I Love You for Being Here (Blog #468)

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

It takes forty years in the desert for seas to part.

Inch by Inch (Blog #467)

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"Not knowing what's going to happen next is part of the adventure."

Directly Under Arcturus (Blog #466)

1 Comment July 9, 2018 CoCo

After writing yesterday’s blog, I drove to Dallas and stayed the night with a friend. This afternoon I finished writing a travel-writing story (or at least completed the first draft) at a local Starbucks, then hit the road for Houston, which is where I am now. I love driving, especially in my car (Tom Collins), but the road has completely worn me out. It’s just after midnight now, and my body is absolutely done.

I’m staying here in Houston with some swing dancing friends, with whom I’m discussing swing dancing business. I arrived several hours ago, and although we didn’t intend to “dive in” until tomorrow, we’ve been chatting and working all night. It’s been good–I loved the part where we went for tacos–but now my brain has joined my body. It’s absolutely done too.

For most of the drive this afternoon I was covered in my emotions. Sometimes this happens when life catches up to me. It’s like most the time I have a grip, and then all of a sudden I don’t. I get overwhelmed. I think, I’m almost forty–I’m single–I don’t know where my life is going.

Last night in Dallas I stepped outside my friend’s apartment to look at the stars. It was hard to see them in the bright city, and there were a lot of clouds, but I found a few of the major players–The Big Dipper, The North Star, The Northern Cross. Oh, and Jupiter–you can’t miss Jupiter lately. (It’s the first bright “star” you’ll see in the evening if you’re facing south.) I did the same thing tonight when I got to Houston. Again facing south, first I found Jupiter, then Scorpius, then Saturn.

There’s something comforting about this for me, the idea that I can drive five or ten hours from Van Buren–go almost anywhere, really–and still feel at home. The sky really is beginning to feel this way to me–familiar. It’s like how you can wake up in the middle of the night and navigate your way to the restroom with your eyes closed because you live there. I don’t know anything about Houston. I’d be lost without my GPS. But I can look at the sky and know right where I am–directly under Arcturus–because I live here.

In the universe, that is.

Anyway, when I was driving earlier and my emotions showed up uninvited, all I could think about was the stars. I was in five lanes of traffic, my mind running every bit as fast as any car on the road, and the constellations were the only thing that sounded comforting. I wanted to see Cassiopeia so badly. I longed for the quiet and the peace that she brings me. What is that? I guess she reminds me that there’s no hurry in the heavens, that she’s seen it all and, “Baby, you’re doing so much better than you realize.”

One minute we’re up, the next minute we’re down.

Alas, I obviously couldn’t find Cassiopeia this afternoon. The sky was too bright, too blue, too filled with fluffy white clouds. (Ick, barf, I prefer the dark.) My friend Bonnie said, “Give the sun a chance. It’s a star too.” Now I’m thinking that just as there’s day and night literally, there’s also day and night emotionally. Like the sun, one minute we’re up, the next minute we’re down. Our perspectives change constantly. There’s nothing wrong with this. The constellations get turned around once a day, so why can’t you and I? Under heaven, there’s room enough for everything–the sun, the moon and stars, and all our emotions. Yes, the universe–our home–is large enough to hold every bit of us.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

No one dances completely alone.

Connecting the Dots (Blog #465)

1. People think they are soooo funny

Two nights ago after I turned my lights out and crawled into bed, I heard an insect buzz, buzz, buzzing around my head. I yelled into the living room, “THERE’S A JUNE BUG IN HERE!”

My dad hollered back, “That’s odd–it’s July.”

2. People are assholes

Earlier this week I was writing at Starbucks, and some goober on the other side of the room struck up a conversation with three strangers. That’s a natural-enough thing to do, I suppose, but this guy was separated from these women by at least ten feet and was practically yelling across the communal area–HELLO THERE!–going on and on about where he was from (he was a Yankee) and why he was down here in the south (he needed a change of pace). Anyway, I had my earplugs in listening to music, TRYING to concentrate on writing, but this jerk wouldn’t stop being socialable with these ladies.

The nerve.

“DO YOU KNOW HOW STARBUCKS GOT STARTED?” he said.

Then he told them (and me) exactly how it all happened. I’m not kidding–he shouted every frickin’ detail about this entrepreneur who was trying to sell coffee machines and ended up hawking Joe out of a broom closet in Seattle’s fish market. Loud Guy even ended the story by saying, “–and the rest is history.”

I wanted to throw my latte straight at his bald head.

