IFS Parts Therapy to Help with Pre-Show Nerves

“It’s my first time performing in a big show as a DJ. A part of me is nervous to perform for the first time. Another part of me is excited to be making progress as a DJ. Another part of me is proud that I’m being acknowledged and seen publicly. A protective part of me is shutting me down and making me take a nap so I don’t have to feel so overwhelmed by all the other parts that are freaking out about this upcoming performance.”

I ripped the paper out of my journal and handed it to L. It was covered in little bubbles with emotions written inside and lines connecting them. We’d quickly sketched out a parts map. It only took 15 minutes together, sitting on the porch and she was already feeling relief.

“I have a therapist and I like her but I wish she would give me more action items and useful things like this.”

I couldn’t hide my smile. I’ve just finished my first training course in Internal Family System (IFS) and I can’t help but share it with everyone, especially women, especially artists. All the artists I know (including myself) are full of conflicting parts. We are a full spectrum of emotions and somehow we’re supposed to function in society. Most of the time I feel like I’m about to explode with anxiety, pressure to ‘figure it out’, or crumble under the demands of practice and scary bold risky challenges to level up.

By mapping it out and digging deeper, we see all the moving parts. Instead of feeling lost in the swirl of it all, we’re pinning it down outside of our mind. We’re creating a little bit of distance and with that comes space and clarity. We get curious about why each part feels the way it does and what it needs from us to relax and feel playful again.

With IFS in my back pocket, I’m walking around with a pocket full of sunshine, a toolbox of questions that magically open space within us and I feel so able to help creative humans find themSelves and make progress. The parts are taking over and we feel stuck and shut down, totally blocked and terrified to perform. The IFS is so freaking effective! Within 15min I watched my beautiful friend soften around the edges and hope returned to her spirit and confidence smiled on her face again.

I’m so excited to bring this model to more of my friends and fellow artists, to witness the creativity that will undoubtable be unleashed from these simple conversations. I am eternally grateful to my friend Jake who introduced me to Lindsay Rein and I’m eternally grateful to Lindsay for being my first IFS healer and friend who welcomed all my parts.

'I Am a Genius' Post-It Note

Hello wilde ones,

In 2018 I wrote “I am a genius” on a post-it note.

I put it above my computer to keep my moral high as I learned to produce electronic dance music.

Teaching myself to play music and use complex programs like Ableton Live was such an uphill effort. Entering into the music industry in my mid-twenties I felt like I had SO MUCH catching up to do. It was intimidating and I was bombarded with fear and doubt AND YET I was full of dreams, enthusiasm, passion, hope and belief. Full of determination and discipline. My friends supported me so hard, constantly reminding me that I was talented and capable. To this today they are still cheering me on and making sure I know how excited they are to see me perform my next big show on stage. They’re inside the dream and the real work with me. Davey (my husband) started calling me ‘Kanye’ a few years ago to emphasize that I’m a wildcard, genius who has something unique to offer and I don’t give a flying fart what anyone else thinks. I’ll do what I want and what I want to do is great. (I also have a post it note that says “Kanye”.

Reading “I AM A GENIUS” everyday, gave me permission to be myself and helped me feel free to be experimental and believe that my random ideas might actually be good and worth sharing. I love this post-it note so much. I just put it on a shirt. I hope you find the guts to wear it and find your truth in it.

I painted the watercolor abstract in the background when I was on Orcas Island at a yoga retreat. Before COVID I would travel to Orcas twice a year to perform live music for the yoga students and in our free time we would soak in the spa and paint. At the time I made this pretty little abstract I was practicing creating without thinking. Just watching how the colors merge into each other.

So much love,
Cha Wilde

Being Present Again

Hello friend :)

I want to feel calm enough to enjoy what I am doing with clarity, confident that I’m deeply and directly connecting to people, alive and awake in present moments, courageously choosing adventure, creating playful experiences and curiously celebrating how my day (and life) is unfolding with delightful surprises.

