Style: Restorative
Teacher: Anne Pitman
Studio: Santosha Westboro

I've been slacking on my meditation practice. I skipped a day or two. Or five.

As the Sun began to set in the horizon I made my way back to Santosha in Westboro. Tonight will be another first. Restorative yoga. The goal is to experience a total surrender to gravity as your body is deeply supported by various props and blankets. Feeling like I could use some restoration, I decided there was no better time than the present to try it out. It's an unbelievably relaxing process. Time becomes abstract, the body lets go of accumulated tension and the mind is set free. It was exactly what I needed. I floated out of the studio and back home, absorbed in immaculate comfort. I would have fallen into a deep sleep as soon as my head hit the pillow, but there was still something I had to do.

Taking a seat on the floor and tying my legs in a bow, I close my eyes and breathe. Meditation is hard. For the past few days I have completely avoided it. I feel like I'm back in high school and I haven't done my homework lately. The mind is too untamed. It's a wild ape with attention deficit disorder. Shawna left me a comment on yesterday's post:

Personal growth is a pretty intense thing and can knock you off your spiritual feet. To counter this I suggest the following: remember your commitment to meditation and consider the following mantra, "Om Namah Shivaya". While there is no true translation of this mantra, the commonly understood meaning is "I honour that which I am capable of becoming". Whatever you come to be, you'll still be you.

Closing my eyes, balancing and deepening my breathing pattern, I slowly start to settle in to the moment. There are endless techniques used to enter into a meditative state. I usually close my eyes and breathe. I focus on the slow exhalation, the inhalation and the subtle spaces between. As thoughts arise, I interact with them as little as possible and bring my attention back to my breathing. When I catch my mind mid-wander, I let go of the thoughts and again I return my attention to the breath. When I was at the Sivinanda Ashram, it was said that you are eventually given a mantra to repeat and to focus on. Before that time, you would use the Om. Every now and then I would imagine the vibration of Om being generated inside me, a sort of silent internal hum. Somehow it seems to slow down the energy of thought, holding you in the present. Shawna's message is the closest I've come to being given a personal mantra, so I decided to experiment with it. I adore the meaning behind the words. It completely sums up exactly what I need to hear at this point in my life. Gently playing with the sounds in my mind, I repeat the mantra soothingly, hypnotically. Eventually I start feeling like I've been enveloped in its vibration, becoming part of the wavelength itself. Soon I'm encompassing the entire electromagnetic spectrum and expanding my awareness beyond all sound, light, and colour, all time and space, past the furthest limits of reality as we understand it. Then my alarm goes off.

Unfortunately, the alarm clock is down the hall in my room. My legs have gone completely numb and have lost all feeling. I'm talking way beyond pins and needles. I am one hundred percent paralyzed. With delicate care I manually unwind my legs and recline onto my back. Blood is being pumped back into my legs and I can feel some life returning, but I definitely can't move yet. As I lay frozen across the floor staring at the ceiling, the digital alarm clock continues its sonic attack and I am powerless to defend myself as it unravels all the work I put in, scaring away all the enlightened vibrations. Note to self: when meditating, the alarm should always be within arm's reach.

Style: Hot
Teacher: Ichih Wang
Studio: Santosha Westboro

Back on the road again. After one day of rest I've reverted into the do-or-die challenge mentality and to get started on the good foot I decided to try a new studio. While I've been to the Santosha on Elgin a few times during the ninety, today I headed into Westboro to experience the original location. Underestimating the power of rush hour, I pull into a parking space minutes before the class is scheduled to start. Glancing down at a torn scrap of paper in my hand with directions and an address, I try my best to decipher my illegible scrawl as I run down the street like a maniac. Dashing up the stairs as fast as I can I scramble frantically to the front desk, trying to catch my breath. Class has just started but I'm welcome to sneak in. Entering the sweltering heat and tiptoeing over a few yogis I eventually find myself a piece of floor and unroll my mat. The next hour and a half drifts away in a sweaty, blissful blur and before I know it I'm back outside in the warm evening air.

