Depth over darkness. I’m waiting at an edge, drifting in and out of consciousness, wondering about the time I will finally lose focus, and fall into the darkness, where I do not lay but instead I am taken in to the current, to be born again into the sun.

You open a door and god finds a way to distract the wolves while you shut the door. Awwww NOOOOOooooo I have oPpOrTyooooonaty!!! What is more stressful?!!! You open a jar and the universe spills in and changes everything.

Today is Adam’s birthday and I got him something I do not understand but that he loves. We can sometimes give of ourselves in ways that don’t make sense or seem logical to ourselves, but to that Someone Else will make their day. A denial of something you can do that brings someone else joy is a kind of punishment for loving something that isn’t them and they don’t understand. But it’s ok to be a prick as long as you don’t just carry along with it instead of fixing it and attuning more to your higher self, you know?

I feel such a psychic connection to everyone right now. It’s wonderful to feel so connected. It is also scary, and it’s ok to feel both wonder and fear.


Guess what, me? I got to see Cam and Ken yesterday, and omg they just heal me. I escape this Jen-Earth situation and attend to them with cheeses and olives and they tell me about interesting people, their adventures, their family dramas and they just love on their families and friends so much in their interest, and in the dynamics. The dynamics are what make life INTERESTING. I guess that we learn and grow dynamically through the dynamics of our groups, our groupings – throughout life.

First, we went pinecone collecting (for Cam’s daughter’s wedding) at Mt. Charleston, which is the perfect activity. I am grateful for my super-strong knees. Some people, it hurts just to go up ‘r down stairs. Me? Why my kn ee s is as strong as oxen.

C, K, A and I sat on the balcony at the small, white, perfect table. Clean, yet bright and bejeweled was our view of the golden Ash trees and the late-late afternoon sky. The girls drank and ate, and I felt so much pleasure at their enjoyment of the blueberry-goat cheese (blueberrygoat – lol) and brie; the melon, the crackers and cheap wine. Adam introduced them to the dark chocolate covered Marzipan (omg yum).

They told me all kinds of things that brought me down – a good thing, down from anxiety; and told me about things they experienced and learned at their Magical Malibu friend’s house who has a giant yert (?), grows her own pot in Carmel, and said she’d be happy to meet me and have us all at her house for a night and talk. She seems very interesting, smart, and kind. I hope to gain some insight. We will all try to make it work someday sooner than later.

Today I was thinking that we, as souls, really do volunteer for this painful shit, we realllllly do! It enhances the experience of everything. Think of what a champion you feel you are when you read a complicated novel or art film. It is because we love painful challenges. We’re all subs in this dungeon, biotches.

There are many, many people who go much lower than I ever could (in part, because they will it and in part because they experience deep sadness and that enriches the experience of the Cthulhu-type god-Reality that is It That Worshipped & Obeyed).

I hate my keyboard. I hate that I can’t use “manic” in a non-scholastic way – like, I feel manic right now, but I can’t say that without implying some psychiatric diagnosis and episode. No, I just feel manic. It’s a good word, and I’d like to use it because I like it, like I’d like to use a rainbow because I like it, and not because it’s gay. You know?

I don’t got no music. I’m fully embedded in a cycle of repeats and that’s ok, but I need to try some new things. I hate doing new things. I like things OLD. (Not true, I like them new, too).

I have too long been a storm pretending to be a soft breeze.


Wonderful conversations. Ugly magic is goooood magic.

I keep thinking about knocking on that door, but I don’t know how to be (it’s a whole different world now, maybe. Maybe it is gone forever, as they say, and I’m just in the cycle of painful demise – even if life goes on and on) if the door is answered. I live too much into the future where of course everything looks dead and gone to me. In the future, everything IS dead and gone. In the past is where most people feel comfortable because they understand it the best and there’s only so much challenge they can take on and so they live there, where the music is sweet and memorable.

I have been given a message: Be obsessed with what you love. Live in those worlds of passion. Delve into some deeper detail of it. Figure it out. Keep looking in to it. Whatever you do and experience now – and how you experience it – are all you get to think about for the rest of your life. So start a savings account of feeling and experience, to enjoy later, much later in life when you are smiling with your eyes closed.

