“No mud, no lotus.” — Thich Nhat Hanh

Let’s celebrate the getting dirty.  And the magic that follows.  A Baron Baptiste book helped me find my yoga feet in a lonely private school residence basement in the woods of Muskoka eight years ago.  A legion of wise and lovely teachers has since introduced me to my hands, my spine, my breath.  With gratitude and curiosity, I intend to continue to fling myself at this practice that feels, in my skin, the way a Rumi poem lands on my heart.  In my hatha flow classes, I aim to deliver solid foundation, humor and a moderate sweat.  Oh, and legs up the wall.