You Can Go Home Again (Blog #1047)

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Last night while blogging I half-assed listened to an audio track about relaxation and the diminishment of pain. And whereas I didn’t catch all the details, one thing I did absorb was the prompt to notice some part, any part, of your body that isn’t in pain, that feels good. “How do you know this part is all right?” the audio asked. “It feels natural, comfortable.” The idea being that all of our bodies should feel that way, or at least ARE CAPABLE of feeling that way. So both last night and today I’ve been trying to literally relax into this idea, to first notice parts of my body that are tense, and second let them soften.

Of course, my natural inclination when something hurts is to brace against it. But I really like this concept of softening. The audio suggested that our bodies are our HOMES, and I can’t tell you how much I love this thought. Looking around my physical home (my room), I’ve spent a lot of time getting everything just so. I’ve hung and rehung pictures, arranged books, organized my closet, cleaned sheets, fluffed pillows, dusted shelves. And all for what? So I can be COMFORTABLE, so I can feel AT HOME. So that’s how I’ve been thinking about my body today, that it’s been INTENDED as a space where I can feel safe, at ease, and at rest. And why shouldn’t I feel comfortable in my own skin?

Like, I live here.

Now, I wish I could tell you that this one shift in perception, thinking that my body is my home rather than simply a worn-down motel on Midland Avenue, has turned my life around in the last twenty-four hours. Alas, it has not. It has, however, made a difference. Thanks to this one idea, I’ve found myself not only breathing deeper but also letting go more. It’s difficult to explain, but it’s like I’ve been able to allow my body to more fully inhabit the space it occupies, to lean into being right here, right now. You know that feeling of waiting for the other shoe to drop? Well, it’s the opposite of that. An exhalation. What’s the word I’m looking for?

A relief.

This afternoon I started reading Daniel Keyes’s Flowers for Algernon, a science fiction novel about a mentally challenged adult, Charlie, who undergoes brain surgery to make him a genius. And whereas Charlie hopes to go into the surgery “dumb” and wake up “smart,” the doctors tell him that’s not the way these things work. Rather, he should expect to see changes over a period of time. “It could happen so slowly that you may not even notice a difference at first,” they tell him. Of course, this is the way it goes. And yet little by little Charlie learns to spell correctly, use proper punctuation, remember his dreams and his life, and–here’s the heartbreaker–realize that people he thought were his friends had been making fun of him for years. Now, by yours and my standards these things DO happen fast. Charlies goes from an IQ of 70 to an IQ of 185 in a matter of months. But the point remains.

Our progress is never as swift as we dream it will be. We proceed by fits and starts.

Shakespeare said, “How poor are they that have not patience! What wound did ever heal but by degrees?” This has been my experience. Six years ago I began therapy, and although I’ve grown and healed a lot, it’s happened so slowly that I can’t say exactly when and where it happened (other than inside me). It’s been a tough conversation here, a confrontation there, a cry fest or rage fest–I know know–once every month or two. So too has my body healed, is healing. Here and there. Granted, I’ve had some pretty remarkable experiences and improvements in the last few months, but they weren’t like, one and done instant miracles. Plenty of things still hurt, gurgle, or produce excess mucus. This is the deal. When you haven’t been home in a while, you don’t move back and get totally settled in just like that. There’s always work to do. And yet it can happen. You CAN go home again. Home to your body. Home to your soul.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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You can be weird here. You can be yourself.

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On Receiving a Grace (Blog #1041)

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It’s ten in the evening. Tomorrow morning I have to get up at the butt crack of dawn for work, which will last until well after midnight. So in an effort to blog and get to bed earlier than normal, I sat down thirty minutes ago to start writing. Alas, my internet hotspot is dragging ass, and I just got tonight’s selfie uploaded. I can’t tell you how frustrating this is. On the one night I need faster upload speeds! Oh well. Once again I’m encouraged to be patient, to accept this moment as it is. Plus, it’s not like I’m going to get a ton of sleep anyway. You know how it is when you’re revved up about something.

I’ve gotta get some sleep tonight, you tell yourself. So you don’t get any at all.

Currently I’m thinking about not trying so hard. This afternoon I bought a painting (“I think it’s a high school art project,” the lady at the vintage store said) for four dollars. Then, so I’d have something to put it in, I bought an old frame at a consignment store for eight. And whereas the frame was a little smaller than the painting, I thought, No big deal, I can trim the painting down. Since the frame was a bit beat up, I imagined this whole project, glueing it back together, spray painting it black or gold. But then I showed it to a friend of mine, and they said, “I don’t think you need to paint it all at. It matches the painting perfectly.”

