His Jar Is Always Open (Blog #960)

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When I was teenager, I worked at a summer camp in Mississippi. Simply put, it was a magical experience. Especially that first summer when I was sixteen. Life back home was difficult, and summer camp was an oasis. I made friends I still keep in touch with over twenty years later, played silly games, taught kids how to canoe. And whereas I could go on and on about this, the point is that when I got back home, I TRIED telling important people in my life what a transformative experience it was, and they were like, “Oh? That’s nice. We have a pot roast for dinner.” In short, at least from my perspective, they didn’t “get” it.

My response? I stopped talking about summer camp, stopped sharing my stories about the place that meant so much to me.

Now I realize those people weren’t meant to get it. When Dorothy came back from the Land of Oz, she was simply over the moon–er, rainbow–about all that had happened to her (“And you were there, and you were there!”), but her family was convinced it was a dream. Why? Because they hadn’t been where she’d been. It was Dorothy’s trip alone. Still, what a shame it would have been for her (or L. Frank Baum) to have kept her story to herself. Think how much poorer the world would have been.

I say all this because I recently had an experience that was very special to me but have been hesitant to share it, in part because I don’t think I can quite convey it with words, in part because even if I could, I’m sure there would still be those who doubt it. On Facebook I recently read about someone else’s similar experience, and one of their “friends” said, “This is confirmation bias at its finest.” My therapist’s comment to this was, “You know, everyone on the internet thinks they’re an expert about everything.” Anyway, everyone else’s opinion be damned. More and more it’s enough for me to trust my own experiences. More and more I’m willing to authentically share anything and everything about my life and let people get it or not. Plus–and this is the most important thing–I know that I’ve found help and encouragement from the stories of others, so perhaps others can find help and encouragement from mine.

So with that (I know) very long prologue, let us proceed.

Earlier this summer I took an online class with intuitive Robert Ohotto, and our first “assignment” was to draw a card from Caroline Myss’s archetype deck, the idea being that whatever card you drew would 1) not be accidental and 2) would be important for some reason. While taking this class I blogged about shifting from old patterns of thought and behavior to new ones, so I thought of this card simply as a pattern (or archetypal energy) that wanted to emerge from within me. (This is the part where I don’t want to be misunderstood.) I drew the GOD card.

Now, one could obviously get a big head about identifying with this card, but, to be clear, we’re talking about archetypes, not being literal. That is, meditating on or associating yourself with this card isn’t about feeling superior to anyone else or believing that you can shoot lighting bolts out of your butt. (Although that would be cool, albeit painful.) Rather, as the card says, it’s about recognizing the eternal force that resides within you. As I’ve said a number of times, I often think of myself as weak, so for me it’s been about recognizing that I’m more powerful than I give myself credit for. Anyway, I’ve had the card on my altar all summer.

So get this shit.

Last Saturday (a week ago tomorrow) one of the first things I saw when I woke up was a post from my friend Tina, a dancer I met on one of my trips to Austin. Tina said she’d recently had a transformative experience with an intuitive artist named Charles, that all she did was text Charles her name and that he drew a picture of her–not her physically, but her emotionally, spiritually. She also said that included with his drawing (which Charles did and does strictly on a donation basis), Charles offered a phone call to EXPLAIN both his process and what her particular drawing might be about. Well, I’m pretty intrigued by and open to this sort of thing, so before I crawled out of bed I texted Charles my name. Immediately he texted back, “Yes, of course. I’ll have it done within a couple days.”

Here’s the drawing he sent me this last Monday night.

Considering the archetype card I drew earlier this summer, which, by the way, only me and my therapist have known about, I was blown away when I saw Charles’s drawing. Plus, I instantly and intuitively felt it to be “true” on a number of levels. For example, the guy in the drawing (me) clearly is keeping his emotions in a jar, and that’s something I admittedly do and have written about it extensively. Granted, I’m better about shoving my emotions down than I used to be, but still, it’s sort of my thing. As Charles would explain later, “You’re using your willpower [right side] to keep your emotions in check.”

