Day 12

Yoga Classes: 24

Books: 6

Massages: 3


If heaven had a blueprint, it might look like Yoga Barn—a sanctuary where rivers thread through the labyrinth of vines, trees, leaves, flowers and shalas I swear would make even Demeter blush. Honestly, if I'd conjured this place from my own hallucinations, I wouldn't mind, shoot, I'd be impressed. Tell me I can never leave, I'd simply pull up the schedule.


Every day here unfolds like a never-ending global yoga festival, a purgatory of dreams. On Day 3, I had my mind rocked by Made Murni - a Balinese enchantress who guided us through one of the most passionate and well-sequenced vinyasa classes I’ve taken in over eighteen years.


It was one of those classes where you're praying the teacher will break her watch, forget the time and keep you floating and flowing in the 5D for hours. It wasn’t simply her teaching style either; the property itself can seduce even the most guarded parts of your soul—each element is deliberate and intentional, designed to embrace anyone, from any background. Passing through the gates feels like an enormous inhale, followed by an exhale that reverberates throughout your entire nervous system. A gentle breeze escorts you heart of the property, wind tickling the leaves as you follow a soothing shhhh noise which plays against the thrumming of mantras above, below and behind you - like a siren song leading you somewhere epic.


Made's yoga shala is accessed only by bridge—a glass haven protected by gardens, a koi river, and a jungle wall so thick you can barely locate the GIANT statue of Ganesh hiding in the overgrowth. I spend each class here playing a real-life Hindu version of "Where's Waldo", and you know...focusing.


As class began, I'd no sooner closed my eyes when the rain descended—a torrential downpour unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. Even deep within the Amazon jungle, Iquitos aint got sh*t on Ubud. It’s as if a celestial faucet was turned on at full tilt and silver-dollar-sized raindrops hit the earth like they were mad at it. I giggled imaging this is what people mean when they yell "Make it rain!!" And as it showered above us, I won't lie, I felt rich as f**k.


Perhaps it was rain; perhaps the music, Made's velvety smooth voice, or all three, but it plunged me into a sweet memory of my Sprinter van, Felicia. A smile played across my lips as I imagined lying in bed, staring at the ceiling and watching the flower mandalas slowly fade colors as the repetitive tapping of rain lulled me into a trance.


This was like that...


Only this time I wasn't cozied up in a parking lot in Menlo Park; I was in Bali, living the life I've dreamt of since I was 13.


Then another thought struck me—someone is going to have to drag me out of here, potentially kicking, screaming and clawing at earth.


And If you're reading this, please don't. I don't want to be saved.