Another Star Rises (Blog #521)

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Last night before I left my cousin’s house, his daughter put my hair in a pony tail then put my t-shirt in one as well–by scrunching up one end and wrapping a pink rubber band around it. She thought it was so cute. Truth be told, I did too. “I feel like an 80s lady,” I beamed. Still, as Dad and I walked out the door, I removed the “pony tails” and gave my cousin’s daughter back her rubber bands. You know–

All good things must come to an end.

During the drive back to Arkansas, while we were passing through a particularly dark patch of road, I asked Dad if we could pull over and look at stars. (He said yes). Oh my gosh, y’all, there was my dear friend The Milky Way and her cast of characters all around her–The Big Dipper, Draco, Cassiopeia, The Northern Cross, Scorpius–each of them in all their glory. Considering how long it’s been since I’ve seen them so clearly, it really was the most refreshing thing, a much-needed site. “It truly is wonderful,” Dad said.

Recently my aunt asked me what I love about the stars, so I’ve been trying to put my finger on it. Obviously, if you’ve had a chance to see the stars lately, they’re stunning. What’s more, in our often chaotic world, they’re something predictable. They appear to move about, of course, and do, but I like the fact that I can consistently find the same stars and shapes basically “where I left them.” There’s a sense of surety in that. But mostly I love the stars because no matter what kind of day I’m having–a good day or a shit day–I can lie down under the heavens and find peace. It’s like a forgetting of all my problems and worries. At the same time, it’s like a remembering that not only is everything connected, but also that I’m not supposed to have all the answers.

Wonderful, after all, means “full of wonder.”

Today I have been impressed with the fear that there’s not enough time. This afternoon the fear showed up with regard to reading, since I realized I’ve started–but not finished–over a dozen books in my personal library. And, despite the fact that I’ve been in therapy for four years and have come a long way in this department, there’s still part of me that feels like I “should” finish them. Like, a “better” person probably would. And yet, I’m having so much fun starting NEW books. Anyway, then the fear showed up with regard to the stars this evening when I went for a walk, since I realized a number of stars I could find consistently earlier this summer are no longer visible. This is due, of course, to the earth’s trek around the sun, which blocks our view of stars on the other side of it. In other words, as summer disappears, certain stars and planets (my friends!) disappear too.

And just when I was getting to know them.

It’s this weird paradox I have inside me. On the one hand, I feel like my life isn’t moving fast enough. On the other hand, I feel like it’s moving too fast. I think, An entire day has gone by, and there’s so much of that book left to read. Or, Wait, come back! I LOVED that star.

Toward the end of my walk tonight, this frustration with the speed of life hit me like a ton of bricks. I turn 38 soon, and there’s so much I wished would happen by now that hasn’t. Will these things ever happen? I don’t know. So many of our hopes and dreams, it seems, are like stars that slip slowly below the horizon. Maybe next year they’ll return. Of course, we forget–I forget–that with each setting star, another star rises. Tonight I spotted Capella for the first time, the brightest star (or group of stars, rather) in the constellation Auriga. What a delight she was! And no way I could have seen her in the spring. Surely this is the gift of seasons that change, stars that set, and books that we put down–of all good things and even dreams that come to an end–that as one wonderful thing disappears, another wonderful thing begins to shine.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Take your challenges and turn them into the source of your strengths.

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Filled with Glorious Light (Blog #480)

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This morning–after 13 hours of traveling and one 5-hour stop to see my cousin in Oklahoma City–my aunt, my parents, their dog, and I rolled into Albuquerque, where my sister lives, at 8:30. Talk about being worn the fuck out. It was all we could do when we arrived to say hello, hug everyone, and unpack the overloaded car. I shit you not–my parents brought their digital scale. Granted, my dad’s on a diet (he calls my mom The Food Nazi), but still–I found everything except the kitchen sink while unloading things this morning–three boxes of crackers, Dad’s insulin, even Mom’s FOOBS (fake boobs), the ones she got after her double mastectomy in January.

In case you were wondering, each one has its own carrying case.

Today itself has been a blur. My nephews have been hyper non-stop, so we’ve played board games, video games, Mr. Potato Head–you name it.

This evening my sister and brother-and-law made dinner–burgers and baked beans–then my brother-in-law, the boys, and I got in their pool until it started raining. Now it’s 8:15, and the kids just went to bed, as did my father. Both my aunt and mom took naps this afternoon–I took two–but I think we’re all still tired and groggy–road weary. Plus, it can take a minute to adjust to the higher altitude out here.

There’s simply less oxygen for your brain and body to run on.

