Living, Not Labeling (Blog #772)

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This morning I woke up at 9:45 (!), much earlier than what I’m used to. It’s a tough life. But I’m not complaining–this was my choice–my dad had plans to take my aunt to Oklahoma to visit her son, daughter-in-law, and grandchildren, and I wanted to tag along. So after a quick breakfast (toast with peanut butter and a cup of coffee), I got myself together and that’s what I did. Or, that’s what we did, rather–hit the road for two hours, met my cousin in a McDonald’s parking lot, dropped off my aunt and all (!) her luggage, and turned right around to come back.

We’re in the car now.

For most of the ride, I’ve been reading an honest-to-god book. Lately most of my reading has been on my laptop, but that’s tougher to do in a car. Plus, I enjoy the satisfaction of turning a page versus scrolling, scrolling, scrolling. Dad and I are getting close to home. Maybe thirty minutes ago I put down my book and pulled out my laptop to blog. However, internet (my hot spot) sucks in Oklahoma, so it took forever to get connected. This happened last night, and my first inclination (my habit) is always to spit. But I’ve been realizing how important it is to not get swept away by every emotion that knocks on your door and offers to take you out on the town and show you a good time. So rather than spit, I looked up, took in the scenery, listened to the radio, and felt the cool breeze of the air conditioner on my skin.

Sometimes our family dog, Ella, just sits and stares. “I wonder what she’s thinking,” Dad has said a number of times. Well, apparently, she’s not. I’ll explain. Recently I talked about an attention technique called Open Focus. The idea is that rather than narrowly focusing on one thing (your damn internet problems, for example), you can “open focus” on multiple things (sights, sounds, feelings, smells, thoughts, and emotions) simultaneously. And it’s not like you’re trying to ignore whatever it is that’s stressing you out. Rather, you broaden your focus and INCLUDE it. For me, whenever I do this, two things happen. First, I immediately feel more calm and connected (even if my internet isn’t). Second, whatever it is that’s bothering me is put into perspective. That is, rather than my entire world being my frustrations, my entire world becomes partly my frustrations but MOSTLY the fact that I’m riding in a car, it’s cloudy out, there’s a song on the radio, and so on.

Thinking is not required.

To be clear, whenever I open focus, it’s not like I’m labeling everything that’s going on. There are drops of rain on the windshield. The flowers on the side of the highway are yellow. That’s what my mind WANTS to do, of course, but thinking is not required to EXPERIENCE life in this present moment. That was my point about our dog and the idea that she’s probably NOT thinking whenever she just sits and stares. Rather, she’s most likely simply noticing and experiencing being right here, right now, free of thought or inner commentary.

Inner commentary. Or hell, even outer commentary. There’s a can of worms we could open, and I guess I just have. In terms of inner commentary, just notice how much hell you can create for yourself by labeling what happens in your life. Not like, There’s a green tree, but like, This is a TOUGH life, I’m so fat (and that’s BAD), Things will never get better (and that’s BAD too). I’m talking about the knowledge of good and evil, how you can kick yourself out of the garden whenever you take a fact (like how much you weigh) and turn it into a GOOD fact or a BAD fact.

In terms of an outer commentary, I once went to a spiritual/personal development workshop where we had to pair off and listen to each other’s problems. But we could only listen. “You’re not allowed to give advice,” the workshop leader said. Try this sometime. It’s excruciating. Your ego hates keeping its mouth shut. We like to think we know stuff. But by keeping quiet, you provide someone a space where they can actually hear themselves. This is what my therapist does. She doesn’t interrupt. And it’s affirming. By being allowed to speak, I’m given the message that I have everything I need to figure things out. I don’t need someone else to tell me what to do. And neither do you. Each of us inherently wise.

