On Inner Gargoyles and Grotesques (Blog #966)

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For the last two days, for whatever reason, I’ve been tired, tired, tired. Fortunately, my life is such that I can rest. That is to say, I’m not a mother. God bless y’all mothers. You never get to sleep. Hang in there, they’ll grow up one day. Then you can rest. Anyway, back to me. (My dad tells everyone, “Marc’s blog is about HIM,” and I’m like, “DAMN RIGHT, it’s called ME and My Therapist”). Okay, this morning I slept in and then, after breakfast, read a book about gargoyles and grotesques, those nasty looking, often highly sexualized creatures that decorate medieval churches. Now there are some guys and gals who don’t get to rest. According to the book, one of the purposes of grotesques (aside from being homages to local gods) is to scare away demons, and you know THAT’S a full-time job.

Speaking of full-time jobs, this afternoon I took a shower. I can’t tell you how much I hate the fact that a person has to do this multiple times a week in order to be socially accepted (except at Walmart, of course). But I digress. After cleaning up (and putting on my clothes) I taught a dance lesson then had a session with my chiropractor who works with emotions. Lately he’s been using a technique that involves tapping into however you feel NOW (frustrated, scared, embarrassed, vulnerable) then remembering the first time you ever felt that way. Then he says, “Picture that child and tell them, ‘Whatever you’re feeling is okay. There’s nothing wrong or inappropriate about your emotions.” I really like this, the idea that there’s no such thing as a bad emotion.

This evening when I got home from my chiropractor’s, I took nap. When I woke up I was still tired, but whatever, clearly my body wants to rest. This is something I’m learning to be okay with. I’m also learning that I don’t need to know WHY my body needs to rest, I just need to give it what’s it’s asking for. So often I get frustrated because I can’t decipher what my body’s messages mean, but–being tired–that one seems pretty obvious. Like, duh, go to bed. Anyway, after my nap I ate dinner and took out the trash, now here I am, writing.

Today’s post is #966 in a row, and that means post #1,000 is only 34 days away. (Incidentally, Christmas is also 34 days away. And no, I didn’t plan this.) Along these lines, I’ve been thinking about the eventual ending of this project (I plan to continue until March 30 or 31, 2020), how scary that is (because then what?), and what I’ve learned from it. And whereas I plan to go into these ideas more in depth over the next several months, the largest lesson I’ve learned has centered around the idea of meeting myself. (Like my dad says, this blog is about ME.) For example, earlier tonight I was frustrated (about being tired and, well, my life), but when I sat down to blog, it was like part of me relaxed because I knew that I could work through it. That’s what these 966 days have taught me, that no matter how I feel or what kind of day I’ve had, there’s a space within me that can hold it. THIS is a full-time job of course–taking care of ourselves and consciously working with whatever arises right here, right now–but it’s worth it, I’m convinced of that.

Another theory I’ve read about gargoyles and grotesques is that they represent one’s inner demons. So many people say that our job is to SLAY our dragons, but others say our job is to HUG them, to welcome them in. I like this idea and have found it to be true, at least more effective. Whenever I’ve tried to push an emotion or icky situation AWAY, it’s only gotten stronger. But when I’ve said, “Sweetheart, you have every right to be here. Talk to me,” it’s calmed down, relaxed. The book today referred to several of the gargoyles and grotesques as hideous, gross, or repulsive. But I kept thinking of that song “Everything Is Beautiful In Its Own Way” and how some of those little monsters were actually kind of cute. This is a matter of perspective, of course, and that’s my point. If there’s something you don’t like about yourself–or someone else for that matter–take another look. Chances are, it’s not as scary as you think.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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A friend’s laughter takes us backward and carries us forward simultaneously.

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My Gargoyles, Edward and Bronius (Blog #461)

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Two days ago while cleaning out my closet, I found the instructions for a lava lamp, a piece of my childhood that I got rid of long ago in a yard sale. Lamps were a big thing when I was little. I had the purple lava lamp, a red twirling “siren” lamp, even a lamp that tossed rainbow-colored lights onto a whirling string (and is hard to explain). As an adult, I’ve collected mid-century modern lamps, lamps of unusual shapes and sizes, swag lamps and chandeliers that I used at my dance studio and old home, The Big House.

There’s always been something about the light.

When I had my estate sale, most of my lamps and chandeliers found new homes. Two lamps I couldn’t part with, however, are now in my newly redecorated room. Three chandeliers and three swag lamps I kept by default–they didn’t sell. For over a year now, they’ve been collecting dust in my parents’ garage, and no one on Craigslist or Facebook has wanted to pay what I’m asking. So I’ve been working on getting them inside the house this week. One at a time I’ve been cleaning them up, and if I haven’t been able to use them in my room (there’s only so much space in here), I’ve been hanging them in a spare closet.

This is something I’ve been hesitant to do. For the last year, anytime I’ve seen the chandeliers in the garage, part of me has wished they were gone. It took a lot to have that big sale, and their being around has served as a reminder of all the things that I no longer have, the place I called home for three years where I no longer live. Still, I’ve been making peace with where I am and have recently thought, At least for now, Marcus, these lamps belong to you, so let’s use them and take care of them.

In the process of cleaning up my lights this afternoon, I decided to hang one in my room. Because of the way it’s constructed, I didn’t think it would work at first, but my dad encouraged me to try, and it did. (Thanks, Dad.) Anyway, it’s antique–French, I think–with a heavy alabaster shade and a handful of hanging crystals. Atop two gargoyles have been attached. They’re not old, but they have that feel. I originally found this chandelier on eBay after days of searching for gargoyle lights. I just got obsessed over them because of their history and what they represent.

Technically, “gargoyle” means “spout,” as they were often used to decorate drain pipes in medieval architecture. However, depending on the history you read, gargoyles were also seen as guards and were placed on churches to keep evil spirits away. (What demon would want to go near something so ugly?) Plus, there’s something about them representing our shadow, that dark part of ourselves that we push away to the corners and refuse to look at or dance with. What with all my work in therapy, I figured gargoyles were the perfect creature to have around, a symbolic gesture that I was willing to embrace all aspects of myself–the good, the bad, the ugly.

For me, decorating is quite psychological.

As gargoyles can be thought of as guards, I named the two gargoyles atop my chandelier Edward and Bronius, both titles that mean “protector.” I don’t honestly believe that they kept me safe while living in The Big House, but I also never had a problem while the three of us resided there. (I’m just saying.) Plus, this is something I like to do, name my inanimate objects, especially the ones with faces. It makes my world seem more personal, more magical. I realize I’m almost forty, but–

why should I have to stop imagining?

We are surrounded by the light.

So now Edward and Bronius watch over my bedroom. A few of their crystals broke, apparently, while being moved, but–so what?–life isn’t perfect. And whereas all my favorite lamps and lights used to be spread throughout one big house, now they’re concentrated in one single bedroom–mine. I’m surrounded by their light–the light–and I love it. Maybe more now than before, since I’d mentally “lost” some of these objects, and now they’re “found.” This is the way I’ve come to think about myself–lost and now found–not because of some religious experience, but rather because I’m learning to love all parts of myself, to feel protected and at home here, in me, where the light and the dark dance together.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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You can’t play small forever.

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