What are mermaids afraid of? This mermaid is currently feeling concerned about not spending enough time in the ocean water. I have hardly gone diving at all since arriving in this tiny Balinese village. At first, I was intimidated by the water. Then I got into the water and my ear started aching after some dives to 8m because I had trouble equalizing. Then I had itchy ears that were about to get infected by the nasty sewage water that runs off into the bay (I had to swim through that shit to get out into the ocean). Ear problems are a huge issue for divers. Best to play it super safe. Any sign of any discomfort and I’m staying dry on land for at least a few days. This is one of the first lessons I’ve learned and had drilled into me already. Not worth risking the ear damage that could keep you out of the water for weeks. I feel especially protective of this set of ears I’ve been given because I use them to create music. I’ve been spending most days in the office space on the cliffside, overlooking the ocean, creating new songs on a laptop with an Akai Mini Play MIDI controller and a really nice pair of headphones. I compose songs and drink beverages for hours as the sun moves across the sky that is too bright to stare into. I’m sharing little snippets of these songs on the Instagram reels and YouTube videos I’ve been posting a couple times a week. I’m eager to share a full album later this year.
“Music is my comfort, escape, power, play, god, way to express the deepest feelings I can feel before I fall into silence. I want to travel the world creating music on my laptop. I wonder why performance hasn’t stuck; shy, avoidant of rehearsal. I like moving onto the next new thing. I like raw, real, improvised. I’m not practiced in performing. It feels stressful. I can see myself saying “yes” to it before I’m ready and the stress makes me sick. I said I’d rather be at the beach than the stage. I keep telling this story.”
“You have to have a chat with Beach Girl,” says Captain Bubbles almost everyday. He hears my music. It blows his mind. He runs his hand along his bald pirate head, shakes it and says, “The world needs this. People need to hear your music. Tell beach girl that she can go to any beach in the world if the music really gets out there. Just think, if you meet the right people, you could have access to some of the world’s most amazing beaches, beaches you could never visit otherwise. Music could help you get to those beaches.”
His adventurous spirit is beautiful and a part of me lifts her head in wanderlust and wonder. What could be? Another part takes a deep breath and remembers how much she loves just doing her own little thing, draining all the striving from her blood, enjoying this simple little moment. Just thinking about ‘the music industry’ tightens the muscles. If I enter back into that world, or rather, if I proceed deeper down that path, what is the flavor of my movement? Why would I be walking that way? What am I looking for? What am I finding? These young women inside me, dreamers in their twenties, feed off the fantasies. It generally only leads them to frustration. From there we focus back on what matters in this one moment.
A wise woman inside me is content.
She loves making music.
The creation of the song is enough.
Sharing it with other people is a lovely gesture, a somewhat essential part of the creation process; to allow the art to pass on through to the others. I share because others shared with me. It’s a flow. To be given the gift of a song, to receive it through the body, to give it on to the light and the world.
I write music and blog posts about music as I procrastinate tax paperwork. I’m sipping a green juice, turmeric juice and matcha lattes, gazing out at open blue ocean. I see little black dots in the water…freedivers. Captain Bubbles is out there today. I’m almost done reading “Deep” by James Nestor. Epic fun read if you’re interested in knowing what’s under the ocean. The sunrise this morning was soft and glowing down the jungle valley. I saw little boys zoom down the tiny road on a scooter; the boy on the back was holding a dead rooster by the feet. They sped off into the palm trees and disappeared just as an old lady drove towards us on her scooter. Most people on the street are wearing loose casual western clothing; dirty oversized tshirts, baggy trousers, cheap flippy floppys. In the restaurant I visit almost everyday the staff wears cheetah print clothing. The female bartenders wear cheetah print bows in their hair.
Birds are singing loudly all around me.
Fans are blowing the humidity around.
When the sunshines my spirit jumps out of my body;
it runs outside before I gather my thoughts.
The lady who gave me a pedicure yesterday had the widest smile and a bunch of rice stuck to her forehead. Obviously, she’d been to the temple in the morning. I handed her the raspberry colored nail polish. It felt like a pretty, powerful, playful and peaceful color; all those emotions somehow in one color. She rubs grainy lotion up these long white legs that haven’t seen a tan in a couple months. She points to the rash on my feet and winces. “It’s okay?” I nod. The rash has been on my feet most of the time since I was 14. I showed up one day in the summer in Cambridge, England. It itched me to near insanity and over the years I’ve adapted. I’ve realized the jungle is a living hell for my feet and skin. Bumps, blisters, bites, rashes. Take me to the beach!! Walking in the sand and salt water soothes my feet. Swim out into the water and I forget about my feet entirely. It’s a dream to float in water, free of any joint or skin pain, free of any human worries back on land. My soul is pulled into the ocean and I’m only at the beginning of this journey. Curiosity is profoundly liberating.
Enough writing today, I’m going to make music now. I see a paddleboard out there on the ocean. Perhaps I’ll grab a picnic and paddle out this afternoon. I’ll decide later. Right now, my lifestyle is guided by one decision at a time. I just keep asking myself, “What is the next right thing to do?”
Love & Rainbows,
Cha Wilde
