Posts in Bloggers
Art in Purgatory: The Muses

“ut pictura poesis, “as is painting so is poetry.” —Horace

In the umbilical connection that is the poet and the artist, I wonder if each would agree, that one is as essential as the other. We can romanticize this connection by a million threads, and still end up naked. There are endless examples of such relationships in history. With love and passion at its core, it is a magick that can seldom be ignored. 

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Figuring Ladybug Spots into the Grand Scheme of Life

The other day, while volunteering at my local library, I was gifted with a tiny, magnetic ladybug page-clip. Its cuteness complimented the free book I was also given earlier that day—the storybook rendition of The Yellow Submarine by the Beatles. Pretty cool, no? Groovy artwork with an emphasis on eternal youth. When I returned to my car at the end of my shift, I started to think of a bunch of things that, oddly, compliment one another. Like grilled cheese sandwiches with habanero strawberry jam (thank you, Massachusetts), or myself and clothes shopping. Why not any combination? Why not analyze what’s at hand—or what might be—in any moment?

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'Tis the Season: A Christmas Reading List

The Christmas period is the perfect time to tackle your (ever-growing) reading list. The nights are longer, the days colder, and what better way to spend it than curled up with a good book, blanket and a hot drink? Like most bookworms, most of the world’s literary creations are on my "to be read" list. I’m constantly buying books before I finish my current one and I don’t think I’ll feel like I’ve read enough. 

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The Tenor & the Vehicle: Therapy & the Tarot

Before I was blessed with health insurance; before I had the privilege to take my overthinking and my casualties to my therapist, I practiced what you could dub, an organic-healing ritual. Without trying to sound too new-agey, it’s simply the act of being present in the bad feeling. To let it run, and sweat, and tire itself out. I indulged it, in whatever amounts it needed to be felt. But, like any dedicated athlete of the psyche, you must have proper training equipment. You must be able to reflect back on the workout once the tenderness subsides. You must build new muscle to carry heavier loads. 

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The Art of Healing Through Bitchcraft

“What you pay attention to is what you become conscious of.” 

Sloughing is inevitable. We shed our skin approximately every 27 days. We invite new perspectives and surrender our old ways almost unwillingly, if the timing is right. We battle and cry and move forward. Personally, I build alter-egos that help in this process. Ones that will heal, ones that will not fade with time. Ones that are conjured from a place of truth and beauty. I summon the powers of indestructible Goddesses like Kali and Ixchel. Goddesses that have endured heavy pain, while remaining undoubtedly feminine and robust. It doesn’t even necessarily have to come in human-like form. It could be something as beautifully simple as a memory or an inanimate object that satiates. 

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Why Artificial Flowers Look Sweeter

This time of year, the hot, unchanging fragment of summer, or patchwork landscape of apple cider donuts and fire-colored leaves—depending on where you are—is wonderful for the senses. We are surrounded by a new kind of love in the air with Halloween celebration marked by Hocus Pocus-themed gifts arriving in the mail, packs of chocolate to treat ourselves, and Goosebump marathons on a cold night laying dormant in bed. Some people might argue that this time up until the chilly days of December is the best time of year, and I am one of those people. A semi-haunting, out-of-reach atmosphere seems to always linger in the air, inching forward like a nature-camouflaged cat ready to pounce—but once you look around, there’s nothing to be found. For me, the sweetness of the season is this thrill of chasing after that same sort of overlooked aspect.

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Like a Train On a Rampage, Like an Untied Balloon Set Free

When the TV commercial voices—all sickeningly enthusiastic—say that it’s that time of year again for “back to school” sales, I cringe. I can’t help it. Something about class icebreakers, the exorbitant cost of textbooks both new and used, and the passage of time wiped away so unbelievably and rapidly fast are too overwhelming at first. I zone out. I mourn the loss of the countless, long hazy days and the adventurous nights out with the people I care about. That chilly night at the county fair, eating tortas on Olvera Street, all those deep heart-to-hearts. Everything passes through my imagination like a train on a rampage…then, I have no choice but to accept the inevitable. It’s time to move forward. Lingering won’t do anything.

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