right. The bathroom.

This is weird. I am standing, looking at myself in the mirror, in the bathroom, preparing to meditate. Have I lost my mind? Exhaling with a sigh, I decide that maybe in fact I have, but then again that might make the whole no-mind meditation process that much easier. So there I am, sitting on the cold white tiles of my washroom floor, trying to focus. People are walking around in my house. I hear footsteps, creaking floorboards, walking up and down the stairs, right outside the door, perpetually coming and going. People talk, people yell, people are generally loud. Breathe. Someone knocks something over. Slams the back door. Breathe. Someone calls my name. Someone calls my name again, wondering where I just disappeared to. I figure if I burst out with an aggravated "leave me alone I'm f*@%ing meditating", I might be taking a few steps backwards. Breathe. I don't remember this being so hard. What have I signed myself up for? I can go ninety, a hundred, three hundred days if necessary stretching and contorting myself through hour and a half physical practices, but thirty days of sitting still for fifteen brief minutes? How can this be so challenging?

One thing these yoga challenges have taught me is that, if I say I can do it, I can and will do it. So for the next 27 days I WILL sit down, cross my legs and close my eyes, even if it kills me. And it won't. And I will come out, back into the light of day. And you know what else? I will have done what I said I was going to do. And that successful use of willpower feels good. And finally, if meditating poses such a massive threat, I can rest assured there is something in it worth searching for. Again, there is no turning back.

Style: Personal Sequence
Teacher: Self
Studio: Home Practice

I’m staying in again. It’s strange really. Over the weekend I was practicing in a room with hundreds of yogis, a multitude of different people from different places and I loved every second of it. The last few days are in stark contrast. I’ve been developing my practice alone, deeply enjoying solitude, basking in my own company, my own energy. The two different methods are both utterly charming once you’ve grown to appreciate them. The energy of a group environment is always different. It’s fun, interactive, colorful and energizing. You can really feel the vibrations emanating from the people around you, helping to carry you through the motions in a shared consciousness. Practicing alone, you practice in the void. The only energy in the room is coming from inside. The Universe slows its pace, the planets and stars line up and everything fits just right. You move in and out of the positions on your own accord, cast under your own spell. Each style is decidedly different one from the other and I’ve fallen in love with them both. Now that I’ve put in work from both angles, developed my practice from both magnetic poles, I can feel my understanding of yoga taking on a new form. It’s even more uniquely mine. If you’ve never tried falling into savasana after a long, intense sequence, all in the seclusion of your own world, I suggest you try it. I have the experience of a total let-go, a full release. My mind disintegrates and fazes out, and there is no time limit on the journey. It returns when it feels ready, and when it does, it returns more thoroughly refreshed and revitalized then ever before.

Style: Personal Sequence
Teacher: Self
Studio: Home Practice

Just one of those days. Some days I feel powerful, some days I feel overwhelmed. Sometimes I look at the world and witness its sheer beauty, sometimes I can't see past the damage we've done, how badly we've abused our Mother. Today I'm walking the thin line dividing the extremes, precariously balancing. I'm tired. The gears of society continue to rotate, but today I hear them grinding in my brain. It hurts. People wander through their lives caught up in their daily routine so unquestioningly, never looking up. Sometimes I just don't want to play along anymore. I'm on a pilgrimage of which there is no turning back, sometimes the aching in my feet is unbearable. Over the years I've been wounded, I've been healed. In alternating spirals it comes and goes and I try not to let the scar tissue build up. There's something missing in the world outside. A lack of substance, a lack of sustenance, a lack of nutrition. Something doesn't feel quite right and it's hard to put my finger on it. Sometimes I wonder if other people feel it, other times I wonder if I'm on this walk alone. The repetition is deafening and I wonder if I'm the only one who hears it. It's a ringing in my ears that I can't ignore, demanding my attention. False flags are raised and it's all an inside job.

Tonight I was going to practice in a studio but all I want to do is hide and lock the world out. Tonight I'll try to recuperate alone. I'll ask my body what it wants then let it take the lead. I'll do my best to follow. Sometimes the weight is unbearable and fatigue is too much, but it's hard to fall back to sleep after you've started to wake up.

