Put on the timer and sat down to draw, by force of will. I loved it. It must be a daily thing. The timer, the forced sit-down. I turned something that already existed into something better and it filled my body with delight. My hands feel good. The light is brighter. It was also important that I put on calming music (the spa/new-age type that really calms and invites light).
What was so good about the picturesque farm life is the balance of cozy structure compared to the outside wilderness; The handmade sweetness and depth – compared to, but including – the wondrously industrial and valuable.
It’s not a lot, this post. I know. But I want to put it out here and let it go.
PLEASE, PLEASE LISTEN TO THIS SONG:
Sweet songs bring me back to soft selves. Where our gazes met and we admired the same things. Whatever is in front of us, well, we are lead there – we follow. But as we go, we pink pick roses and yellow wildflowers, to carry with us for a while – as a symbol of beauty reflected by life and by living.
Glorious, glorious Fall weather. My spirit is so close to the Earth and light is so very crystal.
Even if just for the summer. I cannot believe the level of anxiety I feel, just from parting from this place, even for my own good, my own betterment – and even so, only temporarily. I have the anxiety…like an addiction. I feel very bad about it. I feel like I have gotten on a bus, to go far away (too far to walk), and am at the mercy of others. Such a strange development. I am deeply surprised and have a sense of having lost control. Its tie to here, this, my writings and pictures place is obvious. This place I put things that have nowhere else to go and are only expressed in this way – this place has become a home of mine. Home of mind.
I chose very recently to quit smoking pot so I could be hyper-aware and be able to focus on things that require different parts of my brain to focus and come forward and do work, and it was a good idea, for sure it was correct, but jesus christ. It’s intense enough of a fucking big deal that I want to mark it in time – here – so that I can see where this goes with the evidence to stir memory in future when everything will probably be totally different.
I dunno. What a helpless freakshow I feel like right now. I will settle, and I want to see how that happens, but I don’t like this feeling AT ALL and I hope it goes away very soon for fuck’s sake.
I need wisdom, power and peace. Why oh why did I lift up my anchor?
I appreciate that we all simply MUST go through these weird and scary places. We have to go to the dentist and be willingly vulnerable and at the mercy of people and places, but over time, we do these things because we know we need to and because our tomorrow-selves depend on us to do the right things, as soon as possible.
I have to keep…I have to make that breakthrough. I have to get out the paint. I want to see that dark indigo night surrounding my illustrated spirit. The animals that are my totem. The music that is a sacred place echoing from the underground inside me. I’m struggling. I appreciate that it isn’t special to struggle. I’m soon going to be grateful for the deepening my suffering will create. Like the force of water, the deluge from above, I am deepened in parts of me that will remain to refresh me daily and nurture the parts of my world – above and below – and enable me to be a place in this world. A walking breathing darkness where others can benefit and find a shadowy respite in an overly saturated, overly lit, loudly advertised world.
Life is too hard for me. I can’t be the only one. Does no one outgrow the pain? The pressure? The fear. The loathing. Las Vegas. I seem to be turning into something else, and I have little control – too much control – but goddamn, none at all. I don’t do anything particularly well at all, except this existence thing. Of that, I am very, very…I can’t believe I am rooted in some kind of reality. To tell myself anything else is a lie. The cost of living on the edge, near the veil, so you can be closer to (or is it look from a higher-up perspective! A “better” perspective means one with more complication, more involvement, but a “truer” reality because it contains more “facts”.
I wish I were better at choosing, focusing, staying still for longer periods of time. Shit, I’m fucking down today. Still, yes, it was life I lived today. I know better to know I’m at a place, at a curve, on a cycle of a long-running perpetual-motion machine. I’m just floating along here. I really fucked a lot of things up. There were things that I could have lived differently. But am I just down on myself? After all, at the end of it all I would say it was unique, and human, and not really vague at all. Full of many a Jennifer who would both cause and solve trouble, a Jenny who sat on Santa’s lap; a Jen who did everything with very little and became a magical psychic demon/angel, just like she always thought she might be. But then, I’ve been a lot of people.
Fun question: If all of your personality traits, your ego, how others would describe you, what would your society look like?
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.
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.
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.
