I’ve had a headache almost all day. Since the car wreck, it usually feels like there’s one waiting in the wings, ready to take the stage at any moment. I can feel the tension in my shoulders, neck. Sometimes my right temple quivers. It’s like a small earthquake–you know–on the side of my face. I’m sure you’ve seen kids slowly fill up a balloon with water, the way it approaches its breaking point. That’s the way my headaches feel. It could be a lot worse, but it sure as shit could be a lot better.

Today was day three of online yoga, and I officially have a crush on my instructor. Considering the fact that he’s from California and can’t see me during our workouts, I’m sure these feelings are going nowhere fast. Still, it’s enough to get me out of bed in the–well–afternoons. Plus, the workouts are stellar, and I’m hoping they’ll make a difference with all the tension in my body. Car wreck aside, I’ve noticed that I’m quite often “flexed” in some way, even when I “should” be relaxed. Maybe it’s the fact that I’m like Rabbit from Winnie-the-Pooh–uptight to say the least. But I imagine it’s leftover from all the bullshit through the years, a subconscious waiting for the other shoe to drop.

As with everything else, I’m working on it. (Except white bread–I’m admittedly not working on that.)

This afternoon I had some time to kill and went to an antique (junk) store. Before the estate sale, this would have been a surefire way for me to spend money, but now it’s just an amusement. That’s right–I didn’t spend a dime. Granted, I didn’t see any west-coast yoga instructors for sale. However, I did see a statue of our lord and savior, Jesus Christ–open arms, stigmata, the whole bit. (He was shorter than I’d imagined.) Anyway, we took a selfie together. Notice the light around his heart–this is because Jesus is the teacher most associated with the fourth chakra, the embodiment of love, compassion, and forgiveness.

I realized afterwards that the lord was literally looking down on me. Maybe I’ve been in therapy too long, but my first thought was, Don’t let anyone look down on you, Marcus. But then I thought, Well, if anyone can look down on you, I guess Jesus can.

This evening I had dinner with my friend Marla. I don’t think she loves having her picture posted all over the internet, but she still said yes when I asked for a selfie–just like Jesus did. I can just imagine her telling her friends, “The lord and I have something in common–.” Anyway, Marla and I ate at Taliano’s, a local Italian restaurant that’s housed in a historic home not far from where I used to live. It’s a Fort Smith classic–tall ceilings, gorgeous fixtures, ugly wallpaper. As my therapist says when referring to her waiting room, “Look down.”

I’m sure a lot of people are like this, but I remember things spatially. If I read something in a book, I remember where it was on the page–upper right hand corner–whatever. If you and I were in a theater and you told me to go to hell, I’d remember what chair you were sitting in. So, since coming home from Taliano’s tonight, my mind’s been going to all the times I’ve been there before–whom I was with–where we sat. In college a friend took me there for her high school prom. We only went as friends, but I was still in the closet as we sat in the back room. Several years ago I was dating a guy, and my best friend’s mom waited on us in the room by the kitchen. Someone recognized me, and I still had that part of me that thought, What if they know?

Tonight when I got home, despite my best prescription efforts, my headache wouldn’t subside. Well, I’ve taken to doing yoga and meditation in my old bedroom, since the bed in there is a twin and there’s more floor space. So I put on some music, meditated, and tried to relax as a timer counted down. Toward the end of the session, I stood against the wall where a Batman poster used to be and did a stretch for my neck. Letting my arms hang by my side, they eventually felt like bowling balls, and my shoulders pulled away from my ears. Things actually relaxed. Sitting here now, it’s not perfect, but I don’t feel the need to scream or cry.

This is huge progress.

Personally, I’m glad that the room I grew up in and witnessed my both delightful and difficult childhood has become a space where I can heal, even a bit. When I think about my old room and the restaurant tonight, I think it’s fascinating that spaces can stay relatively the same over time as we change both inside and out. Of course, sometimes it’s the other way around. Places change as we stay the same, carrying around the exact out-dated fears and tensions we had as children. I guess our emotions can be like wallpaper that refuses to come down. So I think it’s good to recognize when progress is made, even if it’s a little thing like being able to relax ever so slightly or being able to sit with a friend, be yourself, and not wonder what anyone else is thinking.

Of course, this isn’t a little thing at all.

Also tonight I’ve been considering that which is eternal, whether or not there is part of me that hasn’t changed one iota in all these years. The mystics sometimes call the soul a watcher, a simple awareness that calmly abides as we grow older and the wallpaper eventually comes down. I like to believe this is true, and I imagine it’s quite accepting, never judging if I’m in the closet or out of it, or if I eat white bread or not. If it is true, I’m certain it lives in my heart, this thing that looks down–and in and out and through–with open arms.