“Flamboyant Stories” Commentary + Original Songwriting Notes

“Flamboyant Stories” is a song about being a crazy spiritual woman who’s stargazing on a beach, daydreaming about romance, reflecting on how life changes…something like that. If you would like to listen to a full commentary of this song, I recorded an hour long video sharing my songwriting process, the deeper meaning behind the lyrics, and the creative spiritual experience I go through as I travel the world and make artwork inspired by my relationships. The notes below are referenced in the video. They are copied and pasted from the original “Notes” document on my phone and laptop. I used to write songs by hand on paper but in recent years I’ve typing lyrics has been most efficient. The words themselves were taken from my handwritten journal which I would love to photograph and share with you…if I can find the pages I drew from. Unfortunately, I didn’t take a note of it at the time. So this is what we’ve got. Enjoy the stories and feel free to ask me questions. Love & Rainbows, Cha Wilde

🎧 LISTEN to "Flamboyant Stories" by Cha Wilde on all streaming platforms:
Spotify Apple Music. YouTubeMusic. Soundcloud

CRY

i feel a lonely aching pain /

i need someone I can dive with

I don't like that to feel healthy I have to live alone.

I’m lonely and don’t feel good with my partner. He won’t change and I’m afraid to go out and live alone without him even if it means I’ll be healthier.

WISDOM

What got me here may not get me beyond here.

The space makes the time together better.

We're the ones pulling back.

All the softnesss is sucked out of it when I'm pushing to do more.

I can let go of the idea that home is in one placee.

Home can be inside myself somehow.

One sided vulnerability doesn't feel good.

It was working of me before but now it's time to do something new and this requires courage. After doing something new I will feel better. I'm the one who is in control of whether I stay or go. In order to go I need to stop forcing trying to make things work and I need to let go of how I thought things ought to be or wanted them to be. In moving forward courageous into something new, I will find a new home that feels good.

POETIC INGREDIENTS

She's the one who has to change.

Taking space hurts because I don't have much time.

I want to bring relief.

my parts really like noone knowing where i am

sunset that turned all the sand to sky

happy place is so far away from home

When the time is good I want more of it.

She's worried that she's ruined

It's painful to look straight at it

LYRICS

follow my lead

Far away from home

nothing will feed

the constant craving

always craving more and wishing i prayed

I turned the sand to sky

Back on my home

Heard the babies crying

Such an awful tone

Of misery

Forgetting love

can fade away In a day

Put down the phone

When the aching pain is lonely

It’s time to be alone

bring relief to people

Walk them all home

whoever’s has changed

Has rearranged

Their way of being

Found a new way of seeing

I’m always craving more

And wishing that I prayed

Now I’m only trying to ruin

Something that I’ve made

I'm the one who has to change

I’m the one who is estranged

I’m the one whose happy far from home

My happy place is far away from home

She wants love

to come back on demand

Doesn’t want to follow a man

let no one know where i am

so I can live without plans

Two feet on the land

I’m sweet in sand

You’ll understand

When you’re space

You’ll realize

it’s not a race

Oh lord oh lord oh lord

I gaze through the haze

On the days when I’m lazy

I sing songs for the sun

I’m a little crazy

pick my words

let them run

In wild minds

that smile blind

When I’m done

ring the bell

free the birds

Who fly in/from hell

sing my spell

break your shell

endlessly dwelling

mindlessly telling

flamboyant stories

In categories

Of life that’s alright

Cuz I’m far away from dancing

Dreaming of romancing

Wishing on the stars

Not on in mars

through broken illusion

I’ve caused a confusion

now i am trying to ruin something i made

Watch my spirit be swayed

***

When the time is good I want more of it.


why does all the fun happens after I go to bed

Us all as one

I’ll Ring the bell

And free the birds

Who sing my spells

They’ll fly from hell

To break your shell

We’ll fly and run

We’re having fun

We’re Holding back no more

The name I’ll sign

On every line

Will cast and bind

"Flamboyant Stories" Lyrics

🎧 LISTEN to "Flamboyant Stories" by Cha Wilde on all streaming platforms:
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FLAMBOYANT STORIES by Cha Wilde

Oh Lord, Oh Lord, Oh Lord, Oh Lord

I gaze through haze on the days when I’m lazy
I sing songs with the sun cuz I’m a little bit crazy
I pick words, let them run, in wilde minds
That smile blind, that smile blind