The Deja Vu. They are not common for me, the ones with intense significance, where I recognize the situation from a dream. The very interesting difference with this one is that the dream was very dream-like and symbolic, unlike “normal” deja vu’s that are more like “having seen this situation occur in a past dreaming-state”. This one required interpretation, and it’s timing was right for me to take it seriously and really think about how to “handle” it. Very, very interesting. Also unusual was how I tripped out during the deja vu. I was dizzy, almost having to try to stay in the present moment rather than slipping into …almost like falling asleep. It happened while I was at work. It lasted a long time for a deja vu. Very weird. Very helpful. I feel like I have a conscious, accessible, do-able task for myself that I know will improve the quality of my life and self-fulfillment. Wow.
So much to go through and post. Super fun seeing again and I enjoy posting them, for sure. If the artwork’s too crappy, I won’t post it, but almost everything else, yes. There’s some funny stuff, too. I love to appreciate my own work after not seeing it for a long time. Sometimes, I don’t end on good terms with my own drawings and paintings. I used to be ashamed of some things. But now, I see that these things are precious for ever having been created at all.
See the starry, dissolved effects in the paint above? That is the effect of using salt on damp paint. There is a trick to using not too much water in the paint, or letting some of it evaporate off before salting. Too much water and the salt will dilute enough to cause it to bond with the paper. It’s a fabulous effect. I used it here on my new-then watercolors, made with honey as a binder. And on my new-then pads of watercolor paper, bonded together with glue at the edges so you don’t have to tape down all the edges or stretch the paper. I wouldn’t have it any other way. I hate the set-up process of painting!
There’s more, and I’ll post that later. I think more here would be too much. It’s been fun. I wonder if when I’ve gone through it all and posted what I want to, if I will enjoy the emptyness of having done that. Like, maybe I’ll feel open and free to create some new things with more current relevence. If so, how different will the work be? I feel like instead of taking a more complicated direction, I will take a more spontaneous, looser direction and just not worry so much about anything. Lots of these little pieces reflect that anyway, but I would like to recover a sense that artmaking is just a way to relax and unbundle my mind.
I’m doing great at work. Have made myself valuable and reliable and resilient. I am on a 12 hour set of days this next week and we’ll see how I do. I may really like it. As long as it’s busy, I sort of have found I thrive on the “panic” of things and it is helping me learn the job. I have had to stand my ground on the amount of days I’m wanted there, however. I have made it clear what I do not like. With only one significant demand, I’m a very flexible One who is highly cooperative. I have found that I truly am an amazing coworker and employee. Yes, they are lucky to have me. Making myself that way increases my quality of life, without a doubt. I love bringing good things to others through my work.
Oh! A fascinating psychic time at work. I’m on the phone with a new client. We take info to enter it into the system before they arrive so the welcome is smooth upon arrival. I ask the gentleman his last name (had good vibes somehow coming from him, too. I wonder of that doesn’t have something to do with it). I know it just before he says it. I am amused and pleased. Then, even before I ask him his first name, I know (this is what’s called claircognizance) it is ‘Christian’. I ask. He hesitates for the splittest of seconds and says, “Chris”. I didn’t not ask if it was short for Xtian, but I don’t need to ask. I already know. So. Cool. Just open channels? Cooperation? Like-minds? I really wonder. I’ll never know. I’ll never tell this person. These secrets are mine to keep and wonder about.
The music situation is still highly repetitive, but I am now very much enjoying the upward spiral I see it has become. So much Peter Murphy and Daniel Cavanagh and Lo Moon. Gorgeous music.
Monday. Time to find newness. Time to find new things to hope for, and surprises and earnings and gifts. Time, also, to be challenged in ways you’ve never been challenged before. You can do this. You want to be better. You can be better, and you WILL BE BETTER. You will have sunshine inside you again (promise). It’s the promise of every Ending. The way you are now will end when you become renewed, but enough of you remains to remember. Someone scraped the bottom of her grinder and found a blessing during hard times in the form of one last keef-y bowl.
THE PRIEST WHO DIED This priest who died, had an NDE and reported on it in an interview I watched, he said “the bible is a crutch. It helps people cope with life when otherwise they cannot. They are broken and they need a crutch until they don’t”. That is what I remembered and I remembered also that these people I work with, they are broken. They are limited. They are as limited as me but perhaps less intelligent. The interesting and beautiful thing is, he remained a priest. He was literally here to heal people within their culture (church, bible, etc) using their tools, and their language to guide them through the chaos of being soul-possessed monkeys (which I believe we are). He was even open about his belief and NDE experience. I am happy and relieved he gets to keep his job. People like him, who accept and understand others are true bridges and great teachers. Openness is critical to growth and helping people in general.
