Yogis = Happy always? Naaa.

Last week, I wrote to you from a turned on, life lovin’ place. (I invite you to see The Sex of Yoga and Joy of Everyday Life, if that sort of message would better suit you, today.) Today I write to you from a necrophilic, death magnetizin’ place. Because, after all, the winds of excitement and bliss blow, then the winds change. My state of mind isn’t a static situation. I get happy and sad (Waylon Lewis gets sad, too.). Real sad.

But wait, I’m a yogi. Aren’t I supposed to be happy all of the time? Am I supposed to lie?

Guess what? I’m a human. …not trying to be a god-person. Who are they, anyway? Sometimes people who present themselves as a step up from human are either dreamin’ in themselves or messin’ with you.

I’m tryin’ not to fool myself by looking for experiences to take me out of “this”, ’cause this is where it’s at. Seriously.

Right here in my unsavory emotional brew. Mmmm. I’m takin’ a sniff. Yeah. And a taste. Hmmm.

Well, it’s not exactly how I thought it would be, but it’s good in a “right” kind of way.

Another wind? Ahhh. Maybe I’m ready to move on, now…