When I’m done, ring the bell
Free the birds from hell
Sing my song to break your spell
When I’m done, ring the bell
Free the birds who fly in hell
Sing my spell to break your shell
Endlessly dwelling, mindlessly telling
We fly and run
We’re havin’ fun

I gaze through haze on the days when I’m lazy
I sing songs with the sun cuz I’m a little bit crazy
I pick words, let them run, in wilde minds
That smile blind
Bring relief to the people, walk them home

When the aching pain is lonely it’s time to be alone
Forgetting love can fade away in a day
Whoever changed has rearranged their way of being
Found a new way of seeing

Cuz I’m far away from dancin’
Dreamin’ of romancin’
Wishin’ on the stars
Two feet on the land, I’m sweet in sand
You’ll understand when you’re in space
Realize it’s not a race
O Lord

I gaze through haze on the days when I’m lazy
I sing songs with the sun cuz I’m a little bit crazy
I pick words, let them run, in wilde minds
That smile blind
Bring relief to the people, walk them home

I gaze through haze on the days when I’m lazy
I sing songs with the sun cuz I’m a little bit crazy
I pick words, words, words, words, words, words, words, words, words
let them run
Bring relief to the people
walk them home

I’m always craving more
And wishing that I prayed
Now I’m only trying to ruin something that I’ve made
Words,  crazy, I pick words, my words
Words,  crazy, pick my words, my words (In wilde minds)
Endlessly dwelling, mindlessly telling
Flamboyant Stories in my categories
This life, it’s alright
She wants love to come back on demand (In wilde minds, that smile blind)

I gaze through haze on the days when I’m lazy
I sing songs with the sun cuz I’m a little bit crazy
I pick words, let them run 
through wilde minds, that smile blind
Bring relief to the people, walk them home

- CREDITS -
written, performed & produced by Cha Wilde
mixed & mastered by Amery Schmeisser
released: Feb 2, 2024

Stretching My Parts to Denver

10.18.2023 7am | SEATAC Airport, Seattle, USA

Dear friend,

I’m the girl at Gate A4, sitting on the floor, stretching by the window. It’s dark outside. I’m wearing my comfy pajamas and I will stretch until my flight leaves for Denver in one hour.

A Starbucks cup is sitting beside me too hot to touch. The green tea comforts me this morning as I leave my parents less than 48hrs after I picked them up at the airport. This is what life is like in a family of adventurers. The airport shuttle should add an extra stop at our front door, one of us is always flying away somewhere. It’s rare for us all to be at home together.

My parents and I have spent one day together. My dad and I drank coffee and talked about photography. My mom gave me really good hugs and she’ll feed my cat while I’m away. We all woke up at 4am to get me to Sea-Tac airport for this flight to Denver. Before we left the house I wandered around confused, forgetting how to dress myself for winter. Both of my parents offered me their winter jackets. Moms was too small. Dads is too big. I settled on an old sweater that reminds me of my husband and the night we got engaged. I’ll hug it on the plane and whenever I need to feel close to something warm.

The little girl in my misses them all already. The adults running my show are keeping me together but I still hear that little girl whispering, “Already? So soon. But we just got home!” I tell her “We’ll be back soon,” and I hope I’m speaking the truth. I don’t know the future. Time is pricking me with its preciousness this month.


What will I do in Denver? Why am I leaving my beloveds? Because I have so many loves around the world I can never be with them all at once. I’m riding this airmobile to Denver so I can sit on the couch and walk around the neighborhood with Lindsay, my intimate friend, therapist and writing coach aka book doula. This woman held my hand as I climbed out of hell. She introduced me to Internal Family Systems. When we’re together, we will talk in “parts language”.

“My parts are so happy to see you in person!”

“A part of me is sad this morning and a part of me is excited!”

“A part of me loves being a mom and a part of me wishes I could travel more.”

“A part of me loves the unknown and a part of me wants to get cozy on the couch with kids.”


Who are all these parts; these people inside me talking all the time? I call them my parts and I’ve given them names. Ive been getting to know them, creating with them since 2020. They’ve been inside me for much longer though, perhaps since the very beginning.


It was natural for me to make artwork, music especially at first, to express what these parts were feeling. A part of me paints. She loves dancing too. Another part likes writing. Another part loves photography.


