The Anxiety of Leaving

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.

This helped bring me down.

2021 Watercolor & Audio Journaling – A Combination of Styles

I’m doing a new daily journaling style. Basically it’s a line-less, sketchbook in which one can apply watercolors. It’s a challenge to do this. I had it more straight-line with only basically rounded-out headliners. Surely I’ve posted snaps of that journal (which I loved doing and having very much. It was a big comforting daily ritual. This 2021 stuff is much less confined but it’s scary to think of “ruining things” because art is involved. This is insane thinking and I know it…

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.

The prism light hit the paper, the rainbow gave me an idea…<3

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!


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).

Here’s the link to the site I gleaned this info from:

A Weird One

Digital. Couple days ago.

People are missing what once was there. Or (and?), people are raging for what was promised but never granted. Which one am I? I am the one missing what once was. But what is it that I missed? I think: it must be the togetherness, of us meaning all of us or at least most of us. When there were things to be shared and laughed about together. People’s lives going in different directions even then, but the paths were diverging so subtly for a while that futures were imagined being…together.

So, I’m making quarantine cards in my head, and ideas for projects. A sketch book of a style I used to love as a kid. A style that reminds me of the luscious, jewish black pen of Shel Silverstein. Shel Silverstein, my love, the man I wanted to be one of the friendly monsters in my life. (I should post of photo of him here, really, this is my future library of Self in a way. I might like to remember what he looked like when I am surfing this page 10 years from now).

I’m making something new out of something old. That is what this life of mine, rich with emotion, has come to. A strange patchwork quilt of selves is being reidentified into a new, middle-aged child-artist witch-woman that I am. I feel like a scarily ugly-beautiful, rather stupid, magic-sharting fingerpainter of a woman.

Goal: to only eat seeds, nuts, berries and red apples for a few days and see how it feels. I will never do this. I’ve changed my mind.

I’m planning the creation of things to be made available for selling on Etsy. I have a great many reasons for doing this, and it is actually important to try. I am scared. Scared enough to want to run from it, immediately, even the idea of it makes me feel overpowerered by. Over-ruled am I. I’m an artist. We don’t just make things, we’re a kind of people. You can make nothing and still be an artist. They’re a type. Of person. There are lots or types of people. What I need is a real job. Ugh.

The dark side of the meme, the one that reflects Real Life. I need to put my landscapes together and integrate. I need to do more. I need to strengthen and then I need to maintain. I’m doing a really, really great job, to be sure.


Columbian Witches. I found this as a comment, and I am so sad to say that I was sidetracked while copying and pasting this whole section. Credit goes to someone, for sure, that isn’t me. It realllllly made me smile. It is so wonderful and rich and innocent. It is so sweetly inside of existence, this thing. Realize how many things we treasure that are not at all material. They are ideas and loves and places, and they imprint on our hearts and minds. They shape our reality. They make us believe we are part of a killer culture – a killer couture, really. Anyhow…this was not at all meant in jest:

“I want to discuss witches. And I don’t mean girls who make potions on certain moon phases. I mean women who made a deal with the “devil” in order to become one.

In Colombia, it’s normal to hear stories about entities who come out at night and ambush men, scare animals and do things such as make really tight braids in young women’s hair. Witches are said to destroy marriages, make people sick, kill cattle, steal things and other handful of things Old people say in a house where there are men lacking women attention, a witch can come to give a hand, that’s why many people say if you are a man don’t sweep at night, because that means you need a woman in your house. The reason people think that way is because witches exist since a long time ago and come from the country side, making the whole culture around it extremely sexist and outdated.

It’s said that a witch is not a woman’s human form. As she sleeps, a demon custodies her body and her spirit moves around. That’s why you can’t kill a witch. Although, you can hurt them. But here’s the interesting thing, if you stab or cut a witch it has to be an odd number of times, because the first time it hurts them, and the second time it heals them. That’s why you have to hit them 1, 3, 5 or more times, so it remains injured. Usually, witches are women you know, so when you hurt a witch in her leg, you will later see a neighbour limping. Witches will not recover from their injuries unless the person who gave them it hits them again. They usually make an agreement with whoever hurt them, to not bother them ever again, in exchange of them gaining their health again; and a witch can’t break their promises.

How do you catch a witch inside your house? You may ask. Well, you have to keep her entertained until you wake up to see her, because she won’t enter your home unless everyone is asleep. Witches like numbers, so leaving a huge amount of spilled salt will make her count it, and you may find her in the morning. Also leaving a path of needles may work too, she will try and thread all of them and it could take her all night.

I don’t know if they are real. I’ve heard many relatives and family friends saying they encountered them in the past, but you never know. What do you think?”

I think I love you for that, stranger. And I don’t mean girls who make potions on certain moon phases.