But I didn’t because I’m in therapy.

So get this shit.

The next day–the next day!–I’m out driving in my neighborhood and see this same fella walking the streets–just gliding along with a damn smile on his face as if he owned the county. He even had his t-shirt tucked into his khaki shorts–like a perfect asshole! I wanted to roll down my window and yell, “Untuck your shirt, you little turd, and wipe that grin off your face!”

But I didn’t because I’m a spiritual person.

3. The universe is an asshole

Seriously, the universe can deliver this guy into my experience two days in a row, but it can’t introduce me to Zac Efron.

4. People are kind

Conversely, here’s something. A couple months ago I was in Hot Springs working on a travel-writing story. My last day there I “took the baths” for a few hours, and while soaking my body in mineral water, I met the kindest man–a chiropractor. For at least an hour we chatted–about Hot Springs, the hot springs, health and wellbeing, worry and meditation, even his family in Fort Smith. As much as the guy at Starbucks got on my nerves, this guy delighted my soul. Such a pleasant surprise.

Well, Friday night I was out listening to live music with my friend Kim, and there was a group of obvious friends sitting by us. You know when people are enjoying each other–talking, laughing, carrying on, dancing. Well, one couple in particular caught my attention. They just seemed laid back, fun.

So get this shit.

The laid back, fun guy was the brother of the gentleman I met in Hot Springs. (Kim knew him and told me his last name, and I made the connection.) What a small world, I thought, then kept thinking I should introduce myself. But what would I have said?

“Hi, I’m Marcus, and I met your brother in a bathhouse.”

You know how we all have voices in our heads? Like that voice that tells says you should lose weight or get a damn job or whatever? Well, I have this still, small voice that never puts me down and is never shaken by life (or assholes at Starbucks), and that voice spoke up while I was watching these darling strangers.

“They’ll come to you,” it said.

But then the evening went on, and they didn’t. (Oh well.) Everyone left the restaurant except me and Kim and the staff. And then–and then–out of nowhere–the two returned. She’d misplaced her glasses. (They were in her purse.) But the point is–like the voice said–they came over to say hello. (Life is weird.) I said, “I met your brother in a bathhouse,” and we had a delightful chat about jewelry, dancing, staying “open.” We all hugged before they left, and they said, “We love you.”

To me, a total stranger.

I didn’t even hesitate. “I love you too.”

5. The universe is kind

Love is all around us.

Last night after a hard day of manual labor and a hot shower, I stood in my driveway and looked at the stars. Searching the sky, I finally found The Serpent constellation, then afterwards discovered Pegasus, The Horse. Although they’ve been there for centuries, they seemed to appear out of nowhere. For me, I guess they did. Not that I haven’t seen the individual stars before, but I simply didn’t know how they fit together. Even now their fitting together seems to blink in and out–it’s there one moment and gone the next. Since this is my experience with people–now we fit together, now we don’t–perhaps love is like the stars–all around us–there if we can only see it and connect the dots.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

No emotion is ever truly buried.

Intended to Wear Out (Blog #464)

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

Give yourself a break.

Won’t You Be My Neighbor? (Blog #463)

1 Comment July 6, 2018 CoCo

The best parts of today–

1. There is time and space for everything

Last night I went to bed at 10:30. I woke up in the middle of the night for a couple hours, but slept until noon today. My body is so exhausted. Maybe it’s my sinuses. Maybe I’m sick. I don’t know, but I’m glad that my life is such now that I can sleep, can rest.

2. I have a brain that works

This afternoon I started reading a book I’ve toted around for a while now–The Mysteries of Sex by CJS Thompson. It’s a collection of true stories about women who have impersonated or lived as men or vice versa. I think it will be fascinating, but in the introduction (written in 1974) while talking about the fact that we all contain both masculine and feminine qualities, the author says, “The homosexual not only accentuates any feminine qualities he may already possess, such as a high-pitched voice, but also attempts to imitate women in speech, walk, and mannerisms, and from early childhood is usually characterized by an inversion of interests, attitudes, an activities.”

Based on my personal experience as a homosexual, this statement is utter bullshit. (Insert dramatic hand wave here.) But seriously, this has not been true for me. I don’t try to accentuate my feminine qualities (I don’t have a high-pitched voice), nor do I attempt to imitate women. Actually, I don’t try to imitate anyone. I am myself, period. But my point is this–conventional wisdom changes–dramatically–the more information we have. So the next time someone tells you something “because an old book says,” feel free to say, “Wait a damn minute. This is the 21st century, and we know a lot more now.”