When I started blogging earlier, I didn’t think I had anything to say. Of course, this is never true. After two full years of daily writing, I know there’s always something in The Well That Never Runs Dry. All you have to do is dip into it. I’m talking about life. This is something I’m currently learning, that no matter where I am or what I’m doing, there’s life to experience–to see, to smell, to taste, to hear, and to feel. All you have to do is notice. What’s going on right here, right now? (Just look around. See if you’re not fascinated.) And, again, try not to label it. Life is meant for living, not labeling.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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If you're not living a fully authentic life, a part of you will never be satisfied.

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On Myths, My Birthday, and Metonic Cycles (Blog #532)

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There’s a theory regarding myths and fairy tales that they exist not to convey historical facts or to simply entertain us, but rather to teach us truths. Better said, they exist to teach us truths about ourselves. In other words, you should be able to identify every character (at least every main character) in a myth or fairy tale as PART OF your own psyche. For example, in The Wizard of Oz, Glinda the Good Witch would be your light or conscious self, and The Wicked Witch of the West would be your shadow or subconscious self. Interpreted this way, the marriage of a prince and princess (or the rescuing of a damsel in distress by a gallant knight) would signify the coming together of two opposite forces within you, such as your light and shadow sides, your conscious and subconscious selves, your yin and yang, your male and female powers, your sun and moon.

This “joining together” is the idea behind “happily ever after” and is what the mystics call “going beyond the pairs of opposites.” In the Biblical tradition this transformation from “duality” into “oneness” is depicted as the going back to The Garden of Eden or eating from the Tree of Life rather than from the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil. (Note that Good and Evil are, again, opposites.) In the Hindu tradition, this marriage or re-union is alluded to (for instance, in proper yoga) when a person’s Kundalini energy rises from their first chakra (at the base of their spine) and flows up their spine in a criss-cross pattern through two “opposite” channels called the Ida and the Pingala and eventually “comes together” at their seventh chakra or the crown of their head. In drawings this is depicted as two snakes criss-crossing up a spine and is, interestingly enough, the same process that the symbol of the Staff of Hermes (the Caduceus) “speaks” of.

Joseph Campbell says that all of this is exactly what’s being depicted in Homer’s The Odyssey, in which Odysseus represents a person’s male or solar power, and Penelope represents a person’s female or lunar power. You remember the tale–Odysseus is separated from his wife (that is, from himself), but through a series of events that include Odysseus’s going into the underworld (that is, his subconscious self or shadow side), the two are eventually able to be reunited (as one whole, integrated person).

I say all this to say–this morning at 8:47, I not only turned 38 years old, but I also completed my second Metonic Cycle.

I’ll explain what a Metonic Cycle is shortly, but first let’s talk about how I partied.

My birthday celebrations officially started last night with dinner with my dear friend Ray. We ate at one of my favorite restaurants in Fayetteville–Theo’s. It was delicious. Plus, the conversation was delightful. I don’t remember the last time I laughed so much. The whole thing was the perfect slow-start to my big day.

This morning–believe it or not–I actually woke up early in order to do a Live Video on Facebook at the time I was born. I’ve wanted to do another video since hitting my 500th blog post a month ago, but life and work have been a real bear lately. Whatever–it worked out this way–and in the video I thanked the readers of the blog (that means you), as well as read an essay about accepting help, saying goodbye, and realizing you’re doing better than you think. Anyway, if you want, you can watch the video below or alternatively on the Live Videos page at the top of the blog. It’s about 22 minutes.

This afternoon I went out for Mexican food with my friend Bonnie (I love Mexican food), then we went to Fort Smith’s new bookstore (I love bookstores), Bookish. The store was super cool, and Bonnie gifted me with a book about the stars and constellations. Afterwards, we went to Starbucks where they gave me a FREE DRINK (of my choice) just because it’s my birthday. How cool is that? Then we went back to Bonnie’s house and ate part of a scrumptious chocolate cake she made me. Y’all, I drank a WHITE-CHOCOLATE mocha while eating CHOCOLATE cake WITH VANILLA ice cream. Talk about joining together things that are opposites!

Seriously–it was nothing short of a spiritual experience.

