Musings and worldliness with Chloe
One of our 2017 goals for this website was to have more submissions from our readers. We want to create a space where people can share their thoughts, ideas, art and journeys through life.
Chloe is a creative, sun-loving, Patti Smith-fan from the golden bay. Here are some of her recent writing pieces:
I think I experienced love on Thursday evening.
Lying in his arms
Lit by Candlelight
Still oily from massage balm
As I gazed into the flame of a candle wick my eyes pricked with tears.
An overwhelming emotion took over me
Uncontrollable for my poor reluctant mind
The divine had taken me over
I lay motionless as tears rolled down my face
My body opening
A warmth washed through me
It wasn’t fierce
No flush was brought to my cheeks
It was soft
It was the universe recognising my dream kind of hug and giving it to me.
(My lover never noticed
Continuing to rub my scalp with his fingertips
Stroking my hair).
It was the Universe noticing me and my lover lying together on a couch
It was the Universe seeing what we were
It was the Universe showing me what we are
In the beginning
I didn’t perceive this to be love
For the feeling felt very separate from him
It made me feel very alone
It was yummy and it was delicious
But it was very detached
The feeling brought me inwards
I felt very much in my own little world
Almost oblivious to reciprocation
I hadn’t a care in the world as to whether he too, was experiencing what I was
It was as though I was on acid
In my own bubble of experience
Caring of how the other was doing
But very much content to immerse myself in the drug
Loving fully without smothering lust
It is otherworldly and blissful.
I’m very fond of it.
This tiny experience should be all the time.
May I make it so.
I celebrate mountains of pasta with a glass of pinot noir on a Tuesday night.
I celebrate soft shirts that feel like an expensive hug.
I celebrate woman with almighty, momentous, marvellous laughs.
I celebrate having nothing to do AT ALL.
I celebrate dark chocolate, candles, spotify, journalling and how they all fit together so well.
I celebrate smooth voices from singing womanly songs and speaking words of truth.
I celebrate rough voices from screaming beliefs at the Patriarchy.
I celebrate walking on the beach with my Mum, telling her every detail and every feeling I experienced during my day, and then washing it all away as I dive under the most crisp, cleansing liquid to ever exist.
I celebrate the intensity of feminine energy. I celebrate it's frighteningly confrontational sides, as well as its relatable, caring angles.
I celebrate the world’s visionaries. Authors like Osho, Eckart Tole, Don Miguel Ruiz. I celebrate their teachings about love and ways in which I now aspire to live.
I celebrate the aroma of garlic and tomatoes that floats through my house when my Mum gets the chance to cook.
I celebrate digestive yoga and how energised and stretchy I feel afterwards.
I celebrate being able to be happy. And though it is always there, I celebrate it when life makes it easy to be so.
Alphabet of Girls
I look around at the group of friends before me, we’re crammed into a bus, heading off to a soccer game. The characters swirl around, contained in a confined space of bubbling, overflowing laughter and personality. I look at each girl in turn:
Alexandra is a timid wee thing. On the weekends her parents have their crazy artistic friends round for dinner. Spicy aromas fill the air. She learns to tango and tie up her hair with chopsticks. Her wish is to be undeniable and exciting.
Bianca’s instagram bio says she loves netball, her friends, chuppa chups and a boy called Ted. She isn’t aware of it but she mirrors her friends and needs to start thinking for herself. Constantly portraying yourself as loveable is boring and pointless.
Chelsea spends too much time stalking her classmates online who she’s only spoken to once or twice. She’s desperately searching for connection, but all she needs to do is say “hi.”
Delta’s friends say she’s too precious and needs to drink more or climb a tree.
Eloise is an artistic creature. She dwells in coffee shops with funky reggae beats, persian carpet stores and the tippity tops of mountains.
Figgy is discontented and always will be.
Gretas room houses molds unknown to scientists and 7 dead plants.
Helena is in love with her cat called Monet and wishes to leave school as soon as possible. She’ll probably work at the corner store or give macrame a shot.
Janice watches mean girls nearly everyday leading up to her first day of high school, hoping to impress everybody with her range of snarky comments and push up bras.
Klara has been brought up with the expectation of perfection. Instead she’s overly cautious and resides on the sidelines. In her 30s she’ll realise that the idea of perfection is bollocks, disown her parents and pick avocados for a living.
Laura scrolls through facebook at a mile a minute. She isn’t happy with her life so she lives it through others, constantly comparing and feeding her mind with a strangers highest highs to her lifes lowest lows.
Madison hasn’t found her “thing” yet. But she does know she likes old 60’s music, gardening and baking extravagant desserts.
Olive has lively friends who she only wishes to observe rather than join. She cancels on concerts, dinner dates and protest marches. Her parent’s divorce taught her to never relax and trust, so she lives a life of tense shoulders.
Natasha lives a frantic life. Words and gestures fall out of her that can’t be taken back. Her hair is the colour of an amethyst and her nose is sprinkled with freckles. Her boyfriend just dumped her but she doesn’t really care.
Paisley has met a boy. She doesn’t know how to talk to him yet and rather than calling it a relationship she’s saying that “it is what it is.” Pajamas, puffins, and pickles on toast are her favourite things.
Quineisha’s household is small and scary. The bags under her eyes are worrying her friends. Her cat died last Sunday.
Rochelle has a blog where she rips out bands, complains about her parents and gives ironic makeup tutorials.
Samantha wants to frolic in the wind and run with the wolves but she has a physics report due.
Tally has no one, past the point of self sufficiency. Perhaps she’ll invest in a budgie. I’ve made her sound sad and lonely but she loves herself, so it’s fine.
Una’s parents question her maturity when she asks questions like: “why is the sky blue?” when really they don’t know the answer and it’s actually a fair question.
Verona defines herself by what others think of her. Skank. Spoilt. Selfish.
Wanda lives by the ocean. Every morning she climbs down a bank, mug of milky milo in hand and compares everything to the rolling of the waves.
Xia finds solace in communal chanting and yoga. She meditates through her eyebrow centre, the Agya chakra. Her buttoned-down parents smile and nod.
Yvonne has lost herself in one too many relationships. She now drifts and slumps, follows and never leads, thinks occasionally but never acts.
Zabby makes everyone feel like a someone.
There is so much variety to be observed in everyone. Each girl is experiencing her own reality. Each girl has been shaped by different experiences. Each girl holds a universe within her. But who am I? Where do I fit into this alphabet?