Wonderful Things I've Gotten Used To

Oh, I am so pleased by the things I have grown accustomed to. My eyes are singing this morning as I drive through a small town full of wonderful sights that I’m so used to now I don’t look twice. Now I look on lovingly at the woman walking slowly down the street with a bag of rice on her head. The man behind her is completed hidden beneath the bustle of dry grass pouring off of his head. The baby is a limp doll in the other arm of the shopkeeper who is sweeping the morning dust from her stoop. The baby chickens hoping on twiggy branches are playing out of their mother’s eyesight and bigger than yesterday. I can smile at anyone of my choice and they’ll smile right back. The jukung boats are white dots across the big blue world we live beside. The Galungan offers are wilting and dry. 

Kid’s faces peek over the handlebars of their parent’s scooters. A family of three zipped by, kid dangling off the side hip of the back passenger. It’s a warm tropical day and they’re wearing parkas. The morning chill is too much for some. For me, the weather is perfection and I am not afraid it will leave me. I feel a gentle trust in her now. I believe the sun will shine for me again tomorrow and if not tomorrow then the next day for sure. I needed a cozy rainy day anyway. My scooter curves with more confidence these days around and down the hill. I steal a quick glance out over the palm forest and a smile steals centerstage on my face. I love this place so much. My heart swells. The soft wind is like silk sheets on my morning skin. I can’t think of a better physical explanation of heavenly pleasure than this wind on my skin.

Raika is sleepy this morning as she creates my morning matcha. She was working late. I walked into my favorite cafe, all smiles and energy after my beautiful coastal scooter ride. I felt rougher than her twenty minutes ago though. My morning was fatigue waking up for the sunrise again, determined to watch the neon red ball rise above the horizon. That is a sight I refuse to miss. I need no alarm to open my eyes. I may be exhausted from days after days of bleeding my sweet soul onto pages, making my muscles sweaty at the gym, and kicking myself into the ocean to practice holding my breath 16m under the ocean, staying up into the moonlight to catch the words that float in on the midnight breeze….all this sleepy tired yawwwwnnnnning and still I wake up to see the sunrise. It is just too precious to miss and I never get used to it.

Lately, I have often heard people say “There is still beauty in this world.” On mornings like this one I am so surrounded by all the beauty that never left or lessened. There is more beauty in this world than there is ugly. Look around you right now. How many more beautiful things can you notice? Perhaps there is one ugly thing about you now…even within that there is beauty to be found. And even if it really truly is the ugliest little ugly thing that ever existed, surely it existing in an environment that is otherwise entirely filled to the brim with beauty. Yes or no?

If your answer is yes, tell me all about the beauty in your life. If your answer is no, keep looking and come back to me when you can sing of the beauty that is your trying so so hard to catch your precious attention…if only you would open your eyes and take notice.

Love & Rainbows,
Cha Wilde

Learning to Surrender: Writing a Novel Through Darkness to Light

Dear Reader,

Today the sun shines on Bali and the island and all her people are at the grand ceremony. Shops are closed or they open late because the gods are gathering for the offerings. I arrive at the cafe two hours before it opens and I sit on the seat outside, laptop open, alone and ready to edit. 

We’ve come to the part of this journey when I must bring out my swords and my scalpel. I open the pages I’ve written and read through with a monocle and a stiff spine. I click the delete button all morning long, slicing away paragraphs, pages and phrases. 

I read what I wrote long ago and some pieces impress me. Wow, I wrote that? Is a lovely thought to hear in my head. I’m smiling at my own imagination and memories. There is so much joy alive in this story. And there is darkness. 

The air is full of Balinese prayers today so I decide to drop myself into the heaviest words I’ve written. I’m rereading the most depressing part of the story, written when my hands were holding myself up and my words were washed out by a withering spirit.

The resistance was real this morning. I do not feel like reading this sad stuff. I do it anyway and celebrate that I no longer think these thoughts or feel these feelings. Sure, the voice sounds familiar and I remember where I was sitting when I wrote all this but it’s so long gone now. I’m grateful it will all only sink further away with time. 

