dear friends,
I am often not sure what to say during times like these, when it feels as though everything necessary to say has already been said before.
so much of my work is about permission to inhabit inner worlds — cultivating places of imaginative richness — and creating slow, soft containers and structures — that allow some of those private worlds to find its place in the public, in a way that feels bearable. safe. and maybe — even radical and empowering.
a question
and so, in times when immigration police are shooting people on the streets, I ask myself what my version of activism, contribution, and caring for community means.
this is a complicated question — as someone who never felt belonging to any homeland or country, and who related to America, land of my good fortune, as, simultaneously, a lifelong reminder of my alien otherness. as a child immigrant, I feel both my proximity and privilege to this. I know that it could have been me, my family.
a story
my father came to the States in the late 80s with a smoothed American accent and full faith in the American Dream, but I came in the late 90s, as a young child with a dark, unintelligible grief at what I had left behind. I didn’t become a citizen until 2018; not because I couldn’t, but because I wanted to hold onto a piece of paper which told me — that whenever this country disappointed me, somewhere, across the Pacific, I had another home.
of course, this was just a story I told myself. I knew that I was lucky to even have a choice, and the price — whatever it is — must be worth it.
I grew up as the only Asian girl in a small town in eastern North Carolina. I was silent for the first year, then, during the second and third years, pulled out of class with three Hispanic kids to take ESL classes. everyone stared, and asked us if we were retarded.
at 8am every morning, I put my hand on my heart and said the pledge of allegience — while not truly believing that the flag could give us faith in Justice, or Liberty, or God. I have no idea know where this cynicism came from. I was 10. but I didn’t like hypocrisy, and I didn’t like lying.
when it comes to tyranny, I have seen and heard of even more terrible things happening — in other countries, where I’ve had homes and people I love. to them, America is the safe place. the exception. the land of bounty, where people don’t get disappeared, everyone has right to a fair trial, and the future is made of hope, green grass, and money.
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a return
and what is home, really?
these days, I am back in North Carolina yet again, for the longest stretch of time since I left at 18.
it is strange that, in my era of displacement and bureaucratic exile from my life in Istanbul, where I made a home, over four years — that I come back to this second home to witness what my mute child self had sensed, but didn’t have the understanding or language for. she would be horrified, scared, and not totally surprised.
the work
my work has never been overtly political. but the politics of belonging is always deeply personal. my work is ultimately about creating spaces where those that never belonged — the othered, the outsiders, the strangerly, the black sheep, the aliens — can inhabit and take up space, in their full, unapologetic complexity.
yes, these spaces are digital, rather than tethered to a geopolitical place. but more importantly, these places transcend borders, and exist within our individual and collective imaginations, our bodies, and, in the web of our relationships.
to feel safe to be oneself in a world like this is hard, if not often impossible. but, in the face of tyranny, xenophobia, oppressive conformity, and homogenizing groupthink, this is the work.
yes — it is a privilege to even be able to attempt it. and, it is a necessity. by making space for our own otherness, we make space for belonging. we don’t just do this for ourselves. we do this for each other.
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january, a deconstructed calendar
I drew this last night while lying on the floor. it is a map of my month. in january there was: chinese mother bread + avocado toast for breakfast, a caterpillar who died, many dark holes I tried to avoid, three extra terrible days, blood, walking through forest trails everyday, a dear friend who visited, making money juice cleanse, and, long, blue shadows on sun-lit snow.
yesterday I got obsessed with these sun shadows, and after I finished drawing this, I then drew the images you see, above.
Labyrinth Library: Season 2 starts Feb 26
Labyrinth is my 12 week, seasonal community and guidance space. it’ll be a nonlinear, spacious place for
devotion to deep creative practice
presence of communal support (+ my support)
asking and untangling hard questions together
sharing and learning from each others’ obsessions, process, and passions
weekly 15 min audio teachings + 2 live workshops
spontaneous unfolding things we create together
explore from season 1:
labyrinth as a hiking trail map
community reflections
my season 1 reflection notes
artifacts library
dates: Feb 16 - May 16, 2026
🌑 Recently
Money Juice Cleanse
currently, I am finishing teaching Money Juice Cleanse with a very special group, and it’s far exceeded my expectations. money is about infinitely so much more than just money. dare I say it was the favorite thing I’ve taught? (I think I say this every time!)
