On Melting Witches (Blog #544)

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Tonight I finally finished cleaning the house that belongs to my friends who recently moved. It’s been a process, and I didn’t tackle the master bedroom until tonight because we needed to get new carpet installed first, which happened last week. Anyway, this afternoon I filled a bucket with soap and water in the kitchen and hauled it upstairs into the bedroom. Then, like I did in the rest of the house a couple weeks ago, I scrubbed every wall from top to bottom, then wiped down the baseboards. It was a slow process.

Inch by inch.

This evening I took a break for dinner, then returned to my friends’ former bedroom to vacuum the new carpet, since the installation process left the place looking like what might happen if a litter of puppies were let loose in a store full of teddy bears. And whereas I began with the main vacuum attachment–the one with the motorized brush the “sweeps” everything up into the machine, the rotary motion of the brush just whacked all the little carpet pieces from one spot on the floor to another. Well, there’s more than one way to skin a cat, so I used another attachment, one without a motor. However, since this attachment was the size of a pocket harmonica, it didn’t make for quick work. You should have seen me down on my knees pushing and pulling this thing back and forth across five hundred square feet of carpet.

Inch by inch.

Caroline Myss says that when you’re working on becoming conscious, you’ll inevitably create situations in your life in which you’re forced to face your fears, situations that will allow you to bring your shadow into the light. For example, in The Wizard of Oz, Dorothy is unable to speak up to Miss Gulch when the old hag takes away her everything, her dog Toto. (Toto means “everything” in Latin.) So before she can get back home (to her authentic, empowered self), Dorothy has to face Miss Gulch in the form of the Wicked Witch of the West. When she does, she soaks the witch with water, and the witch melts away. At this point, Dorothy has the witch’s broom. That is to say, her conscious self now has the power that previously belonged to her unconscious fear.

This tale has been on my mind today because I recently turned down a job offer, a dance thing. And whereas I’m absolutely certain that I made the right decision, it was a difficult decision to make because it brought up all my fears about scarcity and lack. Like, What if other opportunities don’t come along? And what if I disappoint someone?

Scarcity, lack, and what my therapist calls “fear of the response”–these are my big witches.

Joseph Campbell says that when you’re on YOUR path and not someone else’s, you don’t have to worry about facing your witches (he calls them dragons) because you’ll have help along the way. His term for this help is magical aid. Dorothy has Glinda the Good Witch, Cinderella has her fairy godmother, Luke Skywalker has Yoda, and Frodo has Gandalf. Personally, I have my therapist, who’s reminded me on a number of occasions that you can NEVER go wrong when you trust yourself (as in, this isn’t right for me right now) or act from an attitude of abundance instead of lack (as in, there will be other opportunities).

There’s a verse in the Bible that says, “No one, having put his hand to the plow, and looking back, is fit for the kingdom of heaven.” I often say that I don’t suggest the path of personal and spiritual growth to others. My point is–this path, though rewarding, is not fun, since once you give the light of your consciousness permission to go roaming about in the dark of your internal basement, it will end up cleaning your entire house inch by inch. In other words, it will affect every part of your life–every relationship, every dynamic, every personal viewpoint.

Toto.

Melting witches is messy business.

This internal cleaning and process of transformation feels like being slung about by a tornado and NOT like skipping down the Yellow Brick Road. You will WANT to look back and you will WANT to quit, since it is in no way whatsoever enjoyable to have all your witches and dragons trotted out before you so that you can stare them down and become empowered. Granted, the results are lovely, but the process itself is terrifying. Often, there’s (figurative) bloodshed involved. (My recent situation worked out well, but in facing other fears and confronting other issues, I’ve lost friendships.) Simply put, melting witches is messy business. I don’t recommend it.

That is, of course, unless you want to get back home.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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If you think only girls cry or that crying is inappropriate for some reason, fuck you. Some things are too damn heavy to hold on to forever.

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Natura Non Facit Saltus (Blog #542)

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Last night I lay in bed until three reading a book about gothic churches that I downloaded on my phone. The book points out that gothic architecture was specifically designed and intended to speak to a person’s soul in terms of transformation. For example, in Notre Dame in Paris (as well as in a number of other classic cathedrals), those who enter do so from the west so that they’re facing the east, where the sun rises–the understood message being, “Leave the shadows and enter into the light.” Not surprisingly, the church itself is laid out like a cross (the longer section running east to west, the shorter section or “transept” running north to south), the cross being a symbol of heaven (the vertical) meeting earth (the horizontal), as well a symbol of death, since one must die or be crucified (figuratively speaking) before one can be transformed or born again.