Over the past seven or so years, I’ve created a fantasy world through my music and one by one my parts have stepped into it. It’s become a place they can go play; a safe spot in my imagination. Now my stories are making their way into a novel.

On the airport floor, in the backpack sitting beside me is an iPad with a brand new case that features a “Magic Keyboard” — so I can type on the iPad like a laptop. Super compact and facilitates the speed and ease with which I can write. Game changer! Im already seeing myself typing on the beach, a place I’d never bring my laptop. I love writing on the go. The iPad, laptop and phone all sync so I can work on my book across all devices. This is my first trip, a mini one, with the iPad. Let’s see how it goes!


The last time I flew to Denver I didn’t bring an iPad, a half written novel or this much confidence. Almost two years ago I sat in this airport, typing a letter like this one to my fans. In that letter I expressed how uncomfortable I was to fly after years of being grounded in Seattle and to travel away from my husband to whom I was codependent and anxiously attached. My online business was just taking off. I was nervous to be out in the world on my own again but I also felt familiar waking up inside me.

Who was yawning awake on that trip? It was the part of me who longed to explore the world and stretch my wings of independence. I’d love to board this plane and sit beside my past self. I’d love to tell her the stories about the whale sharks I nearly kissed on that sailboat trip in Indonesia, the first moment I breathed underwater in Thailand, how the food in Japan made my mouth water. I want to whisper secrets of the future into her ear. She’d be so happy to know that she had a new best friend from Australia and in a few months she’ll be going to a music festival in an exotic country she never imagined visiting.


I’d tell her that travel makes the words flow! I’d tell her she was about to write a book!

She’d want to learn more about my many lives and stories. I’ll tell her that all these stories I’m writing are constructing a colorful magical world, one word at a time; a realm for all my parts to inhabit, play in, process my life experiences and interact with each other in a safe space. In this fantasy world I can work through my most private and complex emotions. It feels like real action and i experiences results, changes in myself as I travel between the fantasy and reality. My life is an outward expression of my inner world and visa versa.

She would be fascinated. We’d talk the whole way to Denver. She’d want to hear about how I can pluck stories from this created world to share with you, a little contribution to humanity, a creative way to connect with people like you in this plane of consciousness who are intrigued enough to listen to the realities of my fantasy realm.


That girl and I have so much in common. It’s easy to feel her with me when I’m stretching. We both have always loved stretching. As I stretch on this grungy airport carpet covered in crumbs, curled receipts, plastic straws and stale M&M’s, I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the dark window. I am often surprised these days to see myself. My parts have taken on such distinct appearances and none of them look like the face I see in this airport window. My face is the mask behind which all of my parts live. Who is she, the one in the mirror? She is many women.


Love & Rainbows,

Cha Wilde

Dear Friend, What Really Happened and Where are the Mermaids?

4 Oct 202 In the Backseat of the van going to the Denpasar Airport

Dear Friend,

I’m embarrassed to say I’ve barely written about mermaids. My book doula aka writing couch told me people often need to write a book they didn’t expect to write before they can actually get to writing the book they have a vision for. The vision of mermaids keeps getting pushed to the small pile on the side of my desk while pages and pages of my past are towering above me. I didn’t realize I needed to write all of this. It seemed off topic but I can’t seem to avoid writing it. It’s what comes out when I pick up the blank page. It doesn’t feel as fun as the mermaids and I’m praying I’ll get through this and swim on towards fun adventure. Maybe my perception is skewed. Perhaps you’ll love reading my pre-mermaid past. Maybe it’s the origin story I had to write first but man, I’d love to just slip into the future sometimes to create something brand new.


I’m wondering though…. If I can change my story and my entire life changes, the way I feel inside changes .. the power of which story I tell and how is in my hands. Why do I feel so compelled to focus on this one in this old way? I’m attached to it being this way. It’s scarier to invent something new even if it feels better. I want to be honest but I’m being told that my memories aren’t being honest with me anyway. So at the end of the day…what feels fun to create? Do I have the guts to just go with that?

Today I fly to America. Let’s go get my journals out of my parents loft and see what “really” happened all those years ago…or did it? Even my journals will be full of “what I thought happened”. Haha blame all this on education about human perception… I’m reading books about the human brain and storytelling.

