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?
Lay atop and be floated by it. Fall asleep and be created by it. You will never lose awareness, and that is what is really feared, truly. Am I not right. Of course I am.
The MUGS…the mugs, in them I saw innocent color and symbolism, divinely intuited by us in our meaty kaleidoscope world…it came back to me, so joyfully, too! I hadn’t experienced it in years. Such a simple, fun, wonderful catalyst!
I did do the shrooms. It was incredibly traumatic. I was worried I wouldn’t quite mentally heal from it. Boy, was it something. I am already moved past its “negative” experiences (holy fucking shit, i was in an endless fountain of recurring problems. Hell is: Never changing the subject. The seriousness of moving through everything; letting go; giving up and accepting death and defeat). Very interesting. Holy shit. I did not expect AT ALL for the experience to be anything other than a pleasant sensory experience with wonderful tripping and conversation with the Other Worlds. I wouldn’t willy-nilly recommend shrooms to anyone just for shits and giggles. I wouldn’t. But then again, I surely would. I guess we’re all related to everyone else’s traumas anyway. And, I remember laughing as often as I was sobbing, over and over again at how funny the whole thing was, trauma and all. It was scary, but a long while after, I had somehow grown magnificently. Am wisened up to my age. I felt like I can endure quite a bit, just as long as I remember to surrender to it. It was fucking crazy. Holy. Thank god I can’t remember the endless details. One thing is for sure: we perpetuate our own hells. I know that now, without a doubt.
I will never understand. 🙂 It’s stupid and hysterical. My negative voice; my positive voice; all the voices in-between. Life is truly and really Madness. How to blame anyone for anything at all? We are all choosing the most reasonably ideal and accessible reality for ourselves at all times. Some of us are luckier than ever, but there are also endless facets and considerations that leave such ideas – hence, “realities” – in the dirt. In the dust of what once was. And the dust goes into the earth and meets up with the roots that then draw them in, drawing them up and into creation; to be born again as New Leaf in a new dawning of Life = Experience and Expression (and that is what I can best describe “God” or the “As Much As Possible”
I don’t know if I am a hero, or if I should kill myself, but life is pointless, and marvelous and whether to our horror or delight, is also Endless/ness. (Wow. I have sorrow for us all. Pointless, I know. Oh wave of dark shadows, the stuff of vampires. I feed off of you, fearing Death, yet wishing to die).
As best as you can describe a thing (an expression of Nature/the nature of something): that is the goal of One’s art. That’s good, that’s informative, Jen. Take that one to heart. Write it down somewhere.
Music is transendent of all other life because it is vibrational, not the physical effects like wiggling bodily and it being a physiological sense, but that it literally moves the light inside us to an arrangement we can and do attune to. We can experience a kind of bodily-mental theatre within ourselves – AND we can grow from it. Isn’t that amazing? It has to be true.
There was definitely a time in my life that this would not have resonated with me, but I love to reflect upon myself inside it.
Someday what I want to make: A gesture of the most connected kind of Love (that also illustrates that we are separation upon separation, all of us here, every day). Very beautiful and something beautiful inside of existence but outside of Human experience. Something not bright, but full of light. Some expression of my repulsion and rusted worship of Life. Of this existence as a god in a prison; a beloved child shackled to a verdant paradise.
My plan is to experience life as best I can, enjoy it as best I can. Road trips, good food, lots of walking. Music, of course. Doing what I can for people I run into, when I am able. Floating on Life, letting go of being something special or having to do anything special.
June 1, 2021 The Trip (It Was Wonderful)
Two things about the visit that just leapt out at me (an epiphany delivered through symbolism): The birds, so happy and full of life, all around me; the flock of geese, a large family, moving along, going forward; the duck and the ducklings, crossing the road, making it safely to the other side; the quail that came in front of the car and thankfully safely maneuvered around; the feather at the foot of the bush just outside my parents door as we said good-bye. In it all, I had a sense of true beauty of life; something directly connected to the most acid-dose kind of connected Love. Something good and great; meaningful and precious; beneficial to all involved that will ripple out through them and into the world. It was incredibly interesting.
Aunt Jenny’s cat, Lucy Lou
Jenny’s spirit was there.
I felt the happiness of togetherness.
Everyone felt the peace.
It was lovely and bright.
On the other side, but full of life.
People come in to work every (I mean EVERY) day and tell me about someone they lost to Death. It is crazy, man. It isn’t covid. Something has changed in people and something is changed in me. I am positive this is not normal and hasn’t happened to me before. I am positive this does not happen to my coworkers like this happens with me. I am pulling this in, and it is a privilege to be able to be of service to other people. I shit you not, I don’t even do anything; I’m just open to it. I just open a kind of portal ( I do not know how to better describe this, maybe other people have other ways of describing the depths of communication…so hard to write about. I feel a bit like I am betraying a secret. I feel misunderstood when I put it into words – especially written words. But I feel like, like this:
I don’t know where life will take me. Not for how long it will take me or to where it will take me, I do not know. But I know I will change somehow, and I, being curious about myself and mylife, will want to be reminded of how it all transpired.
And that is now what this blog is about. Documenting the change (when I feel like it).
Everything’s changed, and it’s changed for the better. It was worth it all along. Nothing is forever. Everything falls apart. Nothing ever ends. Everything goes on. So Strange.
