Disabilities SD 480p

How I live with my disabilities.

Palestine inspirational card

 I am currently in a card making certification course. As I am studying different techniques, I am making some cards for myself as well as  my homework.

I am thinking of pulling together small sets of my handmade cards that I will offer on my Etsy store. What I have in mind are cards that might not be easy to find such as the pro Palestine one here. Cards on the side of fairness, kindness, anti-bigotry and overall fun cards as well.

Handmade cards are labor intensive and thus costly. Most solo card makers invest a lot of money to produce these small, popular handicrafts. And there is definitely a craft to card making.

I hope that someday handwritten correspondence makes a comeback. Personally, I have always loved writing and receiving letters from loved ones; and it's something I hope to do all of my days. These days people communicate with the use of technology and often bypass tangible handcrafts. But I do think handmade cards will always remain a niche market because there's nothing like receiving a small handicraft with a loving message that you can display on your counter, over your desk, etc
 

Times of repression call for us to become spiritual warriors. Let your inner bruja out!

 

When times get tough, brujas (witches) start dusting off their wands, potions, banishing salts… And these are tough times.

In case you've been living under a rock, the orange one's xenophobic immigration policies are setting up an Everglades internment camp for immigrant-looking folks - with no due process! I say "immigrant-looking" because the authorities need no proof of your immigration status. They just need to suspect you could be an "illegal" and they can cart you off. This ever expanding camp is close to where I am living, next to the Everglades.

Now, in all seriousness, I am also a good Catholic girl that loves God, Jesus and Holy Spirit. I just believe there are many paths to the divine in our world and I am called by various practices. Essentially, I live with a reverence for the divine feminine that manifests itself in the natural word and within ourselves. I believe my ancestors can be a source of guidance and inspiration spiritually. I cry for Jesus' suffering, just as I cry for all women burned and murdered for being "witches" (or just thorns-in-the-side of the ruling patriarchy of her times).

These days, I cringe listening and reading news. So much suffering and attacks. So much disconnect from what is whole, beautiful, sacred. It has been so devastating to me, that I am shoring up my spiritual strength. Part of that is reinvigorating my spiritual practices and connections with my spiritual community. 

Adding insult to injury, last month, a woman who makes her living as a psychic  told me I had some bad mojo hexing me. She created a nightmare scenario and told me I needed (her) psychic protection asap. And get this - all for the modest sum of $6,000! I was very disappointed.  She exposed herself as a scammer, trying to take advantage of what she felt was an easy mark; someone desperate to walk. She told me without this psychic protection I would never walk again and my bad luck, including health-wise, would continue. It spooked me for sure. But I know a scammer when I meet one. Needless to say, this experience only reinforced my knowledge that I needed to reconnect to my center, my divine and practice my spirituality with more concerted efforts.

I do believe that everyone needs psychic protection at all times. Negative energies are all around us; but I also know that I'm not going to pay someone I just met $6000 to do it for me. This was a wake up call. I need to recommit to my spiritual practice and protect myself from harmful energies. 

Around this same time, a friend of mine passed on information about a mutual acquaintance, Z!, that is running a find-your-divinity virtual group. It was sort of an FYI thing and at first I declined. But after the yukky experience with the scammer, I rethought this group. I contacted the host, Z!, and asked questions. Now I am enjoying these weekly zoom gatherings. Z! leads somatic exercises to help us get centered in our bodies and learn how to listen deeply to ourselves for our own truths and divine purposes. The picture to the right is Z! I recommend them as a consultant.

This recent inner struggle over my spiritual authority has resolved into a creative surge. I have been working a lot on creative projects and I have some ideas for paintings I would like to create. But my time is stretched thin these days. I am sure I will get to them. You may see a spectacular tree and/or a rising phoenix in my gallery soon.

(Thanks to Canva for placing my 2024 Halloween bruja in an Everglades detention camp, doing a banishing). 

Baby compassion

I've had many friends over the years ask me how I became an activist. Usually, I tell them about my university days. A period of time when many young people become politicized. But for me, my politicization seems to have been with me as far back as I can remember. As a young child I knew nothing of politics, but I had a heart; and compassion allowed me to see injustices around me and I responded with sadness and a desire to help. 