I miss you and I love you. That’s what they’d say. It’s what they do say. They are always there, right by your side. They think and knew and know “what an amazing kid.” All dressed up. Go ahead and do it, doll. Shine on, you crazy diamond.

You don’t need darkness to grow.
I listen to this a lot, so I really must love it and so I do. ❤

I started painting again.

For you, sweet and tender-hearted one.

Darkness, In Front of A Fire

Her water-glass nearly empty, amethyst and heavy at this time of night, she set it down to the cloth – like a clean, dry brush on a blank sheet of un-gessoed cotton paper. The altars of summer gone; swept away by suddenly-decided hands. Dried flecks of petals, shaken out. The summer plantings only yesterday being central, now sent into corners. The intensity of the flow is now gone underground.

Time for dreaming. Time for integrating the experiences of summer into the newness of life that is created during winter’s quiet and dim. Gently guided into reflection by the earth’s turning.

Wandering Feels Good – Do It

Healing-pain is the pain that comes from healing. Healing is the result of the pain of knitting together newly-created life to create overall newness and it taking part inside of a wholeness. It hurts to be born. It hurts to renew. Everything good hurts. Everything good hurts.

I doodled tonight whilst listening to tons of music. My mind was soooooo in the flow – not of making art any more than it was just about tripping through my mind because my mind was wandering. Crazy to get two powerful lessons this weekend so far. Intense.

What a good day. Simultaneously rested and got so much shit done. How? What a strange-good day!

If I had to pick the song of the day/evening/night, I cant. But this is the song the day began with and then the last song I listened to before saying “goodnight”:

Last song:

I left off with ‘Brain Damage’.


Blood Clots & Saline Solutions

“Kill yourself by reinventing yourself”. And I might add that I am scared to watch myself die. I know that everyone is afraid of their own death who don’t believe in Jesus – and maybe even then, some of them are.

Recurring dreams.

Deeper meanings.

A love song.

To send a letter, well-received, to be read in earnest by the other, no questions answered. I mean, no questions asked.

Yesterday was lovely, it really was. I left the family with Adam, saying “I had the best time”. And I meant it, I really left absolutely gifted by their words, their love (and their love for me, which I felt without any effort). “That girl’s positive energy is infectious”, said Brenda quoting a stranger’s comments about me from this time we bumped into each other at the grocery. It felt like being dunked in cold water, in the best, most peaceful way.


I went to the desert yesterday, because I was laying down, not feeling so well and envisioned myself in the golden sun sitting atop a blue mountain in a thick, fleece-lined hoodie. I parked at the edge of the reserve and walked on into the golden lands. I cried a little, I thought about those not here and those not there. I hurt for myself and I hurt for other people. It’s been a long while since I visited this spot. The place knows me and it accepts me – elementals, I suppose. The light was just perfectly beautiful. Golden, truly just gold and metal. Softened indigos and wing-blue. Cold earth, warm sun.

My mind began to wander, set free from the constraints of endless little foci, and attempts at problem-solving. Its very important to do things that allow my my mind to wander.

I met this tree I don’t think I ever visited or saw, or just don’t remember. How could I not remember this tree? So near the road – relatively. An area I know I’ve walk-in/near. A rare cottonwood in the fucking desert and I not know it? Anyway. Signs said to keep out; the concrete picnic table that looked like it hadn’t been used even once, was smashed in half near the hill where the tree lived. I slinked in via the dry creek bed. The reeds, the creekbed, made me understand this was the perfect place for my own murder and that I was foolish, in a way, to ever come out here alone. I’d taken my flimsy, purple work backpack, not my “I know how to take care of myself” backpack – the one that has my knife in it. Anyway, GOD DO I DIGRESS. I AM SO SORRY. Anyway…

I met this tree. It was a privilege to be there and be quiet with it in this special, god-filled place, unique on earth and in heaven.

Yellow, Gold, & Bone

I am cold in my house, and that means the next season, the season of Cold is upon us here on Earth. Here now, in the Golden Dawn of every Next and Now called The Beginning of Everything in time next to the Sun. (We aren’t under the sun only. We are next to the sun always, just the same as under. Think about it. What if we are above It and its light is just beaming up from below?) We’re only really positioned in space and time in such a way we can only understand…

I am a matured and interesting New Bird and Branch of Life. Always dividing (fractal).