To top off the day’s festivities, I went out to eat with my parents this evening. I know, super exciting. My life is really sexy. I can read the headline now–Thirty-Eight-Year-Old Man Goes to Dinner with His Mom and Dad (Who Happen to Be His Roommates) on His Birthday. But we really did have a lovely time. I mean, we WERE all together 38 years ago and we’re STILL all together now.

Why not have a little party?

In short, it’s been a fabulous day. Not only have I spent time with some of my darling friends and family, but I’ve also been ravished online with well-wishes and words of encouragement. (Thank you if you participated in this virtual celebration. If you didn’t, it’s not too late. I’m totally okay with belated kindnesses.) Anyway, as I said yesterday, what’s not to like about growing older?

But back to the completion of my second Metonic Cycle. (Hum. How do I explain this?) For the longest time, society has observed a solar calendar in which a year is basically 365 days long. However, some historical societies observed a lunar calendar in which a year is basically 354 days long. (Certain religious groups still use this lunar method for keeping time and calculating holidays.) Anyway, a Metonic Cycle is a period of 19 solar years (or 235 lunar months) and is a way of linking or JOINING TOGETHER the two calendars. Think of it like this–if the Sun and the Moon were (from our point of view) occupying the same space in the sky, it would take 19 years for them to RETURN to that same space in the sky at the same time.

Does anyone want to guess how long Odysseus and Penelope were separated from each other in The Odyssey?

That’s right–19 years.

Another way to think of the Metonic Cycle is that if the moon were in Scorpio at the time you were born (like it was for me in 1980), it would take 19 years for the moon to return to Scorpio AND be in the SAME PHASE as it was when it was there before. For me this means that the moon was WAXING CRESCENT in Scorpio on the morning I was born, it was waxing crescent in Scorpio again on the morning of my 19th birthday, and it was the same thing again this morning.

You can live happily ever after.

Now. Does this “mean” anything? I don’t know that it does. I’ve scoured the internet for theories about why your 19th, 38th, 57th, and 76th birthdays might be significant or important but can’t find a single one. Personally, I know that 19 was a big year for me, since I started dancing just two weeks after my 19th birthday, and that’s certainly been a significant PHASE in my life. But does this mean something just as significant will happen during these next 19 years? Again, who knows? It’s fun to think about. Surely if the sun and the moon can come back together after years of being separated, anything is possible. And surely if princes can marry princesses and knights can rescue damsels in distress, then I can marry myself and I can rescue myself, and I can live happily ever after.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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No good story ever ends.

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Christ Between the Two Thieves (Blog #481)

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Currently the only pair of swim trunks I own are short by anyone’s standards. They hit me about mid-thigh, higher if I’m sitting down. They’re orange and white, and I personally think they’re rather “gay.” (Since I’m gay too, it’s not a problem.) That being said, the more tacos and beer I eat and drink, the more I think, These shorts COULD use some more fabric. Anyway, I wore the trunks last night while swimming with my nephews and brother-in-law, and my younger nephew, who’s four, said, “Tio [Tio is Spanish for uncle], someone cut off the bottom of your shorts!”

So there I was, eighty-five percent skin (eighty-five percent beer and tacos), and my brother-in-law, who’s one-hundred percent Mexican, said, “You’re WHITE. You need to get some sun.”

This is how I was welcomed to Albuquerque.

Y’all, it’s a 100 degrees here–we’re in the desert for crying out loud–but it’s 65 in my sister’s house. (I think she’s doing this to appease my warm-natured father, but still, I’m freezing.) Last night when I went to bed, I shut both the vents in my room, turned off the fan, added two blankets to the bed, AND put a sock cap on my head. It’s the middle of July. All this to say that after breakfast this morning, I needed to defrost, so I curled up on the couch on the back patio with a blanket over my legs and a book (called The Hero Journey in Dreams) in my arms.

The blanket had ants in it, but it WAS warmer.

After a while, my aunt came outside to work in my sister’s garden and said, “Marc, I figured you’d be in the pool.”