3. I can take things in pieces

Earlier I went to the library to work on a travel-writing story, one I started yesterday. I’m still not done with it, but I’m closer. My all-or-nothing brain wants to knock it out in one fell swoop, but my tired body isn’t having it. So I’m working a little at a time. Likewise, for the last few weeks, I’ve been going back and changing all the blog titles one-by-one so that they include an individual blog number (#153, #154, etc.). I originally did this just for milestone blogs (every fifty or so), but as blog “memories” pop up, the title alone doesn’t tell me where a particular blog fell in the grand scheme of things. Anyway, it’s a slow process–I currently have 135 more blogs to go before the project is “complete”–but what’s my hurry?

There’s not one.

4. Old friends are the best

Maybe fifteen years ago I picked up a jacket in a second-hand store–an old workman’s jacket with the name Robert sewn over the left breast pocket. I used to wear him all the time. I say “him” because he (the jacket) sort of developed his own personality the longer I had him. He became my alter ego–a little more sarcastic, a little more outgoing–and was even considered a member of our family. One year he signed my (our) sister’s birthday card. I used to see a chiropractor who would send appointment reminders addressed to “Marcus Robert.”

He was that big of a deal.

Anyway, Robert’s been in the closet for a while now. (Haven’t we all?) But before leaving for the library today, I slipped him on. “Oh, Robert!” Dad said. “I haven’t seen Robert in a long time.”

5. I like you just the way you are

After working at the library, I went with my friend Bonnie to see the new movie/documentary about Mr. Rogers–Won’t You Be My Neighbor? Y’all, this is a beautiful story about a beautiful soul, someone who spent his life believing that every person has inherent value and is worthy of love, someone who taught children that their feelings are valid. I remember watching Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood growing up, but I don’t think I really “got it” until today. What a gorgeous thing this man was about–the idea that love–or the lack thereof–is at the root of every relationship, every problem and solution. Who doesn’t need to be looked squarely in the eyes and told, “I like you just the way you are”?

Bonnie and I did a lot of crying.

6. Won’t you be my neighbor?

Now it’s 8:30 in the evening, and the rest of the day remains. When this is finished, I’m meeting my friend Kim, who–for months now–has consistently invited me to hear her husband play live music at a local restaurant. To me this persistence sounds like, “Won’t you be my neighbor?” Isn’t it great when someone doesn’t give up on you? What’s better, isn’t it great when you don’t give up on yourself (no matter what anyone else or an old book says, no matter how long part of you has been in the closet), when you realize there’s plenty of time to work everything out, to grow and to find yourself, to love?

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

We don’t get to boss life around.

Life Is What You Make It (Blog #462)

1. Two’s a party

I hate spending holidays alone, nothing to do. Apparently my friend Bonnie feels the same way, so last night for the 4th of July we met up and walked down to the river, where there were fireworks. Along the way I watched the stars and planets come out. I saw Mercury for the first time! You’d have thought I won the lottery I was so excited. That’s five planets you can see in the sky now with your naked eyes–Mercury, Venus, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn.

Eeek!

After the fireworks, Bonnie and I sat on the grass by the river and listened to a local band that was playing under the stars. I continued to look for constellations. I may be developing an obsession.

2. Being obsessed makes it hard to rest

Before I came home last night, Bonnie let me borrow a couple stargazing books and a pair of binoculars. Talk about encouraging my new hobby. Starting at one-thirty in the morning, I lay in my driveway for nearly an hour searching for stars, constellations, and galaxies. I was like a kid in a candy shop. Not only did I see the craters of the moon, but I also clearly identified (for the first time) the constellations Hercules, Corona Borealis, Lyra (The Harp), and Aquila (which sort of looks like a wizard’s hat).

Before I went to bed I got overwhelmed–there’s so much to learn about the sky! But this morning I thought, Marcus, the stars aren’t going anywhere fast. You can take your time here.

3. You brave your way, I’ll brave mine

This afternoon I spoke with my friend Kim, a fellow night owl. We talked about our tendency to judge ourselves for being different, like, for staying up late and sleeping in. But, as Kim said, “Some of us brave the day; some of brave the night.”

4. Ask and you shall receive

Yesterday I hung an antique chandelier in my room but left off a few crystals that had broken while in storage. Hoping to find a place where I could buy replacement crystals, last night I asked Bonnie if she knew of a place that sold them.