Personally, I’m in a daze. Normally I have a plan when I travel–read a book, go to a bookstore, check out the local dances. At some point, since I’m attending a dance event in San Francisco this coming weekend, I need to figure out when to leave for California and how to get there. But I’ve been so tired from last week’s manual labor and the night’s travels, I can’t rub two thoughts together, much less make a decision about what I want to do.

Maybe tomorrow.

Now I’m on my sister and brother-in-law’s back porch, huddled up on their couch, watching a storm roll in. [It’s the desert, but it’s also monsoon season.] I’d planned on watching the stars come out, but instead I’m getting to see the tree branches whip and sway. The wind is really strong. I may need to go in.

Early this morning, between three and four and between Santa Rosa and Tucumcari, New Mexico, I was in the backseat of my car, Tom Collins, and asked my dad, who was driving, to pull over the car so I could look at stars. Except for the occasional (and annoying) passing car, it was pitch-black outside. No street lights, no “light pollution.” This to say I was expecting a good show, different from what I normally see in town. But–oh–my–god, it was glorious.

Looking up, I saw thousands and thousands of stars, each shining and twinkling unimpeded by any city fog or haze. Typically when I spot Cassiopeia (The Queen), I can “make out” four of her five major stars. But last night, every one of her five bright lights were unmistakable. And THERE was Cepheus (The King), and Pegasus (The Horse), and Perseus, and EVERY STAR in Capricornus (where Mars is currently and which I can never, ever see any part of in the city). And in the midst of it all was The Milky Way–our galaxy–a wide swath of stars that arched across the heavens like a nighttime rainbow. To say that this–all of it–was stunning is an understatement, especially since this was my FIRST time looking at the sky with a modicum of knowledge about the constellations and “what’s going on” up there.

Facing south, it looked something like this. (Screenshot from the Stellarium app.)

Each of us is just as mysterious as the night sky.

Twenty minutes later we were in Tucumcari at a Denny’s, and the city lights we so bright that all I could see were six stars. Six. From thousands to six in fifteen miles. And The Milky Way–nowhere to be found. I can’t tell you how disappointed I was, how frustrated I was at all our modern technology and progress. Effectively–at least in town–we’ve wiped out the heavens, our very own galaxy. It’s not that it’s not there, but we simply don’t SEE it because it’s been covered up. This is what the mystics say about our hearts. Not that they’re embedded with original sin, but that they’re embedded with original goodness and unconditional love; those qualities have just been “covered up.” I’m coming to believe this, that each of us is just as mysterious as the night sky–in a daze sometimes, but absolutely filled with more glorious light than we could ever begin to imagine.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Our struggles unearth our strengths.

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Directly Under Arcturus (Blog #466)

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

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

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

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

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

In the universe, that is.

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

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

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

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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It’s not where you are, it’s whom you are there with.

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All Your Made-Up Problems (Blog #455)

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The last twenty-four hours have been fabulous. Last night my friend CJ and I took her kayaks out on Beaver Lake, which has temporarily been renamed OmaHog Lake until the end of the college world series–I think–I don’t know–it’s a sports thing–I’m gay. Anyway, I left my phone in the CJ’s truck (no one called, anyway), forgot about everything else, and we paddled around for a couple hours and watched the sun go down. Then, like Michael, we rowed our boats ashore (to an island). There, under the light of the full moon, we ate fried chicken and I drank beer.

After eating, we paddled the kayaks back across the lake, me going backwards so I could watch the stars and identify constellations. Back at CJ’s farm, where I slept over last night, we sat on her porch and ate ice cream. Far from the city and artificial lights, with my eyes fixed on The North Star (Polaris), I was finally able to spot Cepheus, The King, which rotates around Polaris and is just counterclockwise to and above Cassiopeia, The Queen.

CJ said, “Why do men always have to be on top?”

Since the constellations are like a clock that runs backwards, the good news is that this situation is reversed in the middle of the day. The Queen is on top of The King. Of course, because the sun is shining, no one can see it.

This morning I slept in, took my time getting around. After making a light breakfast and a cup of coffee, I scrubbed down the kayaks, per CJ’s request. Then I read a book, put the kayaks away, sun-bathed, took a shower. Now I’m blogging, trying to keep things short because I’m growing weary of long posts and don’t want this day to be anything but easy and relaxing. Plus, I’m going to a dance later this evening, so I need to point my car in that direction.

