Today my therapist was in rare form. I swear, sometimes I think she should be a standup comedian. When I walked into her office wearing flip-flops, shorts, a tank top, and a bandana (hair all wild), she said, “Please don’t take offense to this statement, but you look very Olivia Newton John.”

“On the contrary, I take that as a compliment.”

For some reason, my therapist was super chatty our entire session. For a while, when I first got there–we actually talked about her life. (This doesn’t happen very often.) At some point, when I moved on to “the list,” she said, “I guess you’re going to make me WORK today. I was really hoping to just shoot the breeze with you.” Then she added–

“And I don’t care–put that shit on your blog.”

In the course of unpacking things today, we got on the topic of synchronicity (which I blogged about last week), and she said that Jung (his friends called him Carl) believed that everyone (and that means you) has a psyche that’s been broken, since being a human is a real kick in the pants. Like Humpty Dumpty, you end up with all these fragmented pieces. She said, “You’ve got Insecure Marcus, Self-Critical Marcus, Marcus That Can Be A Snot.” (It’s a lot, I know. At least I look like Olivia Newton John.) Anyway, she said the process of putting yourself back together is called “integration,” and therapy is just one of the many ways to do it. (Meditation is another.) As for synchronicity, Jung believed it’s happening all the time, but we become more and more aware of it as we integrate. Integration is how we “get on that wavelength.”

I spent this evening with my friends Barbie and Steve. Barbie and I met through dance (she’s an instructor) about ten years ago, and she’s one of the most positive people I know. Hell, one time she hosted a positive people party–no Debbie Downers allowed. Just picture a day of hanging out on the lake and drinking beer with a bunch of smiling unicorns. That’s how fabulous it was. Anyway, Barbie and I haven’t seen each other in forever, so she invited me over for dinner to catch up.

So get this. After dinner we went downstairs to Steve’s workshop. Several years ago he started a hobby of making knives, and now he’s gotten really good (really good) and sells them. So Steve laid out several of his latest knives, as well as some that were in process. Here’s a picture. Most the blades are Damascus steel, which is steel that’s been folder over on itself and hammered out several times over. I think some of the handles are giraffe bone. The belt buckle and one of two of the smaller knives are made from pietersite, or as the kids these days would say, “Peter’s A’-ight.”

So Steve was showing me several boxes of knife parts and rocks, stones, and bones. And then he brought this sucker out.

Any idea what that is? No clue? Well, I’ll tell you. It’s a walrus penis. That’s right–you heard me. As Steve said, “Now THAT’S a boner.” Apparently, although humans don’t, a lot of mammals have literal penis bones (the better to screw you with, my dear). Of course, like any pecker, they come in all shapes and sizes. Steve said that a some hunters will wear a raccoon penis bone as a necklace. They call it a tooth–wait for it–prick. A toothprick. Yes, you too, can take any old, wornout penis, shine it right up, and turn it into jewelry–a necklace, a knife handle, whatever.

Talk about recycling.

As if that weren’t enough entertainment for the evening, when I told Barbie I needed to go to the bathroom, she led me to the back of the house, pointed out a toilet that looked like a spaceship, and said, “I’ll leave you two alone together. Oh my god, y’all. Not only was the seat heated, but it was also a bidet, this magical gift from the gods that sprays warm water on your backside and then–AND THEN–blows warm air in all the right places. I swear. It was better than a boyfriend. Like a meditation, really.

Before I left, Barbie played for me on her wooden flutes, a new hobby she’s picked up. Here’s a video I snagged while she was playing one of them. There’s something about that sound that’s so mesmerizing, so calming. I honestly feel more spiritual just for having listened to it, although I’m guessing I shouldn’t be bragging about that.

As I drove home tonight, I thought about pieces and parts. When Steve makes his knives, he takes the frame of an old knife, steel he gets from a friend, a Walrus penis he gets from–I’m just guessing–Ebay. Of course, there are other parts, but he has to bring them all together, and it takes a lot of sawing and hammering and sanding and buffing. I’ve never done it, but shit–I’m sure it takes a lot of time and patience. It’s like learning to dance or to play an instrument. But when all the work is finished, you’ve got his beautiful, integrated thing. All parts working together as one.

I used to wonder if healing was really possible, if you could take a broken egg, superglue it back together, and have the same egg again. Well, obviously you can’t. Once your psyche breaks, that person is gone. (Sorry for the bad news.) But I do think that just like one of Steve’s knives, you can piece yourself back together. A little therapy here, a lot of therapy there, some meditation, time spent with people who love you for who you are. Before you know it, you’re a new person, even better than the one before, a far cry from the one who fell off the wall.