It's O-Week in New Zealand and things are mildly more debaucherous than usual.
Kate Golding visited the most frenzied place on earth to shoot a book about stillness.
As the yoga market is flooded with gurus offering inner peace for $20 an hour, we remain naive to how vulnerable many people may be.
After a lifetime of chronic endometriosis a Chi Tsang Nei practitioner informed me I had a demon in my vagina.
Ayahuasca, yagé, the truth vine, the madre, or whatever you call it is not only the strongest drug I've ever tried but easily the most powerful experience I've ever had.
This month, Faber published A Guide for the Perplexed, a compendium of conversations between Herzog and the writer Paul Cronin. As a testament from one of the world's most prolific filmmakers, it reads almost as self-help.
I got stoned and took a yoga class where we listened to Tupac, pretended to be trees, and spent a lot of time collapsing into laughter.
xoJane recently published an essay about a white woman's surprise at seeing a heavy-set black woman at her yoga studio, and how that made her feel a bunch of liberal guilt. She even said she "cried" when she got home.
We did cat yoga at the Center for Feline Studies and spoke with two feline experts about why cats on the internet are so addictive. Cat yoga is just like regular yoga, only there's a cat on your back pawing away all your negative energy.
Grisly deaths aside, how about these yogis and their unimpeachable sex pedestals?