This morning I sat in a hidden garden and sipped the most delicious espresso in Seattle. I wrote in my moleskin journal and wondered at the fuchsia flowers. I thought of my grandmother’s garden and all the skills I have learned so far in life. What do I really want to do now?

I’m slowing down just enough to appreciate that all the options before me are the most delicious ingredients to any life path I wish to walk. Integration is power.

I laid in the grass and saw nothing but blue sky. The earth felt so solid beneath my body and the morning sun was not yet hot enough to burn me. In this clear mind space I saw visions that were easy to hold. Shall I act on them?

I kicked off on the swings and a woosh of wind filled by body with joy. It never gets old. I filmed this moment and I’m curious to see if the footage is usable. Will you watch it and feel like you’re swinging with me? That’s what I’ve always wanted from my videos…I want to trick you into feeling that you were actually there in that special moment with me.

Can life really be this simple? Do I really own my time like this? Have a made this happen for myself and how much do I actually need to know to keep going like this? Other people are holding up mirrors for me now and exclaiming that I am living their dream!!! I am their inspiration. How did that happen? Little steps.

Too quickly I take their compliments and swallow them with hunger for validation. I remind myself (and try not to scold myself) to keep the focus on these others. Instead of telling stories about myself, ask them questions to go deeper into the story they just told me. Honor them with my full attention and curiosity. That always feels better.

So tell me friend, what are you stories today? I would love to hear from you. What are you creating? What lesson did you just learn? What moment of BEING present did you just soak inside deliciously? Share something with me please so we may feel connected again.

Love,
Cha Wilde

Coming Home to Yoga After COVID

Everything good comes to me through yoga. I found my breath and discipline at a yoga retreat. I found my voice & belonging in a yoga teacher training. I found my greatest love in a yoga class. I found my home on the yoga mat. I found my freedom teaching yoga online.

This morning, I took my first yoga class at a studio since before COVID. It’s been almost a year and half since I practiced yoga in a room beside other humans. This is the longest I’ve ever gone practicing alone. I had forgotten the feeling of rolling out my mat and looking around to see us. The feeling of belonging, of being a part of a group, a part of a lineage, a part of a tradition, a part of something.

Practicing alone in the forest last summer during quarantine was my escape from the trapped indoors. I was with the trees. Practicing alone on the rooftop of our new city condo last fall was my escape from the small box and intensity of cohabitating with a man. I was with the sky. Practicing alone in my studio was my escape from the world, my sanctuary retreat. I was with myself. Practicing on Zoom with women around the world was my escape from loneliness. I was with my sisters. Practicing in the studio this morning was not an escape. I just felt like I had finally come home.

All the striving to be something, to create and accomplish, to protect myself and stand up for myself in this big world, to build a brand, to show up authentically on social media, to serve the world with my gifts…all this chaos has been in my mind. I suffer the curse of this individualistic freedom our society has wiggled into. In our striving for independence we walk a risky line of disconnection from the sacred circle…humans dancing around the fire together after surviving the day. All this modern buzzy plugged in shit just drops away as I sink into child’s pose.

Home, beside other people returning home. We’re coming home together, arriving on our mats at the same moment, passing over the most simple threshold together. God, what a relief.

Be Real with Your Expertise - Journal Exercise

How do I move into realness after all these years of trying so hard to prove myself, impress people and accomplish something great.

I got so worked up about achieving greatness, owning my power, unleashing my mighty spirit on the universe.

And then, there are my feet, grounded in the dirt. I come up and gaze at the horizon of the desert and remember who I am.

I play dress up with pigtails and lime green boots and stick my tongue out at myself in the mirror. There you are, old friend.

All this packaging to appear like I know what I’m talking about, to convince people to buy into what I’m trying desperately to believe in doing.

Take out the pens and turn the page.

At the top I write:
BEGINNER, INTERMEDIATE, ADVANCED, MASTER.