Yes, this had a lot that I did like about it. I’m on the hunt for something new. A new sound to explore.

You know who I love? Lo Moon.

I’m going to be rich.

Real & Useful

HolUp from HolUp

The wisdom of other people is real, and useful.

Maybe,I don’t paint so much anymore (I paint a little bit, but few and far between) because I don’t (or haven’t) quite known what the art was about for Me. Don’t understand the subject fully. Yet. At least I’m still curious – I have that going for me. ❤

Today was incredible. I hiked further than I have in a long time, going up the real mountain of Mt. Charleston. It was a bit chilly when we started. It was so beautiful. I went on a part of the trail I haven’t been to in a few years (god, time’s flying) and it was like seeing an old, wonderful time of your life, a great day from out of the past. I had many of those kinds of days where I inhaled pine trees and warm forest soil. The surprising beauty of the light. The incredibly deep blue skies that can only be seen with the naked, human eye. Air, sparkling, complimentary and welcoming. A desire to touch and be touched; being desirable to Mother nature herself. Wonderful things; magical stuff. We met and passed so many lovely people. I troop of young men from the boys’ home/reformatory. I smiled at every one of them, I smiled at them like I love their souls and see them for how special and amazing they are, because they are and I have the gift to see it. It is a great gift I have that I can share. I didn’t know it was a gift till (relatively) recently, but now I get it. I know it is true. I’m not the only one, of course. There’s no congratulation; there’s no “thanks”; but it is powerful and it is power. I can use this in my own way, filtered through my self and what aspect of the Other it is that I can see, and I can mirror that beautiful thing they, the Other One is/are, in-part, Being (seeing you recognize this fact through their own , incredible truths, they see themselves. And they love you, just LOVE you for it. That moment of give-give is exquisitely, humanly, spiritually, physically, what healing is all about. My kind of engagement. My kind of day.

Oh my god, I couldn’t believe the stone I found!!! It is black, it has a fucking perfect flower in the center of it; the flower is white, and the whole stone sparkles like the underside of roof tiles. AND THEN I found a fucking tiny house/building in the woods that is long abandoned. What it was used for, I have no idea. Adam was really tired (we went far and high) and needed to be done. so, I have to go back to this place – maybe tomorrow. I will be careful. It is located (soooooo strangely) right where I planned to go sometime, by myself, and do shrooms. (That’s definitley on the Bucket List. Also need to see stars. I don’t think I’ve every really seen stars. I’ve never seen the milky way – don’t really believe what is in pictures is real? I need to look into this. This is a weird problem to have, no)? Anyhow, this spot in the woods. I won’t even describe it because it is divinely hidden right in the middle of somewhere obvious, but its location is very unseen. it is a place exactly at the right angle to be totally inconspicuous to the casual traveller; but I am no casual traveller.

My house will never be in order. No peace shall ever last. It’s the thing of wisdom to accept it and understand that life does have guarantees: everything will end; nothing lasts; but that includes bad times coming ’round to good times. Experiences are worth recording so that they may be analyzed later for optional truths and re-experiencing laughs, etc.

This past Saturday I went for what’s probably the last time all 3 owls will be together in the Record Room. I admit, it feels…I have sorrow. Soon, things will change again. Things are changing now, actually. The momentum began last year for Cam to leave this city and start the last chapter of her life, taking Kenita on an adventure across the country. I’ve no doubt I will join them at some junction where we will lay on the earth in some dark wilderness and see the stars. Ha…wow, this is what they told me and I remember that just above – few days ago – I wrote about seeing stars being something on my own Bucket List. How wonderful to do it, to have it happen.

I hope that someday I can meet the children (all grown) of my friends, and I think that’s possible. Maybe as soon as this upcoming year or two.

Steps To Success!

I’ll bet I haven’t heard this album since 2010. Strange, because I was really, really into it. It’s just incredibly good. The whole fucking album is gold.
Beck, album is ‘Sea Change’.
Little One, by Beck.
I like it a lot. Andy Shauf – The Magician

How To Paint An Owl

That Feeling When You Can’t See It Or Describe It But You Know It’s There

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.

This always and forever is so so good and beautiful. I would trade in every play I’ve ever seen so I could see this version of the play, on Broadway, with Elaine Page as this old-broad cat.
God, a beautiful video omg. She won the competition to play this piece and she just weeps and the whole thing is just heart-wrenching good times!
This guy gets so much pussy…
Deserved a listen after who KNOWS how many years?!! Damn good piece. Gosh dang beautiful. Dream come true. Music touched millions, remember that.
I drew on it. 🙂

Virtual Picnic!

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).

So thrilled – new Washed Out!!
And this old one…
Beach House’s videos are hot-damnity-dig-dog good. In my next life, I’d like to be in one.

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. 😀

Record Room II

My notebook and the James Eads Tarot deck.

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. ❤