Well, I thought this was a good idea, so I changed into last night’s shorty-short swim trunks, grabbed a towel, and headed for the water. And whereas the water felt great, I spent most my time in a recliner soaking up the sun (because I’m WHITE) and continuing to read for what I thought was about an hour. (I didn’t take my phone with me.) It really was the perfect morning/early afternoon–breakfast with coffee, reading by the pool, the warm sun. Glorious!

Except for the fact that I burned myself.

Y’all, by the time I came inside, I was already pink, mostly on my taco-tummy. Having toasted my back a few weeks ago, I thought, Shit, I‘ve done it again. But what do you do? Personally, I came inside and asked my sister for help. She’s apparently become one of those essential-oil people and told me last night that some of her oil magic (my words, not hers) had kept her from peeling when she got a sunburn not long ago. Anyway, the next thing I knew, I was rubbing a concoction of coconut oil and lavender (and eye of newt) all over my chest, and my sister was rubbing the same stuff all over my back.

“Let’s hope this works,” I said.

Afterwards, I left the house to go used-book shopping. Y’all, I LOVE to book shop and especially love to used-book shop. I could EASILY spend all my money on books and pretty much do. But I’m really proud of myself–I went to two large stores and perused for three hours and only bought two books–one on the history of Easter and one on hypnosis. $24.05 total. Not bad, all things considered.

Just before I left the last bookstore (in the middle of an empty aisle), I lifted my t-shirt and looked at my belly, which was BRIGHT red. Oh no! I thought, I’ve really done it. Back to the house, I looked in the mirror. Y’all, I was (and am) the color of a red, ripe tomato. My brother-in-law said, “How long were you out there?” I said, “Just an hour, but maybe longer.” My sister said, “Either way, you ARE at a higher altitude–an entire mile closer to the sun. Plus, it’s dry out here, and it sucks the moisture out of your body, so you fry faster.”

Now they tell me.

So basically I spent the afternoon in God’s convection oven, and now I look like a lobster. It’s not cute. Seriously, there’s a wide red stripe down my front and another down my back, and both my sides are white. I feel like a candy cane without the swirl. And I’m pooped. Earlier Mom helped me reapply the coconut/lavender witch’s brew, and I’m about to do it again and go to bed. I’m making jokes about the oils, but I will say that when I checked my skin about an hour ago, it was definitely less “angry.”

SO WE’LL SEE WHAT HAPPENS.

Tell me God doesn’t have a sense of humor.

Currently my stomach is burning up, but I’m here in my sister’s giant meat locker–er, living room–freezing my ass off, despite the blanket over my legs and sock cap on my head. Tell me God doesn’t have a sense of humor. The mystics say this is the world of duality (which is sometimes represented in mythology by the number two). You spend a glorious afternoon in the sun, you get a not-so-glorious evening to follow. Here, every up has a down, every good has a bad, and every hot has a cold; and you can run yourself ragged going back-and-forth between them, thinking, I want THIS and not THAT. But there is another way, say the mystics–the middle path, or acceptance of whatever comes your way. This is the Garden of Eden between the two cherubim, Christ between the two thieves.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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All the while, we imagine things should be different than they are, but life persists the way it is.

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Finding God in the Strangest Places (Blog #75)

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I’m just going to get this out of the way. Until this evening, I hadn’t showered for three days, maybe four. I lost count. All I can say is that I kept meaning to clean up, but there were so many reasons not too. I needed to exercise, I needed to blog, I needed to sleep. (Those are really the only things I do lately.) Suffice it to say, things got pretty gross, so in order to avoid smelling my own pits, I’ve spent a lot of time this week pinning my arms to my sides, kind of like a wallflower at a high school prom, minus all the acne. My personal mantra has been–elbows below nipples–elbows below nipples.

Since starting my new diet, my unfortunate and semi-longstanding body odor problem has actually improved, but it hasn’t entirely gone away. I read on the worldwide web that body odor can sometimes be caused by drinking too much coffee, so I thought that maybe I should cut back from my usual three cups, four cups, or maybe it was half a pot a day. Again, it’s hard to keep track of these things when you have so many other important tasks to accomplish.

