In this series, I set out to get behind the cliché and discover the meanings of love past and present through readings, practices, and personal experiments.

I invented a game today. It’s called Make Love to the City. Here are the rules:

Today is election day and I wanted to do something nice, so I picked up a gallon of coffee and started giving out free cups.

Imagine waking up one morning and finding that every person on earth has disappeared and you’re the only one left.

This week, I'll try to begin discussing something I've been procrastinating about getting into: drugs.

I finally got around to reading Plato’s dialogue on love, Symposium. I forgot just how funny he is! He begins with a discussion of whether they should get drunk that night. I kid you not.

I’ve always been interested in nudity. I’m personally rather self-conscious about my body, but I’ve had an inkling that there's something unhealthy about my shame.

It goes without saying that love can make any life worth living. But there’s a darker side to love. A side of love that is perhaps more intimately related to death than we’d like to believe.

I dropped acid last weekend. It’s really hard to talk about (it feels way too personal to think about, let alone write about), but I think it’s important to try.

My sister needed a vacation but didn’t know what to do with her kids. I’ve been focusing on family a lot lately, so, much to her surprise, I quickly offered to take care of them for a couple days.

I’m undergoing this process of transitioning from appreciating my friends for the ways in which we’re similar, to appreciating them for who they are in themselves.

I went with my roommate to pick up some books from the Strand and took advantage of the walk to discuss something that's been cropping up lately: the irrationality of community.

To be honest, I haven’t been feeling all that loving lately. But here are some fragmented thoughts on the economy of dating apps, the illusiveness of chemistry, and some good old Freud.

My friend, Jo, is one of the most loving people I know, and has functioned as a kind of model for me during this 'experiment'. So I was overjoyed when she agreed to let me pick her brain.

So many things happened to me (for me? with me? within me?) over the past few days. My roommate was out of town Saturday so I finally had some (physical and mental) space to myself.

The monk, lounging gracefully atop his misty mountain, gazes peacefully out across a restless earth. He disentangles himself from the struggles, torments, and confusions of ordinary life.

Orthodox Jewish men and women who are not married to each other are not allowed to touch in an affectionate way. This is called being Shomer Negiah [literally: watching/protecting your touch].

Every year before ‘parents teacher night’, my elementary school teacher would tell the class that the greatest gift a child can give their parents is the gift of nachas.

My love is irrational. I can never explain it to others, and there is no chance that they will learn to love it too. Rather than an exchange, my love is presented freely, as a gift.

Last weekend, I escaped the city with a couple of friends for the nature and calm of Woodstock. It was to be a self-imposed mindfulness retreat. It went something like this.

The question must be posed: Is it possible to embrace a friend without distancing an enemy? Is it possible to make love, without establishing a foundation for hatred?

I’ve started teaching myself how to play piano. I still can’t play for shit, but sometimes I’ll linger over individual notes, letting them hang in the air far too long, savoring the beautiful sounds.

What's the relationship between love and intimacy?
At first glance, it seems obvious. What could be more related that love and intimacy. They'll like two peas in a pod; almost identical.

I finished reading the Dalai Lama’s autobiography last night. I actually ended up spending the whole day reading it. Can the Lama be separated from his people? How do leaders relate to their people?

I spent the week reading a collection of Gandhi’s writings. I had been led to believe that Gandhi was some kind of great lover. Cuz, you know, the whole non-violence thing.

Some afternoon thoughts on empty spaces, sudden endings, new beginnings, and the childishness of love.

Every object in the world exists in two ways: as a totality and as a fragment.
The trick, it seems, is to accept both.

A conversation with my friend and teacher, Lara, on the intersection of love, health, nature, devotion, and the subtle surprises of small steps.

I went to visit my grandmother for the first time in a couple years. Here are some thoughts on family, lost opportunities, and time's impermanence.

Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack, a crack in everything. That's how the light gets in.

I now realize that, in order to fall in love with one person,
I must first fall in love with the entire world.

One morning, as Gregor Samsa was waking up from anxious dreams, he discovered that the world had been changed into a delightful candy shop.

I am suffocating. Slowly suffocating. I inhale your love, filling my lungs with your noxious fumes. I am addicted to your poison, I smoke a pack a day.

Thoughts while sitting in Gallery 601 of the Met. Love is almost beautiful.

I said goodbye to NYC. For now.

Home is such a funny word.

I’ve been thinking about how friendships are formed. I'm high, so hopefully this will makes sense when I'm sober.

The first 20 or 30 minutes after I wake up are often the hardest moments in my day. But love can make that easier.

Lola is a psychoanalyst.
Here, she talks to me about my struggles finding and forgetting love.

Rejection, is like having all the oxygen in the room suddenly sucked out without any warning.

I just made love to myself in the bathtub. I was so excited
that I ran to my laptop to write about it.

This section is updated on a spontaneous basis.