Tag: personal reflection

  • Loss & Gain

    Loss & Gain

    The psychiatric professional on my mental health journey has taken on a position within another company. I’m struggling with my personal loss, but so thankful for all that’s been gained. When I started this over a year ago, I didn’t know what to expect and now I find myself looking forward to those check-ins. I’ve had such a positive experience with this guide. It is my sincerest hope that this is a success in all aspects for him.

    The Pros and Cons are at it again. There’s so much double talk and double dealing, it’s sad to watch the burning. Just the day before his death, I was looking at old videos for the former FBI Director. Who will take on that mantle now?

    The upside is another year alive, the downside is that life seems to be getting shorter. As winter blurs with summer, forgetting all about spring’s gifts, I forget what I’ve forgotten.

    I’ve had pleasure of camping out in the boonies this past weekend. The highs and lows of the weather are just mean enough to make parts of the day almost unbearable. I imagine this is what it’s like living in the desert, only they have less humidity. I’ve also never been to so much as an Arizona airport to know the air. No regrets; We had friends to keep us company. It was the anniversary of a death that hit like a Mack truck and we celebrated it the best way possible.

    He’s not drunk, he’s happy. He looks drunk. I give in; this poor pup has gotten into the spirits. The highlight is that this was fun to doodle. The challenge is that it’s a failed attempt to capture a moment.

    I just got the call for a meeting with the hand-selected person for my mental health journey going forward. I’m nervously excited for not only myself, but for both my former and future “teammates”. We have opportunities to grab and obstacles to overcome.

  • Nostalgia

    Nostalgia

    Per the usual, I’m missing a different time period. Each generation has its own unique gifts, but none seem to connect with me fully. I have a fleeting recollection of a time where it all seemed so much simpler.

    It seems I’m not the only one missing an era. A request comes in for John Lennon performing “Twist and Shout” on the Ed Sullivan Show. Last week’s Yoko needs her counterbalance. I’m here to oblige the sentimental.

    While researching for the tarot project I’m nearly finished with, I stumbled upon some old stories of the Great Depression that seem written today. Regret and longing for a better living experience, we discovered hard work didn’t always equal hard cash. Being that my son has named his Labubu “The Great Depression”, I simply must have a doodle for the era.

    The sound of a breezy trumpet and a bumping retro piano is crackling through my mind. I need to make an instrumental. Until then, I’ll doodle this homesick feeling.

    I’m missing a real badass. Dewy eyed? No ma’am. This queen is pensive, yet stoic. A trip down memory lane leads to lamenting for ladies across the world. Wearing my dissent shirt, I’m asked if it’s Judge Judy. There’s a poignant poetry here, I’m just not sure it’s sweet.

    Valentine’s Day has popped up. Like most annual celebrations, I’m indifferent, but it beats the alternative of not bagging another year for the life meter. Romance is playing in the forest. It’s more memorable than sweets or dying plant cuttings.

    In retrospect, the grass isn’t any greener, but the thoughts provoked blooms. The simplest truth is that it’s all a corny look back; a glamorized idea. It’s a reminder that it’s all relative. It was always better to grow from the languishing than to remain exactly the same.

  • Ego

    Ego

    I’ve always been intrigued by the devil. Not in the new age Christian idea of an eternal evil, but the idea to ask “why?” The push to break chains, it’s only natural, is it not? Kali is the destroyer of illusion, the breaker of ego. This feels more devil to me than Satan’s prince of darkness. Was Lucifer not the light bringer, the morning star?

    Choosing women who held dominion/power in patriarchal systems, I want to mix up the cultural influences. How can I overlook Catherine the Great? Usurping her husband to not only expand upon, but stabilize and codify her power in a time when it was still being debated if women needed an education. Peter the Great was the blueprint, but Catherine outgrew the system. Self-image is everything, ladies.

    A revelation arrives. Radical honesty. I’m asked to see myself clearly and then decide whether I will answer the call or retreat back into sleep. Respect. Judgment is not about punishment. RuPaul is not a gavel, but a summons; blasting off like a trumpet. If Death is the ending of a chapter, Judgment is the realization of what that chapter meant.

    How to follow up Ru? With a force of nature as hot as she is! Volcanic eruption represents sudden upheaval, destruction, and transformation. Lightning symbolizes divine insight. Proud Pele is giving major Tower energy.

    I find myself in the interest of inclusion, there has to be a feminist masculine. Gaius Musonius Rufus comes into view. His style reminds me of another great who met sexism where it lived, Ruth Bader Ginsberg. Using the vain language of the day to speak to his contemporaries, his lectures called out educational bias without holding back. Paraphrasing: If it makes for a better son, why not a better daughter? I rather like the idea of Musonius doing “women’s work”. Some soul food for you, dearie.

    Ahhh, now we have the World card. The conduit that the planes flow through; wholeness that requires participation, a blur of artist and viewer. Yoko Ono may seem like a controversial choice, but as the mirror suggests, it says more about us than her. No arrogance here, simply the infusion of life and art into one.

