Life and the Ouroboros (#273)

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This afternoon my aunt Carla and I took my nephews to Chick-fil-A. Y’all, the place was absolutely hopping. Apparently all you need is fried chicken and a kids’ play area to be the hottest family lunch spot this side of the Mississippi. There were children running everywhere. I only have two nephews, but I was doing a head count every fifteen seconds. I kept thinking, Your sister will not be happy if you lose one of her offspring. After we ate, the boys took their socks and shoes off and played in the activity zone for a while, crawling up ladders, sliding through tunnels. There were a bunch of other kids in there, all of them basically caged in behind a glass wall, their parents on the other side taking pictures. All I could think was that it was just one big germ pit, a place for toddlers to exchange cooties and challenge their immune systems.

When all that was over, we went to the Arkansas River Valley Nature Center in Fort Smith. Today was my first time there, at least the inside part, and it really was cool. They had a ton of information about wildlife and a lot of hands-on stations for learning about the outdoors. There were displays about rock formations, fossils, birds, bats, you name it. Most of the animals were fake or stuffed, but they did have several live fish and reptiles, including four poisonous snakes. We even got to watch a real “snake feeding,” which was simply a man throwing a live mouse into a snake pit, at which point one of the snakes bit the mouse then calmly waited for it to die. Talk about a cold-blooded killer. Personally, I was excited to see the snake swallow the dead mouse, but my older nephew didn’t want to stick around. He said, “I’m not a snake and don’t need to know what a mouse tastes like.”

Well shit. For the last three hours I’ve been otherwise occupied. My sister, my brother-in-law, and I started a new puzzle last night, and it keeps pulling me away from the blog. I really haven’t felt that great today, and since I tend to worry about my health, the puzzle has been the perfect thing to distract me from 1) dramatically convincing myself that I’m dying, and 2) writing about it. It’s just allergies, Marcus. A little post-nasal drip. Anyway, I worked at the puzzle until my eyes crossed, and now I’m back to blogging. It’s almost eleven in the evening, which is the latest I’ve written in the last three weeks.

Since it’s close to bedtime, I’m looking forward to wrapping this up and crawling in bed. It’ll be the warmest I’ve been all day. Plus, I started a new Netflix series a couple nights ago, and maybe I can get an episode in before I pass out. The show is called Ozark, and so far I’m four episodes in. It’s absolutely delicious. It’s about a man who moves his family to the Lake of the Ozarks in Missouri in order to launder eight million dollars for the Mexican drug lord who’s threatening to kill him if he doesn’t. Talk about someone with problems. The more I watch the show, the better my life looks by comparison. I mean, I may be unemployed and running a little low on energy, but at least no one is trying to put a cap in my ass.

That I know of, that is.

I never did get to see that snake eat that mouse today. But watching the snake bite the mouse made me think of something Joseph Campbell talks about. He says that life is a monstrous, violent affair, one thing having to die so that another can live. He says that only life exists, and it has to eat itself in order to survive. This idea is represented by many ancient symbols, the most prominent being the ouroboros, the snake that swallows its own tail. I think this is Jesus meant when he said there is no death. It’s not that mice aren’t killed by snakes, that cabbages and cows aren’t killed by humans, and that humans aren’t killed by–I don’t know–allergies, sinus infections, drug lords, and whatever. Everything that enters into the physical world eventually leaves it. But life itself continues. Having no beginning and no end, it manifests itself as everything you can think of (including me and you), and–although it appears to be changing constantly–doesn’t actually change at all.

 

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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What are you really running away from?

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Life: Perfect As It Is (Blog #271)

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Praise the lord and all the saints–I’m feeling so much better. Pretty much all of my sinus junk is gone. That being said, my body is tired, probably from the storm it just came through or maybe from allergies. I haven’t figured out how to solve that problem yet. It bothers me that I do this, by the way, talk about my ailments so much, like an old person. Specifically it bothers me that I’ve vastly improved but am hyper-focused on what little bit still needs fixing. I’m sure this is the perfectionist in me. It’s not enough that things are “mostly working,” so I spend half the day thinking about how I can combine vitamins, herbal teas, and anti-histamines in order to produce a “complete” miracle.

I should probably get out of the house, do something to distract myself.

My own mother said, ‘Marc, you look pretty gay.’

Last night I took a nap and woke up to the conversation of my parents and sister and brother-in-law. Part of it centered around a new jacket my aunt bought for my mom, this winter wraparound situation that came from Walmart. When I came out of my room, my sister was wearing it and talking about how great it was. “Really warm, and they come in every color.” Well, before it was all said and done, I tried it on, and everyone was absolutely right. Both warm and cozy, it was like a blanket with pockets. It felt like wearing a dream. Still, it was distinctly feminine, and my own mother said, “Marc, you look pretty gay.”

“Good,” I said as I lifted my chin in the air. “I am pretty gay. Now pass me my martini.”

Currently I’m wearing the jacket, and I don’t know what it’s made out of, but I’m sure it was invented by NASA. I simply couldn’t be more comfortable. Well, I guess I could be more comfortable, that is if I had a pair of underwear and a pair of socks made out of this stuff. Hell, why don’t we just throw in a pair of pants while we’re wishing? Actually, I think a matching holiday outfit would be just the ticket, the perfect thing to carry me through until tank-top weather.

For the last day my older nephew has been bugging me to watch a video game tutorial with him online, something about Bugs Bunny. My impression is that this could take a while, and I keep telling him, “But I don’t even own a video game system.” With all the logic of a seven-year-old, he replies, “You can buy one.” Anyway, this became a big damn deal earlier. I had just started the blog, and he was all up in my business, not taking no for an answer. Eventually, my sister had to get involved. This sort of thing happens a lot with him–he’s really determined and has a strong will. These aren’t bad qualities to possess, of course, it just depends on what you apply them to. For example, I think it’s fine for me to push toward figuring out my health problems or getting this blog done every day, but there comes a point when I have to chill out and realize what’s beyond my immediate control. No wonder I get exhausted. You can’t push all the time and expect to never hit a wall.