I feel like everything is moving too slowly for me now. But, I am responsible for what I do with that kind of excess energy. I know what I can and should like to do.
I don’t feel especially connected to anything right now, and that’s a strangeness.
I don’t want to pay my bills.
I am the question and the problem. I am the answer and the solution. Also, and so confusingly also, the thing my brain can’t handle is: that I and We (You, included) are simultaneously multiplying and dividing). We are everyday getting farther apart and more connected.
Doubting myself is becoming OLD. I’d kinda rather fail (at least try) at this point than doubt myself (do nothing). Yes, I care a lot less about failing. I’m bored of my life. I need to try some things. Yes. I think I will become a tourist. YES!!!
This is where I would like to go. So, I guess I’m already on my way? Yes, i suppose it is the slow, somewhat boring beginning, as beginnings sometimes can be.
I would like to let this go, but to be able to treasure this memory as a surprise someday. To be able to attach it to the richness of living, even in a boring state it just buzzes with energy – living, eh? I want to keep it but I want to let it go at the same time.
Like a butthole at a diaper festival, we are born to feel the consequences of our actions. We are born to feel all the waves we can.
When you’re really stressed out, it is because the waves are really close together. It’s being “high strung”. Like the string on a violin, the tighter the string is the closer the distance of the rise and falls of the waves and the higher the tone. Make sense? So how to make the waves farther apart – more manageable over the long run? You have to do mind-numbing stuff in a way that isn’t “informative”, merely experiential. So, you do something like run and run; or you paint willy-nilly, abstractly; you turn off the tv and you read a book.
What would you do, Jen?
I’d dance. And doodle. Water the plants. (Always shit is in our way, but yes, always do I love you. Always connected. Life is super dumb. Fall asleep, your dreams are endless and always refreshing. I feel your gratitude for me, and always will I be with you. Always, ALWAYS read between the lines. Know you are correct. Life does not diminish you. It is fulfilled by you, and you by it. Endless this creation and this madness. Dont be afraid. It is endlessly painful, but beautiful. Enjoy this. Naps, mountains of naps.
Listn to this, my love, my treasure:
What makes something “better”? Nothing. It’s all subjective.
Ok, I’ll go water the plants and I’ll dance a little bit. But I don’t have to doodle if I don’t want to. I don’t have to do anything. Oh, but I do; one does. One does lots of things doing nothing. So like God are we. So like him and so like her and so like the one.
I did it – I danced, and it was wonderful. I really enjoyed it…!
How is the rhythm of my work? I am curious. Shroom time soon. But who knows when, also.
Insert Adam’s Good Advice, here.
Today the reward was someone else feeling loved on her birthday. It was simple, but I involved the others and they loved it as much as she did because they looooved seeing this lady feeling the love. It was really beautiful. We made her day a great one, for sure. So simple, so valuable, so good.
Look at this and find healing (I know, I know. I feel you. I understand.
I know and I understand you.
Trust me on this: Give in to fate. Surrender. Be unfolded by it. Be undone.
Death is a dance, you are always a willing partner and participant.
Everyone you know and love will be there. Participating endlessly with you.
Unfolding, continuously unfolding.
Yes. even as your body dies.
Lay down to it.
Let it unfold you.
There, there will you find, there it is always. Always. That I hold you.
Some things, I’ve grown to understand, have to be sad before they can be funny. You can’t jump the gun, you’ve got to explore your pain and your thoughts on occasion. But it comes to be true, also that most things are shamefully funny, obnoxiously hilarious – and that is one of my favorite ways to experience life. What is to be moved on to next? The true be(oops italics)ginings of life are interesting. Good places to rest and have a fresh start. Clean. In nature, everything is clean, really. And nothing is wasted. We are entirely dependent on this planet, but somehow we overwrote it, that Grand Momentum. I guess all momentum of an object is not more that the sum of its smaller elements, swinging around at rhythms soon to lapse in steadiness and then slow decline of synchronicity until a final smashing and crashing of them. But to the Universe this disaster is crumbs. A glorious other reality lay just beyond it, in the next cell, whole new stories. Stories we’re all connected to. Nothing is lost, only hidden from sight – inner and outer sight.
I dunno who this is for, but: Get up. Get back on your bike and just start peddling and go. Trust that you won’t fall over, it’s easier to keep your momentum going and understand and believe that you are flying, not falling. Don’t be afraid of what you’ll need to do to stop. You won’t need to stop for a good, long while, and by then you won’t have so much anxiety as what you feel when you first push off. So, your mind will be calmer, clearer when you need to slow and then stop. Do that a few times and you’re good. Your body will get it and then you’ll trust yourself.
Don’t be afraid to upgrade someone else’s life at your own expense. It will work out in your favor. Be generous and giving when you find yourself self-obsessed. It helps get one’s psychological wagon wheels out of those deeply entrenched mental ruts. There is not a need to act impulsively, but it is good to act impulsively if it benefits another person and causes no harm to yourself. Be careful about self-harmer evaluations. Are you sure you’ll be harmed? Being afraid is not the same as being harmed.
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 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.
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.
I think this is good. I think I’m ok to post this.
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.
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.
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).
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:
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. ❤
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 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.
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”.
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.
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”.
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.