This book is an easy read in terms of the language and her writing style. I have found in some memoirs about yogic journeys the authors go off on flowery spells that, quite frankly, I get lost in but not in a good way. Suzanne Morrison' frank writing style uses humor, humility, and honesty that allows the reader to step into her shoes and experience what she's seeing first hand.
I found myself saying "I know exactly what that's like" when she talks about her relationship with her teacher Indra, who starts out on a very high pedestal and in the end is seen as perfectly flawed as her students. I giggled many times about the crazy dreams she had about her other teacher Lou. I felt my stomach cramp as she described her bout of Bali Belly. Over and over again I nodded my head to familiarity I felt to her experience.
This isn't an airy fairy account of one yogis journey to enlightenment; it's a balls out real ride to realization flowered with farting, pissing, douching, loving, breathing, laughing, crying, asana-ing, and finding truth.