Many moons, many moods
Diary of a weird girl somewhere between dreaming and waking.
Daily ventilations of a mind that oscillates between human and ether. I hope these streams of consciousness are relatable and tangible in the sense that we all fluctuate. I can no longer afford to hide my demons and my angels. And if this experiment goes well… well, I shall be encouraged to continue. Here is my offering. Thank you for your attention, as there are millions of demigods to parasites trying to prey or pray for your attention all the time.
[ and if you are new here, ciao! I am an artist living in Italy hailing from California, attending to a thousand deaths and rebirths. You can expect the sensuous, ethereal day to day magic. Welcome to my strange little garden. ]
May 17th 2026, 3:33pm after New Moon in Taurus, Italy
The primordial, perennial, prophetic force that guides prose speaks without speaking to and fro from ashes into material, ripples of sound into consonants into lymphatic systems. Creation is creating nothing from something and something from nothing. I cannot resist Her call upon my life for she weaves a great mass of pressure into the jewels of being. I accept the virtues and the disdain of enquiring from my heart that which is pressing and relieving. Devotion is, at this point, not a choice, as awareness sees through all my senses that all is with One. As is, the fabrics of reality are a great stretch of the imagination that a mind could not fathom. I implore great thanks to the ancients of the subcontinent of India for harmonising with great care the oral traditions of metaphysics, and pray for justice where the westernization lost a bit of the soul into something of a catastrophe. Meaning, the externalising of endorphin-fueled devotion to an idea of sanctity remiss of the inward illumination, must be most curious to the great sages that spoke from stillness. For the human in me is most grateful for the external validation often sought, while the soul quietly knows exactly what shall feed the incessant pursuit of light. What is venom is also nectar. The primordial goddess giveths and takes away. The alchemical state of remorse into radiance gives me play and pleasure. Pain and pressure into perception that apart from God one cannot not be. Countless attempts at straying brings my being to my knees weeping to feel bliss again, and only in the timing of no time at all, the jurisdiction of a court of all my appeals, God never judged in the first place. The simple and dynamic wave of breath flowed me down the river and when I thought about the minding of myself, I was kicking upstream, choking and gasping when all that was necessary was to let go. It may seem a stretch in today's day and age with the constant bombardment of the dark and tragic, lost and not found– yet the nature of reality is in fact peace, love and orgasmic soundscapes that have brought crystallized structure to the formless. I write about metaphysical science like a poet because it is most trying to quantify the experience of the sensual existence of the Love of creation coursing through and pulsing everything and nothing. Call it what you will– life force, kundalini, christos, light, or fuckery: there is that which contains us being inseparable from what moves us. And it chooses you, today, yesterday, tomorrow and every moment because time does not exist to what is every eye on a seraphim's wings, every star lit at 3 in the morning, every pore on the back of a fern, every undercurrent, wave, and hair on every head. Existence is beyond clever, existence knows you, moves you, and breathes you. Will we do nothing to become something when we are something from nothing, unbecoming?
May 18th 2:34pm
Pride myself on my ability to lick a knife without getting cut. It spawns more from love of food than sexiness. Morosely though it does bring pleasure to be close to the gun and not pull the trigger. I do this same thing to my husband. I make him straddle a place that only he could in a web where my misery loves company. The darkness i accessed today in a scream so deep that barely any sound came out. I recognized the desperation in a split second from the last time i’d been there. Screaming at my mother. Seemingly left for dead, kicked out of her new husbands house and i was certain she was weak and wicked. Now i think she’s the most perfect angel so here’s to transformation. Yet the teen girl in me, barely out of her shelter, lost it again. And i want me husband to pay for every time i’ve felt abandoned. He accesses these places that i have so hidden and a part of me begs him to do it. And then when i come back to my senses the shame pools in for i feel weak and wicked. And he says he chooses me. He aways chooses me. He takes his clothes off to feel closer as i was still in a towel from hours before, too numb to move, and we lie there close. And i cry. And i cry. And slowly but surely the knife gets cleaned.
