I Am An Owl

Why am I an owl? Because basically, I’m a flying cat – but with wisdom.

Today was amazing, and good. I am smiling from ear-to-ear.

I had a lovely chat with Ashley, who is a beautiful, somehow beautiful, yet 13-year-old boy of a woman. An amazingly fun and smart person who is moving away to fucking Texas. Why do they always move away? The best ones? The ones I had something with? Well, because everybody moves on. I just notice the ones who matter (to me). But yeah, most people move on.

I had a very special interaction with a client. She opened up to me, spontaneously, as my door was open. I was able to lift her up a bit. I could see it. I was so glad she came in. I feel…I have been lifted myself. It is incredible what we can do for each other when we try our best to be kind and helpful to other people. It is much more enriching than doing anything else. I am dying to talk about it, but I find I am disappointed in my direction in myself when I don’t keep the sacred sacred. It is worth it to be patient and let the reward be the next, I dunno, Big Deal thing. The lady I helped today, her name was Joy. Thank you, Joy.

“Don’t focus on being sick. You’re already sick. Focus on healing.” – me, probably.

I particularly loved doing this drawing in my notebook. I really did. And at the time that I made her, I thought she was incredible and beautiful. Afterward, I also thought: when something is done, you let it go because you cannot stay with it, you go on to making the next creation – whatever that may be and regardless of how much you like it, you should always go on to the next thing when something is finished. And a separate lesson is: How to know when something is finished (I don’t know, I’m still reading the rules on that one).
All kinds of stuff! On my way to work. The accident.

I love nurturing in people for who they already are. I have to love myself or I wouldn’t feel that way.

And good-bye to this creation. I will miss you always, May 5, 2021.

Florific Altars

This world is so traumatic. So full of joy.

The softest, sweetest breeze, cool with an English dusk-blue zero-gravity kind of evening just brushed my neck. Then a man in a house, just down the walk there, laughed loudly in a happy way.

It was a simple and stupid week, but full also of intellectual adventure and fun. I am slowly working on my therapeutic art course. I did 10 minutes of yoga which pissed me off and I hated the whole time, but I felt so good afterward.

I felt my capacity to understand and endure others stretch outward, like a rubber-band – but like, a high-quality NASA rubber so I know its strength without fearing its weakness.

I love paint and color.

I was stressed at not being able to pull together an altar. What are my wishes? Have I no center? Why can’t I pull something together? Where to begin? It was later I accepted it couldn’t be done today, and then…it seems so stupidly overlooked now, but it’s like an epiphany to me. Most places of my home where I have had any say or use of, there is an organized still life (a fucking altar) of…of use and purpose, wishes and organized thinking. A strategy here and there. Everywhere. Behind me, beside me, in the near and far rooms – the bathroom, even. A layout of cards, crystals; a book placed just “so”. Exactly organized, including symbols of the problems. Stacks of things. Unmoved things. Things waiting in a kind of line. The state of my world, represented in both beauty and undusted chaos. Where are the wishes and gratitudes? Absolutely everywhere. Some are sleeping, yes. Some not acknowledged in years, pushed back inside drawers. But opened all shall be; seen, thought about and re-stored (some restored). Like old songs, my stuff has a way of bringing the long-ago to the here-and-now. Rearranging my interiors gives me fresh perspective. Sometimes and Other perspective. It is enriching, highly symbolic. I see a lot and I feel a lot – we all do in our own way and I can’t even imagine what that is really like.

A house full of life and air.

Stream of consciousness. The bit about our bodies being made to be fearful…I really think I’m on to something that hugely matters. Super relevant to human-being.

I think this is good. I think I’m ok to post this.

My friend Dave M., whose lap I’m laying in, sent me this photo. I wonder what year it was?! Maybe 2000? I was so lucky to have this time with these people then. Space and time. Space and time. Being given this photo was a gift. Thank you beloved, sweet David. (I dunno why I’m wearing my coat. Maybe I just got there?)
It’s some kind of pop-mantra. Strangely pretty and comforting.
Jesus, this is good. ❤

Goodnight.

The Color of Shadows

You know what I’ve found to be…possibly important? Therapeutic dance.

This thing, this little watercolor sketchbook of mine? It’s really wonderful to have and use and put myself into.

Precious.
So unusual. So beautiful. I really appreciate the choreography, art direction. Wow. I’m a new fan of Olafur Arnalds. Tickets in San Fran this November for only $60 (for good seats). I may go…

I was home alone the past couple nights. That first night was so freeing. When I came home from work, and realized there was nothing for me to do in regard to another person (even one I love), I was so…free.

