pc28����

The ritual’s location is fluid. In Toronto, it could be a nap room or designated quiet space. On the road, it might be a dusty utility closet with brooms and buckets strewn about. Wherever he goes, Francis’s special trinket, a smiling ceramic yoga frog clad in beads, always comes along.

“It feels good,” Francis tells the Star. “It’s like a good neutral flow feeling. I feel flowy after so much is going on during the day.”

First things first: breathwork. The 27-year-old Francis describes “fire breathing,” where he quickly exhales an “mmm-hah” sound as his chest rises and falls. Then he levels it up with breath holds: alternating minute-long inhales and exhales designed to test the human system.

As muscles spasm, desperate for air, the mind goes to work, encouraging his body to relax. This whole exercise emulates the anxiety of being on a major-league mound, where he must slow his brain to a crawl and hone in on the next pitch.��After two starts this season, Francis will now bring his mantras to the bullpen, where he’ll await an opportunity to re-join the Blue Jays rotation if a teammate falters.

The Zen was in Francis’s blood long before Saturday, when he’ll extinguish his stick of holy wood, slip on a blue and white uniform and��make a scheduled relief appearance at the Rogers Centre. Growing up in Tallahassee, Fla., he learned yoga from his mother, Joanna, and practised mindfulness with younger brother Harrison. He has been a spiritual person all his life.

These days when Francis stands on the mound,��stone-faced and blank-eyed, it’s a reminder of how long it took him to blossom into the most interesting man on the Blue Jays.

Teammates call him the Shaman, for his mystical aura and propensity for recruiting others to his spiritual circles. In high school, his nickname was the Chameleon.

“I was friends with all kinds of groups,” said Francis. “The rappers, the skater boys, the jocks, even the girls; I just kind of agree with everyone. I can always connect with people, no matter what they look like or what their thoughts are in life, or what their politics were.”

As a younger Francis bounced between friend groups and made his way as a ballplayer, he lost himself in all the busyness. His mind raced. He’d meet someone and forget their name five seconds later. All the mindfulness, breath work and introspection brought him back to the present but also stripped him of ego and make him comfortable in his own skin.

“It’s opened up my mind and my heart,” Francis said.

Before people understand his fortitude on the diamond, they’re impressed by his unflappable persona.

“He’s a very down-to-earth guy,” said Jays reliever Nate Pearson. “Nothing ever gets to him. No matter the chirps or anything, he’s such an even-keeled guy.”

Pearson has known Francis since their junior college days in the Florida area. Pearson now lives with Francis in pc28����and is acquainted with the Zen master’s family: wife Jenna, three-year-old son Booker and three-month-old daughter Jojo.

Roommates Francis, Pearson and another pitcher, Mitch White, have been living temporarily in an Airbnb during homestands. They have explored Queen Street and Trinity Bellwoods. Soon, they’ll head east to Leslieville. But for Francis,��Kensington Market��stands out.

“It just feels like you’re in the ‘70s when you walk down those streets,” Francis said with a smile.

Mustachioed and decked out in tattoos, Francis is a modern-day “King of Kensington,” popping in and out of colourful indie shops and vintage clothing stores. He’s an especially keen thrift shopper, though it’s often a challenge to find clothes that fit both his enormous body and abstract sense of style.

White and Pearson are power shoppers, happy to zoom around a store and leave if nothing catches their eye. Francis moves at his own pace. If he could, he’d flip his headphones on and peek at every item on the rack.

“Whether it’s in the clubhouse, whether it’s in another city on the road, whether it’s in Kensington Market, he’s just cruising and being Bowden,” said White.

In a more recent development, the gang bought e-bikes to zip around Toronto’s neighbourhoods as the weather warms.

They have grown close from the bike trips and crammed overnights in Airbnbs. White, who hails from California, chats about one day bringing Francis to San Diego to surf and learn jiu-jitsu. Francis, however, has a more specific plan in mind for life after baseball.

In a perfect world, Francis and his family would slow down. They’d buy a piece of land in Hawaii with a big garden, and space for a few cows or a chicken coop. He would impart to his children an appreciation of nature and respect for animals.

For a man who constantly reminds himself to live in the moment, this is one opportunity to dream.

“(I see) me barefoot, my kids in the garden singing, dancing and picking vegetables or whatever we’re growing,” said Francis. “That’s what I think about all the time.”

The vision gives him peace. It’s freeing. The way Francis sees it, the universe guides everyone to their own legacy. If that’s a long baseball career, great; if not, that’s OK, too.

And maybe in this utopia, when the kids are in bed and the sun hangs low, Francis will wander to the water’s edge with waves lapping the shore. He crosses his legs, faces the ocean, burns his palo santo and breathes.