Typically, whenever I decide something is bad for me, I cut it out cold turkey, label it as evil, and immediately proceed to look down upon anyone else who does it. Like, I could smoke half a pack of cigarettes for six months, quit for three days, and then walk down the street and see a total stranger bumming a Camel from his friend and think, What a lowlife–that’s disgusting. Or I could spend two months eating ice cream every night, quit long enough to lose half a pound, and then drive by the Dairy Freeze and think, You people should be ashamed of yourselves–go home and eat broccoli.

My therapist says that when it comes to certain topics, I’m so judgmental of other people because I’m primarily so judgmental of myself. I wish I could say I disagree with her. I guess because I have this highly developed sense of what’s right and wrong, good and bad, it gets applied here first, and then everywhere else across the board. So if you’re one of those people I’ve judged, I’m sorry, and I’m right there with you.

But back to coffee and body odor.

Some days managing my health feels like playing a game of Whack-A-Mole.

I’m really trying to not be such a hard ass, with myself or anyone else. (Did I mention I’m REALLY TRYING?) Anyway, instead of quitting coffee cold turkey, I decided to just back off, go to one cup a day. So far I’m two days in, and I’m starting to get really cranky. Part of me thinks, God, Marcus, you don’t have to quit processed foods, refined sugar, white bread, dairy, AND coffee in a ten-day period. But another part of me thinks, Yes you do–and while you’re at it, you should probably mediate for an hour every morning, sleep on a bed of nails, and adopt a child from China and pay for it by selling one of your kidneys on the black market. I mean, is that too much to ask?

Honestly, I just want the body odor problem to go away. I’m willing to try just about anything in order to make that happen, but some days managing my health feels like playing a game of Whack-A-Mole. If you want to know the truth, sometimes I think I’m a hypochondriac. (I can hear my friends saying, “No! Surely not you.”) Tonight when I finally did take a shower because I had a dance lesson (I’m not completely inconsiderate), I shaved my face, nicked something, and started bleeding. Well, I instantly thought it was a wart, another longstanding problem I had a couple of years ago. I think my heart actually stopped beating for a second as I thought, THEY’RE BACK.

But then I thought better of it and decided it was a zit, probably the result of not washing my face in three days, maybe four. Yes, I’m almost certain it was a zit and not a wart. So don’t worry, I’m going to live.

Phew.

That was close.

This evening I had dinner with a friend of mine who has really good taste and recently remodeled his bathroom. He’d probably die if he knew I took a picture of it and put it on the internet, so I probably shouldn’t have talked about my blog so much this evening or typed the address of this website into his phone. Anyway, I love remodeling, so we spent quite a bit of time going over every detail, but even now all I can think about is the arched window that he hung above his toilet. I’m guessing it came from a sanctuary, but it could have come from Target, which I suppose for some people is the same thing.

Isn’t that the cutest thing you ever saw? Doesn’t it remind you of a church? Call me twisted, but all night I’ve been thinking that if you just lit a few of candles, maybe had a couple of monks chanting in the shower (think how good they’d sound in there), it really would make the toilet feel like–I don’t know–a throne of grace. Just think of it–going to the bathroom could be called–a righteous release–a sanctified shit–a holy crap.

After dinner this evening, my friend and I were in the car, and he told me that I smelled “clean.” You can’t imagine how good it made me feel. I told him that I’ve been super self-conscious lately because I took some antibiotics and I think they messed up my intestinal flora and gave me body odor, so I’ve changed my diet and am cutting out coffee to try to fix it. Well, my friend is super honest, so he said, “Marcus, you’re a freak. (I’m summarizing.) You’re the only person I know who would change his diet because he’s afraid of the way he smells. No one else thinks about their flora.”

He may have a point.