I don’t indulge in more of what I could/should. I don’t understand one who anything about it, neither the how nor what or why of how this all works. I know better than to spend my time worrying about it (though I’m still working on that – which is the same practice as “letting go”. It’s ok to spend my life working on it, but if I could venture out more, it could be better. More fun. There is a difference, and that’s a good lesson to remember.

I still have the dead flowers on the table. I know how to admire what has passed since and is never gone. It’s true, the whole thing just sort of folds into itself; growing, evolving, changing, dying, morphing, then branching off into two points of wholeness, surrounded by consciousness. It’s a whole thing.

I picked up the ol’ embroidery project I started last year. I sat outside in this beautiful day for a bit. We listened to music and just relaxed.

I have adored my table of late. The dead and the reviving. Nothing dying – only in between. I have very much enjoyed it and wish I could share it with more people – the feelings and the vignette of experience.

Flowers are dead at what point of being plucked off the vine?

We are innocent and wonderful. We are the innocent beasts, the pets of angels. Doomed to die, blessed to live, tormented by it all. You can not not affect reality. You, one, anyone, affect reality. You simply do so, just via your existence as you spring forward, like an arrow, through time. The reaction of the world is proof of your effective existence. Each person draws forward what they perceive to be the best choice. But, “the best” is always 100% subjective. Don’t ever stop. I don’t think we do ever stop.

I’m obsessed with the objects in my house and how light (both natural and artificial) plays on them. I take a ton of pictures of just these spaces, and these objects. Somehow it is as if my house is filled by…I don’t know…I think maybe anyone can see it? They are images that I think will always represent some particular space and time, including all complications.

I’m thinking I want to open a business being a back-scratcher. Like, back-scritchies. I’d be like a hooker, but no sex – only scritchies and scratching. I could get fake nails I would sterilize like tools after each session. The person could just watch a movie or just lay there or sit there or whatever and afterward I’d say “how was it” and he/she’d say “you nailed it” and we’d both laugh and I’d say “ok, that was good, here’s a free rim-job” and they’d say “I’m a cop and you’re under arrest” and I’d say “but it’s for free, I’m doing it as a good samaritan”, and they’d say “just kidding, I’m not a cop, and if I were, you’re too cute-icle to go to jail”. We’d both laugh and I’d say “See you next time, Pepe”. And he’d wink and say “until we meet again, Jen Crow”. And then to his/her shock, I’d turn into a crow and fly out the window, soaring above the power lines, wondering if sushi sounds good, listening to the whoosh of traffic – thinking about stuff like that.


I love how the table has changed. It was a delight to pay attention to, to focus on its changing beauty. It’s life and death.

I am an interesting person. This existence is beyond us.

We 100% have ourselves, some of the time and we don’t control when. Sometimes we have to do running jumps.

Good & Gentle Fall

These roses are SO amazing. I’d like to be rich enough to always have fresh flowers in the house. Maybe I already am rich enough and should indulge? They do bring me a lot of joy, if “joy” is the right word.
The Ash Trees beginning to turn golden.
The beauty of this light through the window onto the wall.
I love being a girl.
Imagine being here…<3
Today, on Hidden Mountain Trail. Look how not chilly it is – in November!

The Purpose of Life

The purpose of Life is to progress.

In art, there are different purposes for which it exists. Perhaps it exists to serve. To express the experiential nature from a unique version of some creation of the universe. It doesn’t necessarily try to invent but it does try to express – but shit, it isn’t an illustration of life. It isn’t meant to.

It is a beautiful thing, life. So much is seemingly wasted, but is it? Was it ever wasted? Is that even possible? We humans, ever so greedy for more when we are living in an experiential paradise! There’s more than enough time for everything.

A WARM FALL (so far). I am loving it. Cherishing it. So peaceful.

Oh, I’m thinking of making a zine! I wish I’d thought to do them as a teenager. Omg. I’m going to tuck away in soft and smart activities this winter.

Too Beautiful For Words

I cannot express my experience as well as I’d like. It wouldn’t matter if it did not matter that I express it. It is painful not to sound out, in symbol, what it is that this all means to me or feels like.