Love & Rainbows, Cha Wilde

Dear Friend, You Can Read 187 Pages

22 Sept 2023
Dear Friend,

I hit a milestone yesterday. I can officially hand you a stack of a 187 pages that you can read start to finish. Although there may be some little flaws and strings that need to be tightened, it will make sense as a story. You won’t be completely confused or lost. You will come with me on a little journey and be able to tell me what happened start to finish. This is a major victory for a woman who six and a half months ago only had dream of writing a book. And I have been writing a book since then so it is no longer just a dream. I have 900 pages of words. The whole bunch is a mess of pretty beads strung together on a weak and fraying string. It’s shoved together in chunks and parts could disappear or destroy the others. So my mission this month was the clean up the first part. The first 100-200 pages needed to be completed as a stand alone book. Part one or book one of a longer saga. I needed to simplify and give myself limits for my own sanity and to make actual progress towards finishing something. I could easily have kept writing until I drowned in an ocean of almost attached puzzle pieces. I was wise enough to realize I needed to choose something simple and doable to focus on. The first part of the book felt the least exciting to me. It gets juicier and more wild in the my imagination as the story unfolds. I also felt the first part of the book was more pin-down-able. It was more from my real life facts. I felt I could follow a trail of memories and just write them down. This is how I held my own hand through the process of learning how to write a book. Unsure where to start, I started with what I understood and what I could see clearly in front of me. My memories were showing themselves to me loud and clear. So I just wrote them down. Done. 187 pages of my memories with minimal embellishment. This is what happened, as I’ve told it before and as I would keep on telling it for generations…


Until today… 

I saved a copy of the original memory and I opened up a new document. My test today was to see if I could translate the original memory into a brand new fantasy. The written memory is the template for the story. Now I actually have a cohesive start to finish story and I can get wild with the details and the telling of it. I can’t even begin to tell you how uncomfortable it was for me to exist for months writing a book without knowing what story I was telling. I was just a well of water pouring and gushing with no sense of where the ocean was. I had to drain the words out with faith that they would go somewhere, find their own way. Some words, the first group of them, have successfully made it to the estuary! Before we send them out to sea, it’s time for me to polish them up into something I actually want to push out into the world. 

As an artist, this is a very enjoyable moment. I get to be on the edge of my seat with curiosity and discovery. I am watching something brand spanking new be born to life before my eyes today. With the pressure of figuring out the story lifted from my shoulders, now I get to play with words and just take this story and make it as fun as I possibly can. To translate this for my fellow musicians…

The song is written. We know the lyrics and the basic melody. We’ve chosen the key and the BPM. We have our core instruments ready to hold down the fort. Now, let’s play! What else can we add in to spice it up? What little trills and doodles can we toss around to liven it up. What if we swapped a word or two or changed the key mid-song. Now….now it’s getting really interesting. 

Love & Rainbows,
Cha Wilde

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Dear Friend, I'm Sprinkling in Mermaid Clues

9.21.2023
Amed, Bali

Dear Friend,

I love writing. I’m having so much fun working on this book now. I’ve gone through some dark spells, you know. It was a rough start and a deep gully to survive through in the first “semester” or quarter or however we are measuring. I’d like to think I’m at the half way mark now. I’m flying down hill with daily practice. My eye watches the clock 7-10am is the designated writing time, followed by the writing of this letter of reflection, preceded by hours of tea-sipping, walking, meditation, stretching on a lacrosse ball, and waiting for the sun to show up so I can see the paper clearly enough to write on it. My last candle extinguished its own life this morning. I sat in darkness as the stars bowed out one by one.



I’m still listening to Persian instrumental music as I type this story. Today, I’m referring to the ever humorous poetry of Hafiz (see his book “The Gift” for my little droplets of inspiration). I’ve also been reading Inner Engineering by Sadhguru and Secrets of Divine Love by A. Helwa; both are keeping me inline with my spiritual practices as I delve into my imagination. Can I write from a place of deep wisdom? How much of my writing is purely ego? How many parts of myself are taking over to write this book? How Self led am I…actually? How Self led do I actually need to be in a project like this? As much as I want I suppose. The book becomes a blend of wonderfully ridiculous wordplay, joyfully sculpted highbrow communication of my philosophies, and raw expression for the purpose of healing what needs to be touched by the light. Oh look at me go…haha. What a simple joy to play with words. I can build an entire universe, construct an entirely new identify, and then destroy it all and build something new again. It’s madness on paper. This must be the feeling of God. Delightful. 