By the time I spoke to Charles on the phone (a day after I got the drawing), I thought I’d noticed everything about the drawing there was to notice. How wrong I was. But first, let’s back up. Charles said whenever he draws someone, he firsts asks God (whom he calls Yahweh), “Show me Marcus, show me whoever.” He said, “The idea is that this image is both how the universe sees you and how you see yourself. It’s your past, it’s your present, and it’s a tool for moving into your future or full potential.” Then he explained that, much like in a dream, “Everything in the drawing is you.” This means the two columns are me, the guy is me, the jar is me, and so on.

I won’t go on about every detail, but, for example, I told Charles that the two pillars in my life were my family and my therapist, and he replied, “Okay, life is a mirror and a hologram, so that means that your family and your therapist simply reflect back to you those parts of yourself that are strong, solid, or whatever.”

Overall, Charles said the main message of the image was about balancing my masculine (right side) and feminine (left side) energies. Notice how my right side is crying, but my left side isn’t. Notice how there’s a ring (which stands for commitment) on my left side but not my right. The other main message, he said, was about not just feeling and expressing my emotions, but also not being selective about with whom I share my love (hearts in the jar) and wisdom (Greek-like senator or philosopher in “The Thinker” position).

For over an hour, Charles and I went through the whole illustration. “There are no accidents,” he said. “The blue-white robe represents communication. The nipple represents sensitivity and nurturing. The clouds represent three masculine figures in your life and two feminine. The foot represents boundaries [as in, put your foot down]. The fact that there are more golden leaves on the right side than the left and that you noticed? That’s about your perfectionism [guilty]. Enjoy the imperfections!”

I’d say Charles’s drawing “nailed me” and that his suggested interpretations were ninety percent accurate or better. In my experience with intuitives and counselors, this is an extremely high percentage. Plus, as I’ve continued to meditate on his drawing this week, I’ve found it to be true on multiple levels. For example, I can identify the three masculine and two feminine figures represented by the clouds, and I can also associate the clouds with the five major creative ideas or projects I’ve started (three having to do with the blog, two having to do with the world of young adult fiction).

These details are endlessly fascinating to me, but the detail or idea I keep coming back to is one I blogged about last night–the importance of the heart, the importance of having it as my guiding force (over my head), the importance of not keeping any part of myself shoved down simply because I might be afraid of someone else’s reaction or lack of support. (As indicated in the drawing, I have plenty of support already.) Charles said, “You probably gave your heart to someone in the past and ended up getting punched in the bread basket!” (Accurate.) But I know now that the love inside me is never diminished by someone else’s ability to recognize or receive it. Plus, God doesn’t love us only if we “get” it. His hand doesn’t hold anything back. His jar is always open.

[If you’re interested in working with Charles, text your first name to Charles Prophet, 971-283-3600. Be prepared for wisdom, support, and encouragement. And fabulously bad jokes.]

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Since one life touches another, we can never really say how far our influence goes. Truly, our story goes on and on in both directions. Truly, we are infinite.

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On the Best Advice (Blog #915)

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Yikes. Yesterday I started getting a sinus infection, and it went full-blown during the night. I got a sore throat and everything. But what do you do? Life goes on. Even if you don’t. This morning I crawled out of bed at seven, coughed up a bunch of colorful junk, got dressed, and drove my parents to the hospital. My dad’s been needing a pacemaker for a while now, and today was the day. And despite being ten minutes late because of traffic, we made it. More importantly, he made it. The surgery went fine, we’re all home now, and his heart’s beating faster than it was before.

In the waiting room today I began reading The Writer’s Journey: Mythic Structure for Writers by Christopher Vogler. So far, it’s glorious. One thing Vogler points out is that every great hero (or heroine) has a guide or mentor, someone who says, “Look what’s possible.” Joseph Campbell called these helpers magical aid. Dorothy had Glinda the Good Witch, Frodo Baggins had Gandolf the Grey, and Mary Tyler Moore had Lou Grant. I’ve personally been fortunate to have a number of mentors, but I consider my therapist my big-kahuna mentor. More than any other person in my life, she’s given me the guidance I’ve needed to navigate life’s challenges successfully.