Last night I dreamed that my therapist asked me, “Do you hate yourself?” The question was so jarring that I woke up. I remember lying in bed, maybe at five this morning, thinking, NO, why would you even ask that? Still–obviously–inquiring minds want to know. Specifically, my mind, or it wouldn’t be asking the question (in the form of a dream). So I’ve thought about it today. As I sun-bathed and picked my body apart–this is too big, that’s had too much fried chicken–I asked myself, Do you hate yourself?

No, the answer is no.

Then stop beating yourself up, Marcus.

Fresh off yesterday’s post, I realize that life isn’t black or white. You don’t fully love yourself or fully hate yourself. There’s room for gray, that place where you love your hair (I love my hair) and hate–hate’s a strong word–dislike your waistline.  And yet, how would my moment-to-moment experience change if I were to fully embrace–to love and not just tolerate–all parts of my body and my experience? Surely it would make life easier–better–something akin to spending an evening on a lake under the stars, something akin to forgetting all your made-up problems and enjoying this present moment.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Nothing is set in stone here.

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The Universal Dance Floor (Blog #450)

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As much as I love swing dancing (and I do), I adore two-stepping. Two-Step, a country dance, comes from Foxtrot, and, although there are a number of different ways to count and dance it, is typically counted “quick, quick, slow, slow.” Like Foxtrot, Waltz, Quick Step, Polka, and Tango, Two-Step travels counterclockwise along line-of-dance, which is the imaginary “loop” or “track” that’s laid out around the perimeter of any dance floor. (Spot dances like Rumba, Cha-Cha, and Swing are danced in the middle of the floor; line-of-dance dances are danced on the outside.) Anyway, there’s just something about two-stepping. Not only do you get to constantly travel around the dance floor, you can also turn or spin around yourself or your partner at the same time.

It’s go-go-go. (Yeehaw.)

Currently it’s two-thirty in the afternoon. Today’s blog is number 450 (in a row), and I’m writing it now because I’m going to a wedding reception this evening and plan to party hardy. The wedding itself was earlier today (at noon), just down the street from our house. (I walked there and back.) And whereas it was a beautiful wedding (truly), it was also a Catholic mass, which means it lasted a long time and involved a lot of standing and sitting, a lot of repeating, “Lord, hear our prayer.” Honestly, it was difficult for me to pay attention. I used to work at weddings as a photographer, and after about a hundred, they stopped being riveting. Plus, today’s mass was mostly in Spanish, and I don’t speak Spanish.

In short, my mind wandered.

Yesterday I wrote about my search for the constellation Cassiopeia, part of my recent fascination with our solar system. I’ve really been wanting to understand why stars and planets move or appear to move the way they do. Last night I looked up a model of the universe online and found a site that shows where the planets currently are. In one diagram, the sun was shown in the middle, in another, the earth. This was extremely enlightening, seeing the universe from both an outside and an on-the-ground perspective, and it really helped me understand why this planet is over here and that planet is over there.

This is all I could think about in church earlier today, the planets and their orbits. Normally planets move through the constellations (the zodiac) on the ecliptic (the planetary racetrack) from west to east, but sometimes they seem to move from east to west. This is called retrograde motion, and I learned last night that it’s an illusion that occurs when a faster moving (inner) planet passes a slower moving (outer) one. This same illusion happens when you speed past someone on the highway. You’re both technically moving forward, but relative to you, the other person or car appears to be moving backwards.

Still trying to get a picture of how the whole thing works, I imagined during the wedding that the sanctuary was our solar system. I thought, What if the sun were in the middle of the room, and I (as the earth) were orbiting around it? What would another planet to the left or right of me look like? What if they were on the other side of the room, “eclipsed” by the sun? And then it hit me–the universe is like a dance floor!–all the planets looping around the sun counterclockwise, each on its own path, some spinning right as they go (Venus, Uranus) and some spinning left (all the others). I thought, It makes perfect sense. Some planets dance solo and others dance with partners (moons).

Like one big cosmic Two-Step.

We’re all equal on life’s dance floor.

Yesterday I was reminded of an affirmation that I’m quite fond of–“Everything is happening in divine right order.” To me this means that the planets and yes, even you and I, are on our proper paths. Not that everything is predetermined, but rather that we are all where we are meant to be–the universal dance floor!–and the rules of dance apply. Here it doesn’t matter if you spin right, spin left, dance solo, or grab a partner. What matters is that you’re dancing. Some days you’ll dance quick, some days you’ll dance slow. At times, others will appear to pass you by. Don’t let this upset you. It’s an illusion. We’re all equal on life’s dance floor. Each of us–at best–is simply, fabulously whirling around in circles–circles that have nowhere to go or be other than right here, right now–circles with no beginning and no end.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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In this moment, we are all okay.

