shiksa. chiksa torahnanda.

i'm having the whole house to myself. everybody have gone out hiking. clara says before leaving, make sure you go out of the house today, okay. and so i do. sitting under the umbrella on the back porch after lunch. after a morning of writing a sketch and chanting vishnu sahasranama. sip some coconut water. sit back and read some issac bashevis singer. i feel perfect. everything is perfect. speaking of singer. seriously. we have such similar temperament. and in terms of writing it amazes me to see a voice that i think to myself, this is as close as it gets to my voice. this is not coming out of analysis. so it's not mental. definitely gutteral. so when hwubby says, playing the role of my writing coach, what makes you say so? i don't have bullet points. all i can say is i have a chemistry with his way of writing. i guess this is kind of like being in love. i can describe all i can, rationalize all the brain knows why. he's gorgeous. he's a good listener. he makes me laugh. he lets me be who and what i am. in fact he encourages me to live out what i ought to be. he is nice to me. he takes care of me, always thinks of me, and on and on. yet i cannot explain why my heart skips a beat and my jaw drops every time i see him walk through the door. i cannot explain why we have so much fun just talking about nonsense. like i finish a singer story and call hwubby up and say, am i a shiksa? he says, not missing a beat, no, you are a chi-ksa. i say, chiksa torahnanda.