Underground (Blog #1065)

Today I’ve been thinking about gratitude because recently–really without having to try too hard–I’ve come across a handful of extremely helpful things. Upper cervical care of my neck and headaches, a new therapist for resolving trauma, a myfascial release practitioner for releasing constrictions, and–most recently–a woman who’s helping me better understand my personality and the way I was made to best function and be of service in the world. When I told my (regular) therapist about how I met this woman (I randomly told an acquaintance that I was hungry, and they invited me to join them and a friend, this personality whiz, for lunch), she said, “If that’s not kismet [fate, destiny], I don’t know what it is.”

“I know,” I told her. “So many wonderful things have happened lately. I get so focused on what’s NOT working (currently I have an ice bag on my hurting hip) that I forget to be thankful, but it truly is wild how these things have come about.”

Y’all, for years I’ve been both praying and working my ass off for answers, for healing. And whereas I certainly still have problems, I am starting to make some progress. In truth, I was probably making progress all along and simply couldn’t see it. You know the way a seed sprouts underground and sends out roots long before anything breaks above the surface. My point being that it’s easy to feel like you’re getting nowhere when you can’t see evidence of progress. Likewise, it can be difficult to feel gratitude when things aren’t one hundred or even seventy-five percent better. But it’s important to 1) be grateful for any and all progress and 2) acknowledge an answer to prayer when you get one.

I don’t know. We read all these stories about how Jesus told the lame man, “Get up and walk.” Like it happened that fast. We say, “It was a miracle.” And yet when WE HEAL over the course of several weeks or months we think, Whatever. No big deal. Like the healings and good fortunes in our lives AREN’T miracles because they didn’t come in a flash, with fireworks. And yet miracles come at all speeds, in all shapes and sizes. Rarely do they announce themselves. When I met this woman the other day, who truly did help me out and provide a lot of peace of mind in terms of loving myself “as is” and not comparing myself to others, there weren’t any trumpets. Just an empty restaurant and a bowl of chili.

More and more I believe we really don’t know what heaven is up to, or what it’s capable of. We imagine we do, but when the divine begins to act in our lives, when it sends us help just like that, we dismiss it. We say, “What a strange coincidence.” Rather than recognizing these events as answered prayers, as graces. That’s what I see my being hungry as the other day. A grace. Like, God wanted me to meet someone but couldn’t just drop her in my lap. So that morning he sent me the thought to eat a light breakfast, and then down the rabbit hole we went.

The mystic Meister Eckhart said, “God is bound to act, to pour himself into thee as soon as he shall find thee ready.” And whereas I don’t claim to be ready (whatever that means) or to be filled with God, my point is that if you’re asking God for help, know that you can expect an answer. What’s more, as Caroline Myss says, know that when “that side” plays ball, they play to win. In other words, expect that–when the time is right–your life will be flooded with any and all help you need–to heal, to succeed, to help others, to fulfill your purpose.

In other words, Buddy, get ready. The team that’s got your back can seriously make shit happen.

For the last two days I’ve been obsessed with Charlie Puth’s song “Patient.” It’s about a boyfriend who’s begging his girlfriend to “please be patient with me” as he learns to be the man he knows she wants and needs. But when I hear it I imagine that the divine is asking me to please be patient with it. Because although it’s capable of healing or doing anything in the blink of an eye, more often it doesn’t. More often heaven answers our pleas over time because we need time–to change, to adjust to a new way of thinking, a new way of being. So please, just because things aren’t happening as fast as you’d like, don’t believe that things aren’t happening. For you and through you. Underground, seeds are sprouting. Roots are being laid down. In places you can’t see and in ways you’ll never understand, your cries for help are being answered.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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If you want to become who you were meant to be, it's absolutely necessary to shed your old skin. Sure it might be sad to say goodbye--to your old phone, to your old beliefs, anything that helped get you this far--but you've got to let go in order to make room for something new.

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On Receiving a Grace (Blog #1041)

It’s ten in the evening. Tomorrow morning I have to get up at the butt crack of dawn for work, which will last until well after midnight. So in an effort to blog and get to bed earlier than normal, I sat down thirty minutes ago to start writing. Alas, my internet hotspot is dragging ass, and I just got tonight’s selfie uploaded. I can’t tell you how frustrating this is. On the one night I need faster upload speeds! Oh well. Once again I’m encouraged to be patient, to accept this moment as it is. Plus, it’s not like I’m going to get a ton of sleep anyway. You know how it is when you’re revved up about something.