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Chasing Cassiopeia (Blog #449)

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Having the day free, I spent this afternoon reading, first in a book called Healing and the Mind by Bill Moyers, then in a book called The Power of Your Subconscious Mind by Joesph Murphy. By the time I’d read fifty pages in each book, my brain was bleeding, so I took a nap. When I woke up, convinced I needed to make today “a reading day,” I turned my attention to my beginner’s astronomy book. However, my mind couldn’t handle any more information. It was full. Plus, being cooped up in the house all day, I was growing restless, irritable.

About sunset I told my parents, “I’m going for a walk.”

Manned with my phone and an astronomy app, I determined to use my walk as an opportunity to identify stars and planets. For the last week I’ve been stargazing after midnight, so I thought being out around nine would not only let me see a few different stars, but would also let me see which stars “come out” first. (Some of us take longer than others.) Y’all, I can’t tell you what a great time I had. I learned in the book today that all the planets (and our sun and moon) travel (basically) along what’s called the elliptic, a narrow band in the sky that’s somewhat like a racetrack for the galaxy’s major players. The first ones to show up on the track as the sun sets? The two brightest planets–Venus (in the west) and Jupiter (currently close to the moon in the south).

For two hours I walked around Van Buren, listening to podcasts and periodically checking my phone against the night sky. Starting out I found Castor and Pollux, the two brightest stars in the constellation Gemini (in the west). Tonight was my first time to deliberately and consciously see them. As they dipped below the horizon, I turned my attention to what have this week become easy constellations for me to spot–The Big Dipper, The North Star and The Little Dipper, The Northern Cross, The Summer Triangle (which isn’t technically a constellation but rather three bright stars in three separate constellations), and Scorpius. Then I found Saturn in the southeast (in Capricorn), trailing behind Jupiter (in Scorpio) along the ecliptic.

I realize this jargon may not make sense. A week ago I would have been totally confused by this information and am just beginning to sort it all out. Today I learned that the ecliptic travels through twelve constellations (the zodiac). Or at least it used to. Things have shifted a bit. But still, astronomers and astrologers make reference to these twelve constellations all the time. Zodiac means “circle of little animals,” fitting since the majority of the twelve constellations or zodiac signs are animals. If you can find the ecliptic, “the signs” will appear along it in the order (or reverse order) they appear during the calendar year (starting around the Spring Equinox)–Aries, Taurus, Gemini, Cancer, Leo (where Venus is currently), Virgo, Libra, Scorpio, Sagittarius, Capricorn, Aquarius, and Pisces. For those interested in the zodiac (and–uh–horoscopes), your “sun sign” is the constellation along the ecliptic that the sun was “in” at the time you were born.

Anyway, the stars were all I could think about tonight. For the last week I’ve been looking for Cassiopeia, the famous w-shaped constellation in the northern sky. I’d read that if you know how to find The North Star using The Big Dipper (and the last two stars in the ladle), you can follow that arc to Cassiopeia, the mythological queen who was banished to the night sky by Poseidon for her vanity. However, until tonight I couldn’t find her–I’ve been looking from my driveway, and I guess she’s been behind the neighbors’ houses. But as I got close to home about ten-thirty this evening, I saw her peeking out between some trees. Y’all, I got so excited.

And then I got pissed because all the streetlights and car lights kept making her hard to see.

Finally, I came up with a plan. Back inside the house, I asked Dad if he wanted to drive out-of-town to look for stars, to chase Cassiopeia. Five minutes later, we were piled into Tom Collins (my car), on the hunt. We went to three different places, each about ten minutes from the house, each with different vantage points. And whereas we could still see the city lights, being farther away from them made spotting the stars MUCH easier. At the first location, Cassiopeia was still behind some trees, but the sky was dark enough for me to find Draco the Dragon, something I haven’t been able to do from my driveway. Then at the second location, there she was in all her glory–Cassiopeia, the Queen.

Speaking as a queen myself, she looked fabulous.

Finally, at the third location, Dad and I found Mars, which had just shown up in the southeast along the ecliptic. (It’s reddish). I was thrilled. I kept driving the car a little farther down the road, turning off the lights, getting out, checking the sky. Yep, they’re still there. Back in our driveway about midnight, I looked again. This time, even with the city lights, I was able to find Cassiopeia, Draco, Mars–all my new friends. I suppose they were there all along, I just didn’t know how to find them. I don’t know why this delights me so much, star hunting. There’s something about seeing what the ancients saw, something about finding my place in the heavens. Plus I think, What other wonders–friends–are right in front of me, just waiting for me to finally notice?

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"I believe we're all courageous, and I believe that no one is alone."