Beneath each title I list my skills, passions, hobbies, professions. I can’t fool anybody now when I lay it out honestly like this. I see clearly what qualifies me into each category.

As a beginner I am training, studying, investing in teachers, absorbing, receiving, seeking. I am a naïve sponge.

As an intermediate I am practicing, creating, experimenting, putting in my hours, building a portfolio and connections with others. I am strengthening my discipline, steady, showing up consistently.

As an advance I am offering and teaching, leading, selling, charging high prices, serving my clients.

As a master, I am mentoring, passing on, leaving a legacy, redefining, leading evolution.

For each activity, organized in this fashion, I can show up with clarity as to the stage I am at, the way I can contribute wholeheartedly with integrity, measure growth, understand the steps for progression ahead of me, fall in line with others on my path, accept the many passions I enjoy and see how they each take a place in my life; holding a different spot on the progression of skills I’m collecting. I’m a beginning at one as I’m becoming a master of another.

This is a reality check I’ve needed for years. So eager to jump to master. It’s a massive relief to settle into the steps of this path, embracing the earlier stages of the journey. The rush hurts us. Slow down and be where you are. The steps each day, small and simple, move us towards master in good time. The only question is what steps are you taking and are you choosing the steps that bring you greatest happiness?

Helping Each Other Through WTF Existence

We are all helping each other survive. Once we have healed we help each other step forward into expansive co-creation in which we thrive.

I wrote that in my journal this morning. I’m in a new co-working space in Seattle and the decor in here is on fucking point! My ass is literally sitting in a velvet chair rn, to right is a white baby grand piano, to my left are bronze lamps, and little plants are smiling all over the place. So let’s talk about vibes.

You have seen me in my studio surrounded by paintings and music instruments. You’ve dreamed of having a magic space like that for yourself. Here’s a truth bomb…it’s lonely as fuck in my studio. I can’t deny the fact I’m a social butterfly who loves the great outdoors. Being along inside a box forcing myself to create art…because I’ve been telling myself that I need to do that to be a real artist, because I’m paying rent on the place and should make the most of it, because working in a big fancy studio space validates me and makes other people want to follow me or whatever. Yack.

When the body says no, it means NO.

For months now I have felt tight in my chest when I think of going to my studio. I wanted so badly to be a studio artist and once I made that dream come true, I was hit with all sorts of weird disappointing sensations. Now I’m dreaming of something else, specifically walking into the ocean in a bikini first thing each morning and joyriding around the country in a red Mazda Miata with my DJ controller, music production toys and yoga mat.

The dream arrives long after the dreaming.

Dreams change. What the fuck are dreams anyway? I’ve spent years of my youth dreaming of distant visions. I’ve tried so hard to let them go so I could feel free, relaxed and present. Instead of striving, can I please just enjoy whatever wonder is before me?!

Oh, human soul.
Why are you like this?

I keep circling back to this grounding belief that we are all helping each other. We’re all made of the same star stuff, experiencing the same strange human rollercoaster of shit and thrills. We’re all wondering WTF is happening and why it’s fucking worth it. Don’t lie. Underneath the work, the alcohol, the new clothes, the chatter, the runaway vacations, there is a humming ache, a hunger that we curse when it gets up in our face. Fuck you life. WTF.

All the coaches cheering and then therapists nodding, the musicians bleeding out before us and the bartenders listening as they spin the bottles in the dark. New programs, new methods, new revolutionary energy in the cosmos.

Is it just this young city I live in; glass towers containing eager robot-like humans who have lost the way of their soul as they clock into the chaos? In the old city (oh, Edinburgh I miss you), time felt a little different with all those corpses beneath the ground. The tombstones were crumbling as I walked beneath the stars falling into young love I knew would last forever, greater than any love that had ever been loved before.