Style: Personal Sequence
Teacher: Self
Studio: Home Practice

I'm completely physically and mentally exhausted, but at the same time I feel incredibly refreshed and awake. Sitting in the Austin airport waiting for my boarding call, my mind is too tired to begin the process of reflecting back over the weekend. The experience is still sinking in, still materializing. Instead, I'm nowhere but the present moment, allowing life to flow by with no input from me whatsoever.

Waking up and rolling out of bed a few hours earlier, I thought Ichih might have to roll me out of the hotel in a wheelchair. I'm stiff, sore and depleted, every square inch of my body crying out, demanding to know just what exactly I did to it over the past two days. I tell it not to worry, that it was for its own good, and I can sense it reluctantly agreeing with me. When my plane lands in Ottawa later tonight, I'll end things the same way they began, taking myself through a few therapeutic Yin poses before bed. I'm definitely ready to relax. As I lift my pen from the paper, I hear the announcement for my flight from the speakers overhead. Closing my journal and throwing my bag over my shoulder, I'm back in line, minutes away from traveling back up into the sky.

Style: Personal Sequence
Teacher: Self
Studio: Home Practice

The Sun is rising and I'm piercing through the clouds to meet it. Waking up early in the morning, gathering my luggage and blending up a smoothie of fresh fruit and almond milk, I go over some last minute organization. After making sure my passport, IDs, American currency and other necessary items are all in order, I quietly unroll my yoga mat. Moving through a few sublime Yin poses in the silence of the early hours I gather my chemistry and neurology into alignment. As I finish my self-choreographed sequence, I roll my mat back into its bag as my taxi pulls up in front of my house.

Sailing across the deserted city streets, my mind pre-paves the upcoming weekend. I have no doubt a pleasant experience awaits me and I feel myself starting to relax into it. At the airport I flow uneventfully through various checkpoints and customs, receiving boarding passes and instructions. Moments later I am preparing for take-off, beginning the drive to our runway. Soon the small plane will be suspended in the vast blue bubble above. With a cross-over in Chicago, eventually I'll be arriving at my final destination of Austin, Texas, settling in to the hotel that I'll be calling home for the weekend. Looking out the small window at the shrinking cityscape I can feel my eyes getting heavy, and soon the calming hum of the engines lull my consciousness to sleep. When I wake up I'll be in another time and place, maybe even another person altogether.

Style: Yin
Teacher: Mark Laham (DVD)
Studio: Home Practice

The Yoga Sūtras of Patañjali. Tomorrow is the next round of my teacher training, and I realized I've been slacking on my homework. We were instructed to practice meditation, which I've been making a point of doing, and read book 2 of the Yoga sūtras, which I have yet to do. In the early Friday afternoon I make my way to Singing Pebbles and pick up a few books from the reading list. Opening the first page of Patañjali's Yoga Sūtra, I realize there is something familiar about it. Then it dawns on me: I've read these before! During the first challenge I read a book by the modern-day mystic Osho called Yoga: The Science of the Soul, in which he explains the different sūtras one by one. There are many books about Patañjali's sūtras. Written nearly two millennia ago, the sūtras themselves are always the same - it's the commentary that changes. Osho referred to Patañjali as an early "scientist of the soul", sharing his insights on the writings and breaking down the meaning behind the words. The book I just picked up is written by Chip Hartranft, and as I make my way through the introduction and into the first chapter, I'm greeted with fresh language that is engaging and easy to read. The ancient sūtras themselves are a collection of 196 compact observations on the nature of consciousness and liberation, and are considered to be the foundation of yoga itself. The deeper I delve into the world of yoga, the more I fall in love with it. The writings of Patañjali are the absolute perfect place to begin the study of yoga, and I'm drawn in as I turn page after page, sitting in my living room by the fire as the logs crackle and burn, providing rustic background music. In the poetic words of B.K.S Iyengar,

"Patañjali fills each sūtra with his experiential intelligence, stretching it like a thread, and weaving it into a garland of pearls of wisdom to flavour and savour by those who love and live in yoga"

