Om, Alma Mater

I love Montreal! It's a true city of the senses. When the wind blows, you can simultaneously smell espresso, fresh baked baguettes and sweets from some nearby patisserie; you can hear seagulls in the Old Port, a musician idly strumming a guitar from a park bench, the delightful rolling inflections of French conversations emanating from street corners, cafes and open windows.

(Leaning) Utthita Hasta Padangustasana
on McGill's Arts Building steps.

Montrealers know how to live; they stay up late, sleep in, drink wine, eat poutine, smoke way too many cigarettes; talk politics and art with their neighbours, consider bagels an institution and would rather ride a Bixi bike in a dress or suit than hail a cab to a bar on a Saturday night.

Aerial Yoga workshop at Ashtanga Yoga Montreal.

Vive le Montreal! It feeds my spirit and touches my soul every time I return to this cultural Mecca of my university days. Back, when I thought yoga was a waste of time because it didn't make you sweat; took my studies way too seriously and fancied my future the key to my happiness. Back, when I began questioning the status quo; wearing beatnik duds; trying on feminist theory, critical cultural analysis, documentary filmmaking, big words and even bigger ideas; all from the back bleachers of McGill's off-white classrooms.

Upavistha Konasana (Wide-Angle Seated Forward Fold)
at McGill Bookstore in Cultural Studies section.

Today, I would rather do yoga than pontificate. Today, I know money and credentials and ideas can enhance life but what truly enriches it is what has been in front of me the whole darned, divine time: the many gilded and guised gifts of the moment. Mais, oui! All we need is Here. All we have is Now. And Montrealers get it. They should all have honorary degrees in Life.

Ici. Maintenant. Vive le moment!

Yoga with Paul Broomfield in Old Port.