Whatever we show up for today,
wherever environment we’re dancing in,
whatever we’re creating and teaching,
whoever we’re coaching or healing,
whichever invention we’re pouring our heart into,
we are all reaching for the same damn thing
and all of this is like an ant farm.
How am I help you today?
How are you helping me?

We help each other forward in healing, through the darkness and we are blessed with these moments of light play. Let the critical mass of Self energy expand so powerfully that my day is drenched in light, so much light the darkness is the distant dream.

CHA WILDE

Dressing My Parts to Find a Family Where I Belong

I felt guilty when dads would look at my cleavage. Something didn’t feel right about showing up to photograph a family and for my boobs to be the star of the show. Was I making moms jealous or uncomfortable? So I covered up.

I watched myself get dressed differently for each job. Sneakers and shorts for the family photo shoots. Heels and black dresses for the female entrepreneurs who hired me to take their new website photos. Black strappy lingerie for the strip club. Stretchy booty shorts for the yoga classes I was teaching. A sequin skirt and crop top for my musical performance on stage. A baggy t-shirt for the girl who loves to DJ in the living room. A long flowy skirt and bare feet for my moments in the cool grass, hanging sheets on the clothing line. A bikini first thing in the morning to crash my body into the ocean waves.

How did all of these women coexist within me? I was changing my clothes four and five times a day. I laughed about it and said I actually enjoyed all these outfit changes; the clothing helped me transition through the various parts of my day. As soon as I came home from one activity I would change clothing before cooking or doing anything in the house. Clothes helped keep my mind compartmentalized.

But then I noticed resentment. I resented having to cover up my body for family photo shoots. Why can’t I show up wearing whatever I want? As there was the contrast I needed to realize I no longer wanted to step inside of other people’s bubbles. I spent my twenties popping in and out of so many worlds, other families, yoga studios, random homes and offices around the city, so many parks and hidden gems in nature. Perhaps this was all part of my youth, exploring the world and falling in love with the dynamics of Seattle. How many pockets of society could I dip into? How many families and homes could I experience? How big and diverse was my network? I knew the musicians, the yogis, the entrepreneurs, the stay at home mamas, the dancers, the ravers, the coaches and healers. More, I craved more. Longing for connection, I couldn’t get enough.

To feel a sense of belonging is an ache in my heart that has almost never been filled. Always in new places, always from many different places. I envy slightly the people who still play with their childhood friends. I envy the people who show up to work each day to familiar faces. I envy the people who walk down the street and know everybody. I’ve tasted it before because I’ve spent my life seeking it. I’m always on the hunt for more community and I’ve always felt outside, on the outskirts of the communities that I’ve attached myself to, questioning…do I actually belong? Have I actually been accepted here? Wondering how long it will last.

I found belonging in the movement; a citizen of the world. It’s okay to not belong in one group. I belong to the migrating folks who belong everywhere. Great, how fantastically lonely.

My mind spun fantasies to carry me away into imaginary lands where I sailed into rainbow sunsets on a pirate ship with a crew. The crew was the most important part for me. I had a close knit family, always together, adventuring through it side by side, fighting and laughing. This is at my core…my heart longs for tight family. I’m highly suspicious that this has driven me into all the forms of work, all the parts I’ve played, all the outfits I’ve dressed up in.

I want family so I got deeply involved a church that made me feel supported with an us-them mentality. I got to enjoy being ‘us’. I stuck like a barnacle to my best friend’s family in high school always eating dinner over there and sleeping over. I got to college and immediately barnacled up to a cute boy and his family. I took to photographing kids and families and emotionally attached to their sentimental moments…just close enough to siphon off some family vibes without actually being sucked into the family. I’ve always run away from families I’ve joined…judgmental that they’re not good enough.

I’ve been searching for the perfect family, the one that doesn’t hold me back, weigh me down, nag me, judge me, or irritate me. I want family and I don’t want them to be a burden. I just want the joy of being a child who is cared for and I want all the fun playful moments again. I’ll search to the ends of the earth only to realize that I’ve had my family all along and they’ve been waiting for me to come home.