My heart was sparkling with joy as I leaned over the edge of the sailboat and peered into this turquoise water in Komodo National Park in Indonesia. — Sept 2023



The more I write, the more each letter becomes a color and each words takes on a shape. The sentences are movement and paragraphs are dances with many limbs. The whole book is an amalgamation of many art forms wrestling to have their way with me. 

Today was big. I reached the end of part 1. I now have a complete, almost complete, journey from start to the end of the first section of the story. Now my fun task for the rest of the day is to go through each sub-section and sprinkle in little clues. I have core themes that I needed to weave through the whole story so my strategy is to leave a trail of breadcrumbs, one little hint in each section.

Since I’m writing about mermaids, one of my themes is legs, feet, tails and fins. Can I somehow drop a mention of feet or fins on each page, subtle and artistic…little Easter eggs everywhere? This type of embellishing work is some of the most fun I have inside this writing project. I have no idea how it will translate to the reader or how effective it will be…maybe I’m walking down the wrong path and my feet are leading me astray (hehe)…well, at least I’m having a good time while I learn through my own mistakes. 


Love & Rainbows,
Cha Wilde

Dear Friend, Do I Have the Guts to Change My Own Story?

9.9.23
Amed, Bali

Dear Reader,

I am trying to give myself permission to change. To take what I have written and twist into a new shape, a story I didn’t actually live that feels more fun than the reality. My reality was fun for me so this challenge scares me. To tell the story in a way that changes everything into something completely new. I feel so attached to my story and the way it came through for me originally. I remember though that we have creative memories. I don’t remember what actually happened accurately anyway. I’ve written down what I’ve recited to myself secretly for years. Why not change it now for the dramatic effect, for the play of imagination.

Do I have the guts to change my own story? Do I have the courage to let go of my own memories? I feel the rush of excitement thinking of this. My stomach is tight and my heart beats louder. I gulp in the throat and my mind buzzes with possibilities. I reminds me of sex. I know how to surrender into a puddle of pleasure. Where do I reach inside myself to find the commanding power to take the reins and steer the situation with my own will? I am the captain. I am the one who decides and determines what happens next. I have ultimate power. I am god before the blank page. I am the sculptor with a chisel in my hand, staring into a piece of marble that is 900 pages thick. What do I need to let go of so this can become what it needs to be? I am scared to act and I must act. 

Ask me, what is my book about?
What will be my answer today? If I let you read through my draft you would drown in chaos.


A woman who is seduced by a man who helps her break free from her inhibitions.
The man betrays her and she is heartbroken.
She runs away to the ocean, longing to be healed by a mystical adventure.
The woman drowns in the ocean and is rescued by a ship full of magical women who teach her how to love again.


I also have the ship loaded with anti-man boobytraps. I have wild beasts flying out of a pit in the desert. Stars hold onto people’s wishes and the final wish that weighs them down too much is the cause for falling stars which land in the ocean and become mermaids. This is all legend and lore, original stories tangled with imagined futures, and  embellished memories that feel like raw truths. 


I sit in the cafe today for hours and hours. I’m editing and cleaning up the writing. Great progress today. I’m feeling more willing to just keep going. Friends file in and sit around me at the big table. I’m finally blending into the community in Amed. Headphones come off and the book sits patiently on the table while we dive into deep conversations. We’re all freediving, yogis, interested in living a peaceful intentional life. We share honestly and laugh loudly. When the coffee is gone, everyone grabs their fins and waves goodbye. I’ll see them later this afternoon at the gym and then again tonight for the cheesecake tasting. This small town life feels like the best kind of summer camp; friends and food and fun activities all day long, everyday, forever…until the volcano explodes or Amed turns into a big city or we all move away or die. Such is life. Right now I’m in a season of wonderful. 

Love & Rainbows,
Cha Wilde


Dear Friend, Cringing at How I Used to Be

9.10.2023
Amed, Bali
Listen to me read this letter.
Watch me read it on livestream for my studio members.

Dear Friend,

Three hours of writing each morning this week and I’m sweeping through the early pages of the novel with a broom and a needle, cleaning it up and tying loose ends together. I cringe a lot when I’m reading what I wrote so many months ago. I write differently now, better. My mindset has drastically improved. My outlook on my relationships has dramatically evolved….dramatically, through the act of writing drama I have somehow, miraculously though not surprisingly, moved through my own drama and trauma.