You don’t need to change a thing in order to be happy.

I guess we all have our ideas about how life should go. We want to be healthier, we want to be warmer, we want to watch Bugs Bunny–whatever. Joseph Campbell says there are three basic types of mythologies or ways of looking at the world. The first type says life is suffering–let’s get enlightened and get out of here. The second type says there are two powers running around down here–good and evil–let’s increase the good and make the world a better place. The last type, however, which is actually the oldest of the three, affirms life exactly as it, with all its ups and downs, pluses and minuses, sufferings and exultations. It says life is perfect–period. This is a philosophy that’s tough to swallow, but it’s the one that makes the most sense to me, the one I’m trying to come around to, the idea that you don’t need to change a thing in order to be happy.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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If another's perspective, another's story about you is kinder than the one you're telling yourself, surely that's a story worth listening to.

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Coming Out of the Desert (Blog #237)

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Last night I went grocery shopping at Walmart, and there were so many people, I wanted to throw my bag of organic lemons at everyone who crossed my path. On the canned fruit aisle, I did my best to be patient as a little old lady argued with her granddaughter about whether to put oranges or pineapples in the fruit salad. Oh my god, I thought, would you please make a decision? You’re blocking the sliced pears! Well, next thing I knew, the lady started talking to me–“You’re here for a reason!”

You’re damn right I am, I thought as I smiled, and it’s on the other side of your cart.

But then she said, “Would you be so kind as to reach up on that top shelf and hand me a jar of cherries?”

Well I felt like an ass. “I’d be glad to.”

“Happy Thanksgiving!” she said as she headed down the aisle.

I reached for the sliced pears. “Happy Thanksgiving!”

At the risk of being presumptuous, I think my sinus infection is getting better. Last night I started a new YouTube home remedy (I’ll spare you the details), and whether it’s that or the antibiotics kicking in, I’ve been breathing better and coughing less all day. Plus, I’ve had more energy and felt like drinking coffee (that’s usually a good sign). More than anything, I’ve actually had positive thoughts today. Life isn’t so bad. My body can get over this. There’s still time to meet Zac Efron. This, of course, is a big improvement over all the moaning, groaning, ain’t-it-awful thoughts that have been hanging around the stage door of my mind for quite a while now. I mean, this evening I went back to Walmart to pick up a couple things I forgot last night, and despite the fact that the whole town of Plymouth Rock was there, I didn’t want to throw fruit at a single person.

Talk about a holiday miracle.

This afternoon I spent some time reading at Sweet Bay Coffee Shop. At one point an elderly man wearing a Korean War ball cap came over and said, “Excuse me. I couldn’t help but notice that you’re reading. I think that’s great! You never see young people reading anymore.” So we had a nice chat about books versus the internet, but the whole time all I could think was, Oh my god, he thinks I’m young!

And I don’t even moisturize.

Another thing I did this afternoon was go the library. Y’all, I’ve said it before, but did you know those books are FREE? Seriously, what a great place. Anyway, I picked up a book by Robert S. Ivker called Sinus Survival: The Holistic Medical Treatment for Allergies, Asthma, Bronchitis, Colds, and Sinusitis. I saw a copy of it in a bookstore last week, and it was mentioned in the YouTube video I watched last night, so I figured I needed to read it. Apparently the author is a doctor who used to have chronic sinus infections but successfully healed himself and has since helped thousands of his patients do the same. As of now I’m fifty pages into the book, and I’ve already learned more about sinus infections than I have from twenty years of having them. So we’ll see how it goes.

But I’m hopeful, and that’s a start.

I think what’s comforting about a book like this is knowing that I’m not alone. The author says that sinus infections are actually one of the top health problems in the world and qualify as an epidemic. He tells the story of one lady who had fourteen sinus surgeries before she came to his clinic. I mean, I’ve had a lot of problems over the years, but I can’t even imagine. Anyway, regardless of what happens in the future, it’s nice to realize that the universe hasn’t been singling me out all these years. We all have our challenges.

Tomorrow marks forty days of my being sick, so I’m choosing to look at it symbolically, as if it were the forty days Jesus spent in the wilderness or the forty years God’s children spent in the desert. (Seriously, who gave Moses the map?) This number, of course, more than being literal, symbolizes a period of testing or tribulation. I suppose all sorts of good things can come out of difficult times like these–patience, inner strength, and compassion, to name a few. Who knows what something is ultimately for? I mean, I thought I went to Walmart last night for sliced pears, but that little old lady thought I was there to help her with a jar of cherries. And who’s to say I wasn’t? Likewise, who’s to say the guy who wrote the book I’m reading wasn’t sick so he could help others? Perhaps that’s the case with me. At the very least, this problem has brought me closer to myself, and that’s certainly enough.

If life can create a problem, it can also provide an answer.

But what I’m currently most thankful for is the idea that our times of tribulation eventually come to an end. That’s what I’m starting to believe–that’s the hope I talked about last night and mentioned earlier. For years I’ve run around to medical and naturopathic doctors, health food stores, and spiritual retreats trying to heal my sinuses and “get better.” The surgery earlier this year was a huge improvement, but over and over again it’s felt like everything was hopeless and nothing would work. But I really am coming around to the idea that if life can create a problem, it can also provide an answer, that we’re not meant to suffer forever. For surely the wilderness was meant for crossing, just as the desert was meant for coming out of.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Transformation doesn’t have a drive thru window. It takes time to be born again.

