Friday Afterthoughts is a new blog series that I'm experimenting with. The idea came to me years ago, but the courage to write it never came, the instruction manual never arrived, no bouncy and enthusiastic writing or business coach came on the scene telling me to write the blog series because it was my destiny. None of that. In fact I greatly resisted it because I thought it had to be and read a certain way...a "perfect" and "good" way. Which really is some fake-ass-shiz my ego tells me.
I love writing as long as it's casual writing. Is that a thing? I enjoy journaling, keeping a notebook with random thoughts, experiences, dreams and ideas. I could do rough drafts, brainstorm and draw up idea maps for fun and just be content in that phase of the writing process, but it's time to get some practice in. Because, isn't that what writers do? Write. Isn't that what artists do? Create.
This makes me think of blogging. Blogging has changed so much, in fact does anyone still do that? Blogging, to me feels flexible. There is room for mistakes. Room to messily write out your guts and express all those opinions you been holding tight to.
So...here I am. Writing. Or Blogging?
There is more to this story. Especially the title, but I'll get to that later. I hope you find some inspiration here within the madness of my thoughts. Friday afterthoughts are random. These posts may occur weekly, but most likely sporadically. Always on a Friday. I share my current thoughts, the things I might be mulling over. New insights or discoveries, my experiments, books I'm reading. The current dream-story I'm crafting. Enjoy!
One) my current existential question or crises, depending on how you wanna look at it.
My revised translation regarding life-living is: a series or stories, experiences spun into the meaning we give. Depending on the sum of those experiences, a consequence or action may occur or be required, so we alter our stories all the time. We switch in between the dimensions of our storied life in order to continue on breathing in a well thought out or beautifully dreamed up reality. But, when that reality pierces us, blindsides us, harms us- we pay attention. I'm looking at all the connections lately.
Still with me? Okay, good.
Two) collage. It's where my overthinking brain untangles and softly drift away into the background. When my awareness realizes...nothing. is happening.
Three) Death is never going to make sense. Sometimes I find myself trying to explain to people how death isn't concerned with it's meaning.
Four) Speaking of . . . I've been into this song lately by Ibeyi.
Five) Favorite drink as of late: earl grey latte, aka: iced London fog. If you are local to me, Foxwood Coffee & Tea has the best in the area imho. It's called a "Frisco Fog." Also, get the California bagel. Cream cheese drizzled with pesto and topped with a big slice of (heirloom) tomato. Seriously delicious. I also like foxes so I'm a big fan of this family owned cafe.
Six) We sit on the couch together, our bodies side by side. We hold hands. I think to myself of how fortunate we are to have found each other. I feel a wave of gratitude rush over me. I look at him and his eyes meet mine as if he knew exactly what I was feeling in that moment.
Seven) This dog. I finally mastered her barks. There is a particular low "warning bark" when a random passerby be it a neighbor jogging past or a delivery driver gets too close to the end of the driveway. She has a tiny bump of a bark when she wants to come back inside after a potty break. A little squeal and dance when she wants out. A short muffled bark in the morning to wake us up. This dog. She has trained me well.
Eight) The intensity of my process lately has required that I clear space. I just didn't think it would be so dramatic, but the liberation is incredible. More on this later.
Listening and observing is one of the ways of my being. I've been communicating with the unseen since I was child. Many of us do, but we mute these conversations and move them into our heads. Making them private for fear of being deemed crazy. Because God forbid we talk to ourselves! That to me, seems crazy; cutting off the connection to seem sane. Our experience of the world is always alive and active, abundant and overflowing with sacred information.
And even though, I share that, I've also learned how to blend and seem "normal" while remaining open and connected- privately. I don't feel bad about this. This is a power I've learned to harness. At times it seems like I am talking to myself, but most likely I'm talking to some being, a spirit or a manifest. When I was young, this was not supported. Because there wasn't a framework for it. It was just labeled as "weird". Sometimes, I think about how challenging this may have been for those around me as a child. They didn't know how to respond to this. I get it. And I wouldn't want it any other way because I think they were responding in the way they knew how. This pushed me out of the tribe into a place where I met teachers/mentors. Those people who walked the edges and shared a similar story took me under their wings.
The gift in this can be mapped and understood as the great hero's journey. Everyone is on this journey. There is lots to share on that and everyone has their own individual connection and meaning to it, but I'll share quickly here my words.
The gift is how I can return and bless those with a language to understand, take in and realize. Because I come from different angles of living, I can compassionately offer a familiar language, reaching in and soulfully feeding those that hunger for this.
The space holding I provide offers those a foundation to lean in and unfold. I hold gently this, by revealing my own humanness.
The questions you are asking, are also my questions and the answers are within our reach as we share story with openness.
This exchange between you and I is a gift. We are shaping meaning into existence and clearing pathways that are aching to flow.
The gift is in the remembering that you too are an open channel and I am a reminding messenger.
Let's stay open to the unseen. Even if you have to edge a little in at a time. I'm here for you. This gift is also you.
I create as a way to navigate my life's journey. This is my personal and spiritual practice. In fact, all this other "living business" filters through my creativity. Each time I find myself at the art-table, I am gazing into a mirror. I trust it...deeply. I trust it to show me the way, to reveal the higher road or to knock me down when surrender is a really good option.
Creating helps me:
reflect, investigate, map, assess, release, reconnect, commune, heal.