All this to say that this evening after I shored up the frame with a few nails, trimmed the painting, and took a look at everything, I decided my friend was right. It looks super. And whereas I COULD fill in some cracks and do some touch-up painting on the frame, I’m going to try not to.

Why, Marcus?

Because all too often I have a tendency to overcomplicate things. Or just to complicate things. Like, this isn’t a tough project, Marcus. Clean the frame up, wipe the glass down, put the painting in, and hang the damn thing on the wall already. What’s the use in turning an hour-long task into a five-hour one?

I guess I’m USED to things being complicated or difficult. For decades I’ve read hundreds of books and tried dozens of methods and modalities all in an effort to heal mentally, emotionally, and physically. Unfortunately, somewhere along the way I got it in my head that no matter WHAT you try, it’s not going to work. But also that you HAVE to keep trying. It’s the whole story of Prometheus breaking his back rolling a boulder up the mountain. Sure, he makes it to the top, but the boulder just rolls back down to the bottom. Back to the drawing board, Prometheus.

Of course, this is frustrating and depressing.

Complicated.

Fortunately, I’m learning that things don’t have to be complicated. For example, thanks to upper cervical care, recently my body and I have made great strides with respect to headaches. Seriously, I can’t tell you how much better I feel. I used to dread headaches the way I dread sinus infections. Now I’m like, Oh, yeah, I remember when I used to get those. My point being that the treatment itself is simple, easy. This reminds me of something my Reiki teacher often says–“Doing the right thing IS simple. Knowing what’s the right thing to do, however, is another matter.”

Amen.

A word that’s been coming to mind lately is receive. That is, after we run around and try everything under the sun TRYING to heal, if and when we do have the blessing to find something that WORKS, it behooves us to RECEIVE it. To, rather than pushing it away because we’re used to everything being complicated, fully embrace it with simple gratitude and humility. Gratitude because your forty years in the desert is drawing to close. The Promised Land is near. Humility because no matter how much personal effort you put toward healing, you ultimately can’t make it come your way. This is why healing is always a grace, a grace that’s to be accepted with heads bowed, eyes closed.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Solid help and solid hope are quite the same thing.

"

On What’s Gained In Between (Blog #1028)

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Last week I replaced a headlight in my car, Tom Collins. However, before I did, I replaced THE WRONG headlight in my car. That is, I replaced the high beam on the driver’s (my) side rather than the low beam. Because under the hood it was and is the easiest light to get to, the most obvious. Of course, the high beam didn’t need replacing, and so after I changed it I still had a light out. Y’all, I was so frustrated. I checked fuses and everything. Thankfully, I finally figured out 1) I’d changed the wrong bulb and 2) where the right bulb was located.

At which point I changed that one, and everything was fine.

Well.

Last night I noticed that my passenger’s side blinker was going out (you know how your dashboard indicator light will flash, flash, flash, and click, click, click real fast when there’s a problem), so today I removed my passenger side taillight assembly in an effort to change the turn signal bulb. So. The assembly has three bulbs, and I guessed the blinker was the smallest one. Wrong. Then I guessed it was the one next to the smallest one, and that was it. However, I didn’t have a bulb that was the correct size. Only one that was ALMOST the correct size. So my sweet mother got me the correct bulb at Walmart (she was going anyway), and I changed it.

And things still didn’t work.

What the hell? I thought.

Finally I realized my car, like all cars, has TWO passenger-side blinkers. One in the back and ONE IN THE FRONT. Oh, THAT’S the one that’s out! I thought. Duh. So I changed that one.

And everything worked fine.

Despite the fact that I often get upset in these situations–like, why didn’t I figure things out sooner?–today I’ve been thinking about how nothing is ever truly a waste of time. For example, a few days ago I framed this fleur-de-lis brooch.

And wheres I told myself I only had one shot to get it centered correctly, I screwed it up. That is, I drilled a hole in the backboard (an old book cover), and it was a little to the left. Crap, I thought, crap, crap, crap. Well, ever persistent, I made the hole bigger, until it was centered. Or almost centered. Then I invented a new way to “hang” the brooch. It’s a little hard to explain, but usually I use a screw and a nut and “set” the brooch pin on the nut. Well, because the nut would have held the screw off-center, I left the nut out and instead used a screw and a washer. This ended up being the perfect thing. Without the nut in the mix, there was a little wiggle room, just enough space for slipping the brooch pin in between the washer and screw head and holding the pin in place, on center.