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Just the Way You Are (Blog #216)

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It’s 3:08 in the morning. Where did the day go? More importantly, where is tonight’s blog going? I honestly have no idea. This is only a slight problem, of course, since I’m the one writing it. I spent most the day burning fat. Keep your seats–I didn’t run a marathon or anything–I just started eating better. That’s right, today was day one of what will hopefully be a four-week dietary reset involving no bread, no refined sugar, no alcohol, no happiness. So far it’s going pretty well, except for the fact that I’m hungry, cranky, and have a headache. (I guess that’s the no happiness part.) Regarding the headache, I wish my parents didn’t keep the Ibuprofen bottle right next to the stool-softener bottle.

They look VERY similar.

I don’t want to speak too soon, but I’ve actually felt better today. I’ve had more energy–at least putting my jeans on didn’t wear me out–so I’m taking that as a good sign. Still, I’ve told myself I’m going to take it easy for the rest of the week, so I spent the day lying on the futon, working my way through a book about the mythological figure Lilith, the first wife of Adam. Yes, you read that right–Eve was God’s second choice. Apparently, Lilith was a feminist from the start, and when Adam said he wanted to be “on top,” Lilith said SHE wanted to be on top. Well, as my dad would say, this went over like a fart in church, and there was a fight. In the end, Lilith spent the rest of her days destroying creation and devouring newborn children, and Adam settled down with the more agreeable, albeit hungry for apples, Eve.

Obviously, nobody’s perfect.

As I understand it, a lot of religions and mythologies have a goddess like Lilith. The book mentioned the Babylonian Ishtar, and I’m familiar with the Hindu Kali. Whatever the case, these ladies are almost always temptresses and destroyers. I guess they could be compared to Cinderella’s step-mother or Snow White’s Evil Queen, and they are usually juxtaposed to benevolent female characters such as Mother Mary or Cindy’s fairy godmother. We like to make these sorts “all bad,” of course, but it seems as if life itself is a constant interplay of forces that destroy and create, destroy and create. Where would one be without the other?

This evening I went to the grocery store with a list for my parents and a list for me. Since my list was for my diet, I don’t mind saying that their list was infinitely more appealing. I mean, it had french fries on it; mine had chicken and lemons. Y’all, going to the grocery store when you’re on a diet really is discouraging. EVERYTHING has corn syrup in it. There are literally like five healthy foods in the entire world, and only two of them taste good. I realize I’m not starting this transformational journey with the best attitude, but I’m assuming that will improve once my body adjusts to the shock of pancake withdrawal. Plus, it doesn’t help that my checkout girl looked at my selection of vegetables and said, “We never eat those at my house–it’s all Twinkies and potato chips.”

I mean, she didn’t have to brag.

Tonight I video chatted with my friend Matt. He ate Taco Bell while we talked, so that was only a little difficult to watch. I told Matt that whenever I start a diet, I immediately start thinking of everything else I need to start, like walking in the afternoons, doing yoga at night, and wearing my retainer when I go to bed. (Look, Ma, I’m self-improving in my sleep!) Even when I haven’t felt well, there’s part of me that wants to push-push-push for perfection. It’s exhausting. But Matt said, “Aren’t you perfect just the way you are?”

Well there’s a novel idea.

Here’s a picture I snapped while talking to Matt. We were talking about dance, and he was using the fan to ask me a question about his “partner.” If I’d been thinking, I would have said, “Tell her to chill out.'”

A couple years ago I’d stopped smoking cigarettes but picked them back up again. Prone to beat myself up about such things, I brought the topic up in therapy, and my therapist said, “You’re just upset because you expect things to always be the same. Just give it some time–it will change–and then it will probably change again.” I’ve been thinking and blogging about this a lot lately, the idea that everything comes and goes. So much of me wants to get my life and body a certain way and have them stay that way, but that’s not how things works. You get sick for a while, then you get better. You eat right, then you don’t, and then you do again. This, I’m learning, is normal and how life works. Habits are constantly created and destroyed, nobody is on top all the time, and aren’t you perfect just the way you are?

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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One thing finishes, another starts. Things happen when they happen.

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The Roles We Play (Blog #215)

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Today is Halloween, the day children and adults alike dress up and pretend to be something they’re not. So when I woke up this morning still sick and feeling like crap, I decided I’d pretend to feel good. A healthy person–that’s what I’ll be today! Now I just have to put one foot in front of the other. I really do think my sinus infection is getting better–I have less “junk”–but lately my energy level has been shit. I’m hoping this is because my body is pooling its resources in an effort to heal, maybe make me rest so it can get busy performing a miracle. I like these ideas better than thinking my body is simply throwing in the towel, something I truthfully feel like doing. As the saying goes, I’m sick and tired of being sick and tired.

With this in mind, I’m considering starting a restrictive diet tomorrow in order to give my body a reset. I messaged my friend April today, and she said sometimes she cleans up her sinuses by basically eating chicken, a few fruits, and certain cooked vegetables. She said it takes two weeks for your body to “start over” and four weeks to get the best results. Honestly, this sounds like hell–but I’ve done something similar before, so surely I can do it again. Plus, I really think my body could use some help–help that doesn’t look like chocolate cake and Taco Bell, as I’m pretty sure those aren’t immune system boosters.

This evening I drove to Fayetteville and had dinner with my friend CJ. She told me my hair looked good–different–gayer. Ten years ago a statement like this would have horrified me, like, My hair looks gay? What if someone thinks I am? But tonight I said, “That’s fantastic–I am gay. Better if my hair is too.”

For dinner I had a reuben sandwich on rye, french fries, and a pickle. None of that, of course, will be on the diet I’m starting tomorrow, so tonight I kept thinking, This is my last piece of bread, this is my last french fry, this is my last supper. Oh my god, y’all, I ate my last supper on Halloween–just like Jesus!

