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.

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”.

Author: Jen Crow

©Jen Crow. Be sure to ask for permission to use artwork for your project or supply a proper link for your blog. I warmly welcome comments and questions.

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