But how do I show up? What outfit do I wear? Are all my parts welcome, accepted, understood, embraced, held and celebrated? It hurts too much to think that some parts of me would be cast out, rejected or ignored. I want to be able to show up fearlessly with all my parts joyfully playing, alive and vibrant, eager to connect, relaxed in who they are.

Thirty two years into my life, I lift my hands in the air and tangled webs dangle from my fingers. How do I sort this out? How do we move forward from here? What outfits am I excited to wear now? Perhaps, I take it one part of the day at a time, switching clothes, switching beverages, and one by one each part of me can come out to play. My parts take turns. They all belong within me as a family. Do I sound delusional when I tell you that I’ve created (or rather, I’ve woken up to) an entire family inside myself? I might be the only one who can fully accept them all. This needs to be enough.

By accepting all of my parts, perhaps I will become a safer spacious being and other humans in my company will feel safe to express all of their parts. And sweet when we can be together in Self with all parts welcome.

CHA WILDE

Songwriting with My Exiled Parts to Heal Sexual & Childhood ‘New Kid’ Trauma

The imaginary child sat on my lap as I played piano. Tears rolled down my cheeks as I sang “Landslide”, one of my favorites songs by Oh Wonder. The most important lyric in that song is “I’ll be here for you” — sing that over and over to your inner child.

I sang the song over and over. Each time, the child aged. At first she was seven, then fourteen, then twenty one, then in her thirties (we were peers), and then she was old…or I was old. She was me, I was her. I sang to her as watched her trust me more and more as she realized that I will always be here singing to her no matter how old she is. She can always sit on my lap and I will always be here for her.

This was my first experiment integrating Internal Family Systems (IFS) into my music making. I had just turned off my computer, my very first session working with an IFS therapist was complete. Shout out to Lindsay Ellen Rein, my badass beautiful soul healer. In my first hour of therapy I had my hand on my heart, eyes closed. Lindsay guided me inwards, into the pain in my chest, into the trauma my body was storing. The memories of seeing my husband gazing into the eyes of another woman, seeing him fucking other women, feeling left alone on the sidelines, aching for his attention, his monogamy. But we are open, polyamorous, bisexual, curious, adventurous, explorative. For years, we’ve been in so many beds with so many people and the wounds piled up. My energetic skin was slashed to pieces with each little moment that cut me.

I didn’t want to inconvenience him or reveal to other people that I was getting hurt. I didn’t want to ruin the party. I wanted to be the cool girl who was chill with all these wild situations. I was down to try everything and if I got hurt, I kept it to myself. But after years, the little cuts were bleeding and I was losing so much spirit blood that I couldn’t function anymore. Nightmares were startling me awake, on repeat. I had to watch the memories over and over. I had to feel the pain over and over.

The pain was feeling left out, not being chosen, not being special, being ignored. I traced this all the way back to childhood. I was a new kid in school…lots of schools. It became part of my childhood identity. I was ‘the newkid’, always on the outside, always full of stories from other lands that these kids didn’t understand or care about. The kids in my new public school in Seattle didn’t give a rats ass about my summer adventures in Singapore or Switzerland. They didn’t get it. They didn’t go out of their way to include me. I could have rotted on playground sidelines.

So I gravitated to the library and the teachers. I hung out with the adults who made me feel interesting, smart, worthy of attention, mature. This was how I coped but it didn’t fix or heal the wound that was getting cut deeper and deeper. I felt left out. I felt like nobody (the other kids…the people whose opinions really mattered to me at that age) cared about what I had to say, share or offer. So I just got quiet. I wrote poetry and stories. I sang in my car and never let anyone hear my voice.