Oh wait. His last supper was on Easter–er–Passover. (Holidays are so confusing.)

When we finished eating, CJ and I attended The Rocky Horror Picture Show (my mom called it Rocky Mountain Horror) at Walton Arts Center. I saw a live stage performance of Rocky Horror recently, but tonight was the traditional deal–the movie playing on a big screen, people dressed up as the characters and using props, everyone calling Brad an asshole and Janet a slut. Granted, CJ and I didn’t dress up or use props, but we at least got out of our seats and danced the entire Time Warp, which the couple next to us did not.

Losers.

Here’s a picture of the costume contest that went on before the show. The couple that dressed as Eddie (the guy with the saxophone) and Columbia (the girl in gold sequins and a top hat) won the contest, but if anyone knows Rocky (the naked guy with all the muscles), I’d like to give him a consolation prize. God, Marcus, you don’t have to share every thought that pops into your brain. Your mother reads this, for crying out loud.

If you’re familiar with Rocky Horror, you know audience members throw a lot of shit–toilet paper when they say, “Dr. Scott,” toast when they say, “A toast!” Well, as all that toast was flying through the air tonight, I just assumed it was plain old bread. I didn’t figure people would go through the trouble of actually–well–toasting it. I mean, entire loaves were being thrown–that’s a lot of work. But when the lights came on, sure enough, every piece I saw was burned on both sides. Talk about dedication. Well, shit. Now all I can think about is eating toast. I guess I could get up and make some. I mean, the diet doesn’t technically start until tomorrow.

Far be it from me to overachieve.

This morning I read an article by Joseph Campbell about the history and meaning of Halloween. (It’s long, but you can find it here.) In it he says that Halloween represents dying and is the mythological opposite of May Day, which represents being born. He also says that costumes remind us of the everyday masks we wear. (Can you believe some people pretend to be straight when they’re actually gay?) It’s okay to have roles, of course–dance teacher, writer, whatever. But problems arise when we pretend to be something we’re not or–even worse–mistake the roles we play for our true selves, since ultimately our souls are beyond identification.

All things are part of life.

I’ve said it before, but I don’t like this time of year. It’s cold, everything is dead, and I spend the entire fall and winter shivering. I honestly can’t believe I’m about to start a diet and probably lose the only natural insulation I have. That being said, I’m reminded tonight that to everything there is a season. I have a preference for spring and summer, but the universe clearly doesn’t. Rather, all things–coldness and warmth, fall and spring, death and rebirth–are part of life. Likewise, getting sick and running low on energy are part of life, and just like any season, these things will change.

As for the roles we play, I’ve personally decided to keep pretending that I feel well. Since I pretended to be straight for so long, this should be a cinch. I don’t mean I’m going to ignore my body or not let it rest, but I am going to start asking myself, “What would a healthy person do–what would a healthy person eat?” and then do that. I usually get overwhelmed by dietary changes, so I figure this will be an easy way to simplify things, support my body, and start turning things around. I’ll let you know how it goes.

After toast tonight, of course.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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All things are moving as they should.

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If at First You Don’t Succeed, Lower Your Standards (Blog #214)

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This morning while preparing breakfast I mistook my middle finger for a sweet potato and cut it with a serrated knife. This is the kind of shit that happens when you eat vegetables for breakfast. I mean, I didn’t expose any bones or sever anything important, and I can still give people the bird. (So don’t cut me off in traffic.) But I did leave a mark toward the top, not deep enough to hurt, but deep enough to bleed. Now I have two Bandaids wrapped around it, and I’m having trouble typing the letters E, D, and C, and the number 3. But don’t you worry–somehow I’ll survive.

Recently I did an exercise in a self-help book that involved circling statements that seemed true for me, things that held a charge like “I’m shameful” or “I’m not worthy of love.” Personally, the one that stood out the most was “I’m not good enough,” I guess because it always feels like life would be better or Zac Efron would propose if I were smarter, taller, or more-er than I currently am. Anyway, I had therapy this afternoon, so I told my therapist pretty much word-for-word what I just told you.

“Okay, I want evidence. Give me empirical data. How are you not good enough?”

“Uh–well–uh–hum–yeah.”

“That’s right. There’s nothing wrong with you.”

As we continued to talk, my therapist said that “not good enough” really wasn’t a feeling, so we agreed the word “inadequate” was a better description. I often feel–inadequate. But still, she shut down the pity party pretty promptly (tongue-twister!), simply by reminding me that sure, I’ll always have more to learn because I’m an eternal student–but that doesn’t mean I’m not up to whatever the task is in this moment. “You were fine the day you walked in here. You’d had some experiences that lead you to certain circumstances, and you wanted something different. You’ve come a long way. But you were fine then, and you’re fine now.”

Phew. That’s a relief.

After therapy I spent the entire day at the library. I went with intentions of cozying up to one of the several books I’d already started, but I ended up spending time with two new ones instead. For this reason, it felt as if I was having an affair. As I turned the pages of the new books, I hoped the old ones wouldn’t find out. But stories travel fast, especially in a library, so I imagined myself going home to my Kindle and having to apologize. Baby, that cheap library book didn’t mean a thing. It was an accident–I was drunk. You’re the one really love!

Anyway, I didn’t even check out (get it–check out?) the first book, The Time Keeper by Mitch Albom. Rather, I just pulled it off the shelf, sat down in a chair, and read it straight through. Only stopped to go to the bathroom three times. I love it when this happens with a book–total immersion. It feels so decadent. And yes–I just used the word “decadent” to describe reading. And no–no, I’m not a virgin.