Style: Ashtanga
Teacher: Sharath Rangaswamy (DVD)
Studio: Home Practice

With my trip to Toronto cut short by unfortunate circumstances, I'm onboard a small propeller plane with Annie, closing the gap between me and my hometown. One thing about life is that it is absolutely unpredictable. Everything can change drastically from one moment to the next, turning upside down and inside out. Things happen fast. The Earth spins 1,038 miles per hour, moving around the Sun at about 67,000 miles per hour. Time passes at an unfathomably fast rate, disappearing in a blur. It's not something you can pin down and plan around. Reality is liquid, flowing where it may, changing direction on a dime without notice. The only choice we have is to enjoy it while we have it, to breathe while we have lungs to fill, to laugh whenever we can, to love as fully as possible. Sometimes it's difficult to see and feel appreciation for everything we have, everything we hold dear. Sometimes we forget the magic contained in every one of our moments. Looking through photos of my Grandfathers time spent here, I see a life fully lived. Talking to people who have been touched by his generosity, sense of humor, his willingness to help in any way he could, I'm gaining a valuable insight. I want to make an impact on people's lives like he did, to help in any way I can. I want to embody his strength and carry it with me for the rest of my days. I want to live by his example, to exude his infinite patience, to live as selflessly as he did. I want to take life seriously and make a tangible difference. I want to seize the day like he did, to make my life as extraordinary as his was. I want to care for humanity with every fiber of my being, to show compassion, humility, understanding and forgiveness. I want to live with integrity, passion, joy and hope. If I can maintain even the smallest fraction of the strength and love he had, I know without a shadow of a doubt that I can change the world. I love you Papa.

Style: Yin
Teacher: Mark Laham (DVD)
Studio: Home Practice

As my train pulls into Union Station, rain streaking across the windows, I grab my luggage and make my way out into the night. The dismal weather mirrors the grey skies clouding my mind. Listening to car tires splash water onto the sidewalks, my memory drifts through frozen polaroids from my past. This morning my Grandfather passed away. His gentle spirit still lingers around me, and no matter what I do I can't seem to swallow the lump in my throat. I have no words. Only my breath, and I cling to it like a life preserver after the sinking of a ship.

In a world out of balance, where do I fit in? I have no solid answers, no conclusions, nothing. All I have is an inner resolve, an inner constitution that I'm desperately holding on to. I want things to work out for Mankind. I want us to be okay. The blurry image of my life is coming into focus more and more everyday. I'm starting to understand. There is no plan B. I don't know how, but I know what I have to do, what I'm here for. I'm going to stand up, against any odds, all adversity, and live for truth... no matter what the consequence. I pledge my life, my very existence, to our awakening. As cliché as it sounds, I believe in the power of love, I believe in the potential for a new tomorrow, and I'm willing to die for it.

Late in the middle of the night I settle into a reconstructive Yin sequence. The movements are counteracting the four and a half stagnant hours spent on the train, undoing the accumulated stiffness in my joints and muscles. Feeling my chest open as my spine folds backwards over my block in supported fish pose, I feel my heart explode. I have faith in us, in the human race. I know we'll persevere, I know we'll make the right choices. I know it's been a turbulent ride. I know we come from a dark history. But I also know that the human spirit will prevail. We're going to make it through, safe and sound to the other side. I believe in us.

Style: Ashtanga
Teacher: Sharath Rangaswamy (DVD)
Studio: Home Practice

"Do your practice and all is coming." Tonight I've decided to expand on my home practice, setting sail with a traditional Ashtanga sequence. Sharath Rangaswamy is the grandson of Sri K. Pattabhi Jois, the founder of the Ashtanga method. He is often described as the most advanced Ashtanga yoga practitioner in the world today, and is now the director of the Ashtanga Yoga Research Institute in Mysore, India.

Sliding the disc into my laptop I'm transported into a quaint, minimalist room, listening to Sharath start things off with the traditional Ashtanga opening chant. This is designed to honor the wisdom of the teachers who have passed down the ancient yoga traditions, helping to mark a division between your everyday activities and the personal voyage you are about to embark on. I'm at home in my dimly lit room, settling back into my own world. The atmosphere is beginning to take on a life of its own, leaving me with the impression of studying in a remote Indian temple, practicing under the direct guidance of the master himself. The evening is unfolding in a natural extension of last night, moving me in and out of the poses with gently focused attention and the calming flow of the Ujjayi breath. Again I'm noticing the chemistry of my mind find a balance, an equilibrium with the Universe around me. It doesn't take long until that familiar heat begins to build inside me once more.