I just walked around, looking at the spaces with the colored lights, and just me in there with the space. I was utterly relaxed. I felt the whole world was calm and peaceful. Just me, and anything I wanted to do. I stayed up late, just sort of unraveling, I think. I lit candles. I am reminded of candles being so medicinal. Real fire. Natural light. Colored glass; the healing, comforting power of translucent, colored light.

Next Day. I have had this time alone, all morning, only an hour away from noon. I have unraveled and unwound/unfolded. I have felt like I was a thing broken in shipping, something too broken to stand and I wanted to get back in to bed (I did, where I found myself twice, but each time the rest even for a few minutes was told of a healing action to take, things to act on to keep going in an interesting fashion). I listened to my Good self and wrote down my thoughts – thoughts of jealousy, of past rejection, of exclusion. Old shit. I did not escape. I stayed and finished the work. All the things: tears (fear, anger); music, saddening, maddening, and finally inspiring; reflecting (writing, thinking) and observing (sunrise, Captain). I wrote it down, and planned nothing, emotion-wise, for this damned day.

Adam bought us this beautiful plant called a Sun Star.

I had a good time at the Shamanic Circle. I ran away afterward – I think that will just be my thing. I’m entitled to stay for what serves me, to serve who and how I wish, and then to flee as desired (when tired, when I have that fried feeling – usually about 90-120 minutes is my threshold for cooperation).

This was the altar table (terrible shot, sorry future me, try to use your imagination. It was darker, and nicer than this looks).

I tried not to talk too much. I didn’t want to leave with that feeling that I sounded like a preachy jackass. I checked myself. Still, I felt that unshakable feeling of shame and of feeling like an imposter. I don’t understand. Wonder what the truth is. These are my secret feelings. I have them always with other people. No evidence, just this feeling like I’m too much of a foreigner. I hate needing other people. Why can’t I just hang on to my Self that feels complete and perfect – even in my imperfection? I know this is a rather common feeling amongst people, but I just feel like I could be one who is able to not keep coming back to a space of insecurity with other people. If I reflect, though, I definitely know I have come a long way and that I’m rather amazing when I’m at peak. Lol. Like, I know without a doubt that I am entitled to be here, and I get to leave whenever I want. Still, I worry.

I’m taking a course for Ritualistic Creativity. I’ve promised my dedication and promised self-discipline to do it most days (the only real exceptions are days I may feel extraordinarily horrible for whatever reason, or extremely tired). Ideally, I’d like to post what happens (no idea what’s in store for the activities of the courses. There are meditations, rituals, and then art projects – all designed to psychologically help lost artists). Sometimes I feel I am choosing this blog over my “real” artmaking, but this blog has been a beautiful and wonderful creation. It has been my life-preserver in art and other things. A real connection to self and much more. A reflecting pool. So, with all due respect, this blog is a work of art and it matters to me a lot. It is a complicated, real, truthful, and beautiful work of communication. Always has been.

Language = body of symbolism. Interesting I painted a snake, or eel-type of thing that seems to have wings, or fins. It looks like fins, but felt like I was drawing out fine wings as I painted him. From my course I’m taking. Not allowed to judge anything at all. Only pay attention to it having felt good to do – and it did feel good to do.

Reorganizing my vision of things, both physically (of the psyche) (altars, my creative space, more) and spiritually.

Lots of insecurity going on with me. That’s ok. It’s because – in part = I have really come out of my comfort zone. I have become much healthier for it. Yes, I sometimes feel unsafe; I sometimes feel like I cannot do the new job and the things I should be doing in my me time and sustain. BUT, it is also true that the more that I put in to a day, in to a week, etc., the more momentum I build; the longer and stronger my energy sustains the project. And I’m getting enough rest, too. So, honestly I am doing well. More than just surviving.

Ok, I’m back. I LOT going on today. What a wonderful day it has been. I went from feeling left behind to a feeling of belonging and being important in the lives of a few cherished souls. I cleaned my house so when Adam comes home, he feels Home. I am working on my altar, but all I really did was clean it off and out (important work). I may need to spend a lot of time dealing with this. It’s empty and deep, all at the same time. Preparing for some kind of ceremony, some kind of ritual. It is madness, yet it is so crucial, so critical to my sense of Self. I simply have to keep going.

OMG what a great day this became! MILESTONE HIT!!!! Amazing…omg so incredibly good. Today, Adam passed his last exam with the licensing board and he is MS, LCPC, LADC…Incredible. Such hard work and such a gift to the world. ❤ And he brought home to me, from Eddie World…

New subjects for our kingdom: A leaf, a melon, and a brie:

Charging my bubby.

Today I hated work. So fucking glad I was outta there at 1:30. Can’t the cunts just fucking shut up for one fucking day?