Having stayed up late the last two nights, I can definitely feel it. Today my body has been–um–sluggish. Maybe I can get back to my sleep schedule tonight. As it’s been one full week since I began trying to get more sleep and exercise, today seems like a good day to reset and reevaluate. Can I reasonably keep these changes up? Where do I need to back off? Where do I need to step things up? Considering I have more work to do this week than last week, I know some adjustments are definitely in order.

This afternoon while reading about how alchemy relates to violins (I’m not kidding), I picked up a phrase that was used to describe the sound quality of a Stradivarius–strong but not strident. I can’t tell you how much I love this. Recently my therapist and I talked about being able to be DIRECT and yet still have STYLE. How can you be HONEST and not be RUDE? How can you be STRONG but NOT STRIDENT? In my experience, it takes A LOT of practice.

Like playing the violin.

This evening my aunt helped me repot a plant that she helped me originally repot, oddly enough, exactly 52 weeks ago. (Today is Sunday, September 23, 2018, and the first potting took place on Sunday, September 24, 2017. You can read about it here.) We didn’t plan it like this–it just happened. 364 days. Autumn Equinox weekend to Autumn Equinox weekend.

Here’s a picture of the plant a year ago.

Here’s a picture of it now. (Thanks, Aunt!)

It takes time to be born again.

Wow. What a wonderful visible reminder that dramatic change is possible. Of course, I can’t say WHEN exactly the plant got bigger, but it obviously did. There’s a phrase in Latin that says, “Natura non facit saltus,” or, “Nature does not make jumps.” In other words, just as the sun moves gradually from east to west and a plant puts on new leaves at a certain, sometimes undetectable pace, so does one change–slowly. The sun (at the equinoxes) spends twelve hours “in the dark.” Christ was three days in the grave. The phoenix was three days in the ashes. Unfortunately, transformation doesn’t have a drive-thru window. It takes time to be born again.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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We can rewrite our stories if we want to.

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On Myths, My Birthday, and Metonic Cycles (Blog #532)

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There’s a theory regarding myths and fairy tales that they exist not to convey historical facts or to simply entertain us, but rather to teach us truths. Better said, they exist to teach us truths about ourselves. In other words, you should be able to identify every character (at least every main character) in a myth or fairy tale as PART OF your own psyche. For example, in The Wizard of Oz, Glinda the Good Witch would be your light or conscious self, and The Wicked Witch of the West would be your shadow or subconscious self. Interpreted this way, the marriage of a prince and princess (or the rescuing of a damsel in distress by a gallant knight) would signify the coming together of two opposite forces within you, such as your light and shadow sides, your conscious and subconscious selves, your yin and yang, your male and female powers, your sun and moon.

This “joining together” is the idea behind “happily ever after” and is what the mystics call “going beyond the pairs of opposites.” In the Biblical tradition this transformation from “duality” into “oneness” is depicted as the going back to The Garden of Eden or eating from the Tree of Life rather than from the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil. (Note that Good and Evil are, again, opposites.) In the Hindu tradition, this marriage or re-union is alluded to (for instance, in proper yoga) when a person’s Kundalini energy rises from their first chakra (at the base of their spine) and flows up their spine in a criss-cross pattern through two “opposite” channels called the Ida and the Pingala and eventually “comes together” at their seventh chakra or the crown of their head. In drawings this is depicted as two snakes criss-crossing up a spine and is, interestingly enough, the same process that the symbol of the Staff of Hermes (the Caduceus) “speaks” of.

Joseph Campbell says that all of this is exactly what’s being depicted in Homer’s The Odyssey, in which Odysseus represents a person’s male or solar power, and Penelope represents a person’s female or lunar power. You remember the tale–Odysseus is separated from his wife (that is, from himself), but through a series of events that include Odysseus’s going into the underworld (that is, his subconscious self or shadow side), the two are eventually able to be reunited (as one whole, integrated person).

I say all this to say–this morning at 8:47, I not only turned 38 years old, but I also completed my second Metonic Cycle.

I’ll explain what a Metonic Cycle is shortly, but first let’s talk about how I partied.

My birthday celebrations officially started last night with dinner with my dear friend Ray. We ate at one of my favorite restaurants in Fayetteville–Theo’s. It was delicious. Plus, the conversation was delightful. I don’t remember the last time I laughed so much. The whole thing was the perfect slow-start to my big day.

This morning–believe it or not–I actually woke up early in order to do a Live Video on Facebook at the time I was born. I’ve wanted to do another video since hitting my 500th blog post a month ago, but life and work have been a real bear lately. Whatever–it worked out this way–and in the video I thanked the readers of the blog (that means you), as well as read an essay about accepting help, saying goodbye, and realizing you’re doing better than you think. Anyway, if you want, you can watch the video below or alternatively on the Live Videos page at the top of the blog. It’s about 22 minutes.