A part of me does a happy dance to feel done with the darkness, excited that we moved through it and that writing our way through it was effective. Another part wants to delete it all and forget about it, ready to end the reflection and dwelling in the past. Another part wants to publish it and pray it helps someone out there who needs it because even if I’m done feeling these feelings, they’re still true and being lived by someone else. I wrote myself out of the darkness and someone else will read their way out when they find my words. So I keep writing and editing. Little steps of progress towards the finish line where I believe some completed story awaits me. I imagine a bound novel all sparkly and fresh, ready to be devoured by someone’s imagination. By that point, how will my own imagination feel? Ready for a new adventure?

Every day, I’m asked to surrender more. This story is becoming something different than the something I envisioned it to be. I feel pulled between telling the story exactly as it happened to me and embracing the creative license to spice it up and switch things around in a way that feels more playful. I’m loyal to playfulness and I’m practicing letting go of whatever feels stiff and unhelpful. Writing this book is a spiritual bootcamp and I feel like a very different woman than the one who started this project. 

Love & Rainbows,
Cha Wilde

8/2/23
Amed, Bali

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

Bathtub Joy, Sunrise Snorkeling and Livestreaming Yoga Classes

Dear Friend,

Cacao went flying across the bathroom twice. Twice, I was so excited to be having a candlelit bath that my hand moved too quickly and knocked my wooden bowl off the edge of the bathtub. If someone walked in their first though would be digust. It smelled like chocolate but it looked like brown diarrhea was splattered across the tiles. I sacrificed my pink sarong to mop it up while sweat was still running off my forehead. The room was full of steam and roses. Palo santo filled my nose and softened my mind. Medicine music drummed on my little Bose speaker. For the first time in seven months, I sank my tired body into a divine feminine bath. For the first time in all four seasons and maybe longer, I felt at home in the way I’ve longed to feel at home. My feet were up on the end of the bath and nothing could disturb me.

Warm and snuggly, I crawled into bed and slept in the most comfortable bed I’ve found in Asia. Four giant pillows held me as I fell asleep and woke up in time for madrugada magic! At 4am I was up with more cacao (i didn’t spill it this time) and pen in my hand. By 7:30am I was snorkeling with the fish in the ocean. The sunrise sparkled down through the surface onto my pretty pink Penetrator fins. There was not another person on the beach. I had nature all to myself and she treated me well. I dug my feet into the black sand and stretched my body awake. I LOVE feeling the sand between my fingers. I LOVE it on the beach and I love it underwater. My breath was loud and steady as I enjoyed my morning stroll under the sea.

It was a quick scooter ride back up the hill and the rest of my morning was spent in my bungalow teaching a livestream yoga class inspired by my morning. My yoga classes are always inspired by whatever is going on in my life, whatever is present inside me right now. I’m just a channel and I allow myself to be possessed momentarily for the message that is flowing through. It’s a fun feeling to feel words like a river run through me, having no idea at all what I’ll say next but sensing that everything I’m expressing is hitting home for the person right in front of me. I have friends who refer to this as ‘channeling’ but I usually just joke about it as being possessed or “going off on one” or being swept up by a train of thought. It’s an exhilarating rush to just trust myself to speak freely with audience or classroom listening. I’m teaching and it also feels like performance art. So after delivering that, I poured a cup of tea and gave a little book report (updates on my novel project) for my fans.

My energy feels high and bright and I am celebrating the simple routine I’m living inside. I’m in the house by 6pm slowing down (happy to have a bathtub now!) so I can hit the pillows by 8pm at the latest. Up by 4am to write, in the ocean by 7ish, and on the livestream classroom by 930am. I’m hiding from the sun during the lunchtime hours, snacking from my fruit-filled fridge and managing my business admin while eating chocolate in bed. The afternoon sends me another burst of inspired writing and I’ll hit the gym before sunset and then it’s back to the house to wind down again. This is the plan for the next few weeks. I’m on an exotic island living a simple light that is full to the brim with peace, beauty, health and creativity.

