Tag Archives: creative life

my reality

It is clear to me that underneath this exterior is a soul that feels so separate from the set of reality. Some might use the word lost. But lost seems to convey that some how I am at fault, or I’m aimless and just a soul that has no hope for return and worse yet doesn’t even know it. I don’t quite align with all of that, this is a kind of sense where I am acutely aware of in pretty much every situation I am standing in. It’s like this process of digestion of the layers of what I am looking at. I can look and see the reality of my home, sense the sounds of the cars and the layers of sound in the moment, I feel my butt in this couch and the coolness in the Colorado air, my cats curled up for their afternoon nap, my son outside playing and my daughter and husband out for some quality time. I watch myself shop and swim and fuck and try and orient to each thing. I talk myself thru what would be considered normal interaction, watch my inner dialogue kick in narrating this weird experience that I am having and sometimes holding on tight for the right social cues not to appear off kilter. I fight to hover above this experience. To swim away from the abyss of swirling down to the point of no return. To turn my brain on itself to begin to analyze my mental health, only to come to the conclusion that this is what it is. I try to create and be seen, to talk and make jokes, to be good at something that defines some purpose to keep creating it. Like my identity in being abstract would somehow give me a lane.

I have found some sort of identity in teaching yoga, offering solace that I don’t know what in the fuck is happening here either, talking some sort of philosophy and life is weird points of view have called in the souls that just might feel the same at times and created a safe place to navigate this part of my awareness. I have made it my job to communicate a felt acceptance to other people, an energy that conveys me solid and unswayed by whatever experience they are navigating. And within that, we both feel anchored, seen and it seems like its a space where miracles happen. Is there truth in any of it? I really don’t know. What I am finding myself coming to understand in this process is I am trying to construct a life, construct connections and relationships that can at least sort of relate. When I try and act normal it is when it gets hard. I find myself lost in the world of reality where suddenly I am alone in what I am really seeing.

I often ask myself and sometimes other people, if I looked normal back there. Did I appear different than how I felt? Is it normal that my brain analysis of my reality feels like I am watching a movie, pretty much all of the time? I googled and found out its called derealization. It has symptoms and it has a treatment which seems to say, you will either get over it with time or you will learn to live with the episodes. Episodes. I like that word, kind of gives the space of how this glitch in reality seems to go.

I have tried to learn how to not just live with my episodes, waiting for them to pass, but to harness the witness that shows up within them. Because that witness seems to stand in some sort of ground of truth. I can see something happening behind the face that doesn’t seem to match the look in their eyes. I can feel when someone isn’t in their body, or their voice is an octave higher that normal. When I worked with people in session, I could often sense where energy was holding even when they couldn’t. In a safe place I can say something. When it was safe or in these sessions where it was my job, it was a space where it felt acceptable to reflect to someone the truth of what i saw when I was standing in front of them. When I could say it, it seemed to bring me comfort. Sometimes it felt like it was a nudge from spirit to speak it. That the thought and energy wouldn’t release unless it was said. An ease in that this experience I have is much bigger than me, much bigger than reality. In some instances it even seemed to bring some sort of new understanding that helped them. They felt grateful for that information. Maybe that is the reality of truth, once you glimpse it, it is hard to go on pretending that you don’t. Maybe because we all, at times are walking around in some state of derealization. Maybe reality is the game, and derealization is when our inner alien is not up for the game anymore and only is hungry for that cosmic truth that doesn’t seem to make any fucking sense.

The tools thru my work that I cultivated to flow freely in my derealization now feels like it doesn’t have a place. 4 weeks ago I left my work, I left my studio, we moved from Texas to Colorado. I look around Colorado and I am in total love with the reality that presents itself here. Being surrounded in clear views of the power and vitality of the mountains and life on this planet is so good for me. I feel lighter in so many ways. I find the parts of living life in this body that I absolutely love, riding my bike, swimming in cold mountain water, feeling my legs burn as I hike up a steep climb. Such good grounding somatic experiences in my humanity. But there are new tools I am reaching for now. In how I relate to my reality, my roles as a mom and a wife, a lover and to be a friend to my people in this life on this human consciousness and how I will embrace that part of me that feels separate from those roles and those realities. That sees something that isn’t completely clear outside of me. But remains rooted in my core, in my truth, what I know and can allow everyone else to go on their own journey of claiming that part of themselves that can see it too.

Jennifer in Maria inspired in a wind storm

Upcoming Event

Women Who Run With the Wolves

Book Study + Art Journaling Class

Join us for a monthly women’s book study thru conversation + art. We will be exploring the myths and stories presented in Dr. Clarissa Pinkola Estés timeless work, Women Who Run With the Wolves. Her words + wisdom will be the jumping off inspiration as we process these themes through our own lens and creative expression.

We will incorporate Art Journalling as the medium to unpack and process these themes in our own lives. Each month, on the second Saturday of the month, around the full moon we will gather to begin our own personal exploration of the myths and stories of the wild woman archetype. Our individual work will continue throughout the month as we intend and inspire our lives based off these ideas.

