Style: Personal Sequence
Teacher: Self
Studio: Hong Kong International Airport

After dangling over the Pacific Ocean for 18 hours I'm at the Hong Kong International Airport. It's somewhere around 5 am but I can't tell for sure. I have no sense of time. I've been saturated in airplane food and airplane T.V, airplane legroom with an airplane recline. I've got airplane bloodshot eyes. I'm ready for a new diet. In just under four hours I will be on board my last flight, nonchalantly crossing the equator and landing in Denpasar, Bali. After that I'll be on my way to Ubud, my home for the next stretch of time-space. As usual, I don't know what awaits me or what to expect. The difference is that I think I'm finally getting used to it. Nothing is predictable, no matter how hard we try. Life will never cease to be an adventure. It will always be a blind leap of faith. I think I'm finally ready to accept that. My heart and mind are open. Whatever comes my way will be greeted like an old friend, a cherished relative. I'm ready to live. I'm finished sleeping. In total acceptance I feel total appreciation. Right now, everything I've ever known and everyone I've ever loved are behind me. I find myself holding on to them with every ounce of love, strength and compassion I have. I can feel their belief in me and I have faith that it will carry me safely wherever I go. Sitting alone at the 49th gate of departures it's like my whole life is flashing through my mind. The airport looks deserted. There isn't another soul as far as the eye can see. No passengers, no employees. As I watch the sun rise through the massive windows, fire glinting across the parked airplanes motionless out on the concrete runway, an idea suddenly occurs to me. Before the thought has a chance to be reconsidered I'm flowing through sun salutations in the ghost-town airport, an improptu but refreshing personal practice that's taking on a life of its own. I'm breathing deeply. I'm equal parts scared, excited, homesick and prepared. Shaken not stirred. Standing on my head on the other side of the world below the equator, I know I'll feel upright in the Universe.

Style: Personal Sequence
Teacher: Self
Studio: None

I taught my first yoga class. I'll admit, it wasn't exactly the endless mat-to-mat army of yogis that Baron taught back in Austin. The atmosphere was quaint and intimate, safe and supportive, consisting of Shawna and my two sisters, Annie and Maria. Despite the mood being comfortable and free of expectation I still somehow managed to cultivate a stage fright that had me closing in on nervous wreck. I argued with myself, fought with the logistics of the sequence, fretted over my ability to emote and project my voice, to clearly articulate and enunciate. As my two lovely sisters arrived I was still second guessing myself, altering and modifying the sequence, scratching out this pose, replacing it with that one. Do back bends follow forward bends? Don't they? What's that rule of thumb again? A twist might work here... Do I have too many standing postures? Enough balancing positions? Hip-openers? Does this make sense here? Does that serve a purpose? Have I covered all bases? As the three mats were rolled out in front of me and a silence descended on the room, eventually I had to surrender and bite the bullet, to swallow my nit-picking perfectionism and replace it with pseudo confidence and self-assurance.

Surviving a resounding Om with minimal residual awkward energy, the process is suddenly in motion. My class is off to a start and instantly I'm drawing a blank. What's a sun salutation again? Is that an inhale or an exhale? Soon I'm stumbling over my own words, stuttering and sputtering, trying to explain simple procedures in a way the three people in front of me can understand. This is definitely more complex then I'd anticipated. How do these yoga teachers make it look so easy, so effortless?

As I guide the three students further into the series of sun salutations I begin to subdue the nervous waver in my voice and pretty soon I've done what I can to stabilize my senses. I swallow my emotions without choking on them and struggle to bring my focus back to my sequence as I glance down at my notes. I'm guiding the yogis through the motions, watching them listen to my instructions and display my words. It's both thrilling and terrifying. As the choreography progresses, I find myself fascinated by the mental spasms and glitches I'm experiencing. My internal dialogue wonders if the students are enjoying themselves, if they're noticing my mistakes or if they're patiently waiting for everything to end. The serene, blank gazes on their faces are unreadable. Are they in a state of deep meditation or sublime boredom? Playing with the choreographed asanas, we move through warrior sequences, triangles, side-angles with binds, reverse triangles and prayer folds. I'm narrating dragons and locusts, pigeons and downward dogs, camels and eagles - almost the entire animal kingdom is present and accounted for.