Getting home and setting up shop in front of my laptop, I'm sitting in its silent glow, waiting. As I prepare to throw an assortment of thoughts into the digital sea of information, I'm suddenly visited by a most unexpected stranger. Though my front door is locked, it passes through and moves in closer, descending down around me, draping itself over my shoulders. It's an old friend of mine, known as Doubt. As soon as I become aware of its presence I can feel my whole disposition being altered. The calm post-yoga bliss has soon evaporated and the void left behind is slowly being filled by the side-effects of my acquaintance. First it surrounds me, then it slowly starts to suffocate. I'm antsy, I'm fidgeting, I can't sit still or concentrate. I have no idea where this came from. Something feels different about today. After rounding the bend, completing the ninety-day challenge, I feel like I'm on the home stretch. The thing is, I'm not feeling any sort of relief. On the contrary actually. These next 28 days are unbelievably intimidating. It seems to be an immovable object and the voices in my head are cursing and berating my decision to continue. I feel like I can't do it anymore.

Unable to withstand it any longer, I close my computer and make my way upstairs. Looking at myself in the mirror, I can only shake my head, disbelieving the self-constructed predicament I'm in. It was over. Why couldn't I have left it alone? As I turn on the water for a shower my mind is still tossing and turning, twisting itself into knots. It's an unsettling, claustrophobic sensation and I feel like I would do anything to be left alone. I close my eyes and try to taper off the steady flow of uninvited thoughts, but it's no use. Nothing's working. What is wrong with me? As I step through the steam into the hot, cascading water, the stress slowly starts to release its grip. I try to hold my consciousness in limbo, keeping my thoughts as motionless as possible. Soon I'm wrapped in a consoling towel, drying my hair and trying to forget the sense of impending doom that I can't seem to shake.

It all comes down to one thing. Trust. It's hard to live with uncertainty, to survive in the uncharted and unexplored. Nothing is ever guaranteed. I don't know where these last thirty days are leading and I don't know what's waiting for me in Bali. To tell you the truth, I don't even know what to do with my life. I cant help but feel lost. Moving blindly into the unknown is terrifying. It's all about trust. Somehow deep down I understand that I just need to let go. I need to trust that when I take the next step, the ground will be there to support me. Life unfolds in the most fascinating but mysterious ways and it tends to be completely unpredictable. My mind wants everything to be laid out in an understandable order. It wants a succinct blueprint, a precise diagram. It wants a road-map with all exits clearly marked, a step-by-step itinerary that I can follow logically to get from point A to B to C. Life doesn't seem to function like that. It seems to be a headfirst plunge into potentiality. Nothing is definite and anything can happen. I just need to hold on to some trust, some faith in the outcome. It's all going to work out, I just need to know that. Tonight that knowing is easier said than done.

Style: Yin
Teacher: Ichih Wang
Studio: Santosha Elgin

I think I know why I can't do yoga at home. One thing I love most about going to a good studio is the atmosphere. The setting can be so conducive to practice, designed specifically for centering and grounding yourself. At home, I have nowhere set aside, nowhere free from distraction, nowhere inviting a meditative experience. My intention for tomorrow is to thoroughly clean and organize everything, to help my surroundings work with me instead of against me. I've heard authors say that the first step in developing good writing habits is making yourself an enjoyable space to sit down and summon inspiration. I think the same rule applies.

Tonight was my first time in Ichih's Yin class. Where has this been all my life? Ichih is an amazing teacher as it is, and has a very unique style of Yin. Tonight began with a lengthy meditation. That was a first for me in a yoga class, and I found it to be an amazing, surreal experience. It takes some time, but the more I try to be still and let my thoughts dissipate, the more I sense a hint of something endless and all-inclusive. It really gets me wondering - what is the nature of reality? What's it all made of and what's it all for?

Style: Ashtanga
Teacher: Daniel Mendoza
Studio: Santosha Elgin

Ashtanga is a conversation with the solar system. After my last two struggles with Yin at home, I'm feeling safe and sound tonight in a familiar Ashtanga sequence. I'm finding refuge in it's physical nature. I'm zoned out, working up a sweat and breathing deeply. My mind is on hiatus, focused only on the choreography, the procession of the poses. Daniel Mendoza is a very technical instructor, making subtle adjustments to posture and providing fuel to keep my mind lightly engaged. Building a strong internal heat and fencing with an invisible opponent, before I know it the hour and a half is over. I'm thankful for the day off my monkey-mind seems have taken. The magic of practicing yoga in a class setting is the truly palpable exchange of energy. As everyone moves synchronistically in a shared ritual, the energy in the room seems to build and take on a life of it's own. At the risk of trailing off into a lengthy metaphysical tangent, I'm going to opt to shut down the laptop for the night. I'm under my covers with one foot already in the dreamworld, another early morning just around the bend. Namaste.

