I have begun again so many times. Especially here, dear Reader. This time, I shall not make the attempt to tell you of all that’s happened, of every little thing since the last time I spoke. In my bookshelf are at least five journals, the earliest from seventh grade. All
I stand at my desk looking at the sunshine out of the front window in the house where I became a mother, twenty years ago. I’m recalling the months after my middle son was born. I was desperate to feel my body as my own again, so I started doing
Here in Colorado Springs, I woke to the first morning with a house cooler than when I went to sleep…autumn is coming. I have wanted to announce the following several times over the last couple of months and am finally ready to go after overcoming delaying roadblocks of timing and
On the Occasion of Getting the Results of a Biopsy a poem by Jene’ Jackson I lifted my eyes to the sky after hearing “all clear” at a dreaded follow up To see two hawks circling between contrail X’s hallways the high ways. The hawks circled each other together but
I’ve spent the morning fiddling with the Church of Wild YouTube channel, creating playlists and adding videos from the last couple of years. We’re smack in the middle of the Read-Aloud journey, where I’m reading The Oat Project out loud on Facebook Live, every night at 7:30pm MST, until done.
It’s been an INTENSE year here in Jene’-land. Over the last two years, via hard as hell work in therapy for the first time in my life, I’ve finally begun to work through early trauma, my mother’s death, and gotten at the root cause of lifelong depression, panic, and anxiety.
Today marks six years since my mom died and the world became a little less bright. Every year, on her birth and death days, I do my best to honor her in one way or many. When I walked into work today, the music playing was all her favorites: Elton
I’m having a weird relationship with my books lately. I have many, many books. I had many books before my mom died, and then I got most of hers, and now I have even more. And they’re great books. I call myself a “literary survivalist.” Someday–we all know it will
I keep hearing weather forecasters, newspeople, and public officials warn residents in the path of Hurricane Irma with words like, “This is as real as it gets!” “This is the real deal, people!” And the thing is…why would we think it’s anything BUT real? Is it our saturation with visual