LUB-DUB

When you come down from that experience.

It’s probably easy to reduce it to chemical levels in pleasure receptors wearing off.

But it also feels like re-recognition of self and the boundaries between self and Other.

And then the impulse is to find something in which to dissolve and it can’t happen soon enough or completely enough.

They call it grasping. And damn it if you don’t grasp.

Play that song. Hand me that cigarette. Let me say my “I love you” mantra until the subject and object are exhausted and only the verb remains, timelessly.

My parents planned, and I felt myself adapt to the family needs. Not needs exactly, it was clearly a vacation.

I urgently wanted to go to the beach. I wanted to ride the roller coasters and swim. It was urgent that I swim.

In the beach house, we planned for food, which made me impatient. I volunteered to wash the bed sheets, and calculated how many ocean hours I could manage before we left the shore.

And then there you were again, asleep. And my heart sparkled. And the universe became you, and me its servant, curious and willing and grateful.

heavy, heavy feelings

all the prana in my arms right now i could either fly or whack a million moles

it’s just uddiyana bandha, the habit-reaction to seeing my Loved One

Side note: reading The Power of Now, which is about 2/3 garbage so far. Reminds me of really bad elementary math text books that water down/misrepresent mathematical truths.

I recognize in my body a rampant serving of those post-fucking chemicals that I usually label as being in love. (Ignorant liking?)

Recognizing that this feeling does not come from my self-existently wonderful partner will not prevent me from thinking him wonderful, nor will it stop me from “being in love.”

I’ve been so in love with studying lately. I went to Hector’s class instead of asana last night. If you know my habits, that’s remarkable.

There was a point at which Hector talked about kindness not being considered cool.

Me: “But being kind is radical. And being radical is cool.”

The transitive property is everywhere.

From the List of Unusual Compliments:

Andy: “You’re like the lunch lady of yourself.”

LUB-DUB

I’m trying out:

placing my left palm on my heart, and my right palm against it during the sound of OM.

You can really feel it in your hands that way.

I like it.

From the List of Unusual Compliments

Kedre: “that might be the creepiest description of back to the future i’ve ever heard”

In reference to:

Erin Luhks: I need my son to come back from the future and lead me into the seduction of his future father.
Erin Luhks: Because I’m feeling a little too Marty McFly right now.

#Lub-Dub, weirdos

Dear [Sir],

…

Don’t miss out on [my friend]. Your students will learn so much from him, both academically, and as a role model of a great guy who sees the worth of hard work and treating others well.

…

Feel free to call with any questions,
Earnestly yours,

Erin Luhks

I thought it was the light that woke me up every morning.

However, last night I slept on the sofa in our apartment, in the living room, which has zero access to natural light. And I woke up at 6am on the dot anyway.

Also, there was thunder.

#LUB-DUB

Me, after kicking up to handstand:

“Lindsay, did you hear that?”

Lindsay:

“You kicking up? No. Why?”

Me:

“Exactly!”

Lindsay smiles.

#LUB-DUB

Michael:  yes

even if 100% of humans enjoy it, it doesn’t make it inherently enjoyable

#thatpenthing

“Lahiri’s stories are static, but what looks like stasis is really the stillness of enormous forces pushing in opposite directions, barely keeping one another in check.”

That’s like yoga for sentences, each sentence is a pose.

Read more about Jhumpa Lahiri.

“My work accrues sentence by sentence. After an initial phase of sitting patiently, not so patiently, struggling to locate them, to pin them down, they begin arriving, fully formed in my brain. I tend to hear them as I am drifting off to sleep. They are spoken to me, I’m not sure by whom. By myself, I know, though the source feels independent, recondite, especially at the start. The light will be turned on, a sentence or two will be hastily scribbled on a scrap of paper, carried upstairs to the manuscript in the morning. I hear sentences as I’m staring out the window, or chopping vegetables, or waiting on a subway platform alone. They are pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, handed to me in no particular order, with no discernible logic. I only sense that they are part of the thing.”

It’s kind of beautiful that NYT published this article today. I was on a mind trip this weekend thinking about what part of me makes my thoughts into words. (Lots of my thoughts are words. What part of me does that? Is it the Noticing Part? Or does the Noticing Part notice the words-crafting? Jhumpa here says, “I’m not sure by whom,” and after a little thought, neither am I!

I hope you enjoy this article, or thinking about this, too.

#LUB-DUB

I like when Lindsay Sullivan spells my name wrong.

Because in Sanskrit, H usually comes after consonants. So she spells me Lukhs.

Don’t any of you other people try to get away with it though. It won’t work.