Love & Rainbows,
Cha Wilde

Digging Dramatically into the Past to Write a Fantasy Book

Pour me another cup of green tea. The air is too hot to sit comfortably. The ink on my journal page smears as I wipe away the drop of tea that just jumped out of the pot. I moved my body in the open jungle gym this morning, lifting weights with a view of the Bali Sea. The open ocean hasn’t spoken to me in weeks. She’s over there. I visit occasionally but mostly I’ve stayed in the garden listening to the birds. I need dirt and grass right now. My emotions need earthy stability for a while as I husband and wife this book. I’m discovering the story as it pours through me.

Do I sound melodramatic if I tell you that this book is a goodbye to my past? I’m indulging in the past, swimming through it like a gorgeous coral garden admiring my memories. I’m chewing through it like a box of chocolates. (I haven’t eaten chocolate in over a month and I’m on day 47 without coffee. Celebrating and craving. Keeping my body as clean as possible. It’s the pipe through which this creative water is flowing.)

I’m crying on the video call with my husband today. He’s sensitive and logical. As usual, a young part of me wants to feel special. She wants to be the center of everyone’s world. “Miss me more!” She cries. “I do miss you,” he says. “But I don’t let myself dwell on it. I could have spent the weekend crying about the fact you weren’t here. I could have compared everyone to else to you. I would have been miserable. When those type of thoughts came up, I said NO. I didn’t let myself go there. I feel I’m in a new chapter. Moving forward. Enjoying the present. I had a really fun weekend.”

He’s leading me in the right direction. I want to move forward too. My parts glare at me, wondering why we’re digging in the past, fixating on old feelings, pouring our precious life energy into this resurrection project. “Just let it go!” They plead with me wondering when I’ll take them to the art supply store to buy paint or diving out there in the ocean a little bit deeper than before. “Let’s get back to making music and performing. You love performing and teaching! Let’s get back to hosting dinner parties!” I’m listening. I comfort them and promise them we will dance merrily in the present moment, celebrating life in all these lovely ways. We are in the present as I write this book. I have boundaries. We dip into the past to suck out a memory that we weave into this storybook. Then we return to the turquoise pool and smell the plumeria flower that just fell in my lap.

My writing coach encourages me to collaborate with my parts in these moments. Ask the parts of me who are afraid of dwelling in the past how we can write in a way that helps them move forward. How do we use the magic of creativity to help us safely enter the past, harvest it for inspiration, process whatever has been stuck back there, whatevers got us hooked like fabric caught on a twig as we walk through the forest, and then move forward to create something new. We create something new FROM the past. We move forward FROM the past. It’s not something to be pushed away, run away from, or ignored. As a first time novelista, I’m learning to turn and face my past and extend my hand to it kindly, inviting the lessons, wisdom and happy memories to step forward with me. To the pain and unpleasantness back there, I can let them scream one more time on the page, giving those exiled parts a chance for their voices to be heard and honored, so they can be unburdened with truth and choose to join us in the present or fall peacefully in death. Oh, here’s the drama leeking out again. Hard to stop once I start. 

I’m laughing with the barista who tells me he loves me. A piece of his heart belongs to me. He’s a flirt. He says that to all the girls he pours coffee for. I wish he was pouring a coffee for me. Just hot water over those tea leaves for now, please and thank you.

My only job right now is to heal; to move, listen and write. I’m clearing the cobwebs from my past so I can move on even more grounded in my body, fully present than before. Imagine trying to move into a new home without emptying your old one. I have some skeletons in my closets and shit stuffed under the rug. Yes, painting and playing in the ocean today is appealing but there are chores to be done in my inner house. I warned you I was indulging in melodrama, diving into the psyche more often than the ocean. Needless to say, I’m also practicing balance. I take days away from the writing to be right here and now, to not think about anywhere else I’d rather be. I am somewhere over a rainbow these days, hunting for gold. One day, I’ll return home with a book in my hands.