The sequence is the classic, traditional primary series taught as it would be in Mysore. Sharath uses Sanskrit terminology, calling each pose by its original name, not providing much more instruction beyond that. It's designed for students who are already familiar with the style. Sharath is extremely well-known to Ashtanga yogis for his accomplished personal practice and precise teaching methods.

Before I come to my senses, I'm easing out of final savasana with a calm mind, completely undisturbed. The utter silence is unbelievably nourishing and refreshing, drawing me deeper into a peaceful quiet. I find myself dreamily enjoying the absence of language and verbiage flickering through my consciousness, feeling my muscles soften and relax. The serenity is truthfully difficult to describe. Any words I could use would only serve to create distance between me and the purely natural, visceral experience. Instead of grasping for a collection of nouns, verbs and adjectives strung together with grammar and punctuation, tonight I'm simply going to release and let go, surrendering into the indefinable, inexpressible, ineffable expanse of existence. Tomorrow I'm traveling to Toronto to visit my sister Annie, taking the opportunity to explore yoga in the big city.

Style: Power
Teacher: Bryan Kest (DVD)
Studio: Home Practice

So today was round two on the raw food circuit. With a new, longer, more incomprehensible list of ingredients I roam through the most granola-supplement-armpit-hair areas of the city. After spending way too much money on organic this and raw that, I'm back home with my cookbook. Bustling back and fourth in my kitchen like a mad scientist frantically and diabolically mixing ingredients, eventually I have a few creations. First: Miso soup. I take my first sip... and I feel like my sidewalk must feel on a winter afternoon with layers of salt dissolving through the snow. One unfamiliar ingredient called Namo Shoyu was more or less impossible to find. After trying four of the most hardcore health food stores and coming up empty handed, I am informed by an eavesdropping customer that the last person in here looking for that product took this as an alternative. Well that helpful hint sabotaged my masterpiece.

That same deadly sodium error translated over to the raw Pad Thai main course, utterly manhandling and subduing the rest of the subtle, delicate flavours. Finally, the black olive pesto. During preparation, the recipe called for two cups of basil. Back home, unpacking the groceries, I realize I only have one cup worth, and it's the wrong kind. Its Thai basil, with its own completely distinct flavour. To make up for lost herb, mint and spinach are added. This could be a disaster. Dipping a toasted crostini into the Kalamata pesto, I take a bite. And chew. And swallow. It's delicious. After hungrily devouring as much as I can, I'm back in my sanctuary working through another choreography. Late into the night, writing this blog entry under dim lights in a sleeping house, I'm absolutely starving, taking guilty solace in a bag of chips. A raw diet is a complicated affair. I have a massive appetite, so one false move in the raw food world, and I'll starve to death.

Style: Power
Teacher: Mark Laham (DVD)
Studio: Home Practice

The first day of the rest of your life. Armed with a gift-certificate from Christmas I'm at Singing Pebbles, my friendly neighbourhood bookstore. Glancing over the selection, I feel drawn to one title in particular. It's a cookbook full of recipes called "Everyday Raw". Without getting too specific, basically there's vegetarian, there's vegan, and then there's the raw diet. Despite initially coming across as intimidating and potentially complicated, I bought the book anyway. After heading to a few health food stores to gather some unpronouncable ingedients, I'm back home in the kitchen. Studying my strange new book, I spend the rest of the afternoon making a jicama salad, almond milk, and the best smoothie I've ever had in my entire life.

Raw foodism is a lifestyle promoting the consumption of uncooked, unprocessed, and often organic foods as a large percentage of the diet. Cooking food is believed to destroy enzymes that assist in digestion and absorption, and is thought to diminish the nutritional value and "life force" naturally inherent in food. While it's heartbreaking to think I would be excluded from experiencing some exotic and delicious dishes, overall I can't help being aware of the importance of choosing what I consume as wisely as possible. I'm not in a rush to enlist with any particular school of thought. I'm still learning and experimenting, but admittedly I'm feeling absolutely amazing after all the energizing, healthy food. Before I know it I'm in my room working through a home Power sequence, and not long after that I'm melting into my bed, slowly dissolving.