I hope this explanation makes sense.

Even if it doesn’t make sense, my point is that with each brooch framing mistake I make, I’m learning. Likewise, each time I replace the wrong bulb in my car, I’m learning. As a recovering perfectionist, I wish I could get all things right the first time, but still. Next time, things will go a lot faster.

As far as I can tell, this “mistakes are required for learning” thing applies not only to car repair and arts and crafts, but also to relationships and healing. God knows I haven’t mastered those things yet. But I’m willing to keep trying, and I think we have to be. To ask for help when we need it and to keep getting back in the ring with our friends and family and our chronic problems. (And yes, I realize your friends and family may BE your chronic problems). Anyway, more and more I’m realizing that the point isn’t a quickly changed lightbulb or perfectly centered brooch. The point isn’t perfect relationships or perfect health. Rather, it’s the learning. It’s what’s gained in between the falling down and the getting back up again.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Along the way you’ll find yourself, and that’s the main thing, the only thing there really is to find.

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Our Emotions Go Round and Round (Blog #1024)

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For the last three weeks I’ve been fighting a sinus infection. And whereas I woke up yesterday feeling better (yippee), I woke up today feeling worse (boo). Why knows why this up-and-down happens. The body is a mystery. Life is a mystery. More and more, I have more questions than answers. Recently I compared life to a circle, and this is what I meant. For all our living and learning, we’re just going round and round. One day we wake up and find ourselves exactly where we started.

We think, Ugh. I’m going nowhere!

At least that’s what I thought when I woke up still sick. Like I’ve been stuck in this pattern of upper respiratory distress for decades, and all the doctors, drugs, and gods and in the world can’t change it. That’s right, folks, we’ve discovered the impossible thing to get rid of. Mucus. (It’s here to stay.) But seriously, it’s overwhelming. At least when I think of the rest of my problems. This afternoon I got something in the mail I’d ordered online, and it was broken. Then I got a bill I wasn’t expecting. I just kept thinking, WHEN is something going to go my way?

Not that SOME things haven’t been going well lately. Indeed, I’ve blogged a lot about having headaches, and they’ve gotten SO VERY MUCH better over the last two months. Over the holidays I went weeks without working (and, therefore, earning any money), and this week alone I’ve picked up six different odd jobs. And I didn’t solicit any of them. Well, I did pray. My point being that even when one area of your life seems like it’s falling apart (seems being the operative word), another area of your life can be coming together. And surely if one area of your life can come together, the others can too. It’s just a matter of time, of patience, of remembering–

the universe hasn’t forgotten me.

Just now I said that something in your life can SEEM like it’s falling apart, the implication being that, well, maybe it’s not. What I mean is that, for example, for as frustrating as sinus infections are for me, they’ve taught me how to accept myself and how to ask for help. Just as importantly, they’ve taught me how to have compassion for others. Because all of us have that one thing that seems like a small thing to other people but is a big thing for us because it’s tied to so many other things in our lives. (Phew.) Like the way my sinus problems feel unsolvable, so, especially when I’m sick, all my problems feel unsolvable. Because if I can’t feel well then I can’t work and take care of myself and pay my bills and have a place to live and find a lover who isn’t into hobos.

See what I mean? One fear leads to another.

Overwhelming.

At times like these it’s important for me to remember to slow down, to slow way down, to slow way the fuck down. Like fast (haha). This looks like doing one thing–and one thing only–at a time. For example, this evening I have a dance gig (it’s good to be employed), so I’m blogging now, dancing tonight, and then that’s it for the day. Despite the number of other projects that are calling for my attention, they won’t get it. Rather, my body will. Meaning I’ll rest. Meaning I’ll do my best to allow my fears to arise, stay and be felt as long as they want to, then subside. Because they always do. Our emotions go round and round. In the end, we’re left with ourselves.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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If you want to find a problem, you will.

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Just You Wait, Mountain (Blog #1020)

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This afternoon I saw my upper cervical care doctor. And whereas it took an hour to get there and over two hours to get back (because I kept stopping at antique stores), I was in and out of the office in five minutes. “You look good today,” the doctor said after checking a scan of my neck, “so I’m going to leave you alone.” That’s the deal, he operates by the–if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it–policy. Not that I’ve felt like a million bucks lately. Indeed, my back has been hurting and I’ve been fighting a sinus infection. And I told the doctor this. But he reminded me that just because you feel bad doesn’t mean your body isn’t healing. “You’ve been dealing with a lot of issues for a long time, and it’s just going to TAKE SOME TIME for your body to clean things up.”