Whenever I praise my therapist and thank her for changing my life for the better, she always says, “You did all the heavy lifting.” This is important to understand. Not that I’ve done any heavy lifting, but that even the best therapist can’t fix your problems for you. They can support you, they can offer you wisdom, but you’re ultimately the only one who can do anything about your problems. (Why, Marcus?) Because they’re YOUR problems.

When discussing mentors Vogler says, “The best advice is useless if you don’t take it.” Think about that. The best advice is useless if you don’t take it. Countless times my therapist has told me, “If you want healthy relationships, here’s what you have to do. I’m giving you the playbook. Be honest. Confront. Have tough conversations. Set boundaries.” Talk about fabulous advice. But what’s the saying? It’s easy to say, harder to do. When you walk out of your therapist’s office, this is where the heavy lifting comes in. This is where the rubber meets the road.

When given good advice, one question to ask yourself is, “Am I going to willfully discard this information or actually do something with it?” For me, the answer often comes when I ask myself, How badly do I want to be free? (I’ll explain.) A number of times since starting therapy I’ve been in situations in which someone violated my boundaries. I wrote about a recent situation involving work and compensation for services here. Recently I’ve come to know–deep down–that when my first response to, say, a text message, is anger, I know a boundary has been crossed. This is part of seeing and living clearly. First you have to admit that there’s a problem rather than brushing it off or explaining it away. How do you know something’s a problem? Your emotions will tell you. Anyway, once you know, then you can decide what to do about it.

This is the part about being free. When you know there’s a problem, a violation of some sort, but you purposefully choose to ignore it or brush it under the rug, who’s fault is it when 1) you feel miserable and 2) it happens again and again and again? More and more I’ve started speaking up. Not because it’s fun but because I know what happens when I bite my tongue (see below). Recently I told someone, “If you and I are going to continue to have a professional relationship, I need you to do this.” Now, the person said, “Okay,” and that was that. We’ll see what happens. But my point is that sometimes other people don’t even know they’re crossing a line unless we tell them in plain, simple language discharged of emotion (and blaming and name-calling).

For me, I’ve found that when I don’t speak up when I know there’s a problem, when I bite my tongue, I suffer needlessly. My therapist says, “Biting your tongue hurts.” For me what hurts is that I stew. I imagine all sorts of scenarios in which I yell and scream and call people bitches and assholes (and shitheads and turds). I tell other people, “Can you believe what this person did?” But when I say, “Hey, wait a damn minute, we need to talk,” that’s it. Within a matter of minutes, I feel better, regardless of how things turn out. No drama. No gossip. No pain.

In all my years (decades) of struggling with sinus infections, the only thing that’s reliably helped them is a probiotic called L. sakei, which is most commonly (but not always) found in kimchi or fermented cabbage. Last week when I started to get an infection, I bought a bottle of kimchi, and it knocked it out overnight. For a week I felt great. Now the infection is back with a vengeance. Because that bottle didn’t help yesterday, this afternoon I ended up buying over seven pounds of kimchi–because the probiotic in the kimchi expires after a couple months and the only recently made kimchi was in a huge jar. And whereas I find a six-foot tall white man walking out of an Asian food mart with seven pounds of kimchi tucked under his arm funny, again, it’s the only thing that’s helped.

You do what you gotta do.

This evening I’ve been using the new kimchi, and the jury’s still out as to whether or not it’s gonna work. I’ll know for sure in the morning. Either way, I ordered a fresh batch of only the probiotic (it comes in a powder) just moments ago, and that will be here by the end of the week. And whereas part of me is freaking out because–what if nothing works?–experience has taught me that this does work. Sure, it’s not an exact science–I have to play around to get the right product, and it’s not a one-and-done deal–but it works. The same goes with how you can improve your relationships–communicate, listen, set boundaries, speak up. It’s not an exact science. You have to keep working at it. But the advice works–if you take it.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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As the ocean of life changes, we must too.

