An exploration of chaos theory

I want to be fucked open to God and eat enough protein.

I want to walk unadulterated, unencumbered, unclean and unsure.

I want to wander far and roam streets thick with ash and desert fog because

I want to get lost.

Get so lost I become whole again.

Fall down the well and come out smiling -

Having found my way to the sea through the rivulets and inlets of inland.

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I was born for the ocean

Chaos and carnage.

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I had a dream the other night where I smelt you through the smoke and mirrors of a festival and I followed the pink smog and I could hear you in pleasure and I followed the moans despite the voice in my head that said stop,

No fucking good can come from this.

I looked at the girl with the dark brown nipples and I thought fuck you.

But I respect your stance

And your smugness.

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I want to be filthy rich. Stinking rich, so full of physical money and wealth that I can give it to those that really need it if they ask and make something happen for them that otherwise would unlikely be.

I want to change lives,

Yes I said it.

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I want to teach you the clippings are figurative and you can already fly.

I want to fix my wing first.

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I want the voice in my head to fuck off.

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I want to do things I’ve never done and I’m bored of new horizons and want to rest my arse - solid in my own backyard.

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I want to pay someone to do the things I don’t want to do.

I want to find somewhere where nobody goes and make it mine but not for myself, for Her - for She - to give back and say can I exchange my apologies for what we have done with a space where no one can find me and we can become friends and talk to one another without words.

I’ll bring you gifts and you can help me see,

More

Clearly.

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I want to swim more,

Dance more,

Make love more.

Cry less and fear a lot less.

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I want to be more honest and offend people because maybe that means I am on track.

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I want to be unhinged and find my peace with mundanity.

I want to drive around the world without feeling so sad at the mess we have made -

keep walking the fine tight rope of not feeling asleep at the wheel of ‘modernity’.

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I want to taste all of life and I’m actually content not having it all.

I don’t want big bangs and explosive newness right now.

I want softness and slowness and to be more supple and lean and strong than ever before.

I want to become a ninja with the grief and let it come and smack me between the eyes with a feather because I am bowed to its majesty in grace and because my body is soft and my jaw is

Unclenched.

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I want to meet those eyes that I saw that day and ask them: what has you so furious?

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I am a mess but no more a mess than anyone else,

I expect.

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There’s an upper limit theory by Gay Hendricks. He wrote The Big Leap which I haven’t read and he says there is always a contraction after an expansion.

We curl inside ourselves after an opening because it’s too big, too scary, our nervous system is finding new ground and it takes a while to meet new edges.

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I’m reading Call of the Wild by Kimberley Ann Johnson for the second time. This is a book which I highly recommend. She speaks of Somatic Experiencing and pleasure as a pathway to trauma healing.

In the car today, driving into a Swiss valley - Matterhorn calling my name and reminding me of yes I did go to Mount Kailash this year - I have the rocks to prove it, I listened to Maya Luna’s podcasts about her time as a sacred prostitute.

She worked for 15 years doing sensual erotic massage with all kinds of men and she puts into words what I articulate only in my mind.

That the men I have met with my hands and my heart desire and require so much healing through loving touch and pleasure. And I thought - I could speak this, write this, explain this. This is something I know in my bones. I know the intuitive somatic movements someone needs to open and uncurl and meet new edges and cry tears that haven’t found their way to the sea for so long it dries us out to even remember.

She also talks about the Madonna/Whore split where sex workers call themselves therapists because they’re living inside the patriarchal model of masculinity and secretly don’t want to be called a whore.

And that had me thinking.

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I want a home for myself and my dog so I can unfurl from my edges, outside of my crab shell and into a low soft sofa.

Preferably velvet.

Purple or green like I have always wanted.

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I want to write my book by a big open window.

I want to find out what it’s about at some point.

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Life,

Man.

Real - life - man.

I’m doing it and sometimes I’m stretched so wide I cannot fathom where it goes from here.

Sometimes I’m strong in my spine and I know it will be okay.

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I like the impatient, confident part of me that is inches away from lighting the torch paper.

Kind of like Heath Ledger in the joker where the bomb doesn’t go off and he improvises and Christopher Noland left it in because his stroke of genius,

Madness

Could not be seen outside of the cast but it’s felt.

And often it’s not like that at all.

Not at all and I would like it to be.

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Maybe you follow me,

Maybe you don’t.

Maybe we are all living inside our own version of

Chaos theory.