Anyway, coming home was wonderful. Me and Bubz, just enjoying the shit out of our freetime. There’s love and peace here. All of my anxieties are bullshit and stupid and it is a shame I am not a stay at home artist. But I’m on some kind of path, and there is power along the way, and so much beauty. So much to love. It’s all ok. ❤

April 11, 2021

Listen to my heart break. One of my all-time favorite songs. This beautiful version. The strings bring the past into the present and because it is a song about the past (somehow, to me it has always been a song about The Past, though subject is presented present-tense), it feels to me like a memory so striking that it brings it to a place of haunting.

In darkness, when we are lost, it is sometimes the echo – the empty sound of One’s own voice hitting off of faraway heights – that reverberates through the depth of the space we occupy, helping One to orient us back to our center. The emptiness, the echo helps one to even become aware that they need to re-orient. Perhaps move backward or forward to a place where paths are more brightly lit and navigable – even familiar or old paths well-worn. That’s ok, too.

Read this morning: “Clarity honed by grief.” Swords, per Mr. Eads.

Beautiful dawn, coming up from the past, through the veil, rising up through the trees. “Good morning”. Calm beauty to you.

At the corner, there is a house with a lime bush outside next to the sidewalk. Right up against it. It is a a beast of a plant. Plenty old. Has tons of limes on it – I know this from Fall walks of 2020. On my walk tonight (been a long time since walking the ‘hood. I was afraid, still afraid, but I went anyway – promising I could bring myself home whenever I felt nervous and needed to come home. I went maybe a mile or so. It was nice. I listened to Chris Connelly 1991 album, can’t remember the name, it’s amazing. I had a crush on that dirty bastard. Who wouldn’t?) Where…oh yes, the lime bush. Anyway, it has blossomed and there are jasmine-like flowers, only larger, covering it prettily. The scent is incredible. It is a lot like jasmine, but different. No, doesn’t smell like limes, or citrusy in any way.

I love the beginning of this. Then it starts to grate on me. Perhaps, like when certain stages of life go on too long, it is just too long.

I went for a hike to the mountain, after work. I have been feeling numb from Overwhelm. It happens, but it is always hard to remember it is normal and passes like everything else in a cycle. The drive was good, the music was good, but I found it really hard to feel…anything. After the hike, on the way down, I got something in my eye, like mascara, or sunscreen. Eyes watering, and feeling miserable from the curse of it all, I descended back to the car and back onto the road. I didn’t want to get home so soon or at all. I didn’t want to be in my home feeling so …unwell. So, I thought, I’ll just pull over here in this dirt lot that faces another trail going into the desert. The sun was bright and the sky was blue and it was just that perfect time about an hour before sunset and I just burst into tears and let them flow. Dabbing my wrecked face with my gritty t-shirt, I was super-surprised with how significantly better I felt after just a couple minutes. Immediately felt much better. Brightened. Peaceful. Worn-out physically, but Clear-headed. The perfect state to come home to. Home I went.

Tonight before their game I talked to Loretta awhile. It is infrequent we talk for as long as we did. I deeply enjoyed it. Mothers have a sense of fear and responsibility I think the rest of us take for granted not having. It’s a very good place to develop depth of connection and love from, though, I suppose. In that sense, it is a respectably beautiful and deep choice of life to be lived.

Absolutely wonderful to dance to.

Tomorrow, I am going to a women’s shamanic circle. I hope to find it healing and inspiring. It would be nice if I could be helpful, too.

This music heals me tonight. My door is open. I’m eating a chicken burrito from Trader Joe’s. (It’s the details of memory that bring you back to a place. The details are the feelings. Remember everything good you can. (I did listen to this for hours).

Your mom wants you to know that she was born to protect you and she did. She knows you have a better life because she was your mother. She says, “I wouldn’t have had it any other way, my baby son”. She’s always lookin’ out for you. “Who loves ya more?” You were her “life’s purpose. And I wouldn’t have had it any other way”.

‘Gra (Grey)’ by Wardruna

Translation: “Old Grey… I recall the ring before it broke… Your song stirs something deep within Like chords pulling straight from memory I can’t find the words, they still remain veiled Yet I know it is old, I know that it’s forgotten I remember when you roamed freely I remember when we roamed together I remember us before our paths got separated I remember the ring before it broke Always wary about you, and you about me Always wary about me, and I about you You may run to my forests Roam freely in my mountains Lead your pack to my valleys Let us restore the ring I shall sing you safe on your way I shall sing you safely home”. Beautiful.

This world is my cage, and you are in here with me inside it. I am also a cage you sometimes live inside of and you are a cage I sometimes live inside of. When in actuality, we are the same thing and the best of mirrors. Twin flames, entwined yet divided; the One Light we are, made more beautiful and powerful in the darkness; made more useful and powerful in the light.