Eventually I'm forming like Megazord, drawing inspiration from the colorful cast of characters I've been studying with for the past 6 months. I'm amputating Todd's calm demeanour, Ichih's motivational spirit, Mark's smooth delivery, Louise's wit and humour, Mike's ability to stay grounded and chilled-out. I'm melting down Baron Baptiste and Brian Kest, liquefying then fusing them together. I'm trying to organize an assortment of breath ques, posture descriptions, different variations and modifications. I'm a mad scientist attaching limbs and appendages, ligaments and tendons, creating a Frankenstein of blended yoga inspiration and influence. Soon my creation is breathing on its own and standing up, lumbering clumsily across the room with outstretched arms and a dead, blank expression on its face. It's alive.

Before I know it I'm looking at three corpses on the floor in front of me and the dizzying whirlwind has come to final relaxation at last. Gently beckoning my three friends out of savasana and into a comfortable seated position, I welcome them back to the world of the living. I shower them with sincere gratitude for accompanying me on this expedition, my first time behind the wheel as I drove recklessly and precariously, ignoring all roadsigns and stoplights. I want this. I really do. I'm going to submerge myself completely, to dedicate myself with everything I have, the entirety of my being. I'm devoted to doing this properly. I want to become a quality teacher. I don't know how I'm going to pull it off, but I plan on absorbing as much as I can in the jungles of Bali. In the distant future I want my classes to contain something special. I want to create a transcendent experience. I want to share my soul, to give back to the world even a small portion of the magic that's been growing within me since my adventure began. I want to leave a lasting impression. The question remains: How? At this point, only time will tell.

Style: Personal Sequence
Teacher: Self
Studio: Planet Earth

The sun rose at 5:51 am. At twenty past five my alarm was accompanied by a single thought: "this seemed like a better idea last night." Dragging myself out of bed in the pre-morning darkness I can't help but wonder if this is what normal people do with their free time. Slipping into some warm socks and sweatpants, zipping up a hoodie and finally pulling a hat snug down over my ears, I realize I might never know. Shrugging it off, I quietly pack my yoga bag and step out under the full moon.

Unrolling my mat across the grass I slip out of my shoes and get comfortable in wide-knee child's pose. I'm at the bank of the Rideau river and the chilled bite of pre-sunrise surrounds my perimeter, nipping at my toes and finger tips. Soon I can sense the coming of first light and I move into a series of sun salutations. Flowing through the familiar motions like they're second nature, a warmth begins to rise from within, flowing through my nervous system. I can see miniature crystal balls of morning dew clinging to the blades of grass. The birds begin to come alive, singing praise to a new day. As the sun rises in the sky my heart rises in my chest and fills my body with new light. I'm alone, absolutely alone. As the light continues to make its presence known I watch it shimmering across the river. My consciousness is reflected back on its glassy, undisturbed surface, blending with the hues of pink and rose that splash across the sky. There are no clouds whatsoever, only a blue expanse without beginning or end. Beyond that, the stars are slowly being hidden behind the atmosphere. The fire in the sky rises in front of me and the moon hangs behind me, slowly downplaying its presence and falling into a hibernation. Right now, everything coexists peacefully. I feel like the only human on the planet, given the honor of watching the birth of a new day. Moving through the ancient choreography I orbit with the planets and stars while remaining grounded in the earth.

Sitting at the shoreline of the river I move into a meditation. With a mantra to honour my potential I breathe in prana as it emanates from the planet. I start with some kapalabhati breathing and settle into my sanctuary, when all of a sudden I notice something strange. A sense of humour is rising up inside me, coming from the very center of the earth herself. Eventually I feel my lips involuntarily curl into a smile as the soft morning breeze caresses my cheek. Suddenly it's all funny. For the past two weeks I've been chained to a feeling of dread, a hopeless feeling of utter powerlessness. Just like that the heavy burden is lifted, disappearing as suddenly as it arrived. In this space everything seems at ease, unified. The planet is relaxed, unconcerned with its fate. It's simply in love. That nurturing energy is making its way into my bloodstream and bringing me back to life. I'm lighter now. I feel like I might float off my mat and out over the water, drifting in the invisible air currents, up and away. From this vantage point, my earthly stresses seems so unfounded, so unnatural. All I can do is laugh. So I do. The sound of my own voice reverberates off the empty world around me and then I stretch out on my mat. Looking up at the endless beyond, my gaze wanders over the inside of the sky. I'm alive. It's beautiful.