Then he added, “For a while, you’ll experience remnants.”

Remnants, what a perfect word for those parts of our past (emotions, patterns, illnesses) that creep up every now and then and threaten to never go away. Yesterday I started painting the inside of some cabinets and cabinet drawers for a friend, and even after two coats of white, the ugly (dirty, filthy, rotten) brown that was there before still peeked out in places. And whereas I was tempted to think I’ll never get things how I want them, experience has taught me the value of persistence. So this evening I returned and applied a third coat. Now we’re talking, I thought as I rolled over the previous two layers of white. Hasta la vista, ugly (dirty, filthy, rotten) brown.

Persistence, that’s one of the things I’ve been thinking about tonight. The idea that if you just keep at something, eventually you’ll have a breakthrough (or a breakdown). Not that you should go barking up the wrong tree (you’re not gonna turn a homo straight, ladies). Pick your battles, know when you’re licked, and all that. But more and more I’m convinced that we don’t experience success in learning, dancing, remodeling, healing, and even praying simply because we quit trying. Because we give up. Because we think, This is going nowhere, and throw in the towel. Earlier this week I was thinking maybe I’ll just have to deal with sinus infections for the rest of my life, and my mom (randomly) mentioned a product I haven’t tried before, something she read about on her Facebook feed. Now, will it help? Hell if I know. It hasn’t even arrived yet. But the important thing is that I’ve decided to give it a whirl.

In this, there is hope.

Of course, all these things I’ve touched on–healing, persistence, and hope–require patience. Ah, there’s the rub. For anything that takes time (and what doesn’t?), we have to be willing to wait for it. Better said, we have to be willing to endure, to trust that things are going to work out. I think about the way a blade of grass can push itself through concrete, the way running water can make a rough stone smooth–given enough time. Most of us look at the mountains in our lives and think, Impossible. I could never get that thing to move. But not the rain. Knowing the power of persistence, it thinks, Just you wait, mountain. Give me enough time, and I’ll wear you down. Indeed, I’ll throw you into the sea. There won’t be a remnant left.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Some things simply take time and often more than one trip to the hardware store.

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On Miracles (Blog #1016)

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Okay. Where are we going tonight?

For the last 1,000+ days I’ve sat down to blog and had this question somewhere in my mind. Granted, there have been times that I’ve absolutely KNOWN–these are the things I want to say. But even then writing has been the adventure that creativity is, full of twists, turns, and oh-wow moments. Not one single time in the last three years have I not been surprised by what’s inevitably birthed here at this keyboard, be it a clever phrase, a happy joke, or a somber theme. Even when I’m totally blank and thinking, Well, that’s it, I’m all dried up, some idea comes along out of nowhere to save my ass. Even when I’m certain I’m creatively bankrupt, something good magically appears.

Overall, today has been fabulous. Almost everyone, or at least the news anchors, in our area have been concerned with the weather (there have been tornado warnings), but I’ve been concerned with brooches, working on framing a few recent acquisitions. And whereas I got one project done today, I’m still waiting on paint and glue to dry before I can finish two others. Ugh. Everything is always a process. Both in art and in life, it seems that nothing is ever “done.” The good news about this, I suppose, is that not being done leaves room for The Mystery. Until you’ve reached the last page in a book–the last word–the story’s not over.

This evening I had dinner with a friend I’ve known for–gosh–over fifteen years now, one of the first people I came out to. Anyway, they made spaghetti, and we did what we always do–laugh, share stories, console. Then while I was on my way home I thought about how so very often I’m worried about money but how time with an old, true friend is absolutely priceless. How even if I had all the money in the world it wouldn’t have made tonight any better.

Well, it might have paid for some chocolate cake.

But still, I was happy.

We had cookies.

When I got home I helped my dad put a homemade dog bed (fashioned from old bath mats and a comforter) in my parents’ room for our family dog, Ella. My parents have a waterbed, and there’s a crawl-through space, a hiding area underneath the headboard where I guess Ella likes to go to chill out, get away, and rest her paws. Anyway, I positioned her new bed inside the crawl space, and she went right to it. Later I checked and she was still there, totally relaxed, content. This is my point about being happy. We make it complicated, but–really–it takes so little. Currently I’m in a comfortable chair sipping hot tea and listening to the rainfall.