Style: Hot
Teacher: Amanda
Studio: Santosha Elgin

Tepid Yoga? Having never been to a Hot class at Santosha, I figured this cold bleak night would be a great time to start. Unrolling my mat and sitting down, I start to realize it might be a little more lukewarm then hot. It was then I remembered Ichih explaining to me that their heating panels had been stopped at the border for weeks, but were going to be set up as soon as possible. For the time being heat-fans would be in use. Looking around the room, it looks like only one is working.

I'm feeling naked and exposed standing in the cold darkness, wearing tighter-then-saran-wrap hot room shorts. For a split second I am reminded of those dreams where suddenly you realize you're in public and you're not wearing any pants. Completely exhaling my lungs, then drawing in a deep, full breath, I try to let go of my self-consciousness and insecurity. Every now and again I find myself caught up analyzing and critiquing my body, noticing with disdain various details that don't seem to look exactly like the promoted Hollywood prototype of sexy. Overall I love my body, don't get me wrong. Nevertheless I find myself wrapped up from time to time. If I don't look in the mirror and see a photoshopped Calvin Klein underwear model standing on my mat, something is not right. It's hard to love bodies of all shapes and sizes when only one make and model seems to be of any value. I just want to be wanted like everybody else, to be appreciated and admired. Moving through the practice I slowly let up and let go of the America's Next Top Model casting call mentality. By the end of the class, again I feel a deep gratitude, thankful for a flawlessly functioning physical shell. I'm a perfect version of myself, and I don't need an illusory stereotype to dictate what my configuration should look like.

Style: Ashtanga
Teacher: Daniel Mendoza
Studio: Santosha Elgin

It's day 30 and I'm still alive. This week has been the hardest yet. I've had no energy, collapsing soon after most yoga classes. I've had to work harder then ever to get myself to the studio again and again. At the second Ashtanga in a row with Dan, I'm growing to enjoy his style of teaching even more. His delivery is very calm. Tonight he spoke of three important elements of Ashtanga. The first and most important is the breath. This is a recurring theme in every style of yoga I've tried. In Ashtanga, the technique is called the Ujjayi breath, and basically sounds like the Ocean or Darth Vader. Many teachers describe it as the way you breathe if you were fogging a piece of glass, only your mouth is closed. The air released through your constricted throat is a powerful, directed breath that you can send into different areas of your body that need it during a sequence. The second element is known as the Bandhas. Bandha is the term used to describe a muscular contraction or lock, and in Ashtanga yoga it causes a feeling of root strength, a physical and mental lightness. The root bandha is said to cut through brahma granthi, the energetic knot of our resistance to change. The third and final element he focused on is known as the Drishti, or gaze. When you place and hold your gaze on a fixed point, it purifies and stabilizes the functioning of the mind. Like most things, this is much easier in theory then in practice, and my mind has been known to disobey direct orders. The more I study yoga, the more I understand just how sophisticated it is. The more I learn, the more I realize there is to learn. It's a journey with no final destination.

Style: Ashtanga
Teacher: Daniel Mendoza
Studio: Santosha Elgin

My eyelids weigh a thousand pounds each. I squeeze them shut tightly, then open them again. With blurred vision I'm looking at four out-of-focus laptops slowly circling in front of me. Digital black and white writing is warping and bending on the electronic screen. My head is heavy, hanging at an awkward, twisted angle, trying to stare at a hazy keyboard. After 8 hours of school, a midterm and an Ashtanga class, I'm struggling to maintain consciousness. A 6 am start time looms over my head like a guillotine, only a few short hours from now. While it's true that ninety consecutive yoga classes are exhausting at times, the writing, documenting and digesting of each day, trying to understand my condition and studying it as it comes... that is taking its toll on me.

Tonight was my first time meeting Daniel Mendoza. Having trained in martial arts from an early age, he discovered Ashtanga while studying Muay Thai and kickboxing. The set up for the class felt like a martial arts studio, with two rows of mats facing each other and space in the middle where he walked up and down. He led the class through an intermediate series, keeping the instruction flowing at a fast pace with a heavy use of Sanskrit.