I longed to be seen. I feared being seen. What if they saw me and then still rejected me? At least if I was invisible I could blame it on the fact these kids didn’t know how to welcome in a new kid. What if they welcomed me in and then didn’t like what they saw in me. Yikes. So back to the library I ran for all my breaks and lunches.

I thought I was over this. I thought as an adult woman I wouldn’t still be so butt hurt if someone didn’t notice me. We don’t leave these things behind though. I’m fully grown, naked in bed with another woman and a man. They’re gazing into each other’s eyes and the sickness in my stomach is crippling. I’m frozen in my body. I don’t know who I should touch or where, or how. I bet I could get up and walk out of this room and they wouldn’t even notice. They’re so fixed on each other I could just disappear. I’m obviously not wanted here. I’m outside…again. Fuck.

My best friend told me to get into therapy. She was tired of answering crying phone calls from me as I walked around the neighborhood talking about the horrific pain polyamory and group sex was causing me. I started IFS therapy in particular because another friend told me it helps people who feel like they have different parts or voices inside of them who are in conflict. I felt so conflicted inside, crazy, chaotic. A part of me wanted to monogamous and hog all of my husband’s love and sexual energy directed at me and me alone. Another of me wanted to be free and wild, including everyone in our bed. Another part of me wanted to worship the sun gods and roll in the dusty soil at yoga retreats and never need to have sex again. And yet another part of me was missing my days working in the strip club, longing to feel sexual energy pulsing through my performative body again. WTF.

So I came to Lindsay. Help me, please. Where to begin? She acknowledge that there was A LOT going on inside and asked me to identify the strongest feeling, the one that was really causing me the most pain or demanding my attention. It was this heartache and jealousy. I told her that leaving the house and taking space from my husband felt impossible because I was living in constant fear that if I stepped away for one night, I just knew there would be another woman in our bed. I felt like I had to stick around to ‘save my spot’. I was co-dependent and clingy AF. Lindsay asked me if the feeling in my chest that arose when I imagined my husband with another woman was a feeling I remember having in the past, in any other situations. And that’s when the little girl appeared.

The little girl who was new in school appeared in the room (in my imagination, my mind’s eye — kind of how the Amazon Shopping app lets you place a virtual object in your room to see if you like it enough to buy it). This little girl was familiar to me. I knew her pain. She wanted friends, to belong, to feel relaxed and playful, to be included and safe to participate. She felt left out and this feeling had been showing up through out my entire life. The sexual relationships and group play were just the newest scenario, and such a raw vulnerable one.

At the end of my therapy session I had homework. I was to be the teacher, the adult woman who saw the value in this little girl. I was to draw her in and let her sit on my lap. I asked her if she would like to play music. I could show her how to play piano and sing. In fact, I had a song I could sing for her. “Landslide” by Oh Wonder perfectly conveyed my message for this little part of me.

I know it hurts sometimes but you’ll get over it…
So when you're caught in a landslide
I'll be there for you, I'll be there for you
And in the rain, give you sunshine
I'll be there for you, I'll be there for you

This song was extra perfect because a couple years before this first therapy session, I had been in Cancun. My husband met a goddess on the beach and left to spend the night with her. I walked alone down the streets, sand in my shoes, tears on my cheeks, headphones playing this song. It hit me. The power of music. Oh Wonder (Josephine & Anthony) were singing to me through space and time. They were in England years before singing the words “I’ll be there for you,” and they were. They’ve been there for so many of us now, around the whole world.

I realized that as music makers, we show up in one moment to record a piece of music that can be there for people on demand, whenever they need us. We can be a friend and a healer to more people than we can ever reach in real time, 1:1. We’re amplifying our reach and impact. They wanted to be here for me and the best and only way they could be (because in reality they have no idea I exist) is through the song the shared online. They gave me access to their emotional support through modern technology. So I realized that as an artist, I will be here for so many people and never even know it.