When I wrote these pages earlier this year I was so charged with violent emotions, parts of me demanding my attention, whining, screaming, distracting, avoiding. I longed to tell this story. I needed to get it off my chest. I needed to get it out of me and out there into the world. I wanted to be seen and understood and over it already.


When I read them now, I feel like I’m reading an old diary from a younger woman. I am I suppose. A younger version of me wrote a story that an even younger version of me lived. Reading it, I feel so intimate and personal, vulnerable and real and yet it’s also distant, foreign and almost silly to me now. I can measure my own growth and evolution on the pages I’ve filled over time.


As I edit I try not to think about my family reading this book. A writer friend told me to pretend my parents are dead…when I’m at the writing desk. If I try to protect people or hide from them, the truth can’t come out into the page and the truth needs to be touched by the light. We can edit it thoughtfully later.


The pages I’m reviewing this week are recounting the way I met and fell in love with my second husband. It’s a scandalous escapade wrought with anxiety, insecurity, lust, and break throughs. The summer of 2015 was a turning point in my life. I decided to taste life as a bad girl. I took off my clothes, swam naked, kissed strangers, sang on stage, told lies, broke hearts, turned my back on my family, found a new one, and flew head first into a wild fantasy.


I’m chomping at the bit to write the stories of my most recently lived experiences, stories inspired by sailboats and Balinese culture, stories of my life in Asia and stories about my relationship with art as it is now, more healthy and peaceful. I am writing down these new stories and someday all the stories old and new will weave together neatly…somehow. I’ll find a way to tie what happened before to what is happening now and what I am imagining is happening in a different realm.

My playtime is writing from imagination. My discipline is writing down these old stories that feel the weight of reality. I’m excited to play with words in clever ways that lighten the burdens of reality and ground the fantasy in truth.


My heart still sings and new songs are eager to burst to life through me. I’m writing my songs into the novel as I write my way back to the stage. I’ve grown accustomed to writing pages and pages of fiction everyday that now writing a simple song seems challenging again. I remember when I began this novel project that it was easier to write a song than a long format story. The tables have turned.


Love & Rainbows,
Cha Wilde

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Dear Friend, Have I Written Too Much?

9.7.2023
Amed, Bali

Dear Friend,

I have reached a moment of stalled reflection.


I’ve invented a world. I have many characters and their individual plot lines. I have multiple realms side by side and I’m wondering if they are meant to be separate or intertwined. I’m slowly reading through one page at a time, patience patience patience. I am eager to write more words on fresh pages and my discipline now is to sit with one page and study it. Why did I write these words? Can I delete them? Do I still need them to exist in the word? What has this story become along the way? Can I remember why I started telling this story and do I have the courage to surrender to wherever it’s going now? I feel like a passenger on this creative journey and I am also the captain. 

I’ve written the story in many different voices from different perspectives. Reading back now I observe which personas, which narrators make me pay attention and feel. Which words do I skim through and which do I savor? Which feel most vulnerable and which are most beautiful? Do I feel proud to publish these words or do I cringe? This is where I am now. 

Sunset on sailboat beside Sotonda Island in the West Nusa Tenggara province of Indonesia. It is off the north coast of Sumbawa island.


This month of September 2023 is dedicated to reviewing the writing I’ve created in the past six months and my mission is to clean it up into a draft I can actually hand over, rough but somewhat complete. A rough draft of a story I can read from start to finish on the airplane to America. Exciting announcement…I’m traveling to America for the month of October.

I’m traveling across the world because I need access to my library of personal journals from which I will draw direct quotes for the novel. I will back them up as well for future reference and digital versions I can take with me anywhere I travel. Also backing them up in the event a disaster destroys the paper copies. I’m also visiting my writing coach, my book doula, my therapist and friend who helped me begin this project and now I desire to sit with her in person as the project turns past the half way point. I am also going to attend the IFS conference in Denver to refresh my connection with this therapy model, this lens through which I’ve viewed life, this approach to the inner world that I’m using as a main tool in the writing of this book. 

