The Fool

I want to be wild. 🧜🏻‍♀️

I don’t usually share my Red Writing Hoods responses on here for free (that’s typically reserved for the club members and paid tier ;)) but I really wanted to share this one with you.

February’s prompt was: What dream are you too afraid to admit to yourself? If you could guarantee success, what would you do?

My mind went a different direction than I thought it would (as it usually does), and this was my flow:

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I want to be wild.

Let’s start here: I just want to rest.

When I say that, the voice inside my head immediately retorts “You’re not even a mom yet like other women. You’re not even working a full-time job. 12 hours of work in a week? That’s it honey? All you did was yoga in the mornings, not the walks you told yourself you’d start doing every day now. It was making you feel better and now that you’re not doing it, it’s your fault if you stop feeling better. And don’t lose control. Don’t lose control of what you eat because that will make you sick and fat and sad. But you still need to exercise or you’ll waste away. But you also need creativity for your soul to thrive. You never get enough of that and who’s to blame? Only you.”

Guilty.

Guilty as charged. Who are you to think you deserve to rest? The rest of the world is reeling and the ones who are not are turning a blind eye. Nobody else is going to save the world, so I guess it’s up to you; You tired, sensitive, sad girl. I guess you’re all we’ve got.

I’m talking to the voice inside my head like he’s god. And yes, I think this one’s a he. Not god, an imposter.

“But are you sure?” He whispers.

Am I even separate from the voice inside my head?

Leave me alone…

WAIT. I can’t survive without you.

Come back and tell me how to live. I can’t do this on my own, because who am I without the voice inside my head? I’m recklessly wild, and wild is evil incarnated. To be wild is to reject what is good.

But what if to be good I must accept the wild?

He snickers, “I told you outside of these walls lies chaos.”

He’s right. I’m one of those people now. Someone who’s losing control. I’ve gone crazy, and nobody wants a crazy person near them. They only bring destruction.

“Destruction or deconstruction?”

Who said that? I don’t recognize her voice.

“Oh hello down there! Who are you…?”

She speaks, calling me darling.

Her voice feels like the warmth of human touch,

heart open, energy flowing

Through me,

Like sparkling glacial water.

“Who are you?” I ask again, wondering if she’s a wild one.

She’s bound to have lost her mind after all this time down there.

“I am water” she replies.

“I’m not looking for water, I’m looking for myself.” I call back from the cliffs above.

“Is this a trap?” I hear his voice again. It’s cold and suddenly I lack trust.

“Drink”, she ushers.

So I stop, reach towards the ground, and cup my hands. As I drink, I see waterfalls, wildflowers, waves, and wonder. I’m dreaming,

And in my dreams I am wild…

I yell “FUCK YOU” in sacrament meeting. I have another panic attack in the temple. I’m swimming in blood, warring with other nations. I’m kidnapped by a witch who I find out is my mother. I’m screaming, hyperventilating, terrified, and terrifying.

I also fly. I collect Scottie dogs. I stand up for myself. I find lust and love. I’m glowing and grateful and orgasming, and free.

Perhaps I need this water to survive, so after I come back down from my dreams of flight, I rest, I breathe, and I drink.

Is it really that bad to be wild after all? This nymph of mind, body, and spirit – it feels like life.

What does it even mean to be wild? And must it mean anything at all?

Am I willing to find out?

So what if I lost control. What if I never gain it back.

Could it be?

To lose control.

To relax.

To rest.

No soul to rule over, for she needs no leader.

She is wild.

She is water.

Some call her “The Fool”. Maybe she is, but I see her free spirit.

I don’t want to teach other people that it’s not bad to be wild. I don’t want the burden of convincing them. I’ll dive all alone, sure of myself, soaring towards the water unharmed by their arrows labeled “impulsive” and “reckless”.

I want to not care what other people think, but I’m too afraid of drowning. I want to squeeze every ounce of goodness out of every inch of this life. I want to swim in conversations of philosophies of life, of feelings of love and fear. I don’t want to hold back. I want to question and float with no answers.

But… to me that is wild – an unimaginable ocean most people I’ve known have never explored. And those that have? I admire them, even find myself jealous of them, but I don’t know if I’m willing to take the leap. So, I dip my toes in just to gather the courage.

I was never good at swimming anyways. “Maddie get your hair wet” my sisters always teased me. I’d wear eyeliner to the pool and never put my head under. Despite the inconvenience of having to re-do my hair and my make-up, I feel naked with my fine hair slicked to my head. I equate it to being fresh out of the shower, a state I’d rarely show anyone but my partner, let alone answer the door and chat up the neighbors. Somewhere between my childhood and where I am now, I completely stopped putting my head under water, vigilant always, to the voices above.

The ocean awaits. I’m terrified, but trying to escape the bully above. Am I a fool for thinking down there I’ll escape the pain of misunderstanding? Or will I just be part of another world I don’t belong? I’m in my own story of The Little Mermaid, at the pinnacle decision. The choice before me is diving into the sea or starting a new life above. I dream of swimming among the wild, carefree, not just in my subconscious. I dream of finding my voice down there, but terrified of drowning among unfamiliar waters. For now, I’m learning to swim with the hope of a new beginning in a world more fluid than the one I’ve spent my life in.