5/19 5:30am
Cannot seem to shake jetlag. Part of me is in california, part of me is in italy. Woke up at 5am this morning because yesterday consisted of a few naps and bed by 9. A post stoner in this new italian life where the devils lettuce is still illegal, i have a dream and i dream. I look forward to sleeping like i’m about to have a lil sidequest. Excited to carl jung myself in the morning. This morning i dreamt i was at my mothers house and she was making pancakes and i was making a strawberry smoothie from some friends, but she took the smoothie and used it as syrup for my nephew and i was happy about it albeit she took it all. after processing yesterday's grief, something inside was nodding to how i’ve come to understand my mother. She is nurture and she is resilient and she is captive to her providers. I can’t blame her. I look at jesus and i see beloved prophet with healing hands that changed history and broke chains. I see myself through jesus’s eyes and we are one. She looks at jesus and sees the same love but then she sees herself as sinful, indebted to the christ and god for her nature is wicked and her love will always fall short.
My husband gently snores behind me on our bed while i face the window writing on my belly and glancing up at the spring alps. I much prefer them green than white. When i decided to finally get out of bed, it felt a surrender to writing, hoping for something profound to spring forth from the depths of my soul (not so much.) I made a matcha and not just any matcha, i used a milk frother for the first time and dusted cacao on the top. Everything could be sacred. My husband is quitting vaping so he ordered blue lotus and mullein per my recommendation. I told him it’s a plant medicine and an ancient consciousness and so if he smokes the blue lotus it should be reserved for his alone time so he may have a little journey. He smoked it and played video games with his only good friend back in the states. He hardly plays since telling him it “wasn’t cute” years ago when we were dating. For him his night with blue lotus was sacred. He had been soothing me and scratching my back to fall asleep last night when i asked him if he was pleased with how much we’ve been intimate lately. He said well ya but what do you mean by that? I thought he’d been disappointed before leaving to california because we weren’t exactly losing ourselves in the rapture or finding the time for it as often. He had hardly a memory of that and said we love each other all the same. I thought of something my mom told me when i was visiting… i hide things. I keep little secrets to myself about my inner world and at the top of the list is how i may be disappointing someone. I hate it. I really do want to be perfect. It’s survival. Being pretty enough, smart enough, sweet enough kept me under the radar. I could have my imaginations, my secret longings, my imperfections under the radar. I could be small unless asked to perform grandly and then back to small. I remember doing cheerleading competitions as a child. I had tried to explain once what it felt like to perform. To be so nervous and then when the music started it was like something radiant took over my body, moved me in perfect time, could do things small me would never (like being tossed in the air and landing on one foot and the other behind my head in front of thousands like wtf?). Now i want that, whatever part of me could shine, to take over (and grant me into a hayley williams/ lana del ray musically inclined love child pls). I feel the pressure of my birthday last week and i won’t cater to accepting myself as i am as good advice would have it… surely to some degree but the reality is, i am disappointed. I am disappointed with how small i’ve played the game of life. Here i am preaching to anyone that will listen that there is life force all around us, miracles are innate and the good goddess wills us all pleasure and protection, yet i am so afraid of showing my inner world. Sketches and sketches dying unseen. Literally over 2k audio recordings of songs that exist in the graveyard of my phone. When i am honest with myself, i want to be a mark on history too. I have found myself over and over again in music, in art, in the words of those long before me and so how could i not want to leave someone else closer to love, to understanding, to feeling that they are not alone because i too have silly, surrealist and luxurious desires and pains. I want my life to be a living prayer. So here i am now. And where i will be, who knows so i pray for the radiance in me to, well, radiate.