I’ve gotta get some sleep tonight, you tell yourself. So you don’t get any at all.

Currently I’m thinking about not trying so hard. This afternoon I bought a painting (“I think it’s a high school art project,” the lady at the vintage store said) for four dollars. Then, so I’d have something to put it in, I bought an old frame at a consignment store for eight. And whereas the frame was a little smaller than the painting, I thought, No big deal, I can trim the painting down. Since the frame was a bit beat up, I imagined this whole project, glueing it back together, spray painting it black or gold. But then I showed it to a friend of mine, and they said, “I don’t think you need to paint it all at. It matches the painting perfectly.”

All this to say that this evening after I shored up the frame with a few nails, trimmed the painting, and took a look at everything, I decided my friend was right. It looks super. And whereas I COULD fill in some cracks and do some touch-up painting on the frame, I’m going to try not to.

Why, Marcus?

Because all too often I have a tendency to overcomplicate things. Or just to complicate things. Like, this isn’t a tough project, Marcus. Clean the frame up, wipe the glass down, put the painting in, and hang the damn thing on the wall already. What’s the use in turning an hour-long task into a five-hour one?

I guess I’m USED to things being complicated or difficult. For decades I’ve read hundreds of books and tried dozens of methods and modalities all in an effort to heal mentally, emotionally, and physically. Unfortunately, somewhere along the way I got it in my head that no matter WHAT you try, it’s not going to work. But also that you HAVE to keep trying. It’s the whole story of Prometheus breaking his back rolling a boulder up the mountain. Sure, he makes it to the top, but the boulder just rolls back down to the bottom. Back to the drawing board, Prometheus.

Of course, this is frustrating and depressing.

Complicated.

Fortunately, I’m learning that things don’t have to be complicated. For example, thanks to upper cervical care, recently my body and I have made great strides with respect to headaches. Seriously, I can’t tell you how much better I feel. I used to dread headaches the way I dread sinus infections. Now I’m like, Oh, yeah, I remember when I used to get those. My point being that the treatment itself is simple, easy. This reminds me of something my Reiki teacher often says–“Doing the right thing IS simple. Knowing what’s the right thing to do, however, is another matter.”

Amen.

A word that’s been coming to mind lately is receive. That is, after we run around and try everything under the sun TRYING to heal, if and when we do have the blessing to find something that WORKS, it behooves us to RECEIVE it. To, rather than pushing it away because we’re used to everything being complicated, fully embrace it with simple gratitude and humility. Gratitude because your forty years in the desert is drawing to close. The Promised Land is near. Humility because no matter how much personal effort you put toward healing, you ultimately can’t make it come your way. This is why healing is always a grace, a grace that’s to be accepted with heads bowed, eyes closed.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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It's never a small thing to open your home or heart to another person.

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On Creating Time (Blog #1002)

Today I’ve been thinking about how we create time. (I’ll explain.) Caroline Myss says that the divine works in present time, in vertical time, where thought moves into form like a lightening flash. God says, “Let there be light,” and there is. Like, instantly, not in the amount of time it takes to earn a college degree or pass a bill through Congress. Conversely, most of us earthlings work in non-present or past and future time, in horizontal time. We say, “Let there be a pot roast,” and–well–we’re looking at waiting the better part of an afternoon, anywhere from four to eight hours for a seven pound hunk of meat using a crock pot.

How do you cook a pot roast faster, Marcus?

You turn up the heat, of course. You switch your dial from low to high.

Yesterday I touched on the idea that we can decide how quickly we want to get over something–anything from a minor irritation to a gigantic heartache–by (in part) refusing to give it our attention and thus keeping it alive. For example, this afternoon while driving I momentarily crossed into the other (wrong) lane in an effort to get into the turning lane. Well, there was a car coming down the other lane (toward me), but they were far enough away (I thought) as to not be dangerous. Alas, the lady driving the oncoming car apparently disagreed, since she laid on her horn like it was going out of style.

“Did you see her flip you the bird?” my dad said.

“No,” I said, “I try not to look at people when I KNOW they’re angry with me.”

Now, could I have handled this better? Probably. But you know how we all make in-the-moment decisions that aren’t always the best in hindsight. I figure this is part of driving. People pull out in front of me all the time, and usually (but not always) I just think they’re in a hurry or that God wants me to learn patience. Hell, maybe they’re doing me a favor, slowing me down and allowing me to miss some horrific accident down the road. You never know. God works in mysterious ways. Anyway, this afternoon when the lady flipped me off, instead of taking it personally like I have in the past, I kept hearing my therapist say, “People choose their reactions.” Like, the bird lady could have CHOSEN to be gracious.

