One) Hawk. Always inviting me. Same spot every time. Bidding me a good day of clarity and high vision.

Two) It's not as cold as he said it might be. This sweater us fuzzing up where the most movement happens: under my arms, along the sides of my chest/breasts. But, I love this grungy sweater.

Three) About the sweater. This ragged sweater is a she-shed companion, especially in the winter when the shed is doing it's best to keep out the December chill and my little heater is pumping away. I feel like Mr. Rogers when I change into it before working out in the shed.

Four) This tea, I love it so much. Lavender Earl Grey with a splash of vanilla cream.

Five) I finally light the candle. I ask St. Jude and make a sweet-grass offering.

Six) I miss her. I wish things were different and we were still friends. The kind that would spend hours on the phone or exchange ideas over Skype while sipping on our favorite teas. She was my Best Friend. I think of her often and winter always brings on the bittersweet memories. I will always love her and consider her my soul-kin. I told her I would never give up on her, our friendship. It takes so much out of me to allow the death of our relationship. This will be something I will grieve over from time to time. But, still...Love.

Seven) Hope. All I got right now.

Eight) Not too much incense. I only burn half the stick. 

Nine) Writing. I'm counting on the words to set me free. They always do.

Ten) A birthday reservation at our favorite restaurant. Every year since I met him. 

Eleven) Coyote. Still.

Twelve) She said laughter can lift us out of our darkness.

Thirteen) Grief. Taking it slow for now. I am a soul in recovery...for life. 

​Fourteen) This quote:

One) I kid you not. Seven Crows. We saw them on our way out one morning near a neighbor's house. Actually and literally in an unorganized group in their front yard. And then, later that week someone posted in our online neighborhood group, seven coyotes running in a field nearby a very busy street at 10:15 in the morning. You can't make this stuff up.

Two) I drove twice to the bay area within 2 weeks to meet two very amazing like-minded kindreds that I absolutely adore. It blows my mind how we've gotten to know each other over the years, online first, never meeting in person until now. 

Three) I decide to go with the rattle vs. the drum because it just feels right.

Four) I'm totally behind in my Communications class, but I go anyway and watch the first round of creative presentations. Again, I feel like a loser. Going back to school after you've pretty much lived a life has been challenging and hard on those fragile emotions. After all, I did enroll to do the work; the actual assignments, but I've quickly realized that the behind-the-scenes soul work must be done with a diligent, yet soft heart...and all the while reaching for grace.

​Five) I let my greys come in. I don't know if I like it yet. I like it on other people, but not on myself.

Six) While book shopping with a friend in a charming, used bookshop, I strike gold when I find the one book that's been sitting in my amazon cart for almost a year now. I quickly take it to the register and purchase it. With a beaming smile, I walk towards the back of the bookstore where the shelves are piled with books up to the ceiling and hunt down my friend. I find three more books that I really, really want. I carry them about following my friend as she scans the bookshelves. I decide last minute to buy the other three.

Seven) Today, I open up one of the books I scored. It's a book by Leslie Marmon Silko. One that I've been hunting down for some time now. I open the first page and see that it's signed by the author. I thank the Spirits.

Eight) This quote from the book, Yellow Woman and a Beauty of the Spirit, by Leslie Marmon Silko.

Nine) The waning moon.

Ten) I'm so gratefully content. I thank the Spirits. I thank Creator, seven times. 

One) As someone with a sensitive respiratory system, I will have to wear a mask every time I go out. Even if that means just to my car, and from the car to the store. This goes for my daughter too. Not caring at all how I look in a mask. Makes me want to tell people how precious their lung tissue really is. Lung regeneration is very minimal. I'm coughing as I type this. The air quality is far from moderate, it's unhealthy and hazardous. I stay in, but miss the blue skies. I pray for those that are experiencing such pain and loss. I don't light candles this time. Full body prayers.