A Hate breastfed on Grief grows to become a monster. How to change the beast? How to calm and befriend the thing with blood not yet dried on its lips? How many seasons have to have fallen away into the earth? How many warm nights will fool us into thinking winter sadness will not come?

I want a nap. I’m going to go lay down. You know why? Because it pleases me.

I want you to beat that drum. And I want you to think of me. I want you to physically pick up that drum and beat the fucking shit out of it and I want you to think of me, because when I feel the beat you can know I will be dancing.

Hate is not a state of thought or conclusion of logic. It is an emotion, plain and simple. It CANNOT perpetuate through time. ONLY material action can do that. ONLY ACTIONS MATTER – literally. Literally do I use the word matter. As in materialize.

Jesus, I’m going to sleep now.

We need to give ourselves a Better Reality. We have the power and option to do that on a personal level. Same objects; altered understanding of an additional meaning behind and with what we believe to be what is.

Listening to a lot of this stuff past couple of days. Interesting, it is so masculine. I think because I need steadfast strength and focus, additionally. Those are masculine traits, generally speaking. Funny how music can be perceived so differently depending on our mood. Hey that’s like…a kaleidoscope is a good symbol for human perceptions and how we perceive our personal realities. We need words to help us change. Plans of action involving words. Words change our whole belief and concept of truth, etc.! Spells, truly they are. We are too powerful, we don’t even see our capacity to refine. Too large are we, above the clouds of the land and seas and things we are gods of. Surprisingly stupid are we.
I may have already posted this. It’s so beautiful. normally not a huge fan of live versions of songs, but this has such sweetness, sad sweetness, and endurance (?) in it. I dunno. I just love it is all, really. I’m no music critique. This song would be on the soundtrack of my life, for sure.
I FUCKING LOVE THIS SONG.

All ghosts are set free by first understanding they are dead. I sense life, or at least consciousness, in every stone I turn in my mind. Therefore, I am utterly haunted. I cannot turn my head from the messages. I’ve just got to exorcise this place or I’ll never have peace. But some of these ghosts are my friends. Some of these ghosts love me in death just as much as they did in life. And so.

This is where I end this post. I intended to give myself a month. To not come back for a full month, not until the 18th exactly. But I just can’t help myself. I have NO fucking self-discipline. I cannot help to be who I am. I know it has ruined everything for me and always will. I am a Wild Person. I am an angel on PCP. And I will ruin everything. But the writers and thinkers I will inspire, eh? What about them? Are they not important? See, my sacrifice was worth it.

I’m glad you came here. It is good to see you here.

How many letters of how many poems has the delete button eaten? Around the world, in the history of type-writers. How many truths nearly revealed have been anihilated (wait…I’m freaking out…anihilated is not a word? There’s only “nihilated”? What?)… Anyway, possibly trillions.

I just want to push this publish button. I don’t want to deleted this. Can’t I keep it? I know it has to live in the bloghouse, but it’s cold and alone and it’s already written and look, it’s really an important time of her life. Can’t we keep her? (Yes, ok, of course I can keep it, but I have to feed and water it and take it out once in a while). It’s actually very low-maintenance, I don’t have to even ever come back here.

(Narrator) (*haha Jen, you narcissist): But she did come back, again and again. To see if she was indeed the person she thought she was; To see if it made better sense, or was she impressed with any changes or insight (or foresight, or fivesight). She would come back again and again, to measure, note, and prescribe to herself whatever it is she felt she needed. For you see, she was a scientist – and ahead of her time but also slightly retarded, so it was hard to see what she was getting at. Surely though there is some future in which she figures it all out. Then we can say, “Ah. Finally”.

Meaty Kaleidoscope

When her voice comes in… it is exquisite. I was smiling from ear to ear. Shaking my head in disbelief. What beauty. I kept me from falling asleep. Kept me able to take in what I was being shown. What I needed to know.

Delight in myself as some kind of goddess, with help whenever I had questions or wanted to see something to gain insight. Delight in the arrangement of color in my space. The beautiful uniqueness of my cave, the vessel of my vessel, my treehouse, my trees. The rainbow light and me, I am in it. I am a composer. I harmonize. I draw good things into arrangement with pleases many and creates very special environment.

(This Was Not Today, This Was The Past Week or Two): Today at work, a old man gave me his ID. I knew he was a cop, like, an old-school detective-type (interested how much I like them, this kind of cop…it’s a very specific type, a specific feel to them). I just said, “You look like a cop. In a good way.” (LOL omg in a good way???) He takes his ID, looks at it, and says, “I was a cop. Back in the day. In the 80’s. That was a long time ago. I’m retired now, but I ran a security firm for a long time…”. I would love to be able to hear some stories and maybe if he comes back someday, I’ll get to.