The lesson being that people’s responses have almost everything to do with them and almost nothing to do with you. Not that I’m recommending TRYING to piss people off, but let’s face it, that lady would have flipped ANYONE off who got in her way. So it really didn’t have anything to do with me.

In other words–and here’s a phrase that’s full of grace should you choose to use it for yourself–it wasn’t personal.

Getting back to the idea of creating time, had I CHOSEN to obsess about what a rotten driver I am or what a turd bucket that lady was, I could have dragged this three-second incident out for hours, days, or weeks. Instead, it was over IN MY MIND in three minutes because I convinced myself it wasn’t worth my mental and emotional resources to keep it alive. Now, I know this example may seem silly, but let’s drive things home (in the correct lane, of course). Recently I heard a story about a woman who, upon FIRST MEETING SOMEONE told them she’d divorced her cheating husband and was absolutely in shambles because he’d fallen in love with her best friend. And whereas my therapist would say this woman had bad boundaries (because you don’t talk about your personal shit to total strangers), here’s the kicker–

all of this happened nineteen years ago.

Consequently, this woman’s body was right here, right now, but her spirit was stuck in the Clinton Administration.

This is what I mean by dragging things out and creating time. When I was with my ex there was a night I got a call from a friend who told me my ex was cheating. Deep down I knew it was true. Had I been willing to move as fast as my intuition (which, incidentally works in present time), to “change as fast as God,” it could have been over that night. I could have moved out the next day. Instead, because I didn’t want to face the truth (as is always the case when we create time), I was with him another five months. Now, I know it could have been worse–some people stay in bad situations for years, decades–but it was a miserable five months.

My aunt’s visiting from out of town this weekend, and earlier today we ended up talking about paper and clutter because we each tend to let things pile up before going through them. Anyway, she said, “I’ve read that the goal with paper is to handle it just once.” Like, you put it in its proper pile and move on with your life. Instead, most of us shuffle this here, shove that there. We say, “I’ll deal with it later.” Consequently, we drag things out and slow things down. We create time. What could be done in five seconds goes on five weeks, five years. And whereas it may not be a big deal to not deal with your TJ MAXX receipts, it is a big deal to not deal with your dramas, traumas, and relationships.

I once knew a grown woman who was absolutely petrified of dogs–any breed, any size. She could see one on a leash blocks away and start running like Florence Griffith Joyner. She never said what the deal was, so I can only assume something terrible happened when she was younger. Anyway, intuitive Robert Ohotto calls this sort of reaction “a time warp.” In other words, in present time there wasn’t a problem. Here’s a lady, there’s a dog a mile away. But in her past-oriented mind, it was a big damn deal. She would tremble. She would cry. This is why the master Jesus taught letting the dead bury the dead and giving no thought for tomorrow. Not because he was insensitive, but because there’s such a heavy price to pay for not being right here, right now.

This is why he taught forgiveness. Not because it’s a holy thing to do, but because it’s a powerful thing to do. Because it keeps you from being stuck in the past.

In the Clinton Administration.

According to Myss, the more we’re stuck or anchored in the past, the slower our life moves. “The more psychic WEIGHT you have,” she says, “the more you have to WAIT for anything [getting a new job, finding a lover, or healing] to happen.” In other words, the faster YOU change, the faster your LIFE will change. This sounds great, of course, but most of us prefer cooking our pot roasts at a slower, lower heat as opposed to a faster, hotter heat because–quite frankly–we can’t stand the heat. For one thing, most of society moves at–at best–a medium, lukewarm speed, and it’s never fun to outrun your friends and family. It’s lonely at the top and whatever. For another, most of us LIKE holding on to the past. We enjoy not forgiving.

Because we get to be right. We get to make other people feel guilty.

We get to flip total strangers the bird.

[FYI, the above pictures are of me and my friends Kate and Aaron and their son, the main connection to tonight’s blog being that they were taken tonight (when we all went out for Tacos). Although we didn’t plan it, we all wore denim jackets. This is one tie-in to creating time I considered writing about but didn’t because I want to go bed. That is, our wearing the same jackets is an example of a synchronicity, and, according to Myss, the more you live your life in present time, the more synchronicities will occur for you.]