The second book I loved on today was Healing Words: The Power of Prayer and the Practice of Medicine by Larry Dossey, MD. (I didn’t actually finish it at the library, which means I had to bring “the mistress” home.) Toward the beginning of the book, the author tells a story about a back pain he once had that left him bedridden. Involved in both western medicine and alternative healing practices, he had several friends who came to his side, laid their hands on him, and treated him with crystals and god knows what else. Well, he said he loved it, but it didn’t solve his problem. Eventually he had surgery, reasoning, I’ve given this a good shot, but I’m tired of the pain.

What I loved about this story is that I completely related to it. For twenty years I struggled with chronic sinus infections, and I tried every “natural” remedy under the sun. Because there’s a lot of new age and spiritual material that touts the power of the mind over the body, I not only felt sick, but I also felt bad for being sick. If I knew more, I wouldn’t have a fever. If I were more spiritual, I wouldn’t be hacking up a lung right now. It was like each infection was another reason to beat up on myself–to not feel good enough.

This, of course, sucked. (I finally had surgery earlier this year.)

But the book said sickness happens to plants and animals as well as humans–it’s just part of life, not something we can avoid if we eat enough wheatgrass. We can and should try to be healthy, of course, but at some point, enough is enough. This reminds me of a cartoon bookmark I used to have in elementary school. It said, “If at first you don’t succeed, lower your standards.” Clearly, my standards have been too high for too long–I’ve been asking too much of myself then feeling “not good enough” every time I get sick, get dumped, or don’t get asked to the prom. But as my therapist pointed out, “not good enough” is simply not reality.

In the story of Rumpelstiltskin, Rumpelstiltskin spins straw into gold in exchange for the queen’s firstborn child. When the child is born, Rumpelstiltskin comes to collect his wages, but says that if the queen can guess his name (which she does), she can keep her child. I heard once that one of the takeaways of this story is learning to speak your fears out loud, to name them. If you can do this, they’ll go running. Well, between what I learned from my therapist and the book today, I think an appropriate name for my fear of not being good enough would be–Bullshit. Regardless, I do think there’s power in stating your insecurities and realizing not only that you don’t have any proof to back them up, but also that you’re not the only one who has them. We all feel inadequate from time to time. But the truth is we’re fine right here, right now, and we always have been.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"It's never a minor thing to take better care of yourself."

Forced Down a Rabbit Hole (Blog #213)

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It’s midnight-thirty, Mom and Dad are watching the world series, and I really have no idea what to talk about. Personally, I think we could all use a break from discussing The Daily Snot Report and What Time Marcus Woke Up This Afternoon (2:30). But what else is there? This evening I went to Walmart to look for a magnesium supplement in the pharmacy section, but there were so many options that I got overwhelmed, threw up my hands, and walked to the dairy section instead. (I can usually find answers in the dairy section.) That being said, I’m still having muscle spasms in my leg, so if anyone would like to suggest a miracle magnesium product, go ahead.

I’d prefer one that goes well with cheese.

Lately I’ve had just a skosh of writer’s block, usually toward the end of each blog. I think it’s because I haven’t been feeling well and my body and mind are tired. It probably doesn’t help that I’ve been blogging after midnight. I’m a night owl, but even I’ll grant that four in the morning is not my finest hour for putting a sentence together. Anyway, several times this last week I’ve said–out loud–to the muse, “Come on, I could use a little help here.” So maybe tonight the muse is on vacation, pissed off, or sleeping with someone else. Ugh–another cheater–that’s just what I need.

This afternoon I had coffee with a friend who was recently dumped. Being dumped is never fun, of course, but it sounded like it needed to happen. I won’t go into details, but I’m sure you can imagine a situation in which you hang on to someone who’s a total shit-show because you keep hoping that person will change. When things finally come to an end, part of you knows it’s for the best, but most of you is devastated. At least that’s been my experience. People say things like, “You’re better off,” “Time heals all wounds,” and “There are plenty of fish in the sea,” but none of that helps put your heart back together. After all, what good is a sea full of fish when you’re drowning?

A fucking mess, those were the exact words my therapist used to describe me.

As my friend told their story, I completely related–not to the specifics, but to the heartache that comes after a breakup. That’s what I was going through four years ago when I started therapy. It felt like there was a hole in the middle of my chest. On the surface I was going through the motions, but inside I was lost in the woods. A fucking mess, those were the exact words my therapist used to describe me. As if the sorrow weren’t enough, I also had to find a place to live. My friend is in a similar situation–everything familiar is being dismantled at once. God–sometimes life can really turn up the heat.

“It sounds like the universe has you by the balls,” I said.

What I meant by that statement is that I no longer believe the major events in our lives are accidental. Caroline Myss says, “God stops your life in order to step in it,” and that’s been my experience. Looking back, I absolutely needed to be cheated on and heartbroken. I don’t hope it will happen again, and I don’t recommend it, but that’s what it took to get me to therapy and raise my damn standards. Having come through the last four years, I can see that all my fears were unfounded. There hasn’t been a day I haven’t been provided for. It took time, of course, but I eventually found a place to live, and it ended up being the perfect place to heal my heart. There I also learned about boundaries, being authentic, and speaking my truth. In short, it was the place I learned to take care of myself.

The way I see it now, dramatic upsets in our lives are like being forced down a rabbit hole. Suddenly you’re falling, tumbling into a new world, searching for solid ground. But there isn’t any–nothing is ever solid. Even if it were, we wouldn’t realize it after a trauma because the territory is not familiar. Familiar is where we came from–our old world, the place we want to go back to and often do. Maybe it’ll be different this time. But if that world had been working, we wouldn’t have been so rudely invited into a new one.

Healing is never a straight line.