Around the age of 4 years, my mother and I had a fun lunch ritual. She often gave me one hotdog (which I still love to this day) and I would sit at the top of our kitchen stairs that went down to our basement, my back to her, doing kitchen things. This kept her youngest close to her,  out of trouble.* 

I would peel back the outer layer of hotdog casing and eat the dog slowly, relishing every bite. Everyday, I sat at the top of the stairs and my sightline would look below the stair railing because I was so small. This is not the actual staircase but you get the idea. The railing was held up by hardware that held brackets in place under the railing. Our railing had many more brackets all the way down the stairs. Kind of like this: Now, my baby imagination did not see stair rail brackets. Rather, I saw a row of arms and hands shackled. Can you see the similaritiy? 

I remember so clearly showing my mother over and over and lamenting over all these arms chained in a row. I cried several times. My mother kept trying to tell me that it was just hardware, but my young mind saw people suffering. 

To this day, I am baffled at how I even knew about shackles or people being imprisoned at that young age; but apparently I did. I remember talking daily to the arms and people I thought were attached to them. I would comfort them and tell them I would free them soon. I would lift things to their hands, thinking I was giving them food or drink. 

Once, my mother took a screwdriver out of my hand because I was trying to figure out how to use it. I had asked my mom what was the mechanism that kept them there and she told me the brackets were "screwed" in. And she told me how screws worked. She thought it would make me see them as just hardware. But to me, she gave me an idea for an escape plan.

My many attempts to free them were thwarted and I was doomed to perpetually be sad knowing they were there. I prayed for them. Eventually, as I got into kindergarten and first grade, my mom allowed me to hang out by myself in the next room; and I had my hotdog in front of cartoons. I guess cartoons erased my memory as I do not remember sitting and talking to the "prisoners" much at those ages. I bet my mom was relieved! 

So, I guess I should say, that my activism started around the age of four; when I became conscious of  "injustice" and "suffering" and a desire to help people suffering. Just goes to show that most social movements are run by leaders motivated by love. Not money or fame. True leaders are just able to see clearly. And they react with compassion and a desire to help.

* I also have memories of this same time period where my mom allowed me to "play bruja" - witch - by filling a pot in the sink and I would stand on a chair and concoct potions and tell her fanciful tales full of good-witch magic. Jajaja, even back then, I liked to tell stories.

I need octopus’ eight arms.

Image to left: Eight of Cups from the Motherpeace tarot deck by Vicki Noble.

I am in the process of taking an intensive course to get certified to teach card making with Altenew, a major paper crafts supply store. It is part of my long term plan to teach and share paper crafts and paintings; and sell classes, art etc online. You can view my card making and mixed media demonstrations here on You Tube. And you can follow my arts on VanGoghChica Studio. 

I also recently decided I want to write a memoir. I bought Microsoft Word and started with the opening pages. I told myself that I would still keep this blog up; I may pull content from this blog with a little editing. I had planned to devote three mornings to writing for my memoir. And I still wanted to keep this blog up and current.

Then, about a month ago, I came face to face with a metaphysical challenge. It was brought to my attention that I had a lot of sabotaging and negative energy directed towards me. And I was not shielding myself from negativity. I realized that I had lapsed in the maintenance of my altars in my home, my meditation practices and my daily spiritual practices of prayer, devotion and more. No wonder I felt destabilized. I knew I needed to work on honoring my spiritual practices more. So the universe answered my needs. Enter one of her synchronicities in my life.

A dear friend of mine in Louisville, Ky had referred me to a spiritual support group led by a dear friend of hers, Z!. I know Z!, from my facebook feed and from their leadership in the organzation, LSURJ. I did not interact personally much with them; but the more I have know about them, the more I have wanted to get to know them more. Z! has launched their coaching and consulting business. And they are running an eight week spiritual support group.