Once I read an interpretation of the Garden of Eden story that basically said the Tree of Knowledge represents our capacity to judge or “to know” something. It said that it also represents the world of duality, where everything is hot or cold, up or down, good or bad, and it’s the good or bad part that causes a lot of our suffering. According to this take on things, everything was fine this afternoon while I was shaving, just as everything is fine right now as I’m typing this blog. In effect, I was and am in the Garden of Eden. (Who knew it would be this humid?) But as soon as I thought, I have a wart, and warts are bad, I kicked myself out of the Garden. That’s why my heart stopped beating, the way it would now if I labeled my body odor problem as anything other than good, which is what we’re told in Genesis is how God sees all that he has made. Or did he recently change his mind about that?

Leave it to God to hide under my armpits.

There’s a passage in the Gospel of Thomas that says, “Split a piece of wood, and I am there. Lift up the stone, and you will find Me there.” What I love about this passage is that it reminds me that God (sometimes simply called Good) is everywhere. There’s no where that he isn’t. I spend a lot of time trying to prove this theory wrong, of course. I walk around a large part of the day thinking that warts are bad, carbs are bad, certain smells are bad. I think anything could kill me, and that would be bad because death is REALLY BAD. None of those judgments, of course, feel good, and they certainly don’t change a damn thing.

So I’m trying (really hard) to look for the good in all circumstances, to basically play hide-and-seek with God, like, I know you’re here somewhere. (Come out, come out, wherever you are.) Of course, God’s been playing this game for a long time. He’s not going to hide behind the sofa–that’s too obvious. Don’t bother looking for the divine behind the divan. More likely, this game is going to require that I lift my elbows above my nipples, maybe take a selfie in my friend’s bathroom. After all, leave it to God to hide under my armpits. Leave it to God to hide in the Holy Crapper.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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

A Million Pieces of God (Blog #58)

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There’s a story in Eastern mythology that says when God first realized he was alive, he experienced pure joy. (What’s not to love about being alive?) However, he thought he might lose his joy or that someone might take it from him, so he experienced fear. (Sound familiar?) But then he remembered that he was the only one who existed, and the fear went away. (Phew!) But then he thought, Wouldn’t it be nice to not be alone? So after fear came desire, and out of that desire, God shattered himself into a million pieces and created the world.

Joseph Campbell, the famous mythologist, tells a version of this story. He says that fear and desire are the two basic emotions every human must deal with on his way back to God. They show up in every mythology and represent the world of duality and separation. In the Bible, this is depicted by the angels who guard the Garden of Eden. On one side of the gate is paradise, the place where God is all, and all is one. On the other side is duality, the home of up and down, good and bad, and you and me. If you want to get from duality to paradise, you have to go through the angels. In short, fear and desire keep us out of paradise. Fear and desire keep us separated.

Personally, I’ve spent a good part of my life in fear and desire, especially fear. I mean, your house burns down, your mom gets sick, and dad goes to prison, and that’ll pretty much divest you of the idea that life is good. The result, of course, has been a big feeling of separation, a big feeling of “something bad is going to happen.” That being said, I’ve worked really hard the last several years to get back to the Garden of Eden, or at least get closer to it. And although it hasn’t become a constant state of mind, I do think I’ve made a lot of progress. Life isn’t nearly as scary as it used to be.

The philosopher Alan Watts says that life is basically God–shattered into a million pieces–playing a big game of hide-and-seek with himself. Well, I really love this idea, and sometimes when good things happen, I like to think that God’s leaving clues, like, Hey, I’m over here (and over here, and over here).

So get this.

This evening my dance instructor friend Sheila and I danced at a private birthday party in Northwest Arkansas. A lovely lady named Carolyn was turning 90, and her son Jim hired Sheila and me to come dance to a live band because Carolyn loves dancing. Well, as it turned out, this was the kind of gig dancers live for. The party was at Jim’s home, and the place looked like it came out of a magazine. I’m pretty sure the chandelier in the entryway was bigger than my Honda Civic. And not to sound like a total redneck, but–Y’all, the downstairs bathroom was fancy. I mean, look at this sank.