Rude invitations, like the tornado that swept Dorothy off to Oz–that’s how I’ve come to think of the curve balls life throws my way–chances to explore new worlds, new ways of being. More often than not, this is three parts frightening and one part exciting and feels like writer’s block. Come on, I don’t know where I’m going. I could use a little help here. (Silence.) Fine, I’ll just eat some cheese until you decide to show up. And yet, somehow you progress down the yellow brick road–the words come and the answers arrive. It’s never a straight line like you want it to be–healing is never a straight line–but you get there. One day you look back and see how far you’ve come. Maybe your outside looks the same, but your inside looks like a whole new world, and that’s your new familiar. Naturally, there will be other rabbit holes and tornados, other invitations to travel deeper into yourself and the divine mystery. But at least you’ll know something better is waiting for you should you choose to accept the invitation, pack your bags or (even better) leave them behind, and learn to swim in the sea again.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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We follow the mystery, never knowing what’s next.

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Doing Something Even If It’s Wrong (Blog #170)

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It’s two in the morning, and after a full day of yard work/hard work, Daddy is officially tired. For the last two hours, I’ve been sitting on the porch with my friend Jesse, drinking beer and generally enjoying myself despite the fact that my entire body has been saying, “What the fuck, man?” all day long. I just took a shower, and now I’m a different skin color. Despite all my efforts under the water, I’m pretty sure I still have black boogers inside my nostrils. You know how it is when you work in the dirt. Now I’m sitting at Ray and Jesse’s dining room table, which is odd, since I’m used to writing in a bed or a chair. But it’s nice because I can rest my elbows in front of me and keep my head from hitting the keyboard.

Okay, I think that’s enough for tonight. I’m should have just enough energy to walk ten steps to the bed in the next room.

When I got to Ray and Jesse’s, we spent some time making a plan and making a list of needed supplies. Then Ray and I went to Lowe’s, filled up the back of his SUV with mulch and such, and returned to the house. For a while, I stalled. Honestly, I was overwhelmed by all the work to do, especially the side of the house, Hellcat Alley. At one time it was a beautiful garden. Ray is an Old Catholic priest, and the garden is designed in the shape of a cross with a quadrant on each side. But as I understand it, one day Ray came home and said, “I can’t do this anymore,” and the garden went to hell in a handbasket. I think a similar thing happened about twenty years ago with my father and his fashion choices.

Here’s a picture of the Back Forty before I started.

I used to work at summer camp with a guy named Trey. Trey was southern in the best possible way and was always saying things like, “Don’t skinny dip with snapping turtles,” or, “Well, spit on the fire and call the dogs–I’m home.” One day after all the kids in his cabin had finished eating lunch, Trey’s assistant counselor, Hardy, just sat at the table, basically with his thumb up his butt. Trey threw up his hands and said,” Hardy, do something even if it’s wrong.”

So not knowing exactly where to start with Fayetteville’s Jungle, I told myself, Do something even if it’s wrong, and primed the weed eater. Headphones in my ears, weed eating to the beat, I felt like a dancing Rambo in the Amazon. Three and a half hours–and a mower, a yard rake, and several bags of trash–later, we started to see signs of progress. The plan is to put down mulch in the four quadrants around the cross, and we got the black tarp/mesh stuff laid down today, along with what mulch we had. The rest of the mulch comes tomorrow–seventy more bags. I swear, there’s a reason so many high school students work in the lawn care business. Their backs actually function.

About the time I moved on to edging and mowing the rest of Ray’s lawn (not pictured), a couple in a really cool car drove up. Turns out it was a 1966 MG, and they’d just come from a British car show. Anyway, they saw the portable storage unit outside the house, said they’d always loved the property, and were wondering if I was moving in. I said, “No, I’m helping some friends move out, but the house is for sale if you’d like to talk to the owner. I’ll go get him.” They said, “We don’t want to keep you from your work.” I said, “Believe me–I don’t mind the break.”

So while Ray showed the couple inside, I took a selfie with their car because that’s not weird or creepy.

I worked on the rest of the yard until I ran out of daylight, so tomorrow I’ll finish raking the front yard and move on to the back. The back used to be a literal pig pen and chicken coop, and there’s a section of the wire fence that’s been crushed by a fallen tree, so that should be fun. But don’t worry, I brought my anti-inflammatories. Anyway, tonight while Jesse went for Chinese take out, I started work on a rotten threshold in the kitchen. (Have tools, will travel.) Here’s a picture of the threshold after I tore out the rotten wood. EEK.

Unfortunately, neither I nor Ray own a circular saw, which means I had to cut the 1×8 and 2×8 I used with a hacksaw. This after I spent all my energy in the yard. Poor planning on my part, I admit. Anyway, when I started, I had only one hand on the saw. Then I had two hands on the saw. Then I started praying. Dear God, please part this board in two. I know rivers are more your thing, but maybe you could branch out just this once–for me.

Here’s where we are now. The threshold piece we bought at Lowe’s today wasn’t wide enough to cover the new wood, even though we got one of the widest options. So I’ll go back tomorrow in hopes that they’ve stocked a new item. Since I’m assuming that will not be the case, I may need to return to the lord in prayer and ask for just one more favor.

Here’s a door-frame pun I just thought of. In a hurry to cross my threshold? Go ahead–step on it!

I crack me up.

You know you’re tired when there’s delicious Chinese food in front of you, but raising your fork to your mouth is so challenging that you consider simply going hungry. I thought, If my friends weren’t here, I’d lay the side of my face on this table and shovel my General Tso’s Chicken into my mouth with my bare hands. Yeah, that sounds like a good plan. But whatever would I do with this Egg Drop Soup? (Somehow I managed with my utensils.) Fortunately, the food perked me up, at least enough to drag my ass to the porch for a couple of hours. And I guess being tired (and a few beers) isn’t the worst thing for writing, since I’ve hit a thousand words in forty minutes. That’s serious record time.

But how to end this?