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On One’s Inner World (Blog #552)

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It’s day six working backstage for the national tour of The Wizard of Oz, and last night we stopped rehearsal abruptly when the fog machines set off the fire alarm. And whereas the actors were released early (the stage was FULL of fog), the crew stayed to work on sets and props. My job was to “spruce up” the flower pots used in Oz, one of which is broken in half and turned into a crown for The Lion when he sings If I Were the King of the Forest. This involved hot-glueing some foam around the edges, painting the foam gold, painting the rest green, then re-arranging the flowers and greenery.

Here’s a look at the finished products.

Since “the locals” didn’t have to report until one this afternoon, this morning I got to sleep in–at least a little–until eight-thirty. And weird–just like yesterday, I woke up in THE BEST mood. However, unlike yesterday, my joy has NOT dissipated. Currently it’s six in the evening, and I’m still all grins and giggles.

Go figure.

From ten to noon, I taught a dance lesson at my friend Bonnie’s house for a man and his daughter, who’s getting married this weekend. I imagine this has a lot to do with my good mood. First, dance is such a delightful thing, and it’s wonderful work, helping a dad dance with his daughter. Second, I’m in my element when I’m teaching dance. You know, it’s my thing. It makes me happy.

And it’s ALWAYS GOOD to get paid for doing something you love.

This afternoon at the Alma Performing Arts Center, we ran the show–from start to finish–without stopping. And whereas some of the cast has been practicing in partial costumes, today was the first time everyone was in full costume with full makeup. Oh my gosh, y’all–it was absolute magic. There’s so much talent here, and it’s such a glorious story. Whenever I don’t have sets or props to move, I hide behind one of the curtains and just watch.

Somewhere, over the rainbow, there’s a land that I dreamed of once in a lullaby, where troubles melt like lemon drops…

That rainbow song gets me almost every time. Who hasn’t dreamed of a better place, a better life? I know I have. I do–all the time. The lovely thing is that I’m beginning to think it’s actually possible, that you can have what you dream of, that your entire world can turn on a dime for the better. And yet, I know that I’m already in a better place than I used to be, even though I physically haven’t gotten out of the county I grew up in. Likewise, I have a better life than I used to, even though you wouldn’t guess it if you were to look at the clothes I wear or add up the amount of money I bring home. But on the inside–where it counts–EVERYTHING looks better than it did before.

Joseph Campbell says all the myths and fairy tales are about changes in consciousness. As I’ve said before, this is evidenced in Dorothy’s story–who at first is unable to save her everything, her Toto, from Miss Gulch but later is able to find it within herself to “melt her fears” by dissolving The Wicked Witch of the West. Campbell says, “The hero’s journey always begins with the call. One way or another, a guide must come to say, ‘Look, you’re in Sleepy Land. Wake. Come on a trip. There is a whole aspect of your consciousness, your being, that’s not been touched. So you’re at home here? Well, there’s not enough of you there.’ And so it starts.”

Since I re-read this quote recently, I’ve been fixated on the part that says, “So you’re at home here? Well, there’s not enough of you there.” To me this means that OF COURSE it’s COMFORTABLE to think the same thoughts you’ve always thought and do the same things you’ve always done; OF COURSE it’s UNCOMFORTABLE to change. In my experience, like Dorothy’s, it takes every ounce of your brains, your courage, and your heart to overcome your fears, change your habits and behavior, and transform you inner world. But when you do The Hard Work, what used to be black-and-white transforms to color. It’s that dramatic. And it’s not that the outer world has changed; it’s that YOU have.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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As the ocean of life changes, we must too.

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The View from Stage Left (Blog #550)

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Today is day four working backstage for the national tour of The Wizard of Oz, and it’s once again dinner time. This has been an interesting experiment, getting up early (at 7:45) and working all day. Last night we left at 11; I think I finally passed out about 1. Due to this schedule, dinner is really the only time I have to blog. That’s another interesting thing, forcing my brain to pump out a post in about an hour. (Dinner is an hour and a half, and it takes me about twenty to thirty minutes to edit after having written). Anyway, currently I’m sitting backstage, stage left, in the dark at a prop table. I’m surrounded by a butterfly net, a giant hourglass, and the bucket of water Dorothy uses to melt the old witch.

Which old witch? The wicked witch.