So, wow. Two things I have wanted to find. A jumpstart to strengthening my spiritual practice and fostering a spiritual community in my life. But the universe was gonna have to hit me over the head for me to recognize this beautiful synchronistic opportunity. When my friend asked Z! to reach out to me about their group; I poo poo'ed it thinking 'oh no, I can't move. I can't walk I won't be able to do grounding exercises'. I was fear based around my physical abilities or lack thereof. So I declined.

A month later, I received an email offer by Z! for a free sample session of the group. It was for people who wanted to know more about it so that they could see if it was for them. It then hit me that the universe (through Z!) was telling me 'You want spiritual development, you want spiritual community. Here is someone offering to help you with both. Someone you have wanted to get to know more. Someone whose work you respect.  Take the hand that is being outstretched to you, damn it!'  I answered that call. I am committing to taking part in this group.

So, I have a a lot of jugs of water to carry. My physical rehabilitation is paramount in my life. But I am now able to spend energy on non medical aspects of my life. as well.  I feel more whole with action steps in other life enriching areas of my life: my card making certification, new art channel and art blog and spiritual support group, working on my memoir manuscript, as well keeping up with this blog. So you can see why I am trying to channel the octopus' eight arms.

I am also experiencing a creative burst in painting and I am working on my seventh painting this month.

To paraphrase Mrs Whistledown (from Bridgerton Netflix series), "Dear gentle readers", be patient with me if I make fewer posts here. Know that I am actively producing other works. Visit me at VanGoghChica Studio blog and my VanGoghChica You Tube channel. And I hope to see you in my comments!

I got a book in me

Sipping my nighttime diet coke, I bid my housemate goodnight and prepare for my witching hours. While I do not chalk up my increased productivity in these late night hours to supernatural phenomena, I do feel a sort of magic in the air as I sit down at my art table or in front of my computer. Alone, in a quiet, calm space, I delight in my creative playground. 

My creative playground refers to my hard-won art studio space as well as my desk nook under the stairs. When I say hard won, I mean the battle was with myself. Since I have been on my own, I have always lived in small spaces. Mostly one-bedroom apartments. Now, I live in a two-bedroom townhouse with a housemate. 

You see, I am a tail-end baby boomer who got her Bachelors in art history. Like most humanities majors from the 1980’s, I never officially worked in a position within my trained field. My left leaning sympathies landed me in entry level non-profit jobs. My silly, brainwashed younger self became embarrassed by my bougie field of study and I hid it away for decades while I pursued more important matters like helping rape survivors or homeless youth on the streets of San Francisco. 

All very worthwhile work and work I am proud to have been part of. For sure. And I cannot say I would do it so differently if I were to go back in time. The pull towards social justice work was just so strong that I had to incorporate activism into my new adult life post-college. I just wish I could have also cultivated my writing and fine arts skills by making a space for it in my busy youth.

But who I am joking? It took decades of finding and healing myself before I would be able to live a truly authentic life; fully owning all of my humanity, mistakes, gifts and confidence. And there would be no body of written words on blogs or manuscripts or painted canvases until I did. 

So, this is why, at 63 years old, I am thrilled to have my art studio space and office nook to practice my crafts. I battled within myself for so many years about claiming myself an artist and writer out loud. And if I could not even believe in myself enough to claim those titles, I surely could not upset my domicile by chucking a dining room in lieu of a six foot utility table with shelves of art supplies and a bulky easel. I punished myself by solely writing in private journals and blogs. Like the thousands of imagined art pieces I made in my head, my words were not seen by any audience.

Until now. I am finally at a point in my life which in which I feel the most self assured. I intimately know and love myself. Now, I have things to share with the world. So, I donated my dining room set and let my housemate know that I have two sacred zones that he is not to ever visit without invitation: my office nook and my art studio space. I may not have the luxury of separate rooms for my office and art studio, but I do have designated places to create and write.

And that brings me to these words. I have been writing this blog for the past two years. (Actually, I have had other blogs in which I wrote for years; but this is the one I choose to make public now.) Many people in my life have commented how they enjoy my writings and suggested I write a book. Pshaw, I said. Me, a 'real' writer?