Two) More dreams and a dream from another where I made an appearance. I think to myself how dreams can be such potent messages from the dreamscape mostly for us, and how rarely they are for the other people in the dream. They serve us individually. Some can be prophetic, but that's not typical. Fascinating.

Three) My favorite part of creating an online course is sharing my voice in podcast like form. It's the beautiful art of storytelling to me. I love telling stories.

Four) He offers to pay for the two books I've been wanting to get. He tells me to hurry and order them on Amazon so they can get here before the holidays. Books, art supplies, stationary. Those things easily steal my heart.

Five) I get the grocery shopping and holiday dinner ingredients in one trip. We usually do this together and I was very reluctant to go alone, but I did and I'm glad. We always end of saving money when I go at it alone.

Six) Vanilla beans...$12.95 for two beans. Why did I not remember? Last year, we felt the recipe needed a real vanilla bean...this year, not so much. Then I google and realize they actually have a complex maturing and curing process. They are from an Orchid flower and are hand pollinated! Like, what?!

Seven) I call Mom today. She answers by saying my name with excitement. We chat for 20 seconds, then she passes the phone to mi tia (my auntie) and then mi tia passes it to my father and I'm repeating stories. It's funny, and sweet. Then back to my mom. I really need to visit them very soon. There is a bit of disappointment on the other end of the phone when I tell Mom we're not traveling to spend Thanksgiving with them. I miss them. So much. Christmas. I will be there for Christmas.

Eight) Grief. There is so much loss lately. How can one not feel grief in the air. Not to mention the sadness that comes around during the holidays.

Nine) I still see the moon. The glow through the smoke. A reminder, a witness.

Ten) This quote today.

One) beginnings are my favorite. Starting over moments are my thing. I will go as far as crafting a ritual to honor this newness because it feels sacred and important. The problem is I am a lover of the dream time and of visioning. I can cling to the illusions in rapturous amazement. All the planning and idea mapping is a language I am fluent in and can remain loyal to this practice of new beginnings.

Two) Consistency is what I like and I'd like to explore this a bit. I want to see what I'm made of and discover what stories stay hidden inside of me that can be set free.

​Three) In my communications class this week, a portion of essay #2 was due. I spent three-four days torturing myself trying to choose a topic. Just when I think I had it, I couldn't write about it! I went from, "the value of community," to "feminism," to "slime!" You read that right. Slime. Young entrepreneurs in the Slime making business. Wheeet?

Four) My dreams this past couple of weeks have been so very insightful and eerily accurate. Snakes one night, jewelry shopping another night, cheetahs and my vacay with an Instagram influencer. In the middle of the night, when I can't record a dream in my journal, I reach for my phone and quickly note my dream on this free, easy-to-use app, called: Dreams Diary

​Five) Finding a system that works for you is so important as a creative person, yet so challenging when everything out there is geared towards telling you how to do the damn thing correctly. I did a google search: "can people excel at life even without a consistent routine?" This, after I already noted in #2 that consistency is key. I found only one article so far, but I'm not so sure it's answering my question. I'll be exploring this one...to be continued.

Six) 9:42 Friday night. My eyes are heavy as I type this. Sleep is next.

Seven) The leaves are beginning to drift off, one-by-one from the cherry plum tree in my backyard. The colors are luscious. Deepest red, plum, cherry dark, oxblood, burgundy, the darkest of purples and burnt umber.

Eight) I wear clothes until they are literally holey af. When it was my reality for most of my life...to "go without," it's hard to transition out of that. Now I have the privilege to go out and get what I "need" and, my idea around this is, that I really don't need much anyway. I experience guilt. I'm sure my mother and her mother, and her mother's mother felt guilty too. A sort of ancestral discord if you will. Especially, when their families were full of many hungry mouths! Poverty is dense and heartbreaking. Easier said then done as well. It's a consciousness, or a mindset. I am learning and I have so much more to say about this, but right now it's just an (after)thought.

Nine) Voting. This shit better work.

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.

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.  

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.  

No more.  

No more.  

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.