This afternoon I went out for Mexican food with my friend Bonnie (I love Mexican food), then we went to Fort Smith’s new bookstore (I love bookstores), Bookish. The store was super cool, and Bonnie gifted me with a book about the stars and constellations. Afterwards, we went to Starbucks where they gave me a FREE DRINK (of my choice) just because it’s my birthday. How cool is that? Then we went back to Bonnie’s house and ate part of a scrumptious chocolate cake she made me. Y’all, I drank a WHITE-CHOCOLATE mocha while eating CHOCOLATE cake WITH VANILLA ice cream. Talk about joining together things that are opposites!

Seriously–it was nothing short of a spiritual experience.

To top off the day’s festivities, I went out to eat with my parents this evening. I know, super exciting. My life is really sexy. I can read the headline now–Thirty-Eight-Year-Old Man Goes to Dinner with His Mom and Dad (Who Happen to Be His Roommates) on His Birthday. But we really did have a lovely time. I mean, we WERE all together 38 years ago and we’re STILL all together now.

Why not have a little party?

In short, it’s been a fabulous day. Not only have I spent time with some of my darling friends and family, but I’ve also been ravished online with well-wishes and words of encouragement. (Thank you if you participated in this virtual celebration. If you didn’t, it’s not too late. I’m totally okay with belated kindnesses.) Anyway, as I said yesterday, what’s not to like about growing older?

But back to the completion of my second Metonic Cycle. (Hum. How do I explain this?) For the longest time, society has observed a solar calendar in which a year is basically 365 days long. However, some historical societies observed a lunar calendar in which a year is basically 354 days long. (Certain religious groups still use this lunar method for keeping time and calculating holidays.) Anyway, a Metonic Cycle is a period of 19 solar years (or 235 lunar months) and is a way of linking or JOINING TOGETHER the two calendars. Think of it like this–if the Sun and the Moon were (from our point of view) occupying the same space in the sky, it would take 19 years for them to RETURN to that same space in the sky at the same time.

Does anyone want to guess how long Odysseus and Penelope were separated from each other in The Odyssey?

That’s right–19 years.

Another way to think of the Metonic Cycle is that if the moon were in Scorpio at the time you were born (like it was for me in 1980), it would take 19 years for the moon to return to Scorpio AND be in the SAME PHASE as it was when it was there before. For me this means that the moon was WAXING CRESCENT in Scorpio on the morning I was born, it was waxing crescent in Scorpio again on the morning of my 19th birthday, and it was the same thing again this morning.

You can live happily ever after.

Now. Does this “mean” anything? I don’t know that it does. I’ve scoured the internet for theories about why your 19th, 38th, 57th, and 76th birthdays might be significant or important but can’t find a single one. Personally, I know that 19 was a big year for me, since I started dancing just two weeks after my 19th birthday, and that’s certainly been a significant PHASE in my life. But does this mean something just as significant will happen during these next 19 years? Again, who knows? It’s fun to think about. Surely if the sun and the moon can come back together after years of being separated, anything is possible. And surely if princes can marry princesses and knights can rescue damsels in distress, then I can marry myself and I can rescue myself, and I can live happily ever after.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Nothing was made to last forever.

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The Wisdom of Aeolus (Blog #527)

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Today was a repeat of yesterday, meaning I spent eight hours–from four to midnight–cleaning house for my friends who recently moved out-of-state. It’s a slow, repetitive process. One room at a time, I clean the windows, scrub the walls (and cabinets), wash the baseboards, sweep the floor, then mop the floor. But I’m making progress; the house has four levels, and I’ve got two of them knocked out. I even started on the third level before I left tonight. And whereas my inner completionist (I just made that word up) wanted to keep going, I forced myself to stop cleaning and go home (stopping on my way at the above-pictured dumpster to throw some stuff away). After all, I don’t have a deadline, and it wouldn’t hurt for me to get some sleep.

It wouldn’t hurt at all.

When not running the vacuum, I spent most of my time this evening listening to lectures by my man Joseph Campbell. In one of his talks, he told the story of Odysseus, Homer’s famous hero from The Odyssey. One section of the tale particularly stood out to me. Perhaps you remember it. Odysseus and his men are stuck on an island and need to get home. So Aeolus, the keeper of the winds, bags up the four winds in an ox-skin bag and tells Odysseus to use them to sail his ship. But Aeolus cautions–don’t open the bag all at once. Well, Odysseus does as he’s told, but while he’s sleeping, his men (who are under the impression that it contains gold) tear open the bag like a bunch of toddlers ripping into a piñata.

Surprise, suckas!

Of course, all hell breaks loose, and Odysseus and the boys end up not having any wind left to sail their ship. Later, they go back to Aeolus and ask for another bag, but he says, “Screw you. You had your chance.” So our hero is left with no other choice–he must find another way home.