So back to my story…I knew this was the perfect song to sing to my exiled part. She was a wounded little girl who needed to feel included. I sang to her as she sat invisibly on my lap until we completely forgot about kids at school and lovers between sheets. It was just us — the exile part and my Self, enjoying music together. God, I cried so hard as I passed that emotion like a kidney stone. Fucking pain to express it out of the body but then…it was out.

I want you to realize three things.
1) Music heals us and we are with the artists when we listen to their recordings (time doesn’t exist) and we are there for other people through the songs we create. It goes both ways.
2) We can sing to our parts and heal them with music (consider them real people). We can include them in our music making process, sing to them what they need to hear and also let them take over the voice and express themselves in song.
3) By consciously creating music with our parts we are co-creating with them, building relationship, trust and understanding. Just like going to a therapy session with a loved-one, creating music with your part(s), is a shared experienced between multiple personalities. Co-creation is the highest form of connection. We’re not just talking and listening. We’re not just hashing out what happened and what we’ve been through. We’re decided to create something new, a new way of being, together. We’re calling in a new reality for ourselves.

update: It’s been a year since I started IFS therapy. I’m exploring deeper into co-creating music with my parts and beginning to share this approach with other artists. I have healed my sexual trauma and am able to enjoy polyamory and sexual relationships again. I now know so many of my parts and how all of them show up in sexual situations and how to take care of them when they feel left out or hurt. I have tools to prevent and heal wounds now so I feel safe to explore and play again.

CHA WILDE

Asking for Silence

“You actually got all of us to be quiet!”

The night sky twinkled above and embers warmed the front of our bodies. Why the fuck was I here on another camping trip with these guys. My husband’s childhood friends, the guys I’ve gone to music festivals with for half a decade, are always shouting at each other over the campfire. All I want is to lie in my tent, blissed out beneath the universe and these guys won’t shut up about politics. There’s no talking them out of it.

Finally though, with my feet in the sand I drew up some earth mama power and spoke. The only woman in the group, the only healer, the only one who seems to have any kind of connection to our Source in this moment.

”Hey you guys?…Can we all just be quiet for a moment.”
They grumbled and then fell into the black silence by the lake.

For a couple minutes, these men stared into the flames and for the first time I felt them together. They’ve been on this life journey since before puberty and they’ve been shouting at each other ever since. I think they’d forgotten what it feels like to just sit quietly beside an old friend and feel the warmth. No need to speak. Adulting had filled their minds with worry and deep sorrow that bubbles out in triggered talking getting them nowhere.

For the first time, I sat with them in silence and felt a deep companionship. My soul sighed and whispered to only me, “Ah…here we are.” And then someone spoke. “I gotta give it you, Cha. You actually got all of us to be quiet for once!” My heart swelled. I felt like the shaman, the medicine woman, the human with the power to unite the others. It only lasted a moment before their arguments resumed and the campsite was once again jagged with the energy of unconscious trauma.

For a moment there though, for a moment, I had managed to cut through the shit and create a container of peace. In that moment, I experienced the power of my voice to interject, to speak up and ask for what I want, to ask for what we all need. It is not words that heal the wounds but holding our attention in deep silence long enough for the words in our minds to entirely disappear.

You Are a Magical Moment

Dearest,

Good morning my love. What words do you most need to hear today? May I sing them to you? I’m sitting in a coffee shop, bright white, hot pink accents and a fresh green tree outside this window. God, I’ve been thirsting for a place like this to create.

My studio is stifling. My heart doesn’t want to be there. I feel the trauma and chaos of the neighborhood in which it sits. I feel the distracted buzz of the industries zooming by and the constant movement of cargo. My soul longs for the settled peace of the garden. I’d like to watch the bugs rest on the bouncing leaves as I mull over my poetry and hum new melodies.

So this coffee shop, this delightful little hideaway down a side street a couple blocks from my house is hitting the spot. Thank god for the city’s diversity. If one coffee shop is playing music so loudly I can’t hear myself thing, let alone produce music on my laptop with headphones, then just around the corner is this slide of heaven….a coffee shop that’s been waiting for me to find it.