What more do you need?

Now, an hour ago, just before I sat down to blog, I checked my bank account because I need to pay bills tomorrow. And whereas I’m not destitute–y’all–it wasn’t pretty. Hell, it hasn’t been pretty in years, especially since I closed my dance studio and started chasing my dream of being a writer. (My therapist says, “You ARE a writer.” So I correct myself–chasing my dream of being a PAID writer.) Ugh. I have friends that make both positive and sarcastic comments about how NICE it must be to sleep in every day and spend my days reading, writing, and–now–framing brooches. And, y’all, it is. It is NICE. But trying something new and living a non-conventional life always comes at a cost. And whereas it’s not always a financial cost, it often is, at least for a while. I add “at least for a while” because that’s my hope, that–sooner or later–the lean times will fatten up.

Dear God, please make it sooner.

Earlier tonight my mom sent me a glorious and emotional video and testimonial by Steve Harvey. Essentially, years ago Harvey was on his last leg, down to his final $35, when he was offered a stand-up gig in New York. Phew, you might think, but Harvey didn’t live in New York and–newsflash–plane tickets cost more than $35. But then–just like that–two other stand-up gigs came through and Harvey was able to make the New York gig. From there, his career took off. Later Mom and I were talking about it, and she reiterated Harvey’s advice–never give up. Because you’re CERTAIN to not succeed if you quit. But if you keep going, well, anything could happen. God could step in.

“That’s one thing about God,” I told Mom. “He always waits until the last damn minute. He’s so dramatic.”

“He certainly can be,” Mom said.

That’s Mom, ever the diplomat.

Getting back to creativity and writing and the idea that you never know what’s going to appear, I suppose this idea applies to our lives too. That is, just when we least expect it, something good comes along. My therapist says she’s noticed this happens a lot for me. Whenever I’m down and thinking, I am SO SCREWED, the universe saves my ass. Out of nowhere, a check shows up. An idea comes along. Even it’s not a windfall (so far it’s never been a windfall), it’s enough to get me through. Regardless, I’m always left dumbfounded, amazed. Just like I am when I consider any good fortune, including any good friend who comes into my life. I think, I never could have planned this. I’m always so surprised. That’s the thing. You never see miracles coming.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"When you’re authentic, your authenticity is enough. You don’t need to compare."

you never see miracles coming

The Door Is Shut Now (Blog #992)

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This afternoon I saw The Brainstem Wizard, my upper cervical care doctor who’s helping me “get my head on straight.” The idea being that when your atlas vertebrae, which supports your head, sits right, good health is most likely to follow. Conversely, when it doesn’t sit right, it can put pressure on your brainstem and cause all sorts of problems (because your brainstem and nervous system directly affect or influence almost everything in your body). All this to say that today my doctor determined (through the use of a handy dandy device that looks like Batman’s ray gun) that my nervous system was working fine on its own and, therefore, I didn’t need an adjustment this week.

Honestly, this was a little disappointing because I’ve had such good results with the last few adjustments. Plus, the last few days my head has hurt, my back has ached. But my doctor said, “That’s normal. Healing isn’t a straight line. It’s more like a wiggly line, full of ups and downs. Be patient. People normally hit the sweet spot around the two to four month mark. People think the adjustment is what heals them, but that’s not it–it’s your body. Give it time.”

“So just tough out the pain until my body decides to fix the problem?” I said.

“Yep,” he smiled. “That’s what you’ve been doing all this time anyway, right?”

I laughed. “Right.”

“Don’t be discouraged,” he said. “We’re fighting a long history of problems.”

Boy, did he say a mouthful or what? So often along the path of healing, in all its many forms, I’ve wanted instant results. Then, upon not getting them, I’ve gotten depressed, convinced that the universe in all its wonder doesn’t have an answer to my problem. Or worse, it doesn’t care. But the truth is the universe does care (a lot) and does have an answer. However, sometimes the answer we’re looking for doesn’t come fast precisely because of our long history of problems and, in many cases, because of our self-neglect. Think of it this way. The longer you go without cleaning your house, the longer it’s going to take to clean it. The more baggage you have, the longer it’s going to take to move somewhere.