Love & Rainbows,
Cha Wilde

Exploring Emotion as Seasons Change in Amed, Bali

So I’ve let a few of my root bury down in this black sandy soil. What can I tell you about this small town where I’ve been living; Amed in Eastern Bali. Well for starters, it’s smaller than you think. At first glance, I thought Amed stretched down the coast. Nope. It’s basically just one junction, the main market, a little bit in land at the end of the almost straight jungle road. So what’s the rest of all these warungs smoking satay, scuba and freediving dive shops, bougainvillea covered hotels, beach bars, and family homestays? Little villages nestled together, merging into what the tourists refer to as “Amed”. Technically, I’ve only driven through Amed a bunch of times. I spend most of my days writing a novel, freediving, scooter joyriding, reading Twilight and Oscar Wilde, buying fruit, get massages, and talking long walks through unidentifiable villages whose names will never appear on Google Maps. You have to ask a local person the name of the village we’re standing in. Google will thoughtlessly group all these villages as “Amed.”

“Where you frrrrom?” The local people ask me again and again. They roll their “r” dramatically. 

I gave up saying Seattle a long time ago. Nobody had heard of my home. Now I say “America” and their eyes spread wide open. “Wow!” 

“Far away, ya?” We smile and nod together. I keep my real thoughts secret to myself; thoughts of questioned patriotism, insecurities for why I’m choosing to be so separated from my family, a woman traveling alone, exotic excitement to feel the size of the planet shift into perspective.

“Where you stay in Amed?” Is the next question. They all follow the same script. 

“How long you stay?”

Long time. They’re surprised when my answered don’t fit with the usual tourist conversations. I’m not staying at the big hotel for a week.

I point over the hill. I’m over there with the ex-pats and locals, deep in the rice for months of writing, reading and diving.

I visit the beach to snorkel and get an oceanside massage before I plug my earphones back in and enjoy the sunset scooter ride back to the Bungalow. 

The diving in Amed is lovely. The coral at Lipa Beach blew my mind the first time I swam out there with Tanya, back in February. Just three months ago and so much has changed me.

The coral probably hasn’t changed but it doesn’t look the same to me at all. Exploring Koh Chang Marine Park in Thailand (I recommend diving with Koh Chang Divers) and diving in Raja Ampat with The Sea People has spoiled me.

I’ve seen 200% coral cover now. These Amed coral patches look like a bald head trying to keep its last few bit of hair. The sea is balding! The coral here looks dead, empty, colorless compared to what I was recently flying across on those strong currents in Papua. Thailand and Raja Ampat felt like actual underwater botanical gardens, abundant life with impressive landscaping. God, I’ve decided is the greatest gardener of all time. I think of my mother when I dove in the most beautiful underwater gardens. She would love the way the colors grow over each other with every texture imaginable. Diving in these wilderness coral gardens is like a Project Runway shopping trip to the epic fabric stores of New York City. Every pattern and pallet you’ve ever dreamed up…and it’s alive!

Amed’s coral is like a sparse Japanese rock garden. Simple, sandy, almost empty… maybe 20% coral cover. Still pretty but less breathtaking now that I’ve been exposed to something grander. Hmm. I’m grateful I saw Amed first and enjoyed it for what it is before I knew any better.

We’ve got a slow month in town (tourists are elsewhere) so I get the cafe all to myself. The coffee boys play guitar in the corner and watch anime. I’m glad there are less cars on the broken road. I still get angry when extra loud scooters roar past, hurting my ears, disturbing my peace. And the dogs bark at me, yapping and howling and I want to kick them away. Of course, I don’t. I just clench my jaw and fists and curse at them in my head. It’s out of hand. I must remember to wear headphones all the time to protect my ears from these loud sounds that hurt me. My sensitivity is increasingly rapidly as I spend more time in solitude at this empty resort. I’m deep in thought, peering into my soul pool, analyzing the changing reflections inside me. Im drawing out memories and weaving a fantasy storybook together. I feel very strange most days, not quite in this world and not quite in that one, suck in the past, moving through it towards the present that I keep waking up in. 

The songbirds keep me sane. So does the cool water swirling around my body when I float and twirl in the pool. I dive down to talk to fish. They still don’t trust me. I float upside down in the ocean admiring the sunrays and for those moments everything is heavenly. I miss home and family a lot right now. My mind is a strange place to be. But I forgot, I was telling you about Amed.