Never stop exploring. Keep walking through the world until your feet step into something magical. If you feel something calling to you, if you see something sparkling in your mind, if you sense that your dream is out there, keep searching. No. Keep finding. Finding. Keep finding new places. Keep finding yourself in motion. Keep exploring the universe within and without and you will keep finding yourself inside magic moments. You are a magical moment.

I love you,
Cha Wilde

Am I a Fool or a Brave Leader?

I've been operating with the belief that I have to put in all this work, the 4 hrs of disciplined practice, the hours and hours of time training and practicing to rehearse and it all feels so off putting now. I want to create with free flow fun. 

I have done that hard work and preached about it. Can I now possibly create music from a place of feminine gentle flow that is more easy relaxed and enjoyable? That really does ease through me without such painful effort? Is there a need way for me to create music? 

What will this look like and where will it lead me? 

Music has seemed so mathematical and voices have warned me that this industry is so impossible, broken and endless hard work alone in a cave, grueling on the road and unhealthy as our sensitive artist souls wither and writhe as we self medicate with sex, drugs and rock and roll. 

My heartbreak slowed me to a stop as I accepted these warnings and felt my body give out under the duress of performance, promotion and practice. I simply wasnt meeting enough people who inspired me to play. What once was so magical I rearranged my whole life for it, became solid, heavy, serious and downright sad. I felt too vulnerable and exposed. 

And now I find this little seed of hope inside me. Could it really be possible that it could be different? Can I create a different experience for myself and for the women around me, the women who come close to me to learn the magic in the music, the women who drink this medicine and long to be free? Can I lead a revolution when I don't even know how or what exactly to change? There is a sign in my studio -- a sign is an over exaggeration. It’s a page I ripped out of a guitar center magazine. — It says "Believe in the Power of Music" and it has gotten me through again and again to the point aw here I question my own sanity. My brother saw it and said "that's cheesy" and I still keep it there.

I still want to believe in the power of music. I still want to be a thriving healthy joyful human. I don’t want to be an unhealthy poor struggling lonely artist. I want to believe that the dreams I saw in my head are real...real as in really possible and if I show up they actually found to happen. Am I delusional? Hopeful? Am I a fool in this path I keep walking or a brave leader. God, I pray that I am brave leader.

A Part of Me Hates Music Equipment

A part of me dreams of singing for you and thousands. I close my eyes and my fingers brush along the keyboard and I hear my voice float out my mouth, my throat vibrating, and the microphone picks it up and wow…into the air the magic is cutting silence. Is this the moment I’m living for? The time in between these moments can be painful, unbearable even, until I adapt. I just forget about it and get used to the normal everyday human life…the life everyone else is living, the life off stage. Getting on that stage is exhausting though. I often think of quitting; too many cables, too much equipment to haul around. The musician’s life, compare it to a donkey. I’m sick of lugging luggage. I run quickly to my camera to go on lightweight photo shoots. It’s easier. A part of me is willing to do this heavy lifting for a moment of glorious sparkling music for the masses who listen. It’s a mild form of electrocution; a closed circuit between the creator, the creation and the consumer. A part of me hates it though; she just wanted to be left alone, paid more to show up, able to disappear into the wilderness in a fast convertible with a camera in the passenger seat. I won’t even use the camera unless someone pays me to turn it on. It’s my business. A part of me loves this. I’ve built a money machine on my art. Fucking fantastic freedom I’m tasting now. A part of me curses it a little, remembering the days when I took photos for fun. It’s still fun. More fun maybe now that the money adds purpose and pressure. I’m serving people with the camera. They need and I deliver. It’s more tangible than the music. A part of me forgets the powerful impact of music. She feels invisible, drowning in the ocean. Another part of me, she knows the value of the music because she’s the one in the crowd worshiping and sparked alive again.