Chaos Demon

Part of me wants to say, I wish I had the calm, zen-like belief that what will be, will be, that events just happen on their own at the right time. In my experience, that's only an after-thought once we get used to change. Sometimes, I think my method of doing things can be unorthodox, or maybe I'm just quoting Nicole Kidman in Nine Perfect Strangers, or both.

Three years ago, I was walking in Green-Wood Cemetery and waiting under a tree was a small, plastic or porcelain statue of an African deity. Her name, Orisha Oya, was engraved under her image. I felt like I was meant to see her and whenever I get curious, I research (I've had multiple test trials of BeenVerified to confirm that). Oya's lore is that she brings change through chaos, often using the weather as a tool of destruction, and destruction leads to creation.

I've always had a habit of throwing everything up in the air if I'm unhappy. Because I don't know what the future is, that means more than one possibility exists. It's like testing ingredients. Take a pinch of the past, mix it into the present, shake it into the future. This isn't for everyone. It can create panic, cause uncertainty. It may take the ground from your feet and replace it with a cloud. I'll always credit my partner for putting up with this. If I didn't have his solid ground, I probably wouldn't be able to throw life up and wait and see what lands.

A few months ago, I began a collaboration with a new friend. We trade pieces of our writing and paintings and sometimes I write over his work. I write down, scribble, almost scream any thought or reaction that comes to mind. These musings almost always stem from the past.

Very vividly, I know what this project is. I know it's name, it's theme, it's a bit of folklore and fantasy. I realized that I'm digging up the past and bringing it into the present. I question, what sticks and what doesn't. Does it still belong here? The men that I write about, I wonder, do they hold me in low regard? And what do I now think of them? The past comes to a head for there to be a change in the future. It's adjacent to invoking chaos, or maybe it's not as serious as that. Maybe it's just shaking things up in order to be better. Or maybe it's mythical. Maybe it's Oya, or maybe all of this exists in my mind.

These are big thoughts, after all, but then there is everyday life. Day to day, a paycheck, rent, phone bills, cleaning cat liter and a pee pad where our once feral, now indoor cat, misses. Laundry forever piles up. Do I exercise enough? I should whiten my teeth, shouldn't I? Am I keeping close enough contact with those I care most about? Am I happy?

I'll share what doesn't make me happy and excuse me if I cannot be specific. I provided a signature that won't allow me to.

I don't like being treated like a child. Even more so, I don't like treating people, younger than me, like children. I don't even think children take to infancy as they learn the rocky road of self-governance. I believe in respect, how one looks and speaks to another. I believe everyone should be provided autonomy, it's meant to be ours.

I've been called “the fun guy” in professional settings, and it felt accusatory. Honestly, I'll take it. We should be having fun in our everyday lives. The thing is, I don't think certain people saw me for what I am. They may see what I present, but not what I am. For months, I've dealt with stunted personalities in high positions and I tried my best. And for months, I've watched others tip-toe around boundaries because they are so used to what they know that they cannot differentiate between what's right and what's wrong. I hit a point, figurative and literal, that, well, I had to call in the chaos demon.

So, what does chaos look like for someone who invites it? It looks like wild nights out, it looks like questionable decisions at dawn, it looks like an unexplainable UTI, it looks like doctor visits, it looks like an ultrasound on my bladder, it looks like leaving my job, it looks like hoping for another, it looks like artwork where I'm wondering if I fucked it up, it looks like prayer, it looks like discussions with my husband, it looks like me asking why can't I stop, it looks like contacting people who I swore up and down I'd never talk to again. It looks like getting off the phone with my mother, who wants to plan a vacation, and instead of receiving my enthusiasm, I rattle off every single thing that's happening like Hayden Panettiere in Scream 4 when she lists horror remakes to try and save her boyfriend's life, who ends up stabbing her in the end.

And now, it's quiet. The day is quiet. It's beginning to rain now, and I know things will settle. They may be settling as I write, but I'll never be too bold to predict what's coming.