#chaoticserenity

[legoule]

Chaotic Serenity

When I was 7, Mud and I had this ritual at bedtime. She would tuck me in, kiss my forehead, tell me I smelled like oatmeal, and then she would turn out the light and go get ready for work. I knew that the kiss was part of a process, and she would leave soon as the pieces were in place. So, I thought, “What if I don’t let her kiss me?” “If I disrupt this process, the light never gets turned off, and Mud would naturally stay with me instead of going to work.” The first night I tried this it was like a game, Mud trying to kiss me while I hid under the covers giggling. By the third night however, Mud had enough. She let me know that there wasn’t time for the game, and either I could accept her goodnight kiss or she would go to work and I would go to sleep without one. “Hmm…It seems that skipping steps in this process will not prevent the end result…crap” Seeing through my game, she asked me why I was trying to keep her from going to work. I explained that I didn’t like being alone, that it took me what seemed like forever to fall asleep. She looked at me, thought a minute, and then said: “I want you to close your eyes” so I did. “Imagine what you see is a painting you have been working on. It could take forever to finish and you are somewhere in the middle.”   “What do you see?” she asked. And then I heard her flip the light switch off. Colors exploded behind my eyelids in the absence of light, I described what I saw, what I see every night. “It’s like crumpled up paper, with lines on it that don’t mean anything, like a squiggle fighting with a mess of color and lorax holes and… and…” I was at a loss for words, so Mud gave me one. “It’s sounds chaotic.” She said. I asked what that was, and she explained chaos to me. I agreed that the word was appropriate, but that wasn’t all of it. “It’s like my brain is busy with the chaos but the closer I get to actually falling asleep, everything turns smooth, the paper isn’t crumply anymore, with the dark lines of squiggles on top of squiggles on top of globs fighting it out, but like cream, a calm like water that can be broken with a sound, or a…a thought.” She had another word, “Serenity” she said. “What you are describing is chaos and then serenity.” “But it’s both.” I offered. “Then paint both” she said. “Every night when you close your eyes, paint this chaotic serenity, it will change as you grow, but I doubt it will ever be finished.” She kissed my head, said “oatmeal”, and then left me there in the dark with my muddy palette. That night I painted what I saw, and before I could get it all out, I fell asleep. Mud was right, even now, years later, every night I go to sleep; I paint the ChaoticSerenity on top of images a mile thick on my brain canvas. Behind my eyes it melts to cream, ripples like fabric, and then smooth, calm, asleep. . .@legoule

[legoule]

Chaotic Serenity

When I was 7, Mud and I had this ritual at bedtime. She would tuck me in, kiss my forehead, tell me I smelled like oatmeal, then she would turn out the light and go get ready for work. I knew that the kiss was part of a process, and she would leave soon as the pieces were in place. So, I thought, “What if I don’t let her kiss me?” “If I disrupt this process, the light never gets turned off, and Mud would naturally stay with me instead of going to work.” The first night I tried this it was like a game, Mud trying to kiss me while I hid under the covers giggling. By the third night however, Mud had enough. She let me know that there wasn’t time for the game, and either I could accept her goodnight kiss or she would go to work and I would go to sleep without one. “Hmm…It seems that skipping steps in this process will not prevent the end result…crap” Seeing through my game, she asked me why I was trying to keep her from going to work. I explained that I didn’t like being alone, that it took me what seemed like forever to fall asleep. She looked at me, thought a minute, and then said: “I want you to close your eyes” so I did. “Imagine what you see is a painting you have been working on. It could take forever to finish and you are somewhere in the middle.”   “What do you see?” she asked. And I heard her flip the light switch off. Colors exploded behind my eyelids in the absence of light, I described what I saw, what I see every night. “It’s like crumpled up paper, with lines on it that don’t mean anything, like a squiggle fighting with a mess of color and lorax holes and… and…” I was at a loss for words, so Mud gave me one. “It’s sounds chaotic.” She said. I asked what that was, and she explained chaos to me. I agreed that the word was appropriate, but that wasn’t all of it. “It’s like my brain is busy with the chaos but the closer I get to actually falling asleep, everything turns smooth, the paper isn’t crumply anymore, with the dark lines of squiggles on top of squiggles on top of globs fighting it out, but like cream, a calm like water that can be broken with a sound, or a…a thought.” She had another word, “Serenity” she said. “What you are describing is chaos and then serenity.” “But it’s both.” I offered. “Then paint both” she said. “Every night when you close your eyes, paint this chaotic serenity, it will change as you grow, but I doubt it will ever be finished.” She kissed my head, said “oatmeal”, and then left me there in the dark with my muddy palette. That night I painted what I saw, and before I could get it all out, I fell asleep. Mud was right, even now, years later, every night I go to sleep; I paint the ChaoticSerenity on top of images a mile thick on my brain canvas. Behind my eyes it melts to cream, ripples like fabric, and then smooth, calm, asleep. .

@legoule