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Boundaries aren’t something you knock out of the park every time.

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Our Burdens Fall Away (Blog #840)

It’s ten-thirty at night, and I’m plum tuckered out. Last night I stayed up reading a theory about the mathematics of creation and got so excited thinking about it that it was three in the morning before I finally wound down. (I’m a nerd, I know. But an even bigger nerd had to write the theory, so there’s that.) Then this morning I got up early to help a friend move. But then the stars didn’t align, and they postposed. Well hell, I was already awake, so I made breakfast and did more reading. Then I exercised and read some more. Seriously, y’all, have you tried reading?

It’s great.

What really made me tired, however, was not turning pages. True, I’m a delicate flower, but not THAT delicate. No, what wore me out was mowing. Recently I picked up a couple lawn care gigs and did them both this afternoon. Mowed and weedeated. Maybe this was a mistake, tackling both jobs in one (very hot) day. My lower back sure seemed to think so. Oh well, it’s over now, and I have the entire weekend to recover. This was my logic in working so hard today, that I’d have more time later to relax.

And by relax I mean read.

Recently I finished a book called Rules for the Dance by Mary Oliver, about how to read and write poetry. It’s stunning. For anyone who loves words, whether you’re into poetry or not, I recommend it. Anyway, one of the notes I took from the book was about ballads, which are a particular type of poem and–often–set to music. Unchained Melody by the Righteous Brothers, for instance. Anyway, if in a ballad there’s a line that repeats itself at the end of every stanza, that’s called a refrain. The line “I can’t help falling in love with you” in Elvis Presley’s song Can’t Help Falling in Love is a good example.

Okay, heres’ the part that interests me–the refrain is sometimes referred to as the burden.

I’ll explain.

Recently I had someone say something that was intended as a joke but hit a nerve with me. A small nerve, mind you, but a nerve nonetheless. And whereas I had a chance to say something about it, I decided to let it go. My therapist says, “You can’t confront all day every day–well, you could because people are full of bad behavior, but that would be exhausting.” My point is that having decided to not say anything about the matter, I was left with it in my head. So for the better part of a day I mentally replayed (repeated) the situation, imagining different outcomes.

I’ve done this so many times with so many different things it’s not even funny. Talk about wearing yourself out. Byron Katie says , “Who is more hurtful: the person who wronged you once or you for reliving it over and over in your head?” I hate this, but whenever I ask myself this question, I always have to answer–I am more hurtful. This is what I mean by the refrain being a burden. People say rude things. They cut us off in traffic. Even worse. In an instant, it’s done with. And yet we rewind and repeat the very worst in our lives. In so doing, we refuse to let the moment pass. Instead, we hold on–we hold grudges.

We punish ourselves.

Eckhart Tolle has a book called The Power of Now, which–if I recall correctly–is largely about the healing power of the present moment. For example, right now it’s quiet. There’s just a faint hum of a florescent light and the clack of my keyboard. I’m tired and my body hurts somewhat, but all the grass and dirt from this afternoon have since been washed away, and even the blisters on my hands have begun to repair themselves. And whereas I could sit here and imagine all sorts of both mildly irritating and actually horrific things that have happened in my past, the fact is that they now only exist in my memory. This is what’s beautiful about this present moment. Every horrific thing is over. Right here, right now, if we don’t repeat them, our burdens fall away. Right here, right now, we begin to heal. Right here, right now, there is grace for us.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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You’re exactly where you need to be.

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Here on Planet Earth (Blog #780)

This afternoon I lay in the sun while listening to an audio program about one’s Inner Critic. Thirty minutes on each side won’t hurt, I thought. Now I look like a lobster. Heat is radiating from my skin. What did I think would happen? Whatever. Inevitably I burn once every spring/summer, so I might as well get it over with. I’ve got my aloe vera handy. Even though it’s never–not once–kept me from peeling. (And neither have essential oils!) Oh well. Like it’s the worst thing in the world to shed your skin.

I’m speaking literally and metaphorically.

Other than the sunburn, today has been fabulous, easy-going. I read, I stretched. I drank enough coffee to wake up Rip Van Winkle. I’ve been telling my parents for weeks that I’d install grip-bars in their bathroom, and I cut and stained a 2×4 so that after it dries I can attach one of the bars to it. This evening my dad and I went to the gym, then we mixed concrete and set a post in their backyard that we’ll use to brace their fence with once the concrete hardens. I’ve made both these projects out to be “huge things” in my mind, but they’re really not. Granted, it takes time because there are steps involved. (Things have to dry!) But the steps themselves aren’t difficult or complicated.