It takes forty years in captivity for seas to part.

So many times today I thought, This is too much, I don’t know what to do. I guess behind those thoughts was another one maybe you’ve heard before–I can’t. My experience with thoughts like these is that they don’t just apply to yard work. Thoughts and beliefs like these, I guess, are rather like the sunglasses I wore all day today–they make everything darker. That means that when I consider writing a book, getting published, and realizing some of my dreams, those thoughts show up just like they did today while I was moving rocks around and wondering if the weeds I just whacked were poison ivy. Even with this blog, sometimes I think, I can’t do this anymore. But I’m reminded that doing something, even if it’s wrong, is better than standing around with your thumb up your butt. After all, blogs and books are written one word at a time. Stories in a leather-bound book and before-and-after pictures may lead you to believe that miracles happen in an instant, but it takes forty years in captivity and many small steps in the right direction for seas to part.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Life proceeds at its own pace.

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Turning Lead into Gold (Blog #157)

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Currently I’m a solid two hours into my self-imposed “No Facebook Mondays” boundary. Part of me thinks it’s no big deal and is actually excited for the break. Like, my thumb wasn’t made for that much scrolling anyway. Another part of me is shaking and on edge, like whenever I quit cigarettes. I keep picking up my phone out of habit then immediately putting it back down out of sheer willpower. Find something else to do, Marcus. Okay, two hours and ten minutes. To remove temptation, I just closed out the Facebook tab on my browser. Now it’s just me and my feelings. Shit. This could be a long day.

This afternoon I completed my first online yoga session with Codyapp. I cussed a lot, but it felt great. The guy said it can take six months to two years to reshape your fascia, and I kind of hate that taking care of yourself is such a long-term commitment. Still, one day is one day, and a start is a start.

I’m proud to say that in the last twenty-four hours I’ve watched half of season three of Grace and Frankie, which stars Jane Fonda, Lily Tomlin, Martin Sheen, and Sam Waterston. If you don’t know, it’s about two women (a yuppie and a hippy) who become close friends after their husbands divorce them in order to marry each other. In season three, the women start their own business, selling vibrators to aging ladies. I don’t know what it is about hearing Jane Fonda say, “Fuck me in the eye,” or Lily Tomlin say, “Christ on a cupcake,” but I laughed out loud all day today. I don’t remember the last time that happened. It’s been almost better than therapy.

Almost.

This evening I went for a walk and continued to listen to a series of lectures on archetypes by Caroline Myss. The theory is that everyone has twelve primary archetypes or energetic patterns of behavior. Four of those twelve are common to all of us (The Child, The Victim, The Prostitute, and The Saboteur), and eight are unique to you or me. Whenever you meet someone and immediately classify them as a diva, a bully, a shaman, an angel, or a martyr, you’re talking about one of their archetypes. Anyway, tonight Caroline discussed the storyteller archetype, which I believe is one of my eight. Of course, we all tell stories, but for some of us everything is a story. Even when somebody cheats on us or we gain three pounds, we think, I can blog about this later.

Two things mentioned about the storyteller archetype stood out to me. First, every archetype has a light side and a shadow side. As an example, Cinderella’s fairy godmother is the light side of the mother archetype, and her evil step-mother is the shadow. Anyway, Caroline says the shadow side of the storyteller is the liar, or, in more mild cases, the exaggerator. Of course, I’ve had my own moments outside the light, but my mind immediately went to a couple people I know who seem to lie about anything. Like, they lie when the truth would serve them better, and I guess until tonight I never really understood it. Oh, that’s it, I thought, they’re just misusing their god-given talents (powers).

The other thing that stood out to me was the idea that whenever we’re in a difficult situation, even if we can’t change it, we can tell ourselves a different story about it. We can say, “Once upon a time, there was a prince who returned to his parents’ kingdom to rest and find his way again. Each night he’d write a letter to himself that he’d post for all to see. This was his way of healing and growing strong as he awaited his next adventure.”

Or something like that.

Caroline says this is actually healthy. We’re all going to tell ourselves a story about our circumstances anyway, and something akin to a fairy tale is much more beneficial than, “This sucks, God hates me, and no one will ever love my sagging breasts.” In medieval, alchemical terms, taking a negative situation and finding the good in it is compared to turning lead into gold. One obvious benefit to doing this is that we’re happier, since we’re not, say, still bitter about something that happened twenty days or twenty years ago. But Caroline says turning the lead in our lives into gold–or not–can actually affect how our physical bodies heal. In short, the idea is that mental and emotional lead (resentments, grudges, worries) keep us out of the present moment, which is where the spirit resides and the physical body best functions.

After my walk I did an exercise in my creativity workbook where I had to list ways in which I nourish myself. Y’all, it was difficult. My mind immediately went to the books I read and even the yoga class I started today, but–and I’m about to get real honest here–those things always have a twinge of “should” about them. Although I do enjoy them, they’re largely motivated by the thought, I need to do this so my life and body will be better. (I hate it when I realize I’m being rough on myself.) So I took a few deep breaths and decided to take a hot bath. I put on some music, lit a candle. Afterwards I did some exercises for my neck and listened to “Let It Be” by The Beatles on repeat.

Now I’m thinking that I can be gentler with myself, give myself the mental room I need to grow. I can tell myself a different story. I’ve been saying that I have to read, have to heal. But I love reading, learning, and yoga. So I’m actually doing these things because I want to and because I care for myself. Not only is that a different, kinder story, it’s the truth. And I can look at No Facebook Mondays as some sort of prison, or I can see it as a freedom, more time to watch shows that make me laugh or–even better–spend time with friends I love–in person. Once again I’m finding it’s not what’s “out there” that matters, but rather what’s “in here.” In here is where you tell yourself the story about what’s out there. In here is where you turn lead into gold.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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For me, it's important to hang on to this idea that no matter how bad they are, your circumstances can turn around, to believe that if an elephant can show up in your life, it can also disappear, to believe that just as the universe full of big problems, it is also full of big answers.