I'm grounded and I'm growing roots. They dig deep into the earth, through the soil, branching out and multiplying. I feel a direct connection to this planet, my home at the moment. I wonder what I was thinking as I wandered the outskirts of the Milky Way. What was I feeling as I passed the outer planets, drawn by the warmth of the sun. I remember falling in love with this place when I saw it rising in the distance. Approaching the pale blue teardrop circled by a lonely moon I couldn't help but notice how vulnerable it looked in the ice-cold void of outer space. Circling a few times, I made my way through the cloud cover and settled somewhere in North America, ready to wake up. Soon I would have no memory of my travel, no recollection of where I came from or who I was. Soon I would have an earthling identity that I would come to recognize as myself. A self-imposed amnesia would wipe the slate clean, erasing any knowledge of the universe, of life in the constellations, past present and future. Soon I would be tethered to a linear timeline, operating in the third dimension. My body, composed of the soil itself, would feel the effects of age and gravity. I would have time to play, time to cry and time to laugh. I would feel. Guided by five senses I would interact with my earth family. Eventually the elements that came together to hold me in place would begin to disperse, returning back to the earth once again, reuniting with the whole. I'll give back my shell and thank it for carrying me. Maybe I'll design a new experience at that point, a new life on earth. Or maybe I would take to the wing, returning to wherever I came from.

Eventually civilization makes itself visible. Jet streams start to cut across the sky, leaving white gashes as the city picks up momentum. At first the traffic in the distance sounds like ocean waves, tranquil and serene, washing up on shore. Soon I can differentiate the sounds of sirens and metal, concrete and exhaust. Taking it as my final curtain call, I thank the world deeply and sincerely. I made it through my own darkness and I'm back out under my own sun. I feel prepared to take on whatever comes, with ease and a sense of humor. Life loves me and I love it back just as much. The difficulties I'm facing have been diminished. They've lost their position at the head of the table, replaced by a happiness as pure as the elements of life. It's all good.

Style: Personal Sequence
Teacher: Self
Studio: Rama Lotus

Racing across the living, breathing city I'm trying to get to Rama Lotus on time. Shawna and Todd are holding down the Sky room for a private session. The progression of a self-led practice is an interesting evolution, and with good friends it can be a thoroughly satisfying experience. I'm in my own personal universe but there's still that subtle sense of performance. It keeps the fire lit and propels the vinyasa. It keeps me utterly focused on my craft with the ability to freestyle. My borderline knee-injury from yesterday has dissipated into thin air and I'm ready to work. Arriving late, I unroll my mat quietly, settling into the world of my own creation. As soon as I'm engulfed in flames and breaking a sweat it's all about inversions yet again. Today I'm openly attempting handstands with no wall and the fear has migrated to a distant land. All I'm left with is a youthful excitement and an anticipation of success. I'm getting more precise in an inverse body, feeling stable with my toes pointed skyward. The pursuit of a handstand is a soothing distraction as my whirlwind life spins out of control. Everything is in transition. My entire reality is up in the air and I can't figure out how it's all going to pan out. I have no idea what will become of me, what my fate looks like or what the future holds for me. I'm not even sure who I'll be when the sun rises tomorrow. Right now I have a single goal and it's keeping me attached to the present. It's my solid ground, my focus. It's my drishti. I'm a predator in the grass and I'm stalking my prey. I'm closing in on the posture and I'm getting ready to pounce on it, claws drawn, teeth prepared to draw blood.

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: Rama Lotus

I'm going to Bali. I'm traveling half-way around the globe to Indonesia to study yoga. I sent in my application and deposit and I've been accepted. It's still completely surreal.

I will be studying at the Anahata Resort in Bali, near the city of Ubud. The organization is called Vibrant Living and it looks absolutely amazing. I stumbled across their website months ago and thought it looked incredible, never thinking I would sign up. Over the last few weeks of the challenge my intuition has been resurfacing that thought over and over. Bali. Bali. Bali. Finally I decided. I'm doing it. Before I knew it I had filled out the application and sent it in. Now it's set in stone. I can't believe it! It's a one month intensive course after which I will be fully certified. Although I have a feeling my training will be far from over at that point, it's an awesome prospect. Now I have very little time to organize my travel plans and complete the reading list. There are three books that are required reading: Jivamukti Yoga, by Sharon Gannon and David Life, The Heart of Yoga: Developing a Personal Practice, by T. K. V. Desikachar, and Loving What Is, by Byron Katie. Book reports are due on all three titles in a few short days, so I definitely have my work cut out for me. It seems like an amazing well-rounded organization and I'll be writing more about it over the next few weeks.