Sunrise is probably the most beautiful moment of the day. This is the orange view from my bed. I open my eyes and see the rising sun. Everyday it comes back hotter, passionately playing red and orange for me. I tie my orange running shoes and walk briskly for twenty minutes through the dirt paths between the rice paddies until I touch sand.

The glowing sun materializes like clockwork, rising out of the cool blue water that I still can’t find the right words to describe. It’s the softest most gentle blue, almost a little green, shimmering with a hint of gold, maybe a little white and grey. The ocean at sunrise and sunset. My favorite colors are here to say hello. The sky absorbs the sunshine and blends shades of pink and purple. I stare into it as long as I can until the perfect description pops into my mind. Lavender Rose. The clouds look like they would taste delicious, a feminine floral flavor, a pretty ice cream delight on the streets of a Parisian dream. But other days… it’s more intense, neon orange, like a tangerine on passionate fire!

Strong winds rustle the palm leaves and the rice farmers wear long sleeves to cover their hardworking bodies. They’re harvesting now.

I’ve watched these fields glow green in the rain storms. Now they’re dusty yellow, drying and cut down. The farmers carry the bushels of rice to the wooden table they’ve placed in the middle of the paddy. They beat the stalks against the wood, rice grains fall to the tarp laid out beneath.

“Saya suka lihat Sawah.” — The first sentence I learned to speak in Indonesian.

How many bags of rice will be filled and carried away from just this one paddy? I balk at the though of the world to feed. My whole life I’ve eaten rice so easily, so effortlessly it’s arrived in my plate. Now I see the effort behind all those little white grains I’ve chewed. Never before has rice tasted so sweet. With each bite, gratitude warms me, and I think of the farmers who smile and wave at me as I pass them by on my morning strolls. They begin their work at sunrise, just like me. Our work looks so different though, at least on the surface. 

There is so much more to tell you about Amed. My emotions distract me easily so I will have to resume my photo-journalism tomorrow. 

Love & Rainbows,
Cha Wilde

Sunrise Snorkeling Simple Pleasures

The black sand is sparkling and the current is strong. I took to the road at sunrise, dance music blasting in my headphones. I left the quiet rice paddies behind and drove around potholes for twenty minutes until habit pulled me over at a familiar beach. The crashing waves called me into their warm. I said good morning to a box fish and all the colors of the underwater rainbow. Saya suka ikan dan pelangi.

I swam hard up the beach against the ocean, tracking my heart rate and my reward was complete surrender. I stopped moving my body entirely and drifted back down the coast. Riding on the current, I reached out my arms and flew.

I slid my hands into the big grains of brown sand. Sundays dazzling. Playing with sand underwater is a form of magic, to be sure! I hear the sounds of the sea. It sounds like mermaids are pouring out the golden coins they’ve collected. Maybe it’s just the seashells rolling in the surf. The mermaids in my novel are definitely collecting coins and counting them at sunrise. Saya suka maharati pagi.

The wind is stronger in this dry sunny season. I love it. This is the first time I’ve seen sailboats here. Oh, actually it’s just the same fishing boats I’ve seen all year…they’ve just hoisted sails. I see. They’ve been using engines up till now. The fisherman are the sailors today. Beautiful! Mereka punya jukung ada di laut.

Waves of bliss rush over me the way the sun peaks out through the clouds, coming and going. I stretch on the beach like a dancer, a yoga woman, a yogini. My limbs need this movement to feel everything. What is life without movement? Nothing I desire, that’s for sure. You can join me: watch my sandy beach yoga flow on YouTube.

I kiss the camera and my adoring global audience adieu. 15min is enough of my life to share with the world this morning. The shimmer on the water is too bright to look at directly so I find a shady spot in the beach cafe. Saya pesan teh hijau.

I’m slowing down my days. I’ve said goodbye or see you later to many passions. I feel the sacrifice acutely. I feel their space with quiet stillness and simple adventures; a morning at the beach, a chocolate brownie ball at the cafe, a vampire book beside the pool. I’m focusing on the simplest pleasures again. It’s scary to slow down. It’s nerve wracking to step aside from the grind of the career that’s kept me so busy. What do I do with all that determination? Down shift. Coast. Joyride.