The book has been a creative exploration of my many parts, turning different parts of myself into characters in a story. This is IFS in practice. I’m looking forward to being with the IFS community in person and attending workshops that will deepen my understanding of the theory and practice behind the method I’m applying to my own life and art forms. 

Love & Rainbows,
Cha Wilde

My Life Slowly Revolves Around the Sun

I wake naturally between 3-5am, ready for the sunrise. Beneath the last stars I sip warm cacao. Sensitive emotions and honest thoughts flow in with the morning breeze. Sometimes I write them down and sometimes I just enjoy listening. I lay down and wait for the wind to blow the day away. Soon the sun is so bright I am blind. I go inside to write. I spend hours laying on my favorite blanket and letting the ocean breeze blow through the open doors, caressing my skin on its way through the house. For lunch, I carve open a papaya and fill it with fresh avocado and sweet sweet passionfruit. When life is slow and simple, a special meal like this is an event to behold.

I have abandoned stress. Rush has no place on these hills. Everyone is smiling and moving with the current. It seems the gods are happy with our offerings. We are mindful of our words. Reality is blossoming from our thoughts. When I sense the sun is ready to fall asleep behind the volcano, I drive along the coast. The moon rises while I am practicing yoga in the outdoor jungle gym with my new friends. We are all laughing as we swing from bamboo bars and try to balance on our hands. We drink from fresh coconuts and eat bananas.

From the cliff, we watch the ocean spread out and our eyesight stretches further than the screens. I’m creating a simple life on the cliffs above the ocean and my time is lost out there at sea, never to return. It’s lovely. I eat fruit. I read. I write. I paint. I breathe. I stretch. I enjoy deep philosophical and psychological conversations over nutritious dinners in an enchanted garden full of pink flowers and hiding fairies.

When I sense stress is sneaking up the stairs, eager to knock on my door and spook me, I wander down to the black sand beach. I message my friend Made who meets me under the umbrella with a sarong. She gives me an hour long massage as the ocean lullabies me. I luxuriate in sensation and my creativity has never been so healthy and ripe, just like the fruit I’m eating. My body is healthy. My mind is stimulated. My heart is open. My spirituality is moving through creatively.

I am producing new dance music inspired by Florence + The Machine. I am writing a fantasy novel that is very inspired by my recent stargazing. I am naked on my porch with wet paint on my hands and knees. I’m smearing colors on large canvases to abstractly express the beauty I see in the sky each morning. The moment urgency taps on my shoulder, I usher her back out the door with a gentle instruction. “Go play in the dirt at the foot of the frangipani tree.”


There is no rush.
There is no rush.
There is no rush.

Love & Rainbows,
Cha in the Wilde

Dear Friend, My Book is a Puzzle

8/9/2023
Amed. Bali

Dear Friend,

I’ve taken to writing on the cliffs. I sip jasmine tea and admire the shades of blue stretching out to the horizon. Thousands of palm leaves shake along the hillside and I feel the same breeze soft on my skin. The pages in my journal flip back and forth. I’m writing this novel by hand. I’m also typing it. It depends on my mood. Sometimes, I can’t bare to look at the laptop screen. Curse digital words! Hand me an inky pen! 


There is no such thing as writers block in my life. If one door won’t open, I go find another way in. If words won’t be typed then they will be scribbled. If paper is unappetizing too then I will make notes on my phone. I’ve learned that typing with only my thumbs is a completely different flavor of experience than typing with all ten fingers. Thumbs, hands and pens, big screens, small screens and paper. Some characters feel safer showing up on paper. Their voices sound different when poured out in ink. Editing is fun on the laptop, tedious on the phone and nearly impossible on in the paper notebook. 

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When I write the story by hand, I am committing to flowing forward. Whatever idea comes to me next, I roll with it and the story has to shape around one idea at a time, each one building on the one before. On the laptop, pieces the puzzle can move around, copying and pasting their way into sense. On the paper, I see plot holes and contradictions open up before my eyes and there’s nothing I can do about it apart from fit the next idea in. On paper, it’s like improvisational theater. Just go with it. Say YES and keep going. We’ll end up with something interesting in the end.