The act of practicing yoga when I truly don't feel like it, then writing about the experience and examining its effect, is intense. It feels like it's accelerating the process in comparison with last years ninety days. I can see now that the true challenge for the next 61 days will be the daily focusing of thought and converting it into language. The writing and understanding, the honest reflection on self. One third of the way in and the seas can really get rough. I feel like I'm on a rickety boat with a tattered sail out in the middle of dark vast infinity. To engage my mind and synthesize my experience when it desperately wants to shut off, power down and recharge is the real struggle. I know it's an absolute necessity that I continue to input every single day without fail. One false step will destroy the whole project. There can be no turning back. I can't afford to jeopardize the entire mission for a few extra hours of sleep.

Style: Hatha
Teacher: Tania Fréchette
Studio: Santosha Elgin

I can finally stand on my head. Rushing to a Sunday morning Yin, I arrived fifteen minutes too late. Wandering a few doors down, I began my day in a cafe, killing some time. The next class is Hatha. Whether I'm biased or misguided, Hatha is usually synonymous with boring. Thinking about it now, I'm not sure what has given me that impression. Maybe it's because every style seems to come from some form of Hatha, and I guess it strikes me as "plain" yoga.

I enjoyed Tania's style of teaching at her Power class earlier in the week, so I figured it couldn't be too bad. Compared to yesterdays full-house, today the room is essentially empty; just me, the teacher and two other students. She informed us that week-by-week she has been structuring her classes around the different Chakras. Today would focus on the third Chakra, located at the solar plexus. This Chakra is associated with power, self-esteem and vitality. It's known as our personal power centre, the magnetic core of the personality and ego. The class was engaging, focusing heavily on inversions. Apparently the third Chakra is basically a fireball, a furnace burning inside you. The problem is, negative energy gets trapped in the lower Chakras. Doing different inversions flips that heat upside-down and burns it all away. Today I managed to permanently hold myself in the headstand position.

Walking home in the beautiful early afternoon with that unmistakable after-yoga serenity, I could never have predicted what was about to happen next. Not long after settling in back at home, a storm begins to build. With the skies outside still blue, dark clouds roll over the hillsides of my mind, thunder-claps growling in the distance. Pacing back and forth, a boiling geyser erupts inside me and I'm overcome with rage and anger. Adrenaline pumping through my system, a current of frustration swallows me into my thoughts. I'm furious with the entire human race. Why is history nothing but a long treacherous tyrannical genocide? A string of murderers, enslaving and oppressing. An endless story of betrayal and tragedy. It's been a god-damned massacre of freedom and creativity. No one pays attention. The youth watch "reality" television then reenact that same hate in their own daily lives. People are blind sheep staring at their feet and walking over the edge. A human lifetime is eighty-five years, give or take? That's only a heartbeat, a blink of an eye. Can I blame anyone for their ignorance, closing their eyes and trading their lives for the illusion of security, building houses around their families, standing in line, doing what they're told, then dying. No one has time to pay attention.

Molten lava continues to well up from within. Now, everyone I've ever known in my life is in my mind, along with everything I've ever hated about every one of them. I feel nothing but fire and brimstone. I want to fix people. I want to destroy people. I want to fight, disobey, break things, to cause panic and disorder. I want to leave a trail of corpses and caskets in my wake. I want to be a Tyrant myself. I feel raw hate for the cowardice of mankind. I'm disgusted by the human race, and embarrassed to be a part of it. I see Armageddon coming and I know we deserve it.

As the storm passes I'm left numb and silent. I'm shocked at my own intensity, taken aback by my own aggression and violence. It only clicks now - I really did stoke the fire in my Solar Chakra. I laugh to myself, wondering if this is even healthy. Judging by the release and relaxation that is descending on me, the quietude of mind and the absence of tension, this must be part of the process. I'm in the inferno still unscathed. It isn't easy but it's necessary, and I really wonder who I'll be when the dust finally settles.

... does the dust ever settle?

Style: Power
Teacher: Tania Fréchette
Studio: Santosha Elgin

Freedom is delicious. Waking up with no digital assistance, I rise with a yawn in the late morning sunshine. Fragrances of brewing coffee and sizzling bacon draw me out of bed and downstairs, ready to enjoy a long day off. Today, all time will be spent mastering the art of doing nothing.