5/20 6am
as we know it today, there is a whole history of yoga from the first written records in the bhagavidgita where it describes seated meditation. The technology of the yogas, the technology of the human were first recorded in the oracular transparencies in the legends of the sages. Now today we don’t necessarily value oral histories, nor trust, as it's the study of materia that holds weight. Yet oracular transmission is what's been lost in the westernization of yoga. There are spheres all around us. We each live in a sphere beyond our skin that is the light information we carry. We can actually see and measure (to a degree) this auric movement. Within in is data of our thoughts, our relationships, our sensory experience. And our brains, little sensory devices, pick up a little at time. This is good or we’d be overstimi’d beyond sustainable amounts. Now when one is teaching yoga, and pardon me but this is the difference of a seasoned teacher, but in a room are all of the spheres of influence, and like a venndiagram. There is a common denominator of what is needed. Now the language of yoga, forms a combination and is seen through the eye of the guide. This is why my favorite thing to hear after class is “that was just what i needed” but from more than one person. And mind you, sometimes what we needed is not what we think we did. Sometimes it is friction against our egos, like trying something hard or the guide says something in class that somehow resolves the frustration we feel toward a loved one, etc. this oracular stream of wisdom and grounded mechanisms of body and mind is something difficult to quantify. What we think of as yoga today is primarily the gymnastic of asana, the physical postures created for young boys in military training to help them sit still. All legendary (& infamous) guides from pattanabi jois, yogananda, iyengar, bikram, yogi bajan, and more share in common access to the body to guide us to stillness, the savasana, the corpse pose, the moksha or the liberation (a word that also means death.) figuratively and beyond we die in yoga. We change our regards to life as we think we know it to receive more light data. Now in a sense, the oracular traditions about it, or the channelling of words/movements/prayer comes from a voice in the head and that’s subject to suspicion. It could be insanity. But a grounded practice of meditation creates a distillation of the voices. Because yes, there are many and i’m not afraid to admit. I am sure all of us understand the inner critic and rarely comprehend the inner benevolent one. And where heaven meets earth, where the upper chakras meet the lower, in the heart, we can digest the information in our spheres, and upward sphere and a downward sphere, that create a torus field around our electromagnetic bodies, is the place where we can trust the guidance of ourselves and others. Tuning into this space is no easy task. And to me, this is whats missing in the westernization, the colonization, of yoga… the mystical way that the motherland of india so clearly demonstrates, of heart centered living. Something the ancient sages understood. An awakened heart can illuminate far beyond its own sphere.
5/20 part 2 1:47pm
May i please turn the depression off? No mother says. Feel it all when it’s inconvenient. It all started today while rapid fucking. My cervix reached and in a moment, trustfully and deeply desired, the other wing of my pelvis begged to differ in all the unconscious being stirred. After many minutes i guess i checked out, trying to breath and gasp underwater where i’ve drowned many times before. Sometimes i’d just like to be surface. Somehow someway be the type that doesn’t feel everything. And often when i feel it all… i just leave. Without thoughts or anything of form, just an inconceivable feeling of i am not here and i don’t know where i am. Thankful for my husband who knows this and slows down the whole world till i land back safely in his arms. But i want to know where i go. Where the fuck have i been going that is sometimes so debilitating to return from. depression has been a greater constant in my life than joy. She is familiar, she always sinks her pearly fangs in. She consumes me and then we are alone together again. I can’t hate her because she’s too honest and real and i appreciate authenticity more than i care too. I try to hide her. I don’t want the burden of my pain to be on anyone else but then i have a hard time engaging with humans from inside a stormcloud. But on my outside flesh there is a sunny disposition and wild light curls under pressure to be happy. If i smile I can exist under the radar. Consequently, i’ve spent so much time alone. And surely it’s healing to be with a man that never wants me to feel alone yet i don’t quite have the skills to know how to not be. And so i push him away when so desperately i want him close. Closer than close. I want to hide in his ribs. i tell myself i have every reason to be grateful, every reason to be joyful, and so logically i am– but heartily not so much... sorrow is always in my bone marrow. There is only one choice with misery. i have to learn to appreciate her… she makes me a wellspring. she makes me understand others deeply. She makes the waters of my body flow. She makes me pick up the guitar and paint brush. She makes me dance and she makes me know the truth of this planet. But god i so wish i could be steady.