Campbell says the lesson here is that you can’t use up all your spiritual energy at once–you’ve got to pace yourself. This is why the soul’s journey is so often depicted AS a journey and not–I don’t know–as a teleportation. Personal and spiritual growth are INTENDED to happen slowly, in pieces and increments. My therapist echoes this sentiment. “If all-of-a-sudden you became conscious of your unconscious or your shadow, you’d have a nervous breakdown,” she’s fond of saying.

Personally, this is a good lesson for me to keep in mind. I get in such a hurry about almost everything, whether that’s cleaning a house, reading a book (gotta get to the last page NOW!), healing a problem, or reaching my highest potential. Go-go-go. Let’s get this over with. But I’m learning (slowly) that this strategy doesn’t make sense, and is–in fact–impossible. Cleaning a house and reading a book take time, just like cleaning up your past or letting go of your fears take time. It’s just the way of it. And surely this is the gift OF TIME, that we can pace ourselves as we sail across the ocean of life, that we can GENTLY and STEADILY make our way home.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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There’s nothing wrong with taking a damn nap.

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On Myths and Where the Magic Happens (Blog #518)

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“For as God uses the help of our reason to illuminate us, so should we likewise turn it every way, that we may be more capable of understanding His mysteries; provided only that the mind be enlarged, according to its capacity, to the grandeur of the mysteries, and not the mysteries contracted to the narrowness of the mind.” — Francis Bacon

Today I have adjusted to being back home in Arkansas. By this I mean that I’ve spent the entirety of the day hiding from the rest of the world. I did make a few phone calls this afternoon and am currently at the dinner table blogging while my parents watch the nightly news and my laundry goes round and round–but otherwise I’ve been locked in my room reading three different books, all of which I’m having to swallow and digest in pieces. And whereas my default is to think, Ugh. I have so many MORE books that I want to read and finish, and there’s just NOT enough time, today I’ve been working on accepting the fact that there will ALWAYS be more books than I have time to read.

And good. I’d rather be overly fascinated with and wanting to learn from life than to be bored with it.

Earlier while reading a book about fears, I started thinking about the fact that all throughout elementary, junior high, high school, and college, I was a straight-A student. At one time I would have said this as a matter of pride, but now I don’t see it as something to brag about; it’s simply a fact. And whereas school always came easily and I didn’t really have to “try hard” to get good grades, I do remember being deathly afraid of getting a B–of being less than perfect.

Whatever perfect means.

Ick. I guess I’ve never been able to completely shake the feeling that less-than-average, average, and slightly better-than-average just aren’t good enough–it’s gotta be the best–I gotta be the best. (If you identify with this thinking, I can only assume that you’re as exhausted as I am.) This “affection for perfection” is what, I think, is ultimately behind my desire for everything in my life to be just so. I want my body to feel a certain way, I want my closet arranged in a particular order, and I want my books completely read. There is, after all, nothing like a to-do list or a to-read list that’s all checked off.

But this evening I thought, Give it a fucking rest, Nancy. You don’t have to finish every book you start. What’s wrong with being a B reader?! Which felt good. Later, while updating my website and the fees I charge for different services (like teaching dance or remodeling houses), I noticed that some of the fees were formatted like this–$50/hr–and others were formatted like this–$50 / hr. Specifically, I noticed that some of the fees don’t have spaces before and after the slash and that and others do. Anyway, normally I’d go back and format them all the same, but tonight I thought, It’s been like that for four years, and just left it alone–not perfect, but part of the “good enough” club–something a B-student would do. Which felt fabulous.

Miraculously, the world’s still spinning.

One of the books I started reading today is called The Hero: Myth/Image/Symbol by Dorothy Norman. Much like the work of Joseph Campbell, it compares myths from different cultures and highlights their similarities, the point being that all the great myths, more than conveying FACTS, convey TRUTHS about a person’s individual potential. They speak about the journeys we’re on and–if we let them–have the power to transform our souls and spirits. I say “if we let them” because if you read a myth as either pure fact (history) or pure fiction (entertainment), it won’t do much for you. But if you read them as INTENDED, as being ABOUT YOU and, therefore, relatable and relevant to YOUR life, well–as the celebrities say about their bedrooms–this is where the magic happens.

As I understand it, the myths, like proper symbols, are designed to evoke or draw out of us our higher potentialities or levels of consciousness. In other words, they’re about personal transformation–transformation that, as the quote at the beginning of tonight’s blog communicates, doesn’t change “the mysteries” to fit the individual, but rather changes the individual to fit “the mysteries.” Connecting this idea to what’s happened for me today, it means that I could spend the rest of my life trying to order my PHYSICAL world around by organizing the shit out of everything and completing every book and project I start, but that would be, ultimately, fruitless and frustrating because the PHYSICAL world doesn’t need changing. My INTERNAL one does.