Stage Left is where I spent all of last night, this morning, and this afternoon. As of now, everyone here is “running the show,” going scene-by-scene and song-by-song working out lights, sound, choreography, and everything else. As I’m part of the prop team, my job has been to help move sets and props on and off at the appropriate times. I wish you could see what goes on back here. I wish you had the view from stage left. For all the magic that happens on stage, there are dozens of people making it happen backstage. It’s this magical machine that’s planned down to the smallest detail. (For example, pulley ropes, light cues, and pieces of tape that designate where the sets go–called spike marks–are all color-coded.)

My predominant thoughts today–

1. On synchonicity

The universe is real trip sometimes. In yesterday’s blog I casually mentioned feeling like Bob Ross, since I’ve been painting so much. Well, not an hour later, I struck up a conversation with one of the carpenters on the tour and noticed that he was wearing a Bob Ross lanyard! There was Bob’s face hanging around his neck, and the exact quote I’d used written along the lanyard itself. “We don’t make mistakes, just happy little accidents.”

Crazy.

2. On receiving

In the last few weeks, I’ve blogged twice about the rich symbolism contained within the story of The Wizard of Oz, once in my birthday blog, and most recently here. I won’t go over the whole thing again, but suffice it to say this is a story that clearly speaks to my consciousness, as it’s about finding your voice, facing your worst fears, and becoming self-empowered, and this is a journey I’ve been on (or at least am currently on, since I’m not sure one ever “gets there”). Anyway, I think it’s pretty fantastic that I should end up HERE backstage at THIS SHOW. What a gift to receive. I’m absolutely having the time of my life. Thinking about what all that had to happen to bring me and this show together–well, it nearly brings me to tears.

Here’s a stage view of the Tin Man’s House and the Forest Trees that I helped paint/touch up.

3. On what one witch says to another

There’s a line in the show that I’d forgotten about, but which stopped me in my tracks when I heard it today. Dorothy has just gotten to Oz, and The Wicked Witch of the West is threatening her. Remember–she’s not really upset that her sister is dead, but is QUITE pissed off that Dorothy has taken her sister’s shiny shoes. (It’s always about footwear.) Anyway, Dorothy is shaking in her boots–well, her ruby red slippers–but then Glinda the Good Witch (who represents Dorothy’s guiding consciousness) says, “Be gone! You have no power here.”

Wow, what a powerful lesson. What a beautiful command to remember whenever our fears present themselves to us. “Be gone! You have no power here.”

4. On reaching the emerald city

After a full day of running the show, we’re just to the part where Dorothy and her friends reach The Emerald City. I’m still working the symbology of The Emerald City out, but I would compare it to my therapist’s office in my own tale. It’s where you go for hope. However, it’s also the place where you think someone else is going to solve your problems (like, Dorothy and her friends want The Great Oz to answer all their requests), but later find out that you have to do The Hard Work yourself; you still have to melt your witch (that is, face your shadow) and get yourself back home.

God, it’s such a long journey. So very fucking long and difficult. (I don’t recommend it; watch Netflix instead.) Anyway, when Dorothy and her friends first arrive, The Emerald City Gatekeeper says, “Have you come far?” Yes, of course, they have. We all have. So very fucking far. The Gatekeeper’s response?

“Believe me, every step is worth it.”

Honestly, this has been my experience. THE JOURNEY is tough stuff, but every difficult step is more than worth it. The results are so much better than anything Netflix has to offer. So run away, find your brain, your courage, and your own good heart, and kill your witches. Then get yourself back home, my dear. But know this–no one will believe the journey you’ve been on. (Dorthy’s family didn’t believe her.) No matter, since YOU will know–you’ve transformed. You’re different than you were before.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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A storm can leave your life just as quickly as it enters it.

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On Melting Witches (Blog #544)

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

Inch by inch.

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

Inch by inch.

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

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

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

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

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

Toto.

Melting witches is messy business.

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

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

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"There are a lot of benefits to being right here, right now."

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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More often than not, the truth is a monster. It gets in your face and makes you get honest. Sometimes the truth separates you from people you care about, if for no other reason than to bring you closer to yourself.

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