Sick with faux-covid: My 2nd vaccine really kicked my ass yesterday and this morning! Wow, horrible and strange, but short-lived. But so sweet, Adam tucked me in last night and asked if I’d like to fall asleep to something on the tv. I said yes. He asked what and I said, “you pick”, my eyes already closed. After a few beats of his perusing YouTube, he said, “how does ‘Am I Really Dead’ sound?” It sounds great, I laughed, eyes still closed. Sweetness and joy. lol. It’s sweet when people who love you get you. Best things in life.

The weather just became beautiful, and like last year, I was sitting outside a lot, painting words into water-warped pages. I sat on my balcony, breezy, oceanic-feels. Here it is, back again, full circle, except I feel safe and established here. The fear is gone. I’m well onto my newness and await fresh choices. This home of mine with the sliding door open and the wind coming in. Safety in being loved by Adam and Captain, then outward into the world, this weird-ass meaty-kaleidoscope of a world. Anyhoo, writing in watercolor paint. Sketching. Maybe getting my pictures printed and pasting them into the pages. Very collage. Much medium. I think using fine quality thick watercolor paper so things don’t warp so much (because I value my handiwork). I think I will take pictures of the finished pages and that’s what I’ll use this blog for, using much fewer words. I think I’m finding my pattern here to be a bit repetitious. A bit boring, to be honest with myself, it has felt that way for a while. I guess I need to go live a little and then report when I’ve got a new story.

How Sweet The Struggle

Living Room Songs by Olafur Arnalds.

How sweet the struggle, I contemplate under the sky of a colorful string of lights attached to a perfectly cut post. Of man’s advances do I live this way, in a suppression of nature, of Nature, OF NATURE so that we may outrun it all.

A toddler, shrieking out anger (entitled to be angry, just don’t hit anyone. Entitled to be hurt and rejected, but not ok to abuse).

A strange scent of pipe tobacco, bbq, and urine = public park.

I need an infusion. Yes, so I have been helped to see that the time for shrooms is sooner rather than later. I won’t be alone, probably not. I never am. Though, sometimes the pain is greater than I think I can bare (bear? holy fuck I don’t remember) anyhow, I think I can’t take it anymore but I am somehow cared for by these energy-riding breaths of powerful nothingness. I don’t understand but I don’t have to. All I have to do is practice the things that make me feel love (that is what is the fuel of Art, afterall).

I’m glad I stuck out listening to the music. It turned out to be really good; quite healing and resonating; no challenge. sweet acceptance of death and the eternal ones who see it is but the gate to where they are. to where they will always be.

Honestly, this has begun to transform my soul this evening, this Living Room Songs by Olafur Arnalds. Dear god, I feel I need a certain strength to listen to this music. Like, it is of a slightly higher grade than I am. Teehee! Truth is so good it taps you into all of human history.

It’s good I had a weekend to unwind. I need weekends to stay sane. I also see how incredibly valuable work is (hard work) to my brain. It is giving me a very solid energy throughout the day. Wow, it’s so good. People are my new workout. I want to stick to my original plan of being the…the walking idea of who it is I will be in the end.

I have a Capriotti’s philly cheesesteak on its way to me. I’m a blessed bitch with a broken heart, a bad past and a good start.

But wait there’s more

Holy shit. One right after the other.

The End.

Swept Up In Life

Look at this I made and put into someone’s moly, years ago. I wonder who sees it? Did it end up in Spain?

I’m really glad I got this great picture of it before I sent it off. I never would’ve remembered this. That’s another good reason this blog is so important to me, possibly to my future self.

When you can teleport, it doesn’t matter where you live.

Thom Yorke. New. That piano you met as a child and wanted to live with, were already inside of, sometimes.

Everything is different this time…that is the wholemsome and truiest truth. ❤

Write a million of these things, Jen. You’re not annoying anyone. No one really knows you, anyway. You are your own sword and your own heaven. (I do know that I am deeply loved and appreciated by people. I do know and am grateful, etc.)

Oh my. Incredible, universal sadness of human loss. Back To The Sky, By Olafur Arnalds.

Because I was wondering about my next shroom trip and looking forward to it, but knowing that the time does matter and the person(s) matter: “Lord”, I says, “Lord, send me the someone who I can assist via shrooms. Let me know”. Et voila, that very day at work that person started talking to me and its on, its begun. Don’t know when, but it will happen. Don’t know how it will go, but it will be an exciting ride, to be sure. 🙂

I cannot CANNOT believe how much I love my job. In each day, without a doubt, there are a couple of hours (or more, some days) of shitty shit, but for the most part, I’m laughing. I’m helping and smiling. I’m using my brain and it feels great. It gives me a high when it’s not too nuts.