It is I (my way of thinking) that must enlarge.

Transformation ain’t for sissies.

I wish I could tell you that even a small shift in consciousness or seeing yourself or the world is something you can do quickly and easily, like, in a weekend. Alas, this has not been my experience. Rather, every positive change I’ve undergone in my life in terms of thinking and behaving has been long-fought and hard-won. This, incidentally, is why virtually all myths include a mountain to climb, a giant to kill, a dragon to tame, or a golden something (fleece, goose egg, take your pick) to snatch from an ogre. Transformation, the myths tell us, ain’t for sissies. What’s more, this process takes time and, as the book I’m reading says, “is impossible to hasten.” I realize this doesn’t sound like a pep talk, but the myths tell us that The Hard Work is worth all your energy and effort, which is why so many fairy tales and myths end with a victory, a marriage, a resurrection (like that of the Phoenix, the Christ, Lazarus, or even Harry Potter), or some other cause to celebrate.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"Sure, people change, but love doesn't."

My Right Brain Walks on Water (Blog #497)

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Ick. Gross. Crap.

Last night–in the middle of the night–I woke up shivering, absolutely freezing. In an absolute mental fog, I threw on an extra blanket and went back to sleep. Finally, I dragged my weak and weary ass out of bed this afternoon at two. The good news is that I didn’t (and don’t) have a fever. The bad news is that my energy level has been seriously in the red, and my stomach has been–once again–cramping. And one more terrible thing–I haven’t had a cup of coffee the entire day–not one single drop. (It hasn’t sounded good.)

That’s how I know things are serious.

Now it’s ten in the evening, and after spending most of the day in bed either reading or napping, I feel slightly better, a bit more energetic. (A bit.) Like, I can hold my head up without the support of three prayer candles and the Archangel Michael. That being said, I do have a good appetite and am keeping food down, so that’s something. Maybe–just maybe–I simply caught a twenty-four hour bug or ate something that disagreed with me. Maybe I’m not coming down with the flu for the third time this year–or dying.

That’d be really great–to not die just yet.

I guess we’ll see what happens tonight. Honestly, I think it’s a shit deal, the way a person can go to bed–exhausted, sure–but pretty much feeling finer than frog hair, and then the body can wake him (or her) up in the middle of a perfectly good dream by shivering, shaking, and twitching (or throwing up, or what have you). Talk about a rude awakening. Seriously, what the hell? From now on, I’m requesting that my body save all its complaints and dramatic activities for daylight hours.

Of course, I can imagine my body saying, “Hey turd, we TRY talking to you during the day, but YOU DON’T LISTEN.”

In which case I would have to respond–“Valid point.”

The book I’ve been reading today is called The Language of Change by Paul Watzlawick. The book was quoted several times in the hypnosis book I recently finished and is largely about the two sides of the brain (left and right) and how each side “thinks” and “speaks” differently than the other. In short, the left side thinks rationally and analytically, in words and “facts.” The right side, however, thinks creatively, in pictures and generalizations. As I understand it, a person’s world view, or their “this is the way things are,” is developed and held in their right brain first, AND THEN their left brain is used to justify it.

Think about THAT.

The book contends–and it makes sense to me–that since a person’s beliefs (and therefore their “reality”) is held in their right brain, it doesn’t make sense for them or their therapist to try to change or address their beliefs with left-brain language. Think about the number of times you’ve attempted to convince someone logically (that is, with your left brain) that they’re not bad-looking, or not a terrible dancer, or whatever. But if you were to speak the language in which that person’s beliefs were originally formed–well–then you might be getting somewhere. This is why metaphors and visualizations can work in changing beliefs and behaviors–because, like dreams, they are based on pictures, the language of the right brain. Likewise, this is why myths are important–because they use powerful images or symbols to communicate important ideas and ways of being–to your right brain. They’re not INTENDED to be taken as facts or even make sense to your left brain, that part of you that might (logically) ask, “Well, now, how COULD a person walk on water?!”

You can rise above.

Personally, I intend to start paying more attention to both my body’s signals (like, to get more rest) and my right brain’s pictures and dreams. Because, like Sergeant Friday on Dragnet, I’ve got the left-brain thing down. (Just the facts, Ma’am.) I can rationalize and analyze all day long. I can give you a hundred reasons why something won’t happen, shouldn’t happen. And yet there’s this other part of me–half of my brain!–that knows anything is possible, that firmly believes no matter how badly the storms in my life may rage around me, they don’t have the power to bring me down. This is the part of me that says, “You can rise above anything,” the part that says, “You can walk on water.”

