The Color of Shadows

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

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

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

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

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

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

Adam bought us this beautiful plant called a Sun Star.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Charging my bubby.

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

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

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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