At the gym, I did knee rehab. During one exercise that involved my TRYING to lower myself down using only my left knee (the one I had surgery on), my leg shook so much that my entire body vibrated. And whereas I wondered if anyone else noticed, I didn’t care. This is where my body is at, and this is what it’s going to take for it to get better. There are steps involved. A process to follow.

A process that involves shaking, apparently.

More and more, I’m grateful for The Process. I know I’ve talked about it a lot over the last two years, this idea that real progress is made slowly, that this requires a wheelbarrow full of patience, and that this sucks. (It does.) But it’s really been on my mind today, I guess because lately I’ve been experiencing The Results. For example, even though my left leg still won’t fully support me while going down stairs, it’s noticeably stronger than it was a month ago. I can use it to run, to jump. Consequently, I feel freer. I’ve been stretching and doing some relaxation/meditation techniques and have been having fewer headaches. There’s still a lot of tension in my neck, it just doesn’t escalate to DEFCON One as often as it used to. Even better, I haven’t had a full-blown, I-don’t-know-what-I’m-going-to-do sinus infection in over a year.

Just as I’ve been experiencing more freedom in my physical body, I’ve also been experiencing more freedom in my mental/emotional one. I don’t have a specific example, I’ve just noticed that I’m happier, less irritable, less nervous, and less stressed. My bad moods pass quicker than they used to. My Inner Critic isn’t AS LOUD.

I have this teeny, tiny thing with wanting everything to be perfect, so I’d like to be clear–things aren’t perfect. Ugh. Perhaps they never will be (at least by my standards). Still, I’ve spent a lot of time on this blog being frustrated with things in my mental, emotional, and physical life that weren’t working and a lot of time searching for hope that these things would improve. And I just think it would be shitty if I never stopped and recognized that–phew–things have gotten better. So this is me saying, by grace and The Hard work, The Process is paying off.

This is me saying thank you.

Recently I heard Caroline Myss say that healing isn’t personal, that–chances are–even if you’re a miserable human being, the cut on your finger or whatever is wrong with your body is going to improve because, simply put, our bodies are programed to get better. The sun shines on the just and the unjust. This concept–healing isn’t personal–has been on my mind lately because I used to believe that everyone else could heal (or succeed or be at peace) but that I couldn’t. That I was somehow the exception to the rule. But having seen some fabulous results lately, I’m now telling myself that good things are just as likely to happen to me as they are to anyone else. Not because I’ve “earned” them (that would be personal), but because good things happen here on planet earth.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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We are surrounded by the light.

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Does Someone Up There Have a Bet Going? (Blog #620)

For the last few days I’ve been struggling to use my blog editing software, which recently updated itself without asking me first. (How rude.) And whereas I was starting to understand it, it wasn’t playing nice with my “preview pictures,” the smaller-sized versions of each blog’s main photo that are used for the “related posts” section on my site. (Found at the bottom of each individual post, the “related posts” section recommends three–um–related posts). Anyway, when I noticed last night that a particular preview picture wasn’t being generated, it frustrated me to no end. So earlier I figured out a workaround, then later figured out how to get all my pictures, quotes, and everything else back to the way they’ve been for the last two years.

Up next: an explanation.

My blogging site’s new editing software is called Gutenberg, probably named after the man who invented the printing press. Regardless, I guess the people who invented Gutenberg saw this problem coming, curmudgeons like me getting frustrated by changes, so they created an option to blog using the “Classic Editor.” That’s the one I’m using now. Doesn’t that have a nice ring to it–classic? Almost makes me forget I’m a pissed off old fart with his arms folded across his chest who’s refusing to do things differently than he always has.

Classic: another word for set in your ways.

I’m telling myself it’s not that I absolutely won’t learn new things. I will. But these new things need to work at least as well as the old things did, or I’m out. (Done. Check please.) Ugh. I really didn’t intend to bitch for 250 words about this situation. The truth is I’m frustrated with my body. Earlier this year I battled a skin rash (where nobody wants a skin rash), but it’s been under control for months now. Then this morning–out of the not-so-clear blue sky, it showed back up. Maybe because since injuring my knee I’ve been showering in my parents’ bathroom and using a different soap. That’s the best theory my team of doctors came up with the first time, that it was an allergic reaction. “An inflammation whose cause is unknown” is what the lab report said. Anyway, it’s not pleasant. I feel like I have an entire extended family of mosquitoes living inside my pants.

