Skypunch Standup #1: a baby clown presents a logo reveal
But first: a rambly recap of my weekend group trance experience 👁️👄👁️
Welcome to my weekly standup post where I check in on all things Skypunch. A way of tracking progress, momentum, and sharing a peek behind the scenes for anyone who is curious.
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The universe has a funny way of nudging us, doesn't it? Sometimes it’s less of a gentle tap, more like a cosmic elbow to the ribs that leaves you winded and wheezing.
For me, the first few months of this year felt like trudging through five billion retrogrades (mercury, venus, mars) worth of motivation molasses. Thick, sticky, slow-moving molasses. The kind that made me question my capacity to leave my house, get things done. The kind that also confirmed (not that I needed any convincing) astrology is in fact real.
But recently, the energy has finally shifted (thank Gaia). And Sunday, I found myself at an apartment in Ridgewood with a handful of others, eyes squeezed shut, being guided through the labyrinth of my own mind by my friend Louise, a hypnotherapist with a knack for picking the lock on your subconscious. This wasn’t my first trance rodeo. Fun fact: I’m highly susceptible. I hunger for any and all messages my subconscious wants to deliver.
Now, here's where it gets a little woo, so bear with me. Just days before this impromptu mind-meld, I'd been fiddling with a scanner portrait for my website, and of all the tarot cards to pull to include, I chose The Fool (or rather The Fool chose me) Cut to me, perched on a bubblegum pink tie-dyed cushion, dropped into a group trance centered around— you guessed it— that very card.
Coincidence? Maybe. 🤡
Quick tarot crash course: The Fool is often card zero, all about new beginnings, spontaneity, and yeeting yourself into the unknown with reckless abandon and a bindle of desire. It's the "hold my beer" of tarot cards.
As Louise’s voice guided us down a forest trail, the experience became weirdly vivid. I could feel the spongy earth, smell the damp moss, hear the branches creaking overhead. I was instantly transported to my favorite Oregon coast hike, the one I trekked before moving back to New York. And it wouldn’t be a true homecoming without me veering off-trail to hug a tree and have a little cry in the process.
Eventually, we reached the cliff’s edge. We were told to gaze out at our “destination.”
I looked... and saw absolutely nothing. Just the faintest whisper of a horizon line. And even then, I could hear myself thinking, "This isn't even facing the right direction."
Cue the self-doubt, right on schedule:
"You've messed this up."
"You picked the wrong trail, babe."
"You have, in fact, failed this guided meditation."
I acknowledged these thoughts like tiresome party guests.
"Yes, hello doubt and critic. Lovely to see you. Now please GTFO."
Because (subtle foreshadowing here) sometimes, the path only reveals itself once you’re mid-air, plummeting toward a certain perceived doom.
Enter my guide: An absurdly cute prairie dog creature with anime glazed eyes and cheeks practically begging to be squished. He possessed a level of cute that was, frankly, a little embarrassing. Other participants had esteemed guides: a fox, a hawk. I got a prairie dog. I’ve decided to name him Bonnie.
Bonnie immediately got to work pawing through my metaphorical baggage:
A cascade of coins
A fistful of crumpled receipts
A defunct compass (bit on the nose, universe)
A compact mirror
A ring jangling with assorted keys
A grimy accordion of photos so blurred I couldn't even tell who was in them
Together, we Marie Kondo’d the mess down to two piles, ditch and keep. The essentials we landed on were: half the coins (because, honestly, in this economy), the mirror, and the keys.
But then 🫨 plot twist 🫨 I could only bring one thing forward. I chose the keys.
Keys secured, Bonnie and I took a running leap off the cliff. The moment I was airborne, everything changed. That endless void? It wasn’t empty at all: it was a veil I could part with my hands. The destination wasn’t far on the other side of the ocean. It was somewhat right in front of me. Once I realized this, a wooden bridge materialized beneath my feet, invisible until I had already committed to the leap.
According to Louise, in hypnosis the metaphors are literal. And honestly, I love that.
On the other side, I landed somewhere unexpected yet familiar: a trail in Taos I had hiked almost exactly a year ago. We were instructed to find a reflective surface. I found a desert-dusted mirror, wiped it clean, and there I was: dirt-smeared, sun-kissed, and laughing like a fool.
Thematically (and I hate how perfectly this lines up because it makes me feel a little too seen) that experience couldn’t have landed better. Especially with yesterday’s new moon in Taurus, slow-cooking a whole new season in the background.
There’s something about Taurus energy: it’s grounded, it’s connnected. It’s the kind of energy that makes me feel like maybe, just maybe, I can root myself without immediately plotting my escape. It’s me, earnestly hugging that tree on the trance trail like it could teach me how.
As a Scorpio (with a stellium in the 12th to say the least 😈), I did the only logical thing: magic. I planted a handful of hopeful seeds, wrote a letter to my future November-5th-self (we’ll circle back for the Taurus full moon during Scorpio szn), and chose to believe that something good will take hold.
And for a second (a real one!) I let myself really see it. Anyways, all of this, the Fool, the cliff, the keys, the bridge, drags me to this question:
How can I embrace clowning, on my terms?
How do I reclaim my clown?
Not the tragic, makeup-running, sad-trombone kind. But clowning as a kind of holy foolishness. The audacity to leap, to laugh, to wear the dumb little red nose as you yeet your manifestations into existence with a beginners mind and no fucks to give.
And honestly? Maybe that's the whole point.
Skypunch Standup
Week of April 27, 2025
Wins (including Q1 catch-up):
Filled another seat for Point of Contact — only one left!
It’s been so nice connecting 1:1 with folks in my network about Skypunch.
Either they reach out after catching air of what I’m quietly cooking, or I find a moment to share when we’re catching up. It feels personal, intimate, and an aligned way of inviting people into my process.I facilitated my first virtual retreat, The Winter Fold., a 5-week creative gathering that met Sundays in Jan/Feb focused on rest as creative practice via reflection, and inspiration through the lens of art history. It was a small group, very tender, and very affirming!
Finished the marks for Skypunch (!!) more soon on that, thanks to my very talented friend John Vetter.
Challenges:
I recently took two weeks off work to recover from my first (mild-medium) bout of burnout. My day job crept up on me hard over the past few months, and I fully hit a wall. Now that I'm back, I'm trying to move more mindfully and gently.
Feeling stretched between creative and operational tasks as I juggle two retreats tbh! Might bring on some production support for Taos.
To post on Instagram or not to post on Instagram... that is the question.
Focus for the week ahead:
Research Georgia O’Keeffe and Agnes Martin’s move from NYC to the desert (library trip pending!)
Build the Stillness Study web page (I’ve been spending so much time on Cargo and idk how I feel about it)
Research Taos summer sublets 😎
Plan two research trips for June: The City and Spiral Jetty (thinking ahead for 2026 👀)
Creative Sparks:
Thinking a lot about the romance of process and research lately. Systems are great (nothing sexy about my recent deep clean on my computer, refreshing my Notion, mirroring my Dropbox, etc.). But honestly, I’m craving tactile stuff. I went to Muji and bought some lil binders and am beginning to set up a 3-ring collage zone. Somewhere to physically collect, layer, and live inside my research again. The more I read, the more I want to see and touch the ideas as they form.
Skypunch Magic Moments:
Received a very sweet testimonial/feedback from a Winter Fold participant <3
That's the dispatch this week. See you soon!
Foolishly yours,
Erica