Style: Power
Teacher: Bryan Kest (DVD)
Studio: Home Practice

Can't touch this. To complete the Bryan Kest Power yoga series, today I'm putting my New Kids On The Block cassette into my tape player, throwing on a fresh pair of Nike high-tops, and doing the running man over to my yoga mat.

After a long day at school, I figured it was as good a time as any to wrap up the Kest classes. At this point I've grown accustomed to 1995 and my attention doesn't waver as Bryan enthusiastically reminds me to move through the poses with "equanimity" in a southern Californian surfer-yogi accent. It's only the first few moments when I'm watching the screen anyway. As soon as the flow of posture begins, I'm not even looking anymore. I move inwards all over again, listening to the instruction and focusing on the mechanics of the mind and body.

Style: Power
Teacher: Bryan Kest (DVD)
Studio: Home Practice

Flying through the Universe, catapulted from the dream-state and crash-landing into my bed, I'm back on Earth. Waking up, showering, and walking downstairs, Sunday morning sunshine washes in through the windows and across my hardwood floors. Initially I was planning on an evening Vinyasa to wrap up the weekend, but I have a bit of an Olympic dilemma. Canada plays the US tonight in men's hockey for the Gold medal on the final day of the Olympics. I think it would be wise to keep my evening open. Instead, before I do anything, I'll unroll my mat for another home yoga. Of the five or so classes-on-tape given to me by Mike, this morning I think I'll try Bryan Kest's second of the three in his Power yoga series. The first was called Energize, second is called Tone, and the third is Sweat, and are described as beginner, intermediate and advanced respectively. Despite having a vintage, dated feel to the DVDs, the instruction and sequencing are top quality. I'm even digging the 1990's relapse. You can see for yourself.

I'm also using this early morning freedom to investigate possible international travel involving yoga. A preliminary internet scouting mission, bringing back information on flight prices and different yoga-organizations and workshops world-wide. I want an adventure. I'm ready.

Style: Power
Teacher: Bryan Kest (DVD)
Studio: Home Practice.

Tonight I feel like staying in. I'm truly growing to love doing yoga at home, developing it into a personal practice. I own two yoga DVDs, a Yin and a Power, both taught by Mark Laham. While both are amazing, I want some diversity. Over beers at the Manx last night after yoga class, Mike coincidentally gave me two of his own videos. Ask and you shall receive.

As the Bryan Kest Power yoga DVD begins I time-travel back to 1995, to a world of synthesizers, spandex, Jheri curls and light blue cut-off jeans. It takes me a moment to get used to standing still in a room by myself with someone speaking to me through my laptop. As the video progresses and the choreography presents itself, I find myself getting into a groove, getting beyond my preconceived notions. Before I know it I'm sinking into my bed, powering down all systems for the night, utterly relaxed. With a tendency toward late-night yoga, it's amazing to be able to roll off my mat and under my covers, with no travel time between the studio and home.

Style: Yin
Teacher: Mark Laham (DVD)
Studio: Home Practice

Today I'm fully re-immersed in the familiar ebb and flow of civilization. The human race has welcomed me back into the fold. I've returned to my position in the wheel, building my paycheck. The city moves on, unchanged. Everything is as it always has been. Life at the Ashram seems so far away, so long ago. I'm back into the swing of things, going through the motions. One last time staying hidden from the world, tonight I'll be doing another Yin at home. A week ago, yoga at home was my dreaded worst enemy, now I'm finding comfort in my own space, my own seclusion. The immediate world around me is reflecting a calm, more organized approach to life. By some coincidental alignment of the Universe I have a few days off this week, and tomorrow is one of them. I plan on rising from sleep after my body wakes up naturally, of its own volition, enjoying the gift of being alive. At some point in the day I'll definitely get outside into the fresh air and make my way back to Rama Lotus. I'm feeling a little homesick.