This truth applies to your house, your body, your mind and emotions, and your relationships. At times I get frustrated with people in my life (who doesn’t?), but usually by the time my lid’s about to pop over something “big,” it’s only because I’ve let so many small things go without addressing them. Without addressing the relationship. Whenever this occurs, I remind myself to slow down, to breathe. I remind myself we’re ALL fighting a long history of problems. The last two days I’ve mentioned a YouTube commenter who read me the riot act for counting Rumba incorrectly (according to them), and this idea applies to people like him too. Like, I want him to straighten up and fly right, but–let’s get real–that’s probably not going to happen because he’s had an entire lifetime to become who he is.

Not that people can’t change. They can. But it takes time. And they don’t do it just because I (or you) want them to.

My therapist would add, “They have to really desire it. And they have to work their ass off.”

Which reminds me of a joke my aunt told me once. How many therapists does it take to change a lightbulb?

Only one, but the lightbulb has to really WANT to change.

I keep going back to this YouTube commenter not because it’s really a big deal to me, but because it represents things that are big deals. You know how we all have things we can’t get over. Like, I live with my parents, and they do things that drive me absolutely crazy. Things I can’t stand. Things I’ll probably miss when they’re gone (but not a minute sooner). And yes, I’m sure I do things that make them go bananas too. And then we all have THE BIG THINGS. The real dramas and traumas in our lives that really are difficult to let go of–a long history of problems–but that really NEED to be let go of. Because you can’t live your life collecting problems and baggage and expect to be happy.

What can you expect, Marcus?

Misery.

So I’ll say it again and again. It’s worth your time to clean things up.

In yesterday’s selfie I apparently left my bedroom door slightly open. Well, the damndest thing, earlier when I looked at the photo (I always look at yesterday’s post before I start today’s so I know what number I’m on), I thought, Crap, my door’s open, and immediately started out of my chair to close it. Even now when I look at the photo above (I’ve included it again for your convenience), I glance up at my actual door and am amazed that it’s shut. I think, Phew, it’s closed. But then I look at the picture again and think, Wait, it’s open. This is the power of an image, whether it’s a actual photo or a memory in your head. It’s seems real but it’s not.

What is real then?

Whatever’s right here, right now. For me, it’s a chair, a laptop, and a closed door. For you, maybe it’s an open door.

The problem with images, including memories, appearing real is that we get hung up on them. We tell our friends, “Some guy on YouTube said this shitty thing to me. My parents did this. My lover did that. The door is open.” A wise person will point out that everything is in the past and there’s no use wasting your present, vital life force keeping your past–your long history of problems–alive by holding on and looking backwards instead of forwards. “Look,” they’ll say, “the door is shut.”

“But it WAS open,” you’ll insist. “And this guy really did say something shitty. And these terrible things really did happen.”

“I know, sweetheart,” they’ll reply, “and the door is shut now.”

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"We were made to love without conditions. That's the packaging we were sent with."

On Upcycling Your Past (Blog #988)

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Last weekend I got the idea to start a magnet board project, and yesterday I got the idea to start a picture frame project. And whereas a lot of my inspirations never come to fruition (this is the nature of the beast), today I started working on both of these ideas. Although I guess I technically started earlier in the week when I went to Lowe’s to buy supplies–spray paint, mounting hooks, etc.–for the magnet board. Or maybe I started before that when I had the notion to create. Hell, this probably all goes back to that fateful morning in 1979 when my parents skipped church to conceive me. Who knows when anything starts or stops?

But I digress.

For the magnet board I first took the pieces of wood framing I already had and cut them to the proper size. Having gone back and forth about whether to frame the board on the front (where it would look pretty and hold down the decorative paper on the board) or on the back (where it would allow more space for magnets and provide an easy way to hang the whole thing on the wall), I finally decided on the front. This is the deal with decisions. You worry and worry and then–poof!–you make a decision. Like an adult. Anyway, then I put one coat of spray paint on the boards and ironed the decorative paper as flat as possible while they dried. Then I put on a second coat of spray paint and turned my attention to the picture frame project I talked so much about yesterday.

As my plan was to hunt down a used book with an appealing cover for the mounting board/backdrop for my picture frame, I changed out of my paint clothes, switched shoes, and got ready to go. But just as I was leaving the house I decided to rifle through a box of religious books my mom had set aside for our upcoming spring garage sale. Well, I hit pay dirt. (Apparently Christians know how to make pretty books.) I found beautiful covers in blue, purple, black, and gold. And whereas I decided on blue for this current project, my mind went wild with possibilities for other projects. I even started showing my parents–like, Look at this, look at this. Well, when I showed my dad a golden cover with golden etching next to my golden frame and golden brooch (the object I’ve been thinking about displaying inside the frame), he said, “That’s TOO MUCH gold.”