Some day soon I hope to share more about my journey as an energy practitioner. There is a simple explanation as to why I am open to this way of walking in this world; this open communication to these energetic multi-realms. It was an initiation that didn't look like one and to tell you the truth, there are many that continue to present themselves as doorways in which I must step through. The simple explanation is: trauma broke me open and the need to survive became my lessons. I became hypersensitive; a sensing soul to all those subtle energies, that eventually became my guides. My soul was cast and over the years I've been shamanic-ally pulling back the layers revealing the tightly knitted web that gently houses my essence. It's the part of me, and the part in you that is untouched, sacred, holy, pure, eternal. Art making is a way home to this. A way back, centered into this realization.
The image below is a captured moment of my creative process. I call this the crap-painting stage. I say it with a frustrated tone as well. I call it this because when I am face-to-face with the things I perceive to be awful, ugly, dark, shadowy (within myself) it manifests onto the canvas. I am not saying this is "THE" process for everyone, I am just sharing my process here.
How can I say there are these damaged parts and pieces of myself, you might be thinking.
And, I'm responding with yes, of course there are these unmet pieces of me, sometimes hidden in the shadows.
Most of the time, I don't even have a clue what they might be because I'm too busy projecting them. And, I haven't met anyone who doesn't do this (jus-sayin). This is just one way to notice them and bring some conscious light to them. I don't necessarily think this is a bad thing, unless you are not willing to look at your part in it. Which, again, isn't easy. I know...I know.
This is a stage in art-making or life-making that is formless, unknown, in between. It's the grit and grind before the smooth and shine. This place always feels challenging. I have no control and I feel so powerless. I don't know what to make of it. I'd rather throw it out and start over. I want to quit and deem myself a sucky-artist. Never having to take responsibility for my own expansion again.
Ever experience this?
Well, dear tender-heart...please stay with me here,
What's happening here is: I've forgotten to see the beauty in the cycle or in my creative process. My vision became blurred by the illusion of perfection, And perfection cuts us from many different angles, For example: the false illusion to a permanent happiness or worse, a great fear that we won't be accepted, loved or seen.
This is some huge, deep work. I know this, because this is my current work. But, there is hopeful movement making its way through. It's all such a journey to be taken in and held with reverence and grace. Hold that so-called "ugly" art with compassion because it's just the early stages of becoming or emerging.
Just like you.
"We are not meant to be puny with frail hair and inability to leap up, inability to chase, to birth, to create a life. When women's lives are in stasis, ennui, it is always time for the wildish woman to emerge; it is time for creating function of the psyche to flood the delta."
My love for you is suspended between time and admiration.
I'm dancing to give you the words.
Words will come later feeding off the nectar of this rhythm.
For now, here is a sweet hush that sounds like the mist rising at dawn.
My body remembers; the movement like a fire dance.
Voiceless and fury.
Furious and gradual.
The restless dust follows my lead,
Here, I am comfortably nameless. No one sees my scars. My discolored past- invisible.
These imprints are tribal marks with stories of initiation that I rightfully claim with each pounding heartbeat.
Here, I can love the only way there is to love.
Like how the rocks cradle the tide pools, giving life and home.
The bounty of my flesh has been liberated like a thousand starlings drifting together magically.
In cycles. In secret.
My love for you is serene madness.
Sewn loosely around the edges so that everything eventually flows out
staining all who come too close.
Forever marked. Love this dance like a vine that clings.
It is holding you. It is with you.
What would happen if I decided not to write about my struggles. How things were unfair, how people hurt me, how I would often find my self in situations or relationships where hurt happened.
What would happen if I decided not to continue the stories? My history unfolded over and over. Spread across so that I can see what and how I did it wrong. How I'll never be enough. And how my real, slightly wounded self is the problem. Even, how that exposed wounded-ness made others leave me.
How would it feel if I changed the story and stopped blaming myself. I could. I could try by refusing to take on the blame for others too. And how quick and willing I've been to take the blame or the fall just to keep the peace.
What if I just changed that story?
I think I might even be strong enough to admit that my part in this is that I haven't quite fully grasped myself worthy.
What would it be like if I just crossed off my list as "done" the constant need to make sure people are okay with me.
What if I left these things out of the life script this time around.
What would it feel like if I started a new story?
A new story is emerging. The need to be seen, accepted, "liked" are fading off into the distant past...to some place where only dust and ash remain.
That fire has burned. I have put flame to it too many times, letting go in small handfuls because it was so damn hard to change my ways.
No more resurrecting the fragments. They want renewal.
Let what has been released be released for good.
I am worthy. I am worthy for this moment.
I am worthy of this possibility. I am worthy of so many possibilities.
And so are you. New stories are worth your breath for life, rebirth.
They had great white
crisp sails for wings
these angels beside me.
They winked with gentle
slowly and swiftly supporting.
These angels beside me
offering their feathered arms,
asking me to lean in.
Gliding through the winds
Beside me...these angels
Moments from my travel to Nor. Carolina with my husband and the spiritual helpers that held me close with such comforting love and grace. They could have been angels. They were definitely otherworldly, sometimes showing up in human form through gestures or a soothing smile from a stranger. They were everywhere that day. I am grateful that I was receptive to this experience. Magic and mystery. Imagination and essence.
Welcome to my Virtual Journal. Here you will find #fieldnotes of a Medial Woman. I write unabashedly imperfect, mostly short, even one-line word play. I share story. I share- first, my process. I view my life-living as a grand experiment and I am taking notes, mapping a trail with moments, stories and synchronicities.
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