I’m excited to release this as self-paced course, and offer individual juices, in the upcoming weeks. in the meantime, here’s a sneak peak:
on tending to money as an ongoing practice -- with curiosity and tenderness. I'll share my own personal stories and significant reframes -- money as a circle, as feminine force, as a child of your creative energy.
I share 7 practices to invite you to see money as a portal for working with your sense of resourcedness, enoughness, worthiness, and desire.
money as creative practice — kening zhu
7 practices to transform your money relationship
🔮 Curations from the Archives
this week’s curations is about being both unapologetic & tender.
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your vision is born from discontent & desire
on forming a vision to take us into the future (2024)
your vision is born from discontent & desire — kening zhu
how to form your vision using the polarity of what attracts and repels you
share your work like no one cares. not for praise, but because it’s necessary. (2024)
make art in the void — kening zhu
share your work like no one cares.
give zero fucks be very consistent
my relationship to the meaning of “consistent” has changed, but I still stand by this (2020).
give zero fucks be very consistent — kening zhu
note to self #152
i will plant beautiful things in my mind
care of the inner world, to then care for the outer worlds (2021)
i will plant beautiful things in my mind — kening zhu
i will plant beautiful things in my mind, because the world has too much ugliness already.
🧧 Digital Abundance starts March 9
Digital Abundance is the business course I’ve been preparing my whole life to teach. I’ll guide you, step by step, through imagining, planning, creating, sharing, and releasing a paid offering — and to build the infrastructure for a business ecosystem that feeds your world.
course begins — March 9, 2026
registration will open (hopefully) ~next week~
upcoming
I have decided on the topic of my next 3 podcast episodes, but haven’t recorded anything yet. the next one will be called:
I taught two workshops inside of Labyrinth Library in season 1. it’s been on my to-do list for forever to release these as standalone offerings.
my process for creating workshops usually is:
come up with 3 thematic topics / ideas
ask Labyrinth members to vote on them
in 4 feverish days, make 60 storybook-esque, illustrated slides with dense philosophical + practical teachings.
I’m curious to see what workshops Labyrinth Season 2 will bring.
📝 Notes & Misc.
thinking about ~
inspired by mutual aid networks and creative people I know nurturing them, as an act of nurturing themselves. it is a reminder that money is not the only resource. you have so many other resources to give. (as this zine reminds us, you have skills). you can, of course, give to minnesota’s mutual aid network, or, tend to your own local network. I’m exploring, in my own way, how this might translate in the digital space, and how that can coexist with having a business, or being sometimes a hermit.
I am experiencing a wave of renewed enthusiasm for tarot — the cards are whispering wisdom to me from the beyond. my card yesterday was 9 of swords, and while I was struck by terror at this pull, I watched as it gradually revealed its secrets to me, very gently, throughout the day. it felt like slowly entering a bathtub. yes, even swords.
while writing a newsletter tends to come at the “end” of one of my creative cycles — after I’ve shared journal entries, podcasts, drawings — this time I did the thing where I removed all pre-requisites and just did the thing. no new creations in this newsletter are public yet. regardless of how “strategic” this is or not — this is a reminder that sometimes it feels good to remove all obstacles.
last week, an old friend visited me from minneapolis — I had stayed with her for 4 months in rural Japan during the pandemic, in the spring of 2020. her visit felt like a rubberband taking me back to many lives before, and the daily-ness we shared. I’ve been meditating on the significance of friendships, rather than romance, built on the texture of shared daily-ness.
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wishing you well, even (and especially) in the darkness and unraveling.
until soon,
🪼 kening
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🍃 podcast: botanical studies of internet magic
🦋 join the spring season of labyrinth library
🏔️ explore my courses: house on the webs | creative systems | sharing space camp | money juice cleanse | digital abundance
🪷 advising with me: liminal leap, and intensive sessions
🌔 otherworldly: a web alchemy studio
💧 send me a gift: water my world
You just read issue #72 of kening's letters. You can also browse the full archives of this newsletter.