    Character is defined by our hardest moments. Sure. Confidence can lead the way, but only action seals the deal. It’s my selfish desire to know the why and how that guides me. My unconscious mind is waiting to be woken.

  • Madness

    Madness

    Seeing a new therapist. It’s been enlightening in its own gentle ways. I’m always grateful for a perspective change. I’ve never had a male therapist before and already I’m getting somewhere with the usual suspects in my melancholy mind. In the early morning, I catch a view that stops my madness completely and lets me just enjoy the dappled silence.

    Still manically working on the tarot series. It’s been a while since I’ve had a big project and I’m excited for the experience. It’s time for the Princess of class, Audrey Hepburn to take her throne as the Moon.

    When it came time to do The Sun card, something snuck up on me; Inclusion isn’t ageist. Thinking back to the joys of watching her movies, Shirley Temple has made a mark not only on generations, but for generations. While the Depression raged, she was Spring amongst the endless struggle of poverty and despair. She was a beacon of childhood happiness, what could be and what innocence should be.

    World news is trying to bog down my sunlight. Listening to the Davos meeting is worse than lectures. My head hurts listening to Muskfish. My heart hurts listening to his ex-bestie. What does the Chairman of the aboard of Peace do? Graciously removing* force from the 2026 Bingo card (*for now).

    Derangement is a word used often by people who don’t hear themselves. I’m consumed by the dementia. I don’t recognize the people in the room, but know I’m irritated by who they pretend to be.

    Maybe this new therapist can help with the claustrophobic anxiety. This nonsense can only get more absurd from here, but I’m always looking for stable ground. In the least, an island of rationality.

  • Strike a Pose

    Strike a Pose

    I suppose hormones are saying it’s time for suggestive actions. Not a complaint, just pointing out the cycle of living repeating. I’m tempted to play with angles and perspectives, per the usual. Though this time, I can’t decide on which feels right.

    There’s so much said in a simple pose. A slightly titled chin, a clasp of certain fingers, those little tells of someone you use to know. Saweetie got me on my tip toes.

    My only intention is to catch attention without demanding it. There’s a fine line in art that I don’t cross between often. A humble ask, naive in its phrasing. Just don’t go too far.

    Drunk on sketches, I decide to suss some things out. Show me the way. Give me a good reason for these rosacea pink cheeks.

    I use to enjoy wall sitting. I don’t think I could stand 5 minutes of it today. I’ll let my poor avatar stop doing squats and let her rest. She’s had a tough day at work. Smh.

    I can’t help thinking about fashion while I’m doodling. It’s the first thing I can recall doodling as a child; Clothing and architectural design. I’d love to doodle and make my own clothes. My sewing skills are in the closet until Halloween comes along.

    I make these little doodles as a way to turn my thoughts into something that might resonate with another frequency. I’m just an antenna searching for a wavelength.

    Aha! The pose that I was looking for has been revealed to me. A glimmer of something real. That hesitation to look away, that’s what I’m searching for.

    Like viewing a coiled snake, I don’t want to look away. That’s the attitude I hope to convey.

  • Revival

    Revival

    Old friends coming back into the mix has me missing the cats I’ve known. I should have taken more pictures when I had the chance. Their patterns are already lost to my memory. I have another pet request come in and I’m in the feels.

    The renewed innocence of childhood nostalgia has me going floral once again. In my mind, the cicadas fiddle and fireflies light the nite all year round. Daisies remind me of youthful days. Dusted and gleaming beneath the flapping of wings, they straighten their pose for the stars.

    Living to counter the nonstop negative in the world, I’m reminded bleakly of the time at hand. From local government to the country, to the globe at large; I am disappointed and distressed. The only thing I feel is certain is that we all bleed red and enough has been spilt.

    Rust revival, in the belly of the beast
    Workers on the picket line, rising from the east
    Swamp-fire gospel, justice in the fight
    Voices in the millions, marching through the night

    And yet there’s a call of the void. A sort of solemn satisfaction in knowing the outcome and feeling the pull of the siren’s song. It’s never to become. Perhaps the light at the end of the tunnel truly is the birth canal to the next life. Reincarnation has me rethinking my perspective.

    Sleep, perchance to dream. I went through a sleep study and will get the results this week. I use to sleep so well as a kid. I use to dream deeply. I remember waking up feeling renewed by slumber’s sweet kiss. Where the world fades and slumber takes hold. A portrait of stillness, the allure of the unseen, cradled by the earth and blooms.

    It’s been a busy week and I’m roused by backs again. The quiet beauty of curves and lines entrances, hypnotic in its energy. I don’t mind this resurrection.

    I feel rejuvenated by the arch of the spine. Backs are sexy without overt sexuality. The stories they tell are whispered in the ear with a tickle of the tongue.

    Fleeting moments of reflection, stolen glances of lighthearted life, this is what I hope to capture. A regeneration of the soul, a wanderer through the darkness of the universe, finding a connection between texture and tone. Reanimating from tragedy to comedy.