For me, it is a complicated, scary, confusing thing with moments of incredible joy at connecting and something really helping people heal in a way that is magical and unbelievable, yet totally real and deeply, soulfully felt. But, like the stages of grief, none are ever really forever gone just through the experience of them. they come up in waves and throughout all seasons and all the years. Repeating both in joy and terror. That’s really what it feels like for me. Being alive and spiritually practicing is very hard for me. Pain really throws me off my game – and yet it is the game.

Look what I got for my (early) birthday present:

It’s magnificent, and I love it so.
it is rather large, or rather it has quite an impressive and substantial feel and looks to it.
Hee hee, he had me go on a little scavenger hunt for it. It was so cute and fun.

It is painful not to be heard or felt all the time. Overly connected to it all and a lot of that has to do with the interference of my thinking, my personal reasoning. “What’s the fun if you can’t share what you’ve found” (from some Low Roar song – can’t recall which one, which is so stupid to love something but to not be able to explain why because what is nameless having a name for its parts be unknown and requiring full invention to perform or convey). Confusing, I know. My heart absolutely aches, like a stroke victime whose visions have not betrayed him, but his mouth has.

It feels like a betrayal for me to just let this go. Like, it would be immoral to cut this part of me off and out. Like it is more than just me in here. And I know I suffer for it and shall continue to suffer from it. I purposely and with intention, hang on here. Maybe it is just because I don’t want to be somebody else just yet.

until then, I stay on these roads.

Look at this plant! It’s so amazing!! P.S. There are 4 different kinds of chairs and 3 kinds of tables in this interior. That room…When that room is in order, I know I’ve made it to a major milestone in my internal life. I’m working on it.

Sunday Edit: I dreamed we were playing a game with a group of friends (and loved ones). In a place that was familiar, but not “home” to me, yet I felt safe-enough. Anyhow, you were there, and in your presence, I just could not stop myself from my own tender feelings toward you. I leaned in and with such gentleness we kissed. I said softly, “I love you.” To my humble delight, you gently said, “I love you, too.”

Due to the game mechanics, a live-action type of thing, it could not be that I would ever be next to you. To my surprise you made it happen anyway, though it caused for a scary, dangerous drive where you had the wheel but not the brakes or gas. Somehow, through that magic that is your talent, we sailed with wicked speed down the highway crowded with traffic and construction, weaving in and out of the breakdown lane.

My whole day is colored with this dream, and I am convinced it has connected me to feeling more loved in this world.

Today is the day, coincidentally, that the Ashes are turning golden. I have a lot of peace as the doves circle above in a blue sky on a warm fall day; protected by a shroud of leaves, my cat and my man and I lazing about. But in this dream I have returned, profoundly moved and stirred as gently as I was when I was asleep and with you. Hoping it was a visitation and somehow a peaceful bridge has been crossed by us both, having mutual understanding and peace simultaneously.

A shared experience and mutual awareness. Lost treasure.

Over The Counter

**Warning: triggers the giggles

We should market pills. Sui-ci-dol. Placebos – candy, even. A gift of love one can give to themselves or to someone they may be concerned about.

How could I possibly ever kill myself? I’m too funny to die. The world needs me in it.

My dad wants to live to be 90 so he can be there for all of us. I never really believed he could, but it occured to me that he will – and I was shocked at knowing that. One of the strangest things to happen internally for me in a long while. It was a good shock. Imagine bad shocking news and now imagine good shocking news – it was like that.

I’ve learned it is not going to work out in favor for me if I continue to write things on drawings. Writing only goes with illustration; it does not go with higher fucking art you will ruin if you continue to fucking write on it.


I hate myself? Never. I only ever hate my personality. I’m a shit, a really shiny shit. A Fucking Bore who hates other people. I can do better.

a goddess

She is loving and kind. She cries for people who need something extra in their life at that moment that will strengthen and encourage them and make them feel safe and important – because she knows these truths and one of her gifts is the ability to Give Lovingly. A wholesome embrace from a Good Woman. (Women are the gift that keeps on giving, after all). Ashamed of the tears when others see how much I care. I am an injured child who knows how to heal Others – most powerfully with strangers. Someone who can only be (someone else) when with strangers. Someone who lives from the inside-out (I wouldn’t change a thing).

My poetry is trash because my genius killed off all my worker bees, and all that’s left is a big pink triangle and some weird fucking shit from the 90’s.

Guys, let’s just skip to the fucking part where this shit-show stops and we go home to breakfast and laze-about in the freshness of the morning?