Coffee With Rainbows

This is a couple of years old, but just “discovered” in Adam’s files. OMG, right? Le sigh…<3

Today was great, today was great. I felt so many things today. Happiness, peace, sadness, and rage. Boredom, fear, peace and calm. Happy happy moments, some. If we could will the way, some emotions would be better left to the night, and some to the day. Instead, arise they will, whenever and where my life exists inside this humanness. A push and pull of a body inside with other bodies, inside other bodies, pushing and pulling. Others. Relationships. The only thing and the everything. The Whatevers. Boundless and ripe, ready for picking when you leave the path for the orchard. Stay awhile. Stay awhile.

Yes, no One Thing. It’s impossible. For someThing to be a One, it has to have edges. And, nothing that has edges can possibly include everything. Nope.

Doing what is good for me and I’m better for it now. It’s hard-going sometimes, isn’t it, kids? Going against the flow against hard, deep currents. Swept out to sea, but close enough to see the people waving on the shore you have to work to change direction sometimes. I have advanced hugely in regard to what it is people have given me. You get to keep a lot.

Sometime previously: I left work almost in tears, just because people are so…angry. Stressed-out. Difficulties everywhere. Me, sad about being on edge; about feeling so threatened by it all. So I got in my car and wanted to cry. I dabbed my eyes and called a good friend. She told me exactly what I need to hear: some days are good and the positives of working with coworkers will be reaped! Friendships; being uplifted by them, enjoying them. Other times, one has to listen to the negativity, the bullshit and it feels burdensome, tiring.

Oh, so my dear friend, she gave me really great advice. She said perhaps I ought to preview old journals. Read about what I was wishing for, what inspired me and motivated me. She also said (after I asked her what she would do, were she me) that she would put some effort into honing my spirituality. Take a class with like-mindeds. Get Reiki certifications (super interesting, just not cheap). I think yes. My journals are in a box, packed and taped shut. I have wanted to take some pictures of the insides of those journals. Maybe tomorrow I’ll do that.

“Wouldn’t it be nice to say things to people without having to say I know this sounds weird, but…”. Yes, it would be very nice. Has been nice. Also, as such a beginner in it all it would be great to get support.

At the center, the Emperor, inverted (Central Thought):

Lack of self-control and inability to handle situations can be represented by the Emperor on a personal level. When he is reversed, the structures, rules and systems that he creates are no longer working. His desire to inspire higher principles in his kingdom have turned to ruthlessness, tyranny and rigidity. He seeks to dominate, forgetting his call from the crown to do what is best for his people, fearing only for his loss of control and thus creating suffering. (https://labyrinthos.co/blogs/tarot-card-meanings-list/the-emperor-meaning-major-arcana-tarot-card-meanings).

On the left, the King of Wands (Creative, Right-Side Brain):

“…a time of focus and perseverance.”…”This is not just a temporary condition. There is a longevity to your success. Your victories are likely the result of your ability to take chances when daring is needed and be cautious when it is required.”…”Trust your judgments on investments… The stability and success you are experiencing now has the potential to be more permanent. Your good habits will sustain you as long as you continue to actively practice them.”

On the right, The Hanged Man (The Sequential and Consequential) :

The hanged man understands that his position is a sacrifice that he needed to make in order to progress forward – whether as repentance for past wrongdoings, or a calculated step backward to recalculate his path onward. This time he spends here will not be wasted, he does this as part of his progression forward. His upside down state can also symbolize the feeling of those that walk a spiritual path, for they see the world differently. Where there are others that do not understand the need to sacrifice, you see it differently. This is a natural course of action for you as you walk the path alone. IN OTHER WORDS, YOU ARE IN A VERY GOOD STAGE/BRANCHING OF CLEARING SOME OF YOUR KARMA TO A MORE PEACEFUL STATE (SOMEDAY MAYBE SOME INFUSED BLISS DAYS IS THE HOPE. maybe I should make those come into reality by interpreting them into the physical/material world. What in this world could materialistically give be bliss? Well: To see another great art museum – the works, the building, the grounds. I’ve been to Chicago, to New York, to L.A. Where would the next great museum be to visit? Philadephia? After visiting family and friends, I think that would be a good goal/inspiration.

The Hanged Man card reflects a particular need to suspend certain action. As a result, this might indicate a certain period of indecision. (Basically, be patient. Acceptance of being patient for changes. Accept responsibility. Let it arrange itself, what is out of my control. Wait for alignment in my self and the world). IN OTHER WORDS, COOL YOUR SHIT AND CHILL, MAN.

