heyjupiter

[heyjupiter]

I'm grateful for a lot these days in this ever madding world. And one of those things is books. Not only having the time and space to write them, but also read them. I've more than enough posts on writing and books and how they have impacted my life, so for the first time, I will write about some of my favorites, ones that I am grateful exist and what they mean to me. These are not reviews or summaries, but something more. They are about what gives the stories pulse and beauty and how they (though fiction) speak a truth that could not be told in any other way. 

Gratitude and Books

What are some books you are grateful for that have impacted your life in unexpected and beautiful ways?

[heyjupiter]

When I stop moving through the world and life as though it's an illusion, it becomes more vibrant, more real. I see it as a creation I can work with and immerse in. I stop making every experience something other than what it is. I stop projecting meaning onto everything and simply live. 

New year. New post. Untangled.

[heyjupiter]

Sikkim is filled with temple secrets, sprawling tea gardens, and waterfalls that flow down mountains and over roads. It oozes untamed lands, mysterious rituals, and unspoken words hidden in the folds of everything. This land swallowed me and showed me what it means for a place to be woven with mystery, for a place to haunt you long after you leave. But that is not where this story begins. Full Post: Traversing Landscapes & Stories

As we cross into this new season and into the new year, what will you carry over with you? Or will you simply traverse the complex layers of this raw and wild universe again and again? 

[heyjupiter]

Something akin to telepathy, books bring you inside the mind of another, far removed from where you stand, transmitting thoughts and insights and channeled worlds directly to you here, now. I can I travel deeper and further than anywhere I could reach on earth--through time and space, the world over, and into dimensions and realities that I otherwise would not have access. 

I lose myself in these worlds of words, and then I rip them apart. I analyze the structure, the voice, the craft, and the whys and the hows. Whereas writing, for me, is an intuitive act that sprouts from elsewhere, reading (including my own work) is an act of purposeful exploration, pulling back veils and uncovering the hidden layers between the written words. 

World of Words (full post)

[heyjupiter]

Back in December, I had decided to shelf my first novel. I had worked on it, on and off, for the better part of a decade and spent about two years trying to find an agent to represent it. It was strange, experimental, and ambitious. Over the years, I'd gotten all kinds of contradictory advice from all kinds of people from all walks of life on how to improve it. All I gained from that experience was confusion and frustration. I had other projects to focus on that weren't quite as polarizing. I knew I needed to let this one go. And so I did. I surrendered it fully. 

Then, a few days after I returned from India in mid January, something peculiar happened--a serendipitous anomaly that has made all my efforts, risks, and patience worth it.  Full Post: Sacred Journeys

[heyjupiter]

What strange trajectories life can take. 

I remember thinking this lying in my bunk at the Ashram, staring up at the world map pinned to the crumbling wall next to me. I'd been in India for less than a week, and I had already found a rhythm to my days and nights, enveloped in comfort--more comfort than I'd felt in a long time. Ever, in fact. Comfort. A word as foreign to me as everything I was now surrounded by. I had walked away from one life to live a completely different one. I'd done this before so the concept wasn't new to me, but India was. And, I was noticing, so was comfort.

Taking Comfort

[heyjupiter]

At first it was challenging--the constant movement, disrupted sleep, the unfamiliar yet familiar sights and sounds. The vast distances between point A and point B. The unanticipated caution, kind attention, and eventually comfort. I became accustomed to all these things and grew to enjoy them to the point I didn't want to leave, not quite yet anyway. Hindsight or perhaps intuitive foresight is something else isn't it. 

Full Post: The Last Quarter

[heyjupiter]

Perpetually lost in books and in my imagination, it should be no surprise that I struggled as a student, struggled to listen, and I genuinely thought telepathy was a valid form of communicating. Writing was truly my only form of outward expression, my only source of magic and power in this chaotic and ruthless world.  The Inevitable Writing Life What is your source of magic and power?

[heyjupiter]

Quietude: A check-in

[heyjupiter]

I'm so happy to finally share this with the world! We started writing this essay back in April while on Koh Lipe and finished it a few weeks later in Bangkok. Aeon accepted out pitch in May, and now, it's finally live for you to read ✨

[heyjupiter]

I decided to disappear at the end of March. Nothing was worth the effort anymore. So I stopped believing in everything.

Two Suns ☀️☀️

[heyjupiter]

The sakura first appeared in a lucid half-dream--the liminal space where other worlds dwell. Walking a snowy path from winter to spring, the blossoms looked like snow covered branches from a distance. As I approached them, they fell, soft and powdery, over everything as far as I could see. Somewhere between winter and spring, between dreaming and waking, cherry blossoms cascaded like snow across a dreamscape.

Full Post: Sakura Dreams

[heyjupiter]

This year has strong Alice in Wonderland vibes. It is the year of the rabbit after all. Are you following the rabbit this year? Where has it led you so far?

Read More: Year of the Rabbit

[heyjupiter]

Wisdom from the Trenches of 2022

Have you taken the time to reflect on 2022? What came up for you? How will you integrate what you've learned into this new year? 

[heyjupiter]

As this year comes to an end, I really don't have much to say. Perhaps when I do my year in review, I'll be able to articulate better. My inner world has a language of its own, and it's not always easy to express it to the outer world though I do try through my stories and pictures and here on this blog. 

How does your inner world speak to you--through words or images or something else entirely? And how do you best express it to the outer world? 

Full Post: Living the Mystery

[heyjupiter]

As we move into the shortest days and longest nights, I move further with in, locking myself away with my books and writing and unfurling imagination. Digging into the depths, peeling away layers of my own psyche. As a child born in late October, I am prone to fall in love with esoteric mysteries, hidden magic, and getting lost in the labyrinths of my mind or otherwise. I have an insatiable desire to penetrate the surface of all people and places and things, to hear their stories--the ones they tell and the ones they hide between the lines, in those moments of deep breaths and pauses and sighs.

Continue Reading: Uncover, Unlock, Discover

[heyjupiter]

Summer unfolded like a series of impressions--one fading into the next and lingering like the oranges and reds across an evening late summer sky. Or maybe they were more like shooting stars hitting the atmosphere--taking me by surprise, creating an impression, and vanishing in a blink.

Full Post: Impressions of Summer

How was your summer? How will you remember it? As a series of impressions or something else entirely?