I’m glad we can talk about these things.

As if that weren’t enough, this afternoon I got an MRI of my knee, my first MRI ever. Y’all, that machine was SO FRICKING LOUD. It sounded like a woodpecker using a jack hammer combined with that awful screeching noise used in Psycho when Anthony Perkins stabs Janet Leigh to death in the shower. Even with earplugs in, all I could hear was THUD-THUD-THUD-REEK-REEK-REEK for twenty minutes straight.

It was not relaxing.

That being said, the MRI itself went well. “We got really good pictures,” the technician told me. But lest this post start to sound too cherry, let’s get back to the bad news, which my doctor called me with this evening. In short, I tore my ACL and lateral meniscus, which explains why my leg currently has all the inner strength of a blob of apricot jelly. (That is to say, I can’t stand on the damn thing.) Anyway, my doctor said that ACL tears are pretty common in sports (like dancing), and that mine can be repaired (with surgery), but will require “harvesting” ligaments (I think that’s what he said) from my hamstring. Harvesting–can you believe that’s an actual medical term? Sounds like something you should be doing in September in Iowa–gathering in the corn. Except in this situation, they’ll be gathering in my body parts.

Talk about macabre.

In terms of my lateral meniscus, my doctor said they don’t repair well, so he’ll probably end up shaving off the damaged section. (Doesn’t that sound pleasant?) I can’t tell you how disheartening all this is. Not that I haven’t been assuming I’d need surgery, but there’s something about hearing your doctor say it, about being told you’ll be in a big, awkward brace for six weeks, will be in some sort of brace or another for an entire year (an entire year!), and won’t be able to dance for three months.

As of now, surgery hasn’t been scheduled, but my attitude is “let’s do this.” Not that I’m looking forward to it–I’m not–but the sooner we get this ball rolling, the sooner it’s all behind me. Shit. I’m really in a state of disbelief. My stomach’s upset (it has been for months), my skin’s irritated and inflamed, and now this nonsense with my leg (which, by the way, I use to make a living). What else can go wrong? Don’t answer that.

I know, things could always be worse. I’m not alone. Plenty of people have upset stomachs, irritated skin, and knee caps that function like Slinkys. But seriously–God, life, the universe–something needs to give. Yesterday I said the juice was worth the squeeze, but I didn’t mean squeeze harder. I’m up for learning through suffering and all–I get that’s a thing down here–but back off a little. (Pretty please?) I mean, if I accidentally signed up for the advanced course before incarnating, I apologize. That was a mistake. I take it back. From now on, if you don’t mind, I’d like my “tests” a bit more spread out. Just one exam a semester should work, thank you.

Life sucks until it’s finished sucking.

I know life doesn’t work this way. Sure, you can ask the heavens to back off, but you see how well that worked for Job. In other words, sometimes life sucks, it sucks hard, and it sucks hard until it’s finished sucking. And good luck ever getting an explanation. It’s not like the deity ever bothered telling Job, “You see, I had this wager–.”  And even if he had told him, it’s not like that tidbit of information would have made Job feel any better about losing–um–everything he ever loved. It’s not like, after being told that he was the subject of a big cosmic crap game, he would have scraped a piece of broken pottery across his leprosy boils and said, “Makes sense to me, God; feel free to double down next time!” No, explanations don’t help us when we’re suffering. Nor do we get to boss the heavens about or decide when we’re “done.” What we can do, however, is pray for the grace to accept this moment for what it is. For in acceptance, it seems, there’s relief.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Every stress and trauma in your life is written somewhere in your body.

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Available Grace (Blog #51)

Last night I noticed on Facebook that the author David Sedaris was coming to Tulsa in a few weeks and there were tickets on sale for the event that included a copy of his newest book and a guaranteed spot in the autograph line. Facebook said tickets would go on sale at ten this morning, so I thought maybe that would be a reason to get up before noon. But then I stayed awake until seven this morning watching a movie, so I thought, Eff that noise—I’m sleeping in. Besides, I figured it couldn’t hurt to save some money, especially since, you know, I don’t have a job.