I loved this tonight. At first, I thought it was Chinese. Then, I kinda laughed that this could be considered Spanish or Central American at all. Then, I thought, I’d love to be in a lifetime with any of these people. Imagince being someone else! Ha! Wow. This artwork is really beautiful. I love it tonight. The night isn’t over yet.

I’ve been making myself blogs and journals for years and then years more, but I’ve never made myself a book. It could have everything in it, from photos to writing and it’s designed so differently (god, I loved books so, once. Just ab-so-fucking-lute-ly loooooooved books… I have to work on stillness…Let my body freak out for a few minutes. It will and does eventually relax and then my mind does succumb to switching over to the reading part of my brain.

The hyacinth bulb vase is now my newest paintbrush vase (I say both short “a” and like vawz. Here, in this instance, in my head it was ‘vawz’). FYI.

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I’m liking the opportunity for growth it is. It feels like it’s moving along and in a changing-scenery kind of way with the revolving cast of characters. Sometimes its harrrrrd because people can’t just chill the fuck out, banging their heads against the telephones against each other for no good reason; sometimes I feel carried and lifted up by them. I also love how physical it is, my job. I did a brave thing and it was worth it.

Feelin this right now at about the 10min mark. So good! Sweet, too. …AND OMG #3 A Song of Injured Love (doesn’t sound at all sad to me, it’s super uppy) . SOOOO SWEET!

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OMG yayee!! I just saw big Spring buds on the trees!!! I’m so excited! Yay, trees, yay!!!

God, finally the dishwasher is done. I can go microwave my food in a microwave-safe dish now. I had to wait, like, 25 minutes it feels like. It’s really windy right now. Beautiful out. Chimes chlanking in the chill.

Never thought of how similar Depeche Mode and Editors are, but someone mentioned they were their favorite bands, and it made me think about the beloved similarities.

Relax. Enjoy The Show.

Change happens in the desert over a slow period of time. Most of it goes unnoticed by anyone except for the raptors because they are always looking for changes.

We went to this place in the desert where people go to shoot their guns at objects they bring with them. It is now off-limits and has become federally protected land (Dinosaur bones here in the area, so they say, though I’ve never seen any around here).

There’s time for everything. Sit back. Relax and just take it all in. You are loved and there’s time for everything. In the end, you’ll be satisfied.

A Bathtub Time Conversation. 3-4 weeks in to my new life.

I’m interested in the people at work. That’s pretty cool.

A client sent me a gift from Amazon at work! I was super embarrassed and…afraid. I had anxiety. But I tried to let myself enjoy it. It’s a gift meant to make me feel appreciated for being kind or positive, or genuinely appreciated otherwise in some way. Gifts give me anxiety, I think, because I feel I can never make a mistake again. That a gift is a supreme sacrifice of an Other (it isn’t) and that they are signifying an expectation of the way things will be in exchange for items (fuck that shit). Either way, I can know that’s what a gift means to me. I can’t know what it means to the other person. Not really. To understand the meaning behind a message is the responsibility of the gifter, not the receiver. Is that true?

This looks like it has a filter on it, but doesn’t. I love the way the lattice looks. So strange in the camera.

If you just relax and enjoy the show, the dream of reality, the mystery of life. If you just step back from what you think you are, and let the fire of your soul touch the light of God, you’ll be blessed with pure enjoyment”.u/core_de_roma

Yes, Jen. Relax and enjoy the show.

A surprising aspect of my job that I enjoy and find empowering is when I help the cranky old people. I have a different perspective than I used to about them. They used to utterly piss me off and disappoint me with their seeming meanness. But now I see them as defensive, pissed-off (because: world, disappointments), but also see them as people who have endured decades of loss and confusion. I see them as people who have probably done unbelievably difficult and sad things and have endured as best they can with what they have been shaped to be by outside forces. For some, the best they can be is ordered and diligently careful. I have found (immediately, from Day 1 at the New Job) that to speak to them with kindness, and also with patience shown through slowed speech and thoughtful listening, that they respond with an outpour of … sincerely appreciative connection. They soften immediately. They are able to take in more of what I am saying. They feel my love and care for them and something falls away from them, like a heavy rug that was wrapped around them. They seem to have more awareness and an ability to absorb the moment as a positive exchange of community, inclusion, mutual care and appreciation (after all, we are both appreciative of cooperating). It has been extremely rewarding to me, emotionally, that I can make a warm place in a cold world for someone else in the moment. Extremely gratifying. It grants me permission to self-love, not gonna lie; Because, that is real power, to be able to enhance spirit and life through attention and invisible means, and with no loss of supply or energy, really. In fact, it is itself energizing and uplifting.