Get this shit.

Bonnie had some leftover crystals from a “glitz and glamour” wedding she helped decorate a few years ago–the EXACT kind that I needed.

Sometimes life is easy.

5. Life is what you make it

One of the pieces of artwork I hung in my room recently is an autographed poster of Dawn Hampton, a swing dancing legend. Dawn grew up entertaining with her family at The Savoy Ballroom in Harlem and later made a career as a singer in the gay bathhouses where Bette Midler and Barry Manilow got their start. Anyway, one of Dawn’s songs is called “Life Is What You Make It,” and this idea is on my mind today. Fun and fascination don’t have to be complicated–they can be as simple as a single friend, a blanket of stars, or both. We don’t have to get in a hurry about anything. We don’t HAVE to judge ourselves for being different. Life isn’t as difficult as we think it is.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

You can rise above. You can walk on water.

My Gargoyles, Edward and Bronius (Blog #461)

1 Comment July 4, 2018 CoCo

Two days ago while cleaning out my closet, I found the instructions for a lava lamp, a piece of my childhood that I got rid of long ago in a yard sale. Lamps were a big thing when I was little. I had the purple lava lamp, a red twirling “siren” lamp, even a lamp that tossed rainbow-colored lights onto a whirling string (and is hard to explain). As an adult, I’ve collected mid-century modern lamps, lamps of unusual shapes and sizes, swag lamps and chandeliers that I used at my dance studio and old home, The Big House.

There’s always been something about the light.

When I had my estate sale, most of my lamps and chandeliers found new homes. Two lamps I couldn’t part with, however, are now in my newly redecorated room. Three chandeliers and three swag lamps I kept by default–they didn’t sell. For over a year now, they’ve been collecting dust in my parents’ garage, and no one on Craigslist or Facebook has wanted to pay what I’m asking. So I’ve been working on getting them inside the house this week. One at a time I’ve been cleaning them up, and if I haven’t been able to use them in my room (there’s only so much space in here), I’ve been hanging them in a spare closet.

This is something I’ve been hesitant to do. For the last year, anytime I’ve seen the chandeliers in the garage, part of me has wished they were gone. It took a lot to have that big sale, and their being around has served as a reminder of all the things that I no longer have, the place I called home for three years where I no longer live. Still, I’ve been making peace with where I am and have recently thought, At least for now, Marcus, these lamps belong to you, so let’s use them and take care of them.

In the process of cleaning up my lights this afternoon, I decided to hang one in my room. Because of the way it’s constructed, I didn’t think it would work at first, but my dad encouraged me to try, and it did. (Thanks, Dad.) Anyway, it’s antique–French, I think–with a heavy alabaster shade and a handful of hanging crystals. Atop two gargoyles have been attached. They’re not old, but they have that feel. I originally found this chandelier on eBay after days of searching for gargoyle lights. I just got obsessed over them because of their history and what they represent.

Technically, “gargoyle” means “spout,” as they were often used to decorate drain pipes in medieval architecture. However, depending on the history you read, gargoyles were also seen as guards and were placed on churches to keep evil spirits away. (What demon would want to go near something so ugly?) Plus, there’s something about them representing our shadow, that dark part of ourselves that we push away to the corners and refuse to look at or dance with. What with all my work in therapy, I figured gargoyles were the perfect creature to have around, a symbolic gesture that I was willing to embrace all aspects of myself–the good, the bad, the ugly.

For me, decorating is quite psychological.

As gargoyles can be thought of as guards, I named the two gargoyles atop my chandelier Edward and Bronius, both titles that mean “protector.” I don’t honestly believe that they kept me safe while living in The Big House, but I also never had a problem while the three of us resided there. (I’m just saying.) Plus, this is something I like to do, name my inanimate objects, especially the ones with faces. It makes my world seem more personal, more magical. I realize I’m almost forty, but–

why should I have to stop imagining?

We are surrounded by the light.

So now Edward and Bronius watch over my bedroom. A few of their crystals broke, apparently, while being moved, but–so what?–life isn’t perfect. And whereas all my favorite lamps and lights used to be spread throughout one big house, now they’re concentrated in one single bedroom–mine. I’m surrounded by their light–the light–and I love it. Maybe more now than before, since I’d mentally “lost” some of these objects, and now they’re “found.” This is the way I’ve come to think about myself–lost and now found–not because of some religious experience, but rather because I’m learning to love all parts of myself, to feel protected and at home here, in me, where the light and the dark dance together.