An exercise of stream of consciousness (aka: Uncensored Brain Dump)

The Birthday, 2020, oil sticks on 19 x 25 paper. I did this painting to celebrate my inner child.

Have you ever felt like you were falling into a whirlpool, struggling to go upstream, but can't? I think if you are human, you know exactly what that feels like.  It's exhausting.  I felt like that for years, literally. Going upstream, against the current, and no matter how fast I paddled my arms, I couldn't get myself outside the hole.  It took time and much needed angels in my path.  Mainly, it took all my might, all my commitment, all my surrender, all my responsible self. It took all of me to get myself out. I can't say I don't have days like that anymore, but they are far and in-between.  Today, which is not the day I will post this blog, is one of those days. I feel like I'm swimming upstream and can't get my head above water.  Maybe it is physical.  There is such a thing as menopause which is like Sartre's "hell are other people." For me, hell is menopause, but I won't bother with the details.  Maybe I feel this way from putting myself out there, through my art, my writing, photography, videos, social media, and my most vulnerable self is exhausted, she needs some form of response.  Not just a sale, or more followers, but a dialogue, a deep dialogue of what it is to be human.  A dialogue that goes into the night and lasts till dawn.  I miss that.  I've had few deep existential conversations, unfortunately most of the time they are with myself via my journals or with one of my favorite dead people, Carl Jung or Emerson, O'Keefe, or Kahlo. They are truly great conversationalists. Why is it that most of the time, real people shy away from deep conversations? What are they scared of? What makes them uncomfortable? I don't know.  I'm exhausted today. Mentally, emotionally and physically.  Spiritually, I hear the birds sing.  I didn't wake up this way, exhausted, I got this way after I had an exchange with someone who kept looking at their watch, even when I had an appointment to see her.  Why is it so hard to be present in a conversation.  In the here and now instead of the future? Being present is the biggest act of love, respect and acknowledgment toward another.  It shows the other person that they matter, just like you want to be seen and heard, so does everyone else.  I slowly went downhill after that exchange.  It irritated me. It triggered me.  Possibly it brought back scenes from my childhood when I wasn't being seen or heard. I was invisible.  That's it, my little girl, the inner child I carry was deeply hurt, she wanted to be seen and heard because she matters. Yes, she matters.  I see you little Ana.

AMO

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Ana Martinez Orizondo: AMO

My initials, AMO, stand for "I love" in my native Spanish. I am  am a Cuban American pastel artist, writer, photographer, community builder and artpreneur. ​