It would not be until a good friend of mine who is a poet and filmmaker told me the same but in a matter-of-fact way. She is a writer and teacher, and she just told me how it is. “You write creative non-fiction. That is a real genre in creative writing. You really should put these stories out there for people to read. You have a book(s) in you.”

Thank you, my dear friend S. I was finally able to hear it. I know that I am a story teller. I love telling stories and have always been told I am good at it. And I am now in a place in which I have a vast treasury of stories from my life and observations hard gleaned from my school of life. I want to pass on wisdoms I have learned and share realities that may be foreign to others. And hopefully bring a smile to my readers faces every now and then. 

So, I guess I am writing a book. I will still keep this blog and use what I can for both. 

I must admit that I feel a sense of urgency to get this book out. At this time (June 2025), our nation is on the precipice of a decline into fascism. Tears have nowhere to go as I watch the Los Angeles riots over the barbaric and xenophobic immigration policies of this 47^th president. I cannot cry or spend too much time watching news. I am in a sort of shock. Under my outrage is numbness. And fear. 

As a queer, brown skinned, immigrant’s daughter, I have a target on my back. The anti-LGBTQ and racist far right would like people like me to disappear. They are systematically erasing and re-writing the history of people of color in this country. And they are literally rounding up anyone who looks like an “illegal” (i.e. any brown skinned individual). ICE, police and now highway patrol have been deputized so that they can apprehend suspected illegals without proof of illegal status. And Florida (where I live) has now passed legislation that suspected illegals can be detained indefinitely without even having their apprehension documented in any public database. The detained individuals will literally be lost and unheard from. Families will not even know where they are.

In this climate, I want to get my truths and stories out there. I do not want my life experiences erased and unheard. With the right censoring many fine works of literature, I am absolutely certain my memoir would end up on the pyre of book to be set flame. I am a Latina, queer, sex positive, feminist and antiracist activist who now lives in a female body over the age of forty and disabled. They want me invisible. They want me silenced.

So c’mon. Keep reading.  Let’s be subversive together.

My own little Bastet

Portrait of Bimini as ancient Egyptian Goddess Bastet, acrylic 8"X10" 2025

I visited my sister in Northern Florida and came back very inspired to paint and write. I have a lofty project in mind for my writing. It is stretching my confidence, but in a good way. I'll tell you more as I get underway. First step: I need to buy Microsoft Word so I can start a long manuscript with all the official bells and whistles. I'll keep you posted.

I came back to a creative frenzy. I was bummed about some experiences with psychics (no doubt I will tell you about it in another post), so I buried myself in painting. I finished two paintings quickly and am on my third. I'm not showing all of them because some of them may be gifts and I think that the potential recipients read my blog. So I am keeping them under wraps for now. They will probably be Christmas gifts. Yes, I start working on my gifts way early (because I like to make them).

One of my painting projects is a series of our animal companions. My family loves dogs but especially cats. In another post, I must tell you about my family's cat, Pilor, who was so mean to me when I was young and used to scratch my butt when I walked around in diapers or naked as a toddler! 

Perhaps because I was terrified of Pilor (who had three incarnations in my family), I always thought I was more a dog person. But I have to say, I now have a black Bombay cat named Bimini and we have a love affair going on. She is feisty and diva-like and we struggle for the upper hand; but that just makes me love and respect her all the more Jajaja.

Bimi has a strong affinity for the ancient Egyptians' goddess Bastet. Bastet originally had the body of a woman and the head of a lion, but later transitioned to the head of a domesticated cat. She is depicted often in frescoes and sculptures and tombs. She protected the pharaoh's home. 

Domesticated cats were seen as her embodiment and brought good luck in fertility, child birth and home-life in general. She was also a muse for music and dancing. And she helped the deceased in the afterlife.

This stock illustration shows a modern illustration of ancient Egyptian art that depicts Bastet as she would have appeared in ancient Egypt. She was often painted around orange and wore colorful decorations. 

Bimi chose a sphinx-like pose and while I love her pitch black coat, I was moved to paint her colorfully. Last year, I did a silly smooshed painting with Bimini. I wanted to have a painting of her or by her, but the result was ugly, even though it was done by her. So I did not hang it. This I will hang. She is happy with this.