I sometimes want to write letters to people, to tell them what I really think. I want to tell the girl at the Wendy’s drive through with the blue butterfly on a blue rose tattoo on her arm that she is her mom’s hero, but also that her mom, already half-gone is forever inside her world because she’s forever inside her. So young to have a mother so sadly debilitated by early-onset Alzheimer’s…I’m still going to think on this one. I feel I need to tell her something and maybe I will figure it out. Maybe she will think I’m nuts, but I don’t think so. I saw the depths of sadness shadowing her visage the first time. I felt “The South” in her before she spoke, telling me my total for the crispy chicken sandwich and diet pepsi (or coke?). I saw that blue-tinged butterfly atop the wonky rose and I knew: mama. But so young? Yes. So young to see someone so needed by her forget who she is or was; to be unable to give the gold inside her to someone who cherishes it so. Poor baby. All I could say was, “You know, I can feel it, honey.” To acknowledge what must feel so …such a lonely burden of loss. Sometimes I wish I had better direction to know what to do. Why don’t I? Because you don’t even try to meditate or sit in silence in the morning to wait for it. You music-blasting, news-reading, drama-queen idiot. LOL You spend your time suspiring into the wind and then writing about it here. BUT, I do now know that blue butterflies mean mother. White butterflies mean husbands, I think. Will need to test them both further. Cats mean a message is coming. Houses describe a person’s perspective of taking care of self (needs).

50 cases of Covid at the workplace I just left behind…wow. Nobody’s died so that’s good.

As I’m getting to know my new coworkers, I find I like them a lot, but the drama is there and I want to handle these other humans as best I can. I know I’m working on a series of challenges loooooong running in my life (challenges, not problems), thematically-speaking. Same shit, different setting, different decade; but with much better perspective (deeper, by a lot). I’m going to get older here at this place. It may be my last job (a big deal) and this last kind of thing, so I want it to be really good. I want to go out on a high-note. I know that’s so fucking morbid, but why else do I have this urgency to create a LOT of influence on the world right now? It feels good, it feels right, it feels incredibly important. A small world I have to (need to want to) live in for a bit? Other people and my effect on them. I feel like a bit of a creep saying such things, but being truthful is so crucial to growth, my growth. And my growth has become something. No, not “something”, the only thing worth living for.

From 2010?

What do I miss from my old life? The twilights. The warmth of summer nights. Being outside at a bbq. People celebrating life. Young people. Hopeful people.

Good night. I hope you do well tomorrow and feel good about it all at the end of the day. At twilight to be exact.

The Way It Is: You are both slave and master to your mind. Zero, yet All.

You’ve got the power to change your mind, and it’s crucial that you do; for you will be a slave to your mind. You will, in each split second not directly commanded, be on Auto Pilot. You will convince yourself through your actions and applications ONLY, and not through constant, repetitious thoughts of the dream of changing. Dreams are where possibilities and truths are born free and wild, and generally in your conscious favor: to embed. But some things buried as seed, whether intentional or not, are growing – having been buried away from the light of awareness and continuous re-action.

Hyacinthe Adam brought us home today. How cool and beautiful! It has to be turned 45 degrees everyday so it remains balanced vertically as it grows, always leaning toward the sun. Can’t wait to watch it grow and BLOOM! When it’s done and gone, this is going to make a great jar for brushes.

I think I can re-work and improve on some of my art and hone better craftsmanship skills (not the priority, however…)

Hmm. What are the priorities right now? Life is so new to me. This…life is fucking crayyyyyyzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzeeeeeeeeeee-e-e-ee-ee-eeeee. Here I am, the same being, but hardly recognizing anything because of how much things change and have changed. I’m the same person, but not at all…or is any of that true? I work so hard, and talk to so many people. I feel huge bands of power coming out of me and through the space we occupy. The waves of energy (all power. All weild power). Everyone pushing, leaking, vomiting, irradiating, radiant and outward as an angel’s welcome-home.

Tired, and will start again tomorrow. lol some people work this hard for years and I have, too. But I feel like this is a new kind of work. A new kind of home, but that’s so strange that everything changes and changed. Wow. Like they say, “life is a ride”. Anyway, I’ve got to go to my lovely bed.

Wednesday, 9pm

We cannot act to align with our stars, we just do. We just do.

I may need to publish every day now, for a while. It might be the healthy thing to do. A small, something-creative, to cut a hole into the side of this daily-grind kind of Olympics I have gotten myself into. Today, I, laughing, shaking my head, said, “fuck this shit, god”. Sometimes, I hate it here.

But, hey. At least I got to take my own picture.