So much is going on in these villages hugging the Bali Sea. It’s easy to live here with a daily routine keeping me happily afloat. It’s a pleasure to just enjoy being alive. I’m releasing my grip on all the things I could be doing. Im releasing all the wonderful possibilities into the ocean. Maybe this is why I love digging my hands in the sand so much. Take it all off my hands, please, mama ocean. There is no rush. There is time in life to do many things and each thing in its own time.

For now, I wake and move my body. I indulge with the elements. I complete my little practices; plucking guitar stings, practicing Indonesian, breath meditation. I write and I write some more. I play house in this exotic town that’s growing familiar on me and watch  myself moving through one of the biggest projects of my life.

The novel feels big and daunting. It’s also exciting and massively therapeutic. It’s challenging my mind to let go and hand the reins over to imagination and the wild spirit of creativity. These words I write about mermaids living my memories is an act of faith. Writing the perfect sentence every now and then is also just if not more satisfying than melting chocolate on my tongue…dare I say.

Love & Rainbows, Cha 🍍 Wilde

*I’ll share more details with you about my book in progress when you’re a member of my online studio. I give weekly “Book Reports” and offer interactive livestream workshops. You can sign up here.

Sleepy Day in Amed Paradise

The palm leaves bounce slowly and I chew warm rice. Scooters fly by too fiercely fast for my liking. Today, another day in this version of paradise, is a sleepy day, a day when I lift my hands in the air to surrender. I glance at the little to-do list of tasks that require me to open the laptop and I place my Kindle in my purse. Never mind the tasks for now. Today is a sleepy day, a day for reading instead of much writing. Today invites me to swim in the pool twice or maybe three times. Perhaps I’ll even take a nap.

I’m not a lazy woman so sleepy days are rare and sometimes scary for me. What do I do with this strange feeling of resistance? What’s wrong with me? Normally, I love to throw myself into work so a sleepy day that says slow down darling, is hard to trust. I remind myself I’m recovering from the trying trip to Raja Ampat, from COVID, from three decades of life, one and one decade of non-stop pushing to grow business. I’ve endured a lot of heartbreak and said yes to many challenges. I’ve been growing rapidly this past year through travel, therapy, acquiring new skills and delighting in creation. To grow ourselves, to expand further, to move beyond the known universe, this takes massive amount of energy.

There is no rush now. I can sit beside the tree and sway in the warm breeze. I can chew rice slower until it melts in my mouth. I can read a book about a faraway land or just stare at the land beneath my feet. A day of rest is always welcome in my life. Currently, my resting moments are being met by vampires. Stephanie Myers has my ear…or should I say my eyes? I’m reading the Twilight Saga for the first time and I’m raising my hand to admit this is my new guilty pleasure. And yes, it’s influencing my own writing. I’m continuing to write my own fantasy novel everyday, quite deep into the project now. I’m swimming through thousands and thousands of words and no vampires have appeared…yet. The romance scenes have more tension now and I can hear Edward the vampire’s voice in my head as I’m typing. I can’t help it. Influenced and inspired by what I’m consuming, I’m at peace with how the books I read are flavoring the book I’m writing. We all flow into each other.

The sky is awake with blue.
The plastic strips float above the rice paddies to scare the birds away.
My ears are sensitive so
I’ll wear noise canceling headphones
to block out the road sounds.
I’ll smile at the whooshing scooters.

Besides, this morning enjoyed a photo walk through the rice paddies at sunrise. I laughed with the village children riding their bikes; they wanted to be photographed. On the balcony I enjoyed another workout and yoga practice in the blinding tropical sun. I prefer to exercise in the shade and I won’t be picky right now. I swam in turquoise water and read a book beneath the frangipani tree. I ate eggs and fruit for breakfast. I offered a yoga flow on YouTube. I taught a full length naked yoga class for my studio members who needed help slowing down their restless minds. I practiced guitar. Yes, this is enough today.

Love & Rainbows, Cha Wilde