I’m making a new way of journaling. Shit, did I say this already elsewhere? Here below are some things newly entered. The yellow Owl and random thoughts are from today, 1/5/21. The dark owl with black ink squaggles and outlined is yesterday. Owl is my go-to for just opening the door to drawing or painting. It is the the door wedge. I can do an owl. I can handle and owl. Owl is wise and brings me messages through the door, besides.
TUESDAY. My sense of humor is a gift I am grateful for. Nature and nurture gifted me on that one. I grew up in a family that has a great sense of humor, regardless if it is sometimes over-the-top and occasionally insensitive.
Released Too Soon In The Wild
Released in to the wild too soon, was she. Her fur soft, but thinly. Her small body, perfect but fragile. Her heart was a hollow filled up with bees. But in that hollow once bees bumped and bounced, was now filled with honey. A bee’s nest of delight. She lifted the golden dew and held it above her like the sun. Above her head, with lowered eyes, she cast the light on e’eryone.
I want to have the equipment and skills for aging, as well as going into the problems of middle age, the Long Autumn. I want to help bring the truths of beauty into the world, not the truths of brutality. Not proofs of separateness. Everyone already knows about the separate but connectedness of life. (Those who don’t suffer). What about the beauty of being cared for? Who would I want that taken away from? Nobody.
I am hoping we get some rain this year.
Remember that red-skinned apples are medicine to you. They will sing inside you when you eat them. Let them in.
Oh my gosh today was gooooood. I went to an interview. I was so unhappy about having to go. WHAT is more stressful?! But, I enjoyed the drive up there, without music, just the commanding voice of Google Maps Lady telling me when to turn right, etc.
Later that day…I GOT IT! I GOT THE JOB! MY FIRST INTERVIEW, MY FIRST TRY AND I GOT IT! lol I am soooooo happy and nervous about being the new girl.
The man I will be working for…he is an open heart. He has compassion. He is attuned to certain things. I read him very, very well and I think I may be in good company (though professional. I am not currently shopping for friends, especially not at a new job). It’s possible I could be free here. Intellectually, spiritually. Coming from a place of total suppression, being a kind of secret witch, it makes one a bit of a hermit of the heart. I also know to be extremely careful and shut-mouthed for quite some time, until I know them rather well. It isn’t necessary to find like-minds, but it would be nice and FUN!
THURSDAY – A MAGICAL, PROFOUND OCCURANCE
Sparrowhawk Medicine. The art of focusing on one’s highest objectives, filtering out all negativity that could lead to a drain of one’s precious energy.
Many things you want are already in your grasp, but distractions must be eliminated to see into the hidden, secret realms of the secret world. Once distractions are eliminated, perception is amplified.
Diligent practice. Wisdom, once applied to what we practice, becomes what we become. (Ritual creates reality. Focus creates amplification of observation and output).
I think I would be a pine. An evergreen. I think I would be a Juniper who is becoming a Ghost Eucalyptus. Similar trees, somehow. Dense, shadow-green leaves. Strippy, weeping bark. Incredible messy beauties, the both of them. Medicine and Fire trees, both.
(Honestly curious now) What kind of tree would you be?
Coldest reality meets inner warmth. (We, human souls, see wherein Light meets Dark. Everywhere else, we are blind. You can always choose inhumanity if you really want to know but don’t know better). Days feel better; longer.
My Gainsborough Cards
At the back of my 2008 sketchbook (last post), I found the pocket where I put a few things! One is a tiny envelope made from the page of a book. I was in a Moleskine drawing group for a bit (lots of anxious fun). Anyhow, this little envelope inspired me a lot. You could feel the love/happiness he, the artist who gave it to me, put into the making of it. Just somehow imbued a sweet happiness that he then shared. That had a bit influence as well.
I made these using the pages of a book about Gainsborough, the artist. Yeah, I destroyed an art book for the sake of arts (and crafts). I made a ton of envelopes, and I cut out facial profiles, gluing the edges to black paper squares, creating a sleeve in which one puts their correspondence. I bought a paper scoring device at Michael’s (Martha Stewart, I think). I loved making these.