5/21 12:30pm
It’s the little things to pull a gal out of the spiral. And letting it all out to my husband. Starting with a morning in a dream spell. You know when you try to wake up and keep rolling over into the surrealism behind eyelids? Somewhere from the liminal beyond i heard my husband return from dropping off the little one at school. And like an eager puppy i return from the dreamscape. Yet in waking, i draped a heavy coat of feeling worthless. This is the first time in my life, afterall, that i am not “busy” and it turns out i’m not as internally driven without the hunger for survival as i thought. The house wasn’t tidy and i felt the inspiration of a new day vaporize as i walked down the hall to receive all the touch and love and morning kisses i need. yet i felt my shadow darken and approached him with reserve. We went outside with coffee and smoked a joint of blue lotus and lavender. at first i said i dont want to talk about it and meant it. Until the swell began to purge and couldn't be plugged up. I have a million half full pursuits. Unfinished projects and age seems to be creeping up. The sense that i have beauty to add to this world and a fear of it ever being seen can no longer coexist. A fear that i can do so much for someone else and not myself. Trying to shake years of rejection from the people closest to me. For having so much vision and very little discipline. The looming sense that my lived experience of feeling everything, all the time, is all for nothing and yet a terror that it all really could be for something and my life could actually change and then i won’t meet the expectations of others because i don’t actually want to be busy again. That i am in fact very reserved and private yet my soul wants to be seen. to leave a legacy that could reach another weird little soul. And my husband listened to all the waves until he took my hands in his and said what needed to be said. Let it out and then give myself grace and then do the steps. Do it all one at a time. And to take his card and go sit a cafe and write. Write and write. So here i am now. Sitting at my favorite parisian cafe in italy, writing with a cappuccino with cacao e canella. haven’t been here in 6 weeks and the delight in the owner's eye to see a friend made me hide my tears. Before that i stopped at the place i get waxed to see if i could move my appointment to earlier. She said how about now and i almost cried again. I can barely speak to these people and yet they ask me how i am and entertain my broken italian. Slowly but surely there is community. Connection isn’t a million followers. It’s the lady putting hot wax on my skin and casually ripping out hair asking if i’m happy to be home. An intimacy of femininity that sounds weird but is deeply soulful. As an energy healer and massage therapist i find myself thinking that it isn’t just us trained in the chakras; it’s the hairstylists, the manicurists, the estheticians and tattoo artists that are energy healers too. The touch between atoms matters. The sunshine on a walk charges us as much as the light in a passing smile. The shopkeeper explaining she doesn’t speak english but tried in french to say my outfit is tres jolie. Merci i said. And we giggled and i felt restored. Plus my husband picked my outfit today. He said i’m tired of hiding you. You’re beautiful and you should feel that today and he picked my white wedding cowgirl boots, white cotton pants with lace at the hem layered with a sage green linen dress i bought in india. And i feel all the energies of my travels that took me to my life in a little town in italy with a man that truly adores me. That's part of why i spiral. I have no reason to be sad and so i layer it with shame. But there is no need. The cafe owner, Janette, has a legacy of love, too. She doesn’t need a poem to go viral to spread love. The estheticians, Irma and Jessica, don’t need to preach on a pulpit to teach about love, they just are love in their busy work days. And so i see across from me, a wink from the universe as a barista places peace lilies at a table. The flower from my wedding that i keep trying to paint and saying it’s never good enough. But it is. Because it’s the act of spending a moment to revere the beauty of creation, that actually matters.
Ciao,
xx
MW
"Existence is beyond clever. Existence knows you. Moves you. Breathes you." Yes Yes Yes Existence is not something that happens to you. It is you. It is. The verb 'to be.' I AM THAT I AM.