Florific Altars

This world is so traumatic. So full of joy.

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.

Stream of consciousness. The bit about our bodies being made to be fearful…I really think I’m on to something that hugely matters. Super relevant to human-being.

I think this is good. I think I’m ok to post this.

My friend Dave M., whose lap I’m laying in, sent me this photo. I wonder what year it was?! Maybe 2000? I was so lucky to have this time with these people then. Space and time. Space and time. Being given this photo was a gift. Thank you beloved, sweet David. (I dunno why I’m wearing my coat. Maybe I just got there?)
It’s some kind of pop-mantra. Strangely pretty and comforting.
Jesus, this is good. ❤


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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