“Not if I painted the frame purple,” I said.

He just looked at my mom and shook his head. “There’s something wrong with that kid.”

“You’re witnessing creativity in action,” I said.

As I sit here now, neither my magnet board nor picture frame project is complete. For the magnet board, the paint is still drying. Some things just take time. (No matter how much I wish things were complete, I can’t change the laws of spray paint.) And whereas for the picture frame project I got the book cover cut and mounted and a hanger attached to the back, I still haven’t decided WHAT to put in the frame. I love the idea of having my golden leaf brooch on display, but I also like the idea of wearing it and therefore don’t want to hot glue it down. Alas, I don’t know WHAT I’m going to do. The upside to being undecided? Anything could happen. The possibilities are endless.

With respect to everyday living, the lesson here is that we can focus on (put inside the frame of our attention) anything we want. When we wake up each day we can say, “Am I going to whine, bitch, and complain about the world I see? Or am I going to be grateful that I’ve been given one more day to live here and–here’s an idea–do something about it?”

While cutting the blue book cover down to size, the part of me that loves books and believes they’re meant to be read died a little. Tossing the rest of the (religious!) book in the trash, I felt like a sinner. Still, I remember what it felt like to be under the thumb of religion, and it wasn’t good. So it also felt refreshing to take something heavy and turn it into something light, to upcycle a piece of my past. With this is mind, I wrote the name of the book and its author on the back (er, inside) of the book cover to remind myself that as one thing–a book, an idea, a way of being–dies, it makes room for something else to be born.

Nothing is ever wasted.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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There’s nothing wrong with taking a damn nap.

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On Returning to Life (Blog #983)

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I spent this afternoon and evening with my friends Kara and Amber. The three of us first met in elementary school and, although we all live in different cities, purpose to get together several times a year. (Let’s get together, yeah, yeah, yeah.) Anyway, today we met at Amber’s house, carpooled to an Italian restaurant, and ended up staying for five hours. Y’all, it was fabulous. The food was wonderful, the company was better, and the refills were free.

I drank so much coffee.

Something the three of us discussed was the idea of holding space for something or someone, the idea being that our lives and relationships are often messy and that we need to allow room for situations and people to just be. As a fixer who likes to talk things out, this has been a tough lesson for me to learn. For the longest time when there was any amount of tension in a relationship, I’d think I had to DO something about it. Once I told my therapist it was awkward when a certain person was at my dance studio, and she said, “So let it be awkward.” This was a revelation. I didn’t have to DO anything. I could leave it alone. Today Amber pointed out that when conversations or confrontations are forced they don’t always end well. “You have to recognize when it’s not the right time,” she said.

Of course, if it’s not the right time (to say your piece or set things right), that means you have to be patient until it is.

Currently it’s 10:45 at night, and I’m absolutely buzzing. Again, I’ve had a lot of coffee. Additionally, I’ve had a lot of sugar–both at the restaurant and back at home. I’ve gone through so much peanut butter lately (I like to mixed it with grape jelly and eat it by the spoonful) that tonight Dad fastened the lid shut with electrical tape. “We just bought this jar last week, and it’s already almost empty!” he said. Then he brought my mom into it. “Judy, if this tape is broken tomorrow, we’ll know Marcus has been at it again.”

“I’m not trying to hide anything,” I said. “Everyone knows I’m the one who’s eating all the peanut butter!”

But seriously, it tastes so good.

Because I’ve been feeling better lately, a phrase that’s been on my mind is “returning to life.” I’ve said previously that before a caterpillar morphs into a butterfly, it first dissolves itself into a black goo. My point being that transformation is an all-in or all-our proposition. You don’t get to be a caterpillar AND a butterfly. You can’t eat your peanut butter and have it (sitting on the counter) too. Said another way, transformation requires the death of your old life, personality, or habits. Jesus died on the cross. The Phoenix died in the flame. There’s a saying that when you seek enlightenment like a man whose hair is on fire seeks water, then–and only then–will you find it. So if you want peace, healing, or God, ask yourself–What am I willing to give up in order to have these things? Can I die? Am I truly ready to be reborn?