Also, I conveniently figured out a way to wrap up the blog. The answers came. I leave for Bali around the 13th of May, a little over a month from now. I'm going to continue my challenge right up until the day I leave. When I'm there, I will be penning the experience in my journal, day after day, and when I come home I will have the final posts. The whole experience will culminate with my training in Bali. What will happen in the days after that, I have no idea.

Waking up this morning with the incredible buzz of adventures around the world to come, I decided to head over to Rama Lotus and join in practice with Shawna and Todd Lavictoire. As usual Shawna provided the soundtrack, this time shifting from Hip-Hop to a jazzier, Trip-Hop/Soul experience. Another member of the weekend teacher training, Pierre, also showed up to join in the self-led practice. Again the experience was sublime, constructing a personal practice to the ambient vocals and instrumentals that flooded the room. The procession of the poses became an aerodynamic spacecraft and I traveled through time and dimension, parallel Universes and alternate realities. Landing back home in savasana I awoke with an electrical excitement coursing through my veins. I'm going to Bali.

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: Personal Sequence
Teacher: Self
Studio: Rama Lotus

And now for something completely different. Through a string of random coincidences I met Shawna, a friend of one of my instructors, Todd Lavictoire. She told me that she has a personal practice space at Rama Lotus on Wednesdays and she invited me to come join. She also happens to be a huge hip-hop fan and has her own customized playlist she likes to practice with. Waking up to a frigid morning in Montreal and brushing the snow off my car, I'm back on the highway once again, heading back to Ottawa. Arriving at Rama, I end up bumping into Todd, and the three of us make our way up to the Sky room.

In my last two teacher training weekends, Mark continued to emphasize the importance of a personal practice. At first it was a huge challenge to even unroll my mat outside of the group-class atmosphere. The reason it's so important is that, when it really comes down to it, the purpose of yoga is to embark on an internal journey, delving deep into your own consciousness and cultivating a comfort with that inner world. In a class setting, your attention is constantly bouncing from the inside to the outer-world, listening to the voice of your instructor as he explains the cues for the postures. Over the course of this challenge, I've been making a point of practicing at home more and more, following the choreography of various yoga DVDs. Now that I've been successful in that arena, there is another truth I've been completely avoiding. Practicing with a DVD, even though I'm alone with my mat, my attention is still focused outside myself as I follow the path the digital yogi sets out before me. My awareness is still drawn away. The thought of just unrolling my mat and facing a blank canvas, leading myself through a sequence I personally tailored is a leap I haven't wanted to make.

Today is my first step. Up in the Sky room, Shawna starts up the CD player and the three of us unroll our mats, entering into our own private domains for the next hour. Standing at the edge of my mat in Tadasana, my mind goes blank. I know that yoga poses exist, I know I've personally done quite a few myself, but right now I can't remember any of them for the life of me. Taking a deep breath, I start the only way I can - with some Sun salutations. Moving through the postures at my own pace, my own rhythm, I find myself slowly gaining an internal balance. Next I move into a Warrior sequence. After each set of postures I complete, I ask my body-consciousness what it would like to do next. Whatever position makes itself known to me, that's what I do. Over the weekend I remember Louise telling me that a lot of wisdom resides in the body, so I decide to simply trust that and let go. Sure enough, one pose leads to the next, and before I know it I'm free-styling my way through my own personal asana choreography.

It is also my first time practicing to Hip-Hop and R&B. I have never done Warrior II listening to On To The Next One or balanced in Dancer's pose to the sounds of Hard, but to tell you the truth, it worked. The sequence I designed on the spot was surprisingly cohesive and well-rounded. It felt right. Headstand, Camel, Bridge, Triangle, my body led the way and I willingly followed. Coming out of my last spinal twists to the haunting strings and piano keys of Dreamworld, I roll back into Savasana and drift away into the ethers.