[When I originally posted this blog–last night–I got the right and left brains switched up, stating that the left brain thinks in pictures and dreams. It’s fixed now. It’s the right brain that does that.]

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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All the while, we imagine things should be different than they are, but life persists the way it is.

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Christ Between the Two Thieves (Blog #481)

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Currently the only pair of swim trunks I own are short by anyone’s standards. They hit me about mid-thigh, higher if I’m sitting down. They’re orange and white, and I personally think they’re rather “gay.” (Since I’m gay too, it’s not a problem.) That being said, the more tacos and beer I eat and drink, the more I think, These shorts COULD use some more fabric. Anyway, I wore the trunks last night while swimming with my nephews and brother-in-law, and my younger nephew, who’s four, said, “Tio [Tio is Spanish for uncle], someone cut off the bottom of your shorts!”

So there I was, eighty-five percent skin (eighty-five percent beer and tacos), and my brother-in-law, who’s one-hundred percent Mexican, said, “You’re WHITE. You need to get some sun.”

This is how I was welcomed to Albuquerque.

Y’all, it’s a 100 degrees here–we’re in the desert for crying out loud–but it’s 65 in my sister’s house. (I think she’s doing this to appease my warm-natured father, but still, I’m freezing.) Last night when I went to bed, I shut both the vents in my room, turned off the fan, added two blankets to the bed, AND put a sock cap on my head. It’s the middle of July. All this to say that after breakfast this morning, I needed to defrost, so I curled up on the couch on the back patio with a blanket over my legs and a book (called The Hero Journey in Dreams) in my arms.

The blanket had ants in it, but it WAS warmer.

After a while, my aunt came outside to work in my sister’s garden and said, “Marc, I figured you’d be in the pool.”

Well, I thought this was a good idea, so I changed into last night’s shorty-short swim trunks, grabbed a towel, and headed for the water. And whereas the water felt great, I spent most my time in a recliner soaking up the sun (because I’m WHITE) and continuing to read for what I thought was about an hour. (I didn’t take my phone with me.) It really was the perfect morning/early afternoon–breakfast with coffee, reading by the pool, the warm sun. Glorious!

Except for the fact that I burned myself.

Y’all, by the time I came inside, I was already pink, mostly on my taco-tummy. Having toasted my back a few weeks ago, I thought, Shit, I‘ve done it again. But what do you do? Personally, I came inside and asked my sister for help. She’s apparently become one of those essential-oil people and told me last night that some of her oil magic (my words, not hers) had kept her from peeling when she got a sunburn not long ago. Anyway, the next thing I knew, I was rubbing a concoction of coconut oil and lavender (and eye of newt) all over my chest, and my sister was rubbing the same stuff all over my back.

“Let’s hope this works,” I said.

Afterwards, I left the house to go used-book shopping. Y’all, I LOVE to book shop and especially love to used-book shop. I could EASILY spend all my money on books and pretty much do. But I’m really proud of myself–I went to two large stores and perused for three hours and only bought two books–one on the history of Easter and one on hypnosis. $24.05 total. Not bad, all things considered.

Just before I left the last bookstore (in the middle of an empty aisle), I lifted my t-shirt and looked at my belly, which was BRIGHT red. Oh no! I thought, I’ve really done it. Back to the house, I looked in the mirror. Y’all, I was (and am) the color of a red, ripe tomato. My brother-in-law said, “How long were you out there?” I said, “Just an hour, but maybe longer.” My sister said, “Either way, you ARE at a higher altitude–an entire mile closer to the sun. Plus, it’s dry out here, and it sucks the moisture out of your body, so you fry faster.”

Now they tell me.

So basically I spent the afternoon in God’s convection oven, and now I look like a lobster. It’s not cute. Seriously, there’s a wide red stripe down my front and another down my back, and both my sides are white. I feel like a candy cane without the swirl. And I’m pooped. Earlier Mom helped me reapply the coconut/lavender witch’s brew, and I’m about to do it again and go to bed. I’m making jokes about the oils, but I will say that when I checked my skin about an hour ago, it was definitely less “angry.”

SO WE’LL SEE WHAT HAPPENS.

Tell me God doesn’t have a sense of humor.

Currently my stomach is burning up, but I’m here in my sister’s giant meat locker–er, living room–freezing my ass off, despite the blanket over my legs and sock cap on my head. Tell me God doesn’t have a sense of humor. The mystics say this is the world of duality (which is sometimes represented in mythology by the number two). You spend a glorious afternoon in the sun, you get a not-so-glorious evening to follow. Here, every up has a down, every good has a bad, and every hot has a cold; and you can run yourself ragged going back-and-forth between them, thinking, I want THIS and not THAT. But there is another way, say the mystics–the middle path, or acceptance of whatever comes your way. This is the Garden of Eden between the two cherubim, Christ between the two thieves.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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A mantra: Not an asshole, not a doormat.