The party itself was out by the pool, and the band was under a tent. Sheila and I danced together several times, and I even got to dance with the birthday girl, who told us that when her late husband first asked her for a date, she immediately said, “Can you jitterbug?” (I plan on stealing this dating requirement and think you should too.)

Here’s a picture of me and Carolyn. Thanks to her granddaughter (who said she was the favorite) for taking it.

As the evening continued, Sheila and I were invited to join Carolyn’s family and friends for dinner, drinks, and desserts. We looked at the four birthday cakes, thought about it for like two seconds, and said, “Okay, you talked us into it.”

On the surface, it was a wonderful evening. I haven’t worked a lot lately, so having a job was nice, and the atmosphere was amazing. I mean, the pool house would have passed for its own property, there was a playroom for the grandkids that looked like a castle, and I think the main staircase came out of Gone with the Wind. (I’d show you pictures, but I think that would border on creepy, and I’ve already posted a picture of these people’s freaking bathroom.) Plus, I found out that Jim used to play in a band that opened for Johnny Cash, Merle Haggard, and some guy named Bob Hope, so there were plenty of reasons to be impressed. (I kept hearing Mary Poppins say, “Close your mouth please, Marcus, we are not a codfish.”)

But below the surface, I couldn’t stop thinking about mythology and God playing hide-and-seek with himself, and here’s why. When I first walked outside and saw the pool, I noticed the fountain in the middle–three ladies–who are, of course, the three graces that represent charm, beauty, and creativity. (I should learn to zoom, but I think you get the idea.)

So the fountain set the mythological mood for me, and then it continued when Jim gave a present to his brother, whose birthday is close to Carolyn’s. I’ll let you see it for yourself, and then I’ll explain.

That’s right, it’s a statue with breasts and a penis. (I mean, is this a great family or what?) So everyone laughed about it being a fertility god, and I guess it’s a joke of some sort because Jim’s brother told me that it’s been passed around to several family members like a white elephant gift. I think everyone in the photo has owned it at one time or another. (For some reason, no one wants to keep it.)

Well, I think the statue is technically not a fertility god, but rather a hermaphrodite, which is a being with both male and female sex organs. (I recommend that you take my word for this instead of doing a Google search for fertility gods.) In Greek mythology, Hermaphroditus was the son of Hermes and Aphrodite and was a beautiful boy who fell in love with a water nymph that prayed to the gods to unite them forever. According to Carl Jung, hermaphrodites symbolize the union of opposites. Seen in light of the story told by Joseph Campbell, they represent the re-union of God, the return from duality back to the garden.

But wait, it gets better. You can’t see it in the picture of the swimming pool, but on the other side of the three graces is a large, triangle-shaped backyard. (Triangles represent the trinity, wisdom, and the divine power of the female). On one side, of course, is the pool. But on the other two sides are two creeks, and those creeks meet at the top of the yard as one creek. So as I walked out into the yard, I met yet another mythological image of the two becoming one. But what’s more, when I got to the top and realized which direction the water flowed, I saw that it was actually the one creek that became two–God shattering himself into a million pieces.

As I drove home tonight, I thought a lot about the mystical meaning of the party. I know for some people, it may sound like I’m reading a lot into it. But of all the places I could end up on a Saturday night dancing, I ended up at a place with the three graces, a hermaphrodite god, and, from my perspective, two creeks becoming one. Additionally, since I used to work for a wedding photographer, I’ve been to a lot of private parties, and tonight I ended up at a party with some of the kindest people I’ve ever met. And when you add all of that to the fact that I’ve been thinking a lot about mythology lately, trying to get away from the idea that “something bad is going to happen,” I just don’t think anything about tonight was an accident. Rather, I think God was bringing a few pieces of himself back together. Personally, I think he was saying, “Hey, I’m over here,” inviting me to return to the garden where something good is going to happen, there’s nothing to be afraid of, and–most importantly–we are one.

[My deepest gratitude to Sheila for inviting me tonight and to Jim and his wife, Jacqui, for all your kindness.]

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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You can’t stuff down the truth—it always comes up.

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