In my experience with transformation, returning to life means returning to life as it is, not as I want it to be. It means bringing all of my newfound vitality and everything I’ve learned to the world as it is–messy, horrific, and beautiful. This is what holding space is all about–making room within yourself for the whole of creation. The fun parts, the not-so-fun parts. Life, death, conflict, emotions. Not that you can’t work to change or improve situations or relationships, but know that your primary job is to change yourself. This is gross and always involves dying (metaphorically). But once you’re reborn, everything is different. Behold, all things are become new. For one thing, you stop hiding (I’m the one who ate the peanut butter!). For another, you realize there’s enough room here (inside your heart) for the entire universe and all that it contains–the joy, the suffering. You think, Maybe it’s not all fun, but it’s all okay. You think, This moment is just as it should be.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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You’re exactly where you need to be.

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Trust That Answers Are Coming (Blog #980)

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Today I finished reading three books–Esoterism & Symbol by R. A. Schwaller de Lubicz, The Hanged Man: Psychotherapy and the Forces of Darkness by Sheldon Kopp, and The Power of Your Other Hand: A Course in Channeling the Inner Wisdom of the Right Brain by Lucia Capacchione. And whereas I only this week started the first two books, I started the third one over a year ago. Alas, it’s sat on my shelf collecting dust since last summer, just waiting for me to notice it. Well, today was the day. I can’t tell you how good it felt to finally be done. And yes, I know that I didn’t HAVE to finish it. But I genuinely wanted to, was actually interested in what it had to say.

I’ve talked about divine timing before, and I continue to be amazed by it. While reading the book I just mentioned, I noticed several things made sense to me that wouldn’t have made sense to me a year ago. Better said, several things STOOD OUT to me that wouldn’t have before. But they did stand out because of other books I’ve read over the past year. I kept thinking, Oh, there was a reason I didn’t pick you back up until today. I wasn’t ready for you yet.

This evening I had dinner with a friend (we’d planned on going out this weekend but at the last minute decided to go tonight) and told them of my recent and positive results with upper cervical care. When they asked HOW I found out about this healthcare modality, I credited a dancer friend (whom I honestly don’t talk to very often) who mentioned online their positive results with upper cervical care (that they received over ten years ago). And whereas I can’t say what’s going to happen or not happen over the next few months in terms of my healing, I can say that based on how much I’ve improved in the last two weeks (I truly feel like my innate healing powers have been given back to me), this whole setup is what I’ve been praying and waiting for.

By setup I mean–I don’t think any of this has been accidental.

Getting back to the idea of divine timing, I’m astounded by what all had to happen or not happen in order for me to find out about this form of treatment. Fifteen years ago my friend and I had to meet. Ten years ago my friend had to be sick and–God knows how–find her doctor. Earlier this year my friend and I had to reconnect. And then there’s what had to happen to get my doctor close enough that I could drive to him, since he used to be located much farther away, like the only other two people in the state who do what he does. Anyway, I could go on but won’t. I just keep thinking that answers are being lined up for us LONG before we even ask our questions. I just keep thinking that it doesn’t make much sense for me to try to tell the universe how to do its obviously complex job.

Because it’s doing just fine.

When I wasn’t reading today, I was tidying up my room. My therapist says when you’re feeling SCARCITY, one way to feel ABUNDANCE is to give something away. “It doesn’t have to be a lot,” she says. “It could be a dollar, a t-shirt, a hour of your time. Anything to get the energy flowing.” So that’s what I did, picked out stuff to donate–several shirts, a pair of shoes (the too-big ones I tore my ACL in), a handful of books I’ll either never read or never read again. Let someone else enjoy them, I thought. Then I went through my “paper pile” and threw this in the trash, filed that in a folder. Then I reorganized a few shelves in my closet. You know how one thing leads to another.

I wish I could tell you WHY I felt compelled to tidy up my room today or–as I’ve been doing recently–clean up my Facebook friends list. My therapist says any cleaning out makes room for other things to come along, so maybe that’s it. Maybe a part of me knows that this blog is coming to a close and–at the same time–my body is mending, so I just need more “room,” more health for whatever is coming next. But this is speculation. I can’t say why anything happened today, just like I can’t say why the sun rose this morning. I only know that it did, it was right on time, and it was perfect. More and more I know it’s not my job to know why. Rather, it’s my job to follow my inner guidance, that voice that says, “Check out that doctor. Read this book, not that one. Go to dinner now, not later.” It’s my job to be patient, trust that answers are coming, and enjoy the mystery of it all.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Even a twisted tree grows tall and strong.

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