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My Gargoyles, Edward and Bronius (Blog #461)

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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.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Storms don’t define us, they refine us.

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An Inflammation Whose Cause Is Unknown (Blog #368)

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Today I went to Walmart to refill a prescription and got distracted by some hair products that were on sale, buy one, get one free. I didn’t end up buying anything, first because I wasn’t impressed with the selection, second because Ben Franklin said, “A penny saved is a penny earned.” So even though I don’t really have a job right now, this afternoon I earned seventeen dollars and ninety-five cents (plus tax). That’s better than minimum wage. Impressive, I know. Anyway, the description for one of the Redkin products said it was for “highly distressed” hair. So now I’m going to start describing myself this way whenever I “just can’t,” telling even total strangers when they ask how I’m doing–

“I’m highly distressed. And you?”

I’ve been partially dragging ass all afternoon–not at my best, not at my worst. When I woke up this morning I had two voicemail messages waiting for me–one from the insurance company of the guy who rear-ended me just over eight months ago and one from the office of my immunologist, whom I’m supposed to (finally) see tomorrow for the first time. The doctor’s office was simply confirming my appointment, and the insurance company said they were ready to start discussing a settlement. (When I called back, they didn’t answer.) I’m excited and nervous to talk to them, just as I’m excited and nervous to talk to my immunologist. In both cases, I’m ready for all this shit to be over and to have the worst (I hope it’s the worst) behind me. At the same time, I’m worried things won’t go “my way.”

He said this with a straight face.

Last week, after having been through hell with a rather personal skin rash, things calmed down dramatically when I changed my laundry detergent. I’d been to see my dermatologist and told him I thought my detergent was the problem, but he guessed psoriasis or “possibly cancer.” He said this with a straight face. (Do they not teach bedside manner in medical school?) So he removed a chunk of my skin and sent it off to be examined. (I picture a guy in a white lab coat asking a piece of my scrotum, “Where were you on the night of January 3rd?” Of course, my scrotum would answer, “Home alone, as always.”) Anyway, earlier this week my doctor’s nurse called with the results.

“The lab says it’s ‘an inflammation whose cause is unknown,’ and the doctor says he’d like to see you again in a month. Until then, continue using the cream he prescribed.”

“Well, okay,” I said, “but I changed my laundry detergent, and the problem is almost completely gone.”

She paused. “You may have found the cause that was unknown.”

My thought–Yeah, except for the fact that since I told the doctor about the detergent, the cause wasn’t actually unknown.

Okay, y’all, I really hate to say this, but everything my poor personal skin went through may have been worth it for this one phrase–an inflammation whose cause is unknown. Just as I’m considering referring to myself as “highly distressed” on bad days, I’m also considering referring to this last year (or even my entire life thus far) as “an inflammation whose cause is unknown.” Like, everything’s been going wrong and falling part–I’m all worked up over here–and no one can tell me why.

Why? There’s a loaded question, like one the frickin’ universe NEVER answers. (Read the Book of Job if you don’t believe me. The gods are NOT in the habit of explaining themselves.) Earlier today one of my friends on Facebook commented on yesterday’s post and referred to everything I’ve been dealing with and challenged by lately as my “dark night of the soul.” This is a term first used by St. John of the Cross, and–according to the dictionary on Google–refers to “a period of spiritual desolation suffered by a mystic in which all sense of consolation is removed.” I’m not sure about the mystic part, but the rest sounds about right. Not that I haven’t had any consolation through my recent trials and tribulations, but many days it’s felt like that scene in The Princess Bride in which our hero, Wesley, has been nearly mauled to death by an ROUS (rodent of unusual size) and the prince’s henchman nurses Wesley back to health, pats him on the shoulder, and says, “The prince and the count always insist on everyone being healthy before they’re broken.”

Thanks for the–uh–consolation?

A new life doesn’t come without the old one first being burned away.

Broken. Spiritual desolation. The dark night of the soul. Talk about highly distressing. That being said, these are explanations, or at least a way of looking at things, that I can handle. Find someone you admire, someone who is strong and kind and spiritual, and I’d bet seventeen dollars and ninety-five cents they’ve endured a dark night of the soul. I don’t like it, but this seems to be “the way things work” down here. So maybe this inflammation’s cause isn’t truly unknown–maybe it came along to help turn me into a stronger, kinder, more spiritual person. Joseph Campbell says, “We must be willing to let go of the life we imagined so as to have the life that is waiting for us.” Surely a letting go of this magnitude doesn’t come without a few dark nights. Or, as taught by the story of the mythological phoenix, surely a new life doesn’t come without the old one first being burned away.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Bodies are so mysterious, much more complicated than car doors. They take more patience to understand and work with. They require more than a couple hours to repair.