Later in the crisp afternoon I'm feeling elated and free. My body is continuing to change its form. Soft curves have been tailored and tapered, set to a custom fit. I'm more flexible now then I've ever been, or then I ever thought I could be for that matter. I just feel so good in my own skin. The freedom of movement and the fullness of breath are luxurious. I feel firmly planted on the earth these days, with a balance I never knew. I stand taller now.

In my second Power class in two days, I'm taking the postures to new limits. My body is in a great mood, abiding all requests I make of it, inviting me into new territory. I sink and settle with new-found depth. My hips have always been the most painful and uncooperative, but today even they are letting go and melting like hot candle wax. Having been submerged in the practice of yoga for a while now, I'm finding it hard to imagine not taking some time every day to get centered and balanced in my own machine . My body is essentially my home, and as long as I am able to inhabit it I plan on catering to its design, keeping all systems functioning at their optimum levels.

Style: Power
Teacher: Mark Laham
Studio: Santosha Elgin

It's not about the positions. Last night Mark reiterated the same point many great yogis throughout history constantly stress. The actual physical asanas are less then 5% of what's transpiring in a yoga sequence. The most important is that which is invisible. Outside the spectral range of the human eye is where the real change is happening. This is a very foreign concept to the modern mind. In an action-oriented society the unseen is ignored.

The fact is no blinding light from God will shine down upon you from parted clouds once you master a posture. The asana is a tool, a technique which allows for the inner transformation. Even in all their complexity and diversity, the physical side of the practice is less important. Yoga is the science of the unseen. Every series of positions is like conducting an experiment in a lab using the scientific method. You follow a set procedure in order to hopefully arrive at a new understanding. It's a foray into the wilderness with a compass, plotting a course to new uncharted shores.

Blasted by my alarm clock early this morning, I caught myself imagining a day of teaching yoga instead of a day of work ahead of me. I have to admit, the idea of teaching has been in the back of my mind for a while, germinating and sprouting roots unnoticed. The nutrients of personal experience will no doubt tend to the seed of thought, and only time will tell when it will blossom and what fruit will end up on its vine. Back home in comfortable clothes with a cup of coffee, the idea of teaching is still hanging around me. Momentarily I'll be shutting my laptop and throwing my yoga bag over my shoulder yet again, setting off to the newly-discovered Santosha studio.

Style: Yin
Teacher: Mark Laham
Studio: Santosha Elgin

On my feet for the ninth consecutive hour, I'm finally free to go home. Having been engaged in simple arithmetic since 6 am, my mind is still moving a mile a minute. It was just one of those days at work that lingered on long after it was scheduled, a steady flow of mundane tasks flicking numbers off the clock. Still feeling yesterday's lingering weariness, I unlock my front door and find myself lying on my back across my living room floor, looking up at the ceiling. I should go to an earlier yoga class today so I can get some sleep and avoid being up late into the night writing a blog post before an early morning again. That was the last thought I can remember before drifting into a deep sleep.

Rising from an extended accidental savasana, I wake up to realize I have no time to waste if I want to get to the last available class. I pick myself up off the floor and convince my exhausted legs to carry me out into the night. Outside, the winter air is so still that the world seems to be submerged in a vast ocean of moonlit snowflakes, held overhead in suspended animation. Walking along the frozen canal I breathe in the fresh air, excited to try another new studio tonight. I've heard good things about Santosha, and the change of scene feels nice after a long day at work. Off the ice, a red, green and briefly yellow kaleidoscope of light stretches down Elgin street.

There's one thing you may have noticed about yoga - it ain't cheap. Arriving at Santosha for the first time, I was offered a two week unlimited pass for $25. You can imagine where I'll be for the next fourteen days. Stepping into the studio, I find a long room with dark, rich wood floors. At the front end are wall-to-wall windows, and outside a trillion snowflakes dance and swirl under the streetlights. Although the studio is new, I'm familiar with tonight's teacher. I took dozens of Mark's classes throughout the first challenge, and this time around isn't any different. One great thing about his style of teaching is that he is very well spoken, explaining technical details and new subtleties in the postures. This Yin sequence is putting me back together, piece by piece. After a sublime walk back home I take sanctuary in a hot shower, cleansing myself of all left over tension. I finally crawl into bed, thoroughly reconstructed.