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Into and Out of the Woods (Blog #106)

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Some days it’s hard to stay awake no matter how much coffee I pour down my throat. Lately it seems like I’ve been getting close to half a pot a day, which may explain why even at four in the morning my mind is racing and I’m currently thinking about how much fun I could have with a hula hoop or a pogo stick, both of which I suppose are rather Freudian objects. But then again, what isn’t?

Today I finally finished the book about fairy tales I’ve been reading, and while discussing the prince’s slipping the glass shoe on Cinderella’s foot, the author pointed out that it was an act of commitment, like slipping a ring on your lover’s finger. Sounds sweet, right? But then he said that rings represent the vagina and fingers represent the penis, so the giving and exchanging of rings is clearly symbolic of sex (among other things).

I mean, I’ve been to a lot of weddings, but I’ve yet to hear a pastor share THAT tidbit of information.

Anyway, I’m short on sleep today because I got up early to go to massage therapy, chiropractic therapy, and physical therapy–all for the second time this week. Considering I also went to regular (mental health) therapy this week, I’ve had about all the therapy I can stand. (Change is exhausting.) That being said, my inner teacher’s pet felt like it got several gold stars in the last several days because my therapist told me that I was out of the woods, meaning that after over three years of therapy, I’ve tackled all the big shit. (Yippee!) She said (oh by the way) I’ve actually been out of the woods for a while now, that if that weren’t the case, it would mean one of us wasn’t doing their job. So that felt good, and then today the new massage person I saw told me my fascia was “very responsive.” (Why thank you, I thought no one would notice.)

But seriously. More gold stars!

If it sounds like my head is getting bigger than normal, don’t worry. The physical therapist, who’d told me earlier this week that I was going to “be cleared” today, told me that I needed to come back at least two more times and that we needed to “try something new.” (Fine. Just don’t take my gold stars away.) Here’s a picture of what we’ve been trying, a moist heating pad and an electronic stimulation machine that feels so good I have to remind myself not to moan out loud. I was told I could ring the bell if I needed anything, but also told, “It doesn’t work for room service.”

Shit.

When I walked out of physical therapy, I noticed a “no smoking” sign posted close to the front door. I suppose this is normal enough for a health facility, but DIRECTLY UNDER the sign was a butt can overflowing with cigarettes.

In addition to being ironic, there are so many things wrong with this picture that I just can’t even. (So I’ll leave you to draw your own conclusions.) But since I’ve lately found myself in the business of making a therapy lesson out of damn near everything, I will say that the butt can by the “no smoking sign” is obviously enabling. (And that’s not a good thing.) Additionally, I think having a “no smoking” sign directly next to a butt can is a lot like having a boundary without any direct and immediate consequences, which–if you didn’t realize–is no boundary at all.

When my therapist and I first started working on boundaries, I said that I didn’t like it when people picked lint–or whatever–off my shirt because the act often assumes a level of intimacy that I’m not usually comfortable with. (Certain people, like my family and close friends, can get away with this behavior. However, straight women who are in love with me–can not.) Anyway, once after I’d identified this boundary with my therapist, a straight woman who once confessed her love for me leaned over and removed something from my shirt. “Please don’t do that,” I said. “I’d prefer you just tell me that I have chip crumbs on my nipples. And if you absolutely must remove them yourself–please don’t use you mouth.”

Okay, that’s not exactly the way it transpired, but I did ask her not to invade my personal space without permission. Well, it happened a couple more times, and one day I actually grabbed her wrist before her hand could get to the piece of shirt fuzz that was stuck in my five o’clock shadow. “I asked you not to do that,” I said. You should have seen the look on her face–totally worth the entire awkward moment and my feeling like a bit of a jerk. But here’s the best part–she never did it again. Instead she’d say, “You have something on your shirt,” and then passive aggressively add, “I know you don’t like it when I touch you.”

Damn right I don’t.

Boundaries are about starting small, enjoying initial successes, and practicing.

That particular incident may seem like a silly thing to brag about, but it was actually a gold star moment for me. I mean, my therapist has always made a big damn deal about boundaries, and even though I was resistant to them at first, I finally came around. As my therapist says, “Boundaries make people feel safe.” I’ve been thinking lately just how long it can take to really get good at anything–dancing, writing, “therapy shit.” I know that so many times I look up to great dancers and writers and think they “just happened.” But as my friend Barbie says, “The man at the top of the mountain didn’t just fall there.” With anything you’re working on, especially something like boundaries, it’s about starting small, enjoying initial successes, and practicing until you get your relationships like you want them.

Still in shock about the wedding ring / vagina thing, I will say that the fairy tale book didn’t say EVERYTHING was about sex. Not EVERYTHING is Freudian in that sense. For example, in fairy tales going “into the woods,” like Hansel and Gretel or Little Red Riding Hood, represents the need to find one’s personal power and inner strength. Of course, it ain’t easy. After all, the woods is where all the scary stuff happens because the woods is where the wolves and dragons live, not to mention the witches who want to bake you into their gingerbread cookies.

So if you want to survive the woods, that means even you nice little boys and girls have to stand up for yourselves, face your dragons, and maybe even sit a witch down for a heart-to-heart and say, “For crying out loud, I don’t like you like that! Get your hands off my effing shirt.” Then that witch will–finally–get out of your way. (If she doesn’t, shove her ass in the closest oven you can find.) I promise, not only will you feel like you’ve just been given a gold star, but you’ll also be more empowered, one step closer to being out of the woods.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Ultimately, we all have to get our validation from inside, not outside, ourselves.

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