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Between Job and Prometheus (Blog #344)

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Feeling a bit better, I ventured out of the house today. Like, past the mailbox. Y’all, I actually got dressed, put on a nice pair of shoes, and went to Fort Smith to run errands. My original intention was to simply go to Kinko’s and make copies, but I ended up going to Kinko’s, the dermatologist’s office, the post office, the bank, and Walmart. I also stopped by the Department of Motor Vehicles and even went so far as to “take a number” and sit down. But as soon as I looked at the current number being serviced and realized that ninety-five people were in line ahead of me, I thought, I feel better, but not that much better, and left.

Some days you just can’t.

About the time I got to Walmart, I got a call from my friend Cameron. Cameron lives in New Mexico, and we met maybe ten years ago. Four years ago, when my life was a mess and I was just beginning therapy, Cameron came to Arkansas and helped me move. You know, he’s solid, one of those types who always insists on talking about you first. Anyway, after Warmart I headed home but took the scenic route so I could talk to Cam.

When I pulled in the driveway, it was five-thirty. And whereas I’d only been gone for two-and-a-half hours, I felt like I’d just gotten back from a sixteen-hour road trip. I came in, ate dinner, then lay down and promptly fell asleep. Now it’s just after nine, and I’m ready to go back to bed. At the same time, my body is stiff (in all the wrong places, as Grandpa used to say), and I have a headache. This is the damn thing about being sick. You spend most your time in bed because you have all the energy of a two-toed sloth, but you develop all these other problems because you’re not up moving around. Plus, you mouth-breathe when you’re congested, so not only do you wake up with a crick in your neck, but you also wake up with a tongue that has all the consistency of sandpaper.

It’s not pretty.

Dear Jesus, help.

Joseph Campbell often speaks about the Biblical story of Job. The way Campbell interprets it, God, having nothing better to do on a Friday night, makes a wager with Satan–do whatever you want to my servant Job over there (just don’t kill him), and I bet he won’t curse me. Of course, we all know how the story unfolds. Things got pretty bad for Job. Like he lost his fortune, all his children died, and he got leprosy. (Leprosy!) Talk about getting screwed. And oh yeah, his wife and friends said everything was his fault. Naturally bewildered, Job asks God, “Hey, man, what the hell?”

God’s answer? “Are you big? I am. Can you fill Leviathan’s nose with harpoons? I can. If you weren’t there when the world was created and if you didn’t create it (like I did), don’t tell me how to do things.”

In response to being served this cosmic piece of humble pie, Job backed off. He said, “I despise myself and relent in dust and ashes.” (Apparently both God and Job had a flare for the dramatic.)

Campbell compares this story to the Greek myth about Prometheus, the Titan who stole fire from the gods and gave it to man, thus thwarting Zeus’s plan to destroy the human race. Naturally, Zeus was pissed. He strapped Prometheus to a rock. (I’m sure some thunderbolts were involved.) Then every day an eagle came to Prometheus and ate his liver, which regenerated itself every night so the whole process could start all over again. Talk about getting screwed. Anyway, Hermes, the famous messenger god with those fabulous winged shoes, came to Prometheus and said, “You know, if you’d just apologize and tell Zeus how great he is, this could all be over.”

Prometheus’s reply?

“Go suck an egg.”

Campbell says these stories or myths represent two totally different and irreconcilable ways of being in the world. One–the story of Job–is mystical and mysterious. It’s spiritual. The other–the story of Prometheus–is human. Campbell never says that one is better or worse than the other, but does say that most of us are with Job on our lips and with Prometheus in our hearts. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, and Saturday, we think we know how to run the universe. Sunday, for a couple hours, we say that God knows best. The following Monday we’re on the shrink’s couch wondering why we have problems.

In the play of life, I’m an actor–not the writer, not the director.

Earlier today my friend Marla and I were texting about all the illness that is up in my family household, and she said, “What Jumanji god did you piss off?” I said, “Seriously, I feel like Zeus has strapped me to a rock.” As I’ve said before, I’m worn out by all this. I’m over it. Honestly, there are moments when I want to tell the universe to suck an egg. Like, what did I do to deserve this? What did any of us do to deserve this? In other moments, I recognize my small stature in the universe. Just as I don’t get to decide the weather each day, I also don’t get to decide which challenges show up in my life. I hate that, but that’s the way it is. In the play of life, I’m an actor–not the writer, not the director. This is the part I’ve been given for now, and my choice is how I’m going to play it. But this is the struggle I think we all deal with daily, deciding whose team we’re on, deciding between Job and Prometheus.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Go easier on yourself.

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