One day, I will be typing up these words that were handwritten. For now, the handwriting is my way into this fantasy realm when I’m tired of working and in the mood to just create without the pressure to be perfect. Strange, isn’t it? It’s more pressure to write by hand because I cannot easily revise. I must commit to what I just wrote and move forward with it. This pressure to commit actually gives me freedom to keep going. I don’t get stuck in indecision or the overwhelm of endless possibilities. Make a choice and go. This pressure squeezes me and then I pop through with a light heart. I want to create with this lightheart, never taking myself or my work seriously while always being very seriously devoted to the process of creating. I’m seriously devoted to not being serious. 

And so today, I watch a large sailboat drifting in the bay and I write a scene about a dragon who is changing colors while a little girl throws a tantrum and a man falls asleep. I re-read words I wrote months ago and I’m laughing to myself to feel that they were written by another woman…a woman I used to be. Writing this book is a transformational process because it’s exposing me to a new way of experiencing life; it is a daily norm for me to exist under heavy pressure while also giggling with playful imagination. It is the classic metaphor of the diamond. It’s an intense process to sparkle so vibrantly. Totally worth it in these moments when I pause to reflect. Totally a pain in the ass and a simple pleasure the rest of the time.

Love & Rainbows,
Cha Wilde

PS: This book is a puzzle with a hundred thousand pieces. I’ve never enjoyed puzzles. This is the most complex puzzle I’ve ever faced and the first one I’m truly devoted to completing. I review everything I’ve written and at first I’m nervous to see how many different versions of the character I’ve written about…and then I wonder…is this just the character’s arch? I’ve written about her in so many ways, in so many places and times because she has moved through all of that from where she started to where she is now. Her story is a journey and I’m actually seeing the journey laid out before me. It’s a lot of to take in and tie together seamlessly. Right now, this book is just piles of puzzle pieces grouped by color. 

The Joy of My Simple Writers Life in Amed, Bali

Dear Friend,

I woke up later today and the sun was blinding too soon. My morning womb was missed and I plunged straight into the heat of the living day. I’ve moved to the quiet part of town were the loudest noises I hear are the leaves rustling in the breeze. Even the roosters are distant out here.

I’m staying in a simple bungalow that serves me perfectly with one exception. I’m sorely missing a writing desk. I’ve pull the wicker chair up to the provided table but my legs do no slide underneath and so I am cramped and curled. I’ve escaped to the cafe to utilize their desk like tables and I’ve taken to work in bedd with the laptop on my legs. Neither are ideal as the cafe is too noisy and the bed is too lazy.

The siesta life is taking over my body. My heart longs for respite from the hot sun burning my skin any chance it gets. I’m scurrying like a mouse from shady spot to shady spot and counting the hours until dusk. I suspect this desire for darkness is the consequence of my inward turning mind and soul. I’m in deep reflection mode, artist retreat, writer lifestyle, monk mode right now…looking inside myself for the answers to the questions I’m asking about this novel I’m sketching out on paper and screen.


Thank the stars for my returned motivation to workout and practice yoga. My body really has been screaming for more movement and a regular block of time to push itself to limits that are not connected to creative projects.

The birds are always singing here. I have two giant red dragonfruits in the refrigerator wondering when I’ll eat them. My cacao paste supply is dwindling and I’m crossing my fingers that the local shop will replenish their stock so I can replenish mine. Cacao is my medicine of choice this month. I’m drinking it morning and night to accompany my writing practice. in the morning I sip it while journaling. In the evening I sip it while writing fantasy fiction. This chocolate beverage enters my bloodstream and my heart chakras open up. Within twenty minutes, I’m having creative breakthroughs, seeing colorful imaginations, tapping into emotions that had been neatly tucked away, and sensing the muscles in my chest tensing with compassion for the faces I look upon.

If you’ve been attending my online yoga classes (for studio members or on YouTube), I’m so grateful to see you showing up. The regularity has allowed us to dive deeper into the subjects we’re exploring. This week we’ve been looking at yoga poses you can do in bed before falling asleep. I love how honest our conversations are in these interactive livestreams. I continue to be inspired by the messages I receive from fans and students. People have always inspired me to keep going.

Speaking of which, I must keep going now on the writing of this novel. I’ve given myself hours of lunchtime to practice yoga and eat quinoa, sweet potato wedges and green juice. Now…now it is time to get naked and find some words to tell a story that is literally inside my heart and needs to work its way to the surface and somehow magically transform into ink on paper. Let’s go!

Love & Rainbows,
Cha Wilde