The class can be attended in studio or by livestream. Live-streaming participants will get a supply list to prepare art materials before class each month.

We recommend purchasing the book, Women Who Run With the Wolves, for the reading and continued study throughout the course. Any classes missed throughout the course will be recorded for participation on your timing, however live is always the most potent. No formal art experience necessary.

The course explores themes such as:
Resurrection + The Beginning
Belonging + Exile
The Return
The Joy of Flesh
The Creative Life
Boundaries
Rage + Forgiveness
Initiation + Ceremony of the Wild Woman

We will circle monthly
Second Saturdays from 1-4pm
starting April 10

Cost includes workshop and core art supplies to create an art journal. You will learn the medium of art journalling which is a particular style of creativity. The last class we will bind the journal for inspirational touchstone and keepsake of your Wild Woman journey. Collecting small items, recycled notions, photos etc will be encouraged to use for personalizing your art. $45 in studio + $35 to livestream

Preregistration required at http://www.wildspirityogatx.com/schedule

life blood

Daughter

Mother

Grandmother

Great grandmother

the evolution of the woman that evolves and evolves,

generations of thought energy moving thru the life blood.

Who is the woman that bore your grandmother?

Don’t you wish you could know more?

What kind of mother did your grandmother only wish she was

did she worry, feel paralyzed or just burry it all?

She was an only child, similar to me

worried about being lonely, alone

not worthy of being loved.

My mother she blazed thru that,

she was ready to face the dis ease

cleansing the uteral life blood that would take her to her knees.

My daughter, like my mother has ideas all her own.

strong women they stand up,

unraveling to disown.

Single mothers like my great grandmother, my mother, never wanted to fall.

My grandmother she held on, to her marriage and it all,

her dis ease, took its toll right up till the end

have to face what hurts and recover from all that’s been.

It is the lineage of their stories that might hold the key,

revealing patterns and life blood energy,

manifested thru me.

whirl

There is this weird optical illusion about life, I can’t tell what’s real or this altered state of perception. Its trippy, but not usually in the feel good, crystals and oils, mystical nature kind of way. Its more like the “what the fuck is all of this?” kind of way.  I’m constantly asking myself, what do I feel? Where am I in relationship to all of these weird people and things I have created around me? It’s starting to feel like a cage. From this point of view, it’s the center of the hurricane. And it is impossible to grab onto something true, its all a blur as it goes by.  I’ve been standing here probably my whole life, but it seems like in the last year the roar of the winds have gotten louder.  “Who are you Jennifer?” it screams?  “stand up, stand up, stand up on your own two feet!”

“I can’t, I don’t know, I’m not good enough, I’m weird, what I like it isn’t gonna work, what I want isn’t sustainable, it might hurt me, what about my kids, what about my life, my comfort, my marriage? ” goes the internal response, over and over again.

Someone told me that different parts of the brain has different personalities. That its my hippocampus’ job to keep me alive and not make a complete fool of myself or ruin my life completely. So its doing its job and a damn good job at that. It finds ways to show me its undeniable truth that I cannot dare to create my life. That structure, function and safety are above all the highest on the survival skills list.  To be honest I can’t remember if its called the hippocampus, so we will just call her survival girl.  She’s shouting in the wind, “When you try to create something your life gets chaotic! Remember college??” And her voice is personified by all the advice that is thrown at me like a dish towel. “this is how to run a business, this is how to make people happy, this is how to be a mother, this is how you show up to life!”

These swirls of advice, the shrapnel of expectations, the couches of comfort that are caught in the voluminous wind, break my arms, break my fingers, breaks my heart, when I reach my hand in to grab at them. No one in the swirl seems to understand me. Or I don’t seem to understand them.  They can see that I don’t know how to do this life that well. I can’t seem to prop myself up enough or make it look any different from painful. I have clenched down trying to find my place in the wind, and I am afraid of who might come out if I unclench too much, because she seems to ruin everything. She seems to have a vendetta against comfortable. She doesn’t have a savings account. She doesn’t know the obstacles sitting at her own toes…. But she knows something about that creative force from the ether that zeros down in the center of the destruction. The vortex, that tornado that lifts you up out of comfort and throws you down into something more true.

She is beckoning me forward and her call has gotten so loud its making me ache! I literally feel her churning around in my uterus, that goddess of creation and she’s insatiable. She used to be like starting up an old chevy. Turing over the transmission, over and over with no luck. But this time she started and shes purring to get out on the road.  She’s sexy and creative. She’s tough and unapologetic for who she is. She wears boots, has wings and listens to her heart. Her heart’s beauty radiates and calls everyone’s attention and she knows it and it only encourages her onward. She understands life and loves it through ALL of her senses. She shows up in ways that no one else would and can feel the power in that affect.  She dances, she moves, she loves, she works, she creates and says yes and says no and eats pizza. She might worry, but won’t admit it. She might be tired, but still stands up. She just keeps fucking going.

She asks me, “do you trust me?” I don’t …but I respond, “I do. I trust you. You are the artist. You are the creator, the goddess of the universe. You know what you need to make this vision happen and I trust you will find the resources to see it through.”