Spring Blooms at Cold Creek
Portrait of a Cat
Haunted Spaces In My Home
I’m really enjoying documenting everything. Allowing one thing to flow into the next is the way to go, I think. Just let its natural time to be seen again come into being and then do my duty to portray it with love and respect. Like any good documentary does it, the interesting stuff is in-between words. It is interesting to be old enough to see your life in a new and different light. The experience of something in the past can change in several ways inside one’s own head, inside one’s own present experience.
A Little Sketch
An ice cream truck went by. It goes too fast, every time it passes. Isn’t that something the FBI would do? Be disguised inside an ice cream truck to do surveillance, but then drive too fast? The ice cream truck music freaks me out, regardless, but when it’s going by at a slightly faster than should be rate, it’s really not good. I hate it.
This is my 2008 Sketchbook. I’ll be photographing and archiving every artistic work I ever did. It is fantastically informative to me. I feel/know somehow that it is something I will layer on top of and create something richer from. I sort of always felt nothing I did was ever good enough as time passed. Even after loving my own stuff while making it, thinking about each stroke, feeling it as an ecstatic moment as I was inside the moment of creation, something adult and hateful would come up and critique the bits and pieces of my life like a jealous demon would toward an innocent child…
Anyhow, here is 2008’s Moleskine sketchbook. At the end are some sketches from 2018 where I picked up this sketchbook to do some mindless watercolor doodling. I remember feeling at the time “I’ve lost my art-soul”, and that was very very depressing. I know that that is not true at all. Thankful for this jobless time, in a new place, to help me see that all that is beautiful about me has deepened through both grace and sorrow and charity of others toward me (thank you to those souls passing by me in Time). What am I saying? Oh, I’m saying that all is not lost.
4/26/20. I’ve discovered Mary Oliver, a poet I love! I only read a few of her poems, but they are so pleasing to me, and resonate so beautifully. I feel like she’s a kindred spirit and so happy she did this work and that it could become beautiful satisfaction for me, at no charge.
I found this wonderful journal page on reddit that someone made with rubber-stamp letters. Loved that, too. I’m going to do a version of it.
I believe that Other World is there, and that I have the right to go there.
Louis CK. Yes, I need to watch this even if I have to pay $7.99.
Maximalism. (4/27/20). I am reaping and reaping up the things from my past. It is wonderful wonderful-wonderful to experience. What a surprise. I expected something new – it’s a given – but I did not expect it to be so full of the past in such a novel and original way! I left myself such happy discoveries. I’m not a hoarder – those judging people who can’t stand anything but themselves filling up a space, those people can go and fuck themselves, those minimalists. Well, my bravery (yeah, it’s brave to keep and not destroy) at keeping things instead of “cleansing myself of them” has paid me dearly.
My home is looking beautiful. It is so full of art, beauty, quiet creativity that is both deep and warm. Deep and warm, kindling somewhere underneath is a fire. The ocean welcomes the setting sun…<3
Virus (4/27/20). I think what will happen in some spots is, they will not be patient, and mixed with that incredible, arrogant, stupidity only Americans can flaunt, things will go to shit and an incredible wave of death and disease will wash away everything good and bad in about 1 million people of this country alone. 1-fucking-million of them. Technology and healthcare – that’s where it’s at. And of course, food. Always food. Get ready for your once-a-month-only rationing of KoolWhip you fucking hicks.
It’s not the plague we asked for, but it’s the plague we deserve.
Tuesday 4/28/20. I have everything I need. I’m worried about a meat shortage. Will I have to eat the locusts coming this summer, during the record hot heat? Will I find I was right and it comes to be true that we find out we don’t need jobs, mostly and we are happy eating locusts and wildflower honey? You get to do whatever you want and you get to be whoever you like. (hope you like honey and locusts, bitches). (lol I sound so bitter, and I am , but also I’m not).
4/29/20. Went on a virtual picnic with my dear friend. It was so good. I lay on brown shag carpet, she lay on a blanket in a pool of Spring grass, in the sun. T’was wonderful and I think we should do this a couple times a week while I’m not working. 😀
House has a courtyard entry. Smells wonderfully of blooming jasmine. (Cam told me later – because I wanted to go back out and inhale it – that there is no jasmine anywhere around. I was also smelling fresh, hot tea (not black tea, more like some kind of jasmine-black tea mix. Hmm).
