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Sue Kearney

I’ve just passed the 30-day mark.

It’s a month since my sister Marcia died.

I wasn’t raised to be aware of this sacred time, the first month after a loss. But I love how time is set aside, in Judaism — set aside to allow one to be with the grief and the turning of life’s poignant pages. This time is called Shloshim (means thirty).

Spiral on an image of reflective water — grief’s spiral
Spiral on an image of reflective water — grief’s spiral

This last month’s quiet gave me time to step into and begin to understand a new part of my is-ness. I have a new identity now. I’m a woman with only one living sister, not two.

Bearing that new truth, wearing that new cloak of identification has taken some…


2020’s been quite a year.

On this Winter Solstice, let’s take a moment together to celebrate how we’ve responded and adapted through this unusual year. There’s been so much opportunity to let go and grow, right?

Resilience isn’t an option; it’s a requirement, on the daily.

  • Finding new comforts as the old familiar ones became unavailable.
  • Learning new ways to do community and connection, easing pandemic fatigue and the weight of so much isolation.
  • Hearing and responding to the beckonings of the divine: wild whispers and invitations to break out of the box.


Hear that sound? That’s the sound of an art bomb.

An art bomb postcard that arrived safely, oversized and underpostaged, in the mailbox of its intended recipient.
An art bomb postcard that arrived safely, oversized and underpostaged, in the mailbox of its intended recipient.

Guerrilla art. Also known as art bombing.

It’s thrilling and magical to plant and send your art into the world without knowing who’ll see it, where it’ll land, or what its impact will be.

My first experience with art bombing came courtesy of witchy and extremely craft-y ritual prep with my friend Jenny Wilde (@jennybach on FB & Insta). We’d make themed totem bags, or write intentions on ribbon, or create herb bundles, or….

Jenny was (still is) tapped into creativity’s invitation to just try sh*t — to listen for that inner What If? — and I was lucky enough to sit right next to her.

Release…


Reflections. Original abstract art on canvas.
Reflections. Original abstract art on canvas.

I’m so grateful that I found my way to fluid art. I’m having more fun each time I start or continue a piece, and sometimes what comes through is simply beautiful.

I return to my art table again and again because of the beauty, flow, and magic available. And then I forget.

Reflections on finding flow at the art table

I can’t plan my way into flow. And I can’t force myself out of trying to plan. Human at play.

When I forget what’s really on offer, and start with a plan, I can count on three outcomes:

  • I mess up, usually by going too far.
  • I rarely get where I thought I was going anyway.
  • Consolation prize: I always learn something.

I didn’t set out to create these two paintings as they are.


Feeling grounded, safe, and positive is an inside job.

I know this. It’s my commitment to move and act from this knowing all the time.

But seriously, 2020? You’ve apparently got no shortage of ways to challenge my ability to feel grounded, safe, and positive. September 2020 in northern California brought a flurry of conditions that impacted my ability to feel grounded, safe, or positive much of the time.

To put it mildly.

Fire and smoke. Really crappy air quality. A surfeit of solitariness. Not to mention American politics, and oh yeah, the pandemic.

Luckily the smoke has gone elsewhere for now, and the air’s breathable, mostly, these last few days. (Hard to grok, as the fires still burn, but I’ll take it.)

Ash is…


New vision, new noticing…

How this new seeing of depth and dimension changes everything.

All that I see, and all that I make. My vision journey — not the kind that comes with three days on a hilltop and a bunch of psychedelics, but the kind that’s about what I actually see with my eyes — brings a new way of seeing depth and dimension.

Everywhere. In my art and everywhere I look.

Even absent the psychedelics, it’s been a trip.

If you’re following along, you may remember that I had gotten a preliminary diagnosis and a referral to a specialist to help me deal with some very interesting symptoms that made…


Clarity. Even with murky vision.

Shelter-in-place has been all kinds of things: quiet, fertile, and full of the unexpected. For me, things took an interesting turn involving vision, clarity and resilience.

I have two stories to tell, each about how and what I’m seeing and the clarity that’s available even when things appear out of focus, out of whack, and hard to read (literally and figuratively).

Longish post today. tl/dr version: Got new glasses with lenses that exacerbated a condition I didn’t know I had. Clarity ensues.

Adjusting to new lenses. Wait. What?

I got my eyes checked for the first time in years in February. …


Today I rage.

I’ll turn 70 on my next birthday if I’m meant to see November 2020.

There’s a voice that rises up in me, more and more, shouting I don’t want to live long in this badly broken world.

I reject the idea that I can have services and access that others don’t get because of the color of their skin or the place they were born. WTF? Srsly? Who sez?

Disclaimer alert.

I’m programmed for rage. Eye-rolling, impatient, snap judgements. I’ve softened over time. I’m a student on a path that points toward a simpler and truer understanding of life and its doings. Living from this place has changed everything — for the better.

And sometimes the wise and wizened crone rises up in me and shouts and screams her rage at what she sees.

You too?

Listen to her and consider the direction your steps are taking.

I have moments of crystal clear rage.

I’ve watched the increase of dark imaginings manifested. From Columbine. Or was it Waco? Or Kent State? Too many too many too many.

Dystopia: dys·to·pi·a/disˈtōpēə/

an imagined state or society in…


How’s your Covid19 day going?

I spent the first couple of hours of my day today feeling weighed down.

Saturday morning, first weekend in April. Life in the time of Covid19.

I lazed around wondering why I’m not getting much done and what in fact I might consider doing. Nothing had much appeal beyond painting my hair and a bath. Just meh.

I put off my sister’s invitation to talk. I did pick up my daughter’s call, straight from meh-ville.

I’m not sick, honey. I’m not freaking out. Nothing’s happened. I’m in a mood; just meh. It’ll probably pass.

After a while my bones moved me outside.

I grabbed my very cool knife — hooking its scabbard to my back pocket, found some gloves, and stabbed the…


I’ve been seeing life’s twists and turns with new eyes.

I’m developing eyes for divine neutrality (aka grace, or acceptance, or It don’t make no never mind) in the face of challenges.

I’m not a divine neutrality black belt. I can’t embody grace on demand. I’ve tried to meditate and give and gratitude-list my way to peace of mind for years.

What I’m developing a sense for, increasingly reliably, is the ability to remember grace is present and accessible, even when I’m in the middle of melting down and feeling put-upon by conditions: most recently showing up as smoke, loss of power (that’s light, heat, refrigeration, and internet not to…

Sue Kearney

I encourage and guide women in the third third of life to be inspired, in flow, and fully expressed despite social norms and the realities of aging.

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