Uncomfortable and getting scared at beginning. The house felt different inside from last time, immediately. Even in the Record Room there was a strange and uncomfortable buzz, like you’d get in a florescent-lit room, which surprised and scared me. The Beatles was playing, and it gave me a kind of mental indigestion. I did not know where this would go, and I was worried about spending the next many hours here. New person on the couch (lovely, strong Michaela, whom I was now meeting for the first time). I also knew that a non-participating Leisha was coming to observe at some point eventually.
I got comfort and distraction things out of my army-green messenger bag: my little, square, blank, hardcover notebook – the one that says “the world is yours” on it that I use only for these times; my colored pencils and pens; my James Eads tarot deck; Mentos mint gum; and my phone to take pictures and/or video as needed.
And so we began.
Outside, hired workers are around but unseen doing landscaping. Summer buzzing noises and rustling of dry palm leaves. I’m in Cam’s backyard with Kenita – a pool, a wood patio cover, it looked well-used as a place to lounge, bake, and commune. The pool, the fences, the shimmer of deep heat and horizontal waves in layers that are freakishly electrical-feeling.
The doubling of things, like a clone stamp. The trees being the strangest green, looking like a painted picture. I’m not sure if it was all just heat waves, or if it was as spooky and wretched as it sure did look. I had to leave it. The traumatized little creatures from the noise and destruction of yard workers. (Thank god Kenita was with me. I JUST LOVE HER – she’s not just a comfort, but fucking wonderfully fun and funny. She is golden). All the comforts of a Mad Max car chase or something. Yikes-ing, we go back inside.
We went into Cam’s bedroom. Aged, sticky with countless Time brand cigarette smoke, wonderful objects full of love, history, and hand-me-down information are placed about. Ceramic siamese cats with shining blue-gem eyes, probably from the 40’s or 50’s. Photos of loved ones. The old, big, dark headboard with a hand-tinted portrait of Cam’s mama as a beautiful young woman once-upon-a-time in Oklahoma – fading from too much sun everywhere except the eyes. (Just beautiful, this is all just so precious to me). Lovely. Friendly lady who was glad I was there. In fact, she was beaming with interest and delight.
The PAINTINGS Cam’s mother painted. Gorgeous, antiqued-gold, substantial frames that Cam’s brother, Michael built. Dancers, scenes of stages and dancers. Foregrounds and backgrounds separate, like a true-life scene. Shimmering movement of bright bodies in the mystical, dreamy darkness of a stage. Yes, they somehow moved, and it somehow was like a glimpse into an alter-reality. It was so beautiful – I was enraptured. I could not believe what I was seeing. It was like witnessing true magic. Hope I get to see them again like that.
(I really want to know what it is like to paint while on. Will experiment. Need to be fully set up before I begin anything).
I feel Michael very much. Really like this guy. I like to think we became friends. He is kind to me, not out of pity, but out of his pure enjoyment of being together and sharing the time.
Later, “read for” Michaela. She was hugely helped. We all could not believe what was happening. It was so powerful. I believe she received exactly what she needed – and with so much love and hope and comfort that all was well and would be well. Deep connections between people that will never fade, that her children, wherever they were in the world would never be disconnected from her even if they paid her existence no mind. There was no cliff to jump off of. No decision had to be made that hadn’t already been made and she was RIGHT and FREE. I cannot go into details, they are too private/personal, but it was amazing and blew us all away.
Afterward, Michaela came to me and put $60 in my hand. I was so uncomfortable. First I said no, but she said “so this can continue”. So, I promised it would go toward the next session to help someone (and it did).
Who is to be helped next (It was Kenita’s son, with loads of advice from Uncle Jim who really enjoyed his smokes)? I’m anxiously awaiting to share this gift with someone who needs some healing, seriously, I can barely wait. Imagine you have a cure but you don’t know what it is for or who needs it. Must depend on the other powers-that-be to do their part. I don’t need to get anxious about it. It’s fun to be excited to do it again – to be excited about living LIFE again. Trusting that it WILL come my way is the hard part. (“The stream will take us home” Haeven – The Sea). Reasons to trust are being shown to me. I can trust “them”. I can trust THIS and because I’m honest about the whole thing, and open, I can trust my SELF. ❤