A few weeks ago, I wrote about going to pay the hospital part of my sinus surgery bill and meeting a woman in the billing department who was dead-set on helping me. At that time, she said there was an assistance program for middle-aged men who lived with their parents—or something like that—and it would possibly cover seventy to ninety percent of my balance. That night I sent in all the paperwork by email, but I never got a confirmation, so I’ve been wondering if I should follow up on it. (The control freak in me said yes, but the rest of me said to chill the fuck out, so for the first time ever, my control freak sat down and shut his mouth.)

Since deciding to have the surgery, I’ve been telling myself that no matter what it cost or how long it takes to pay it off, it would be worth it. Having had the surgery, I still believe that. That being said, I have this big hang-up about not having any debt, so I’ve spent a lot of time over the last several months worrying about how I was going to take care of everything.

When I got up this afternoon, there was a letter from the hospital for me on the kitchen table, and it came in one of those envelopes with a see-through window, and I could read the part that said, “RE: Charity Approved.” Well, my legs went all rubbery, so I leaned up against the kitchen counter and tore through the envelope and tried to force myself to read the letter from the beginning and not cheat. But I couldn’t help it, and my eyes went straight to the part in bold.

Y’all, the hospital paid one hundred freakin’ percent.

So I’ve had a great day. This evening I went for a really long walk, and I practically skipped the entire time. Of course, I’m still responsible for the doctor’s part of the surgery, but the gift—the grace—I received from the hospital takes a huge load off. That’s the way I’m looking at this, as a grace. For me, it’s a reminder that good things happen even during those periods in our lives that don’t work out like we think they should, those times that seem like one disappointment after another.

For all of the things life takes away, it gives so much more in return.

They say that it’s always darkest before the dawn. First, I hate that. But I do think there’s something to be said for a light that breaks through the clouds just when you’re struggling to maintain hope. I know that’s what it felt like when I had the surgery—hope at the perfect moment. I’d been struggling with sinus infections for so long—twenty years—and I was about ready to give up. And then this magical prince of a surgeon came galloping up on a white horse and saved the day. (Okay, so I actually drove to him in a Honda Civic, but still.) And then, everyone at his office and everyone at the hospital that day were patient, kind, and professional. And if that weren’t enough, the hospital just said, “Oh don’t worry about that bill. We’ll take care of it.”)

Talk about a fairy tale.

(The above photo is of me and Lee Roy, the closet thing I could find to a prince on short notice. It was taken around Easter, which is why he looks like a rabbit.)

Of course, I don’t know why God and the universe do things the way they do. I imagine that having less medical debt means that I can start the next phase of my life sooner, but it may have nothing to do with that. But I do know that the news today has given me a lot of hope, and it’s reminded me to be patient and let things unfold in their own time. It’s also reminded me to do everything I can to walk through life with humility and gratitude. After all, each of us needs help at times. No one gets through life completely on his own.

When I got home from the walk, I decided to get those tickets to see David Sedaris for me and a friend. I thought it would be a great way to celebrate, to give something back to someone else, and to keep me excited about writing. So that’s what I did, and I’ll let you know how it goes.

When I sat down to write tonight’s blog, I started by looking through my computer files, which I sometimes do for inspiration. I came across a poem, a meditation called I Come to Him Running. It’s one of my favorite things, and the first time I heard it, it brought me to tears. I guess it feels like hope, and it does for me in words what the hospital did for me in actions. It reminds me there’s a lot going on behind the scenes, good things are being prepared for all of us, and they’re being prepared in abundance. For all that life takes away, it gives so much more in return. Whether we realize it or not, there’s always grace available.

***

I Come to Him Running
The Mishkat Al-Masabih

The Prophet said,

God Most High has said:
When my worshipper’s thoughts turn to Me,
there am I with him.
And when he makes mention of Me within himself,
I make mention of him within Myself;
and when he makes mention of Me in company,
I make mention of him in a better company.
If he draw near to Me a hand’s breadth,
I draw near to him an arm’s length;
and if he draw near to Me an arm’s length,
I draw near to him the length of both arms
wide outstretched;
and if he come to Me walking, I come to him running.
And if he meet Me with sins equivalent to the whole world,
I will greet him with forgiveness equal to it.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Healing is like the internet at my parents’ house—it takes time.

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why i can’t stop working (blog #7)

This week I’ve been house sitting for some friends of mine, and today I started a small painting project for them. I spent most the day thinking about how much my mood improves when I’m working, how much better I feel about myself. It’s a topic that’s been on my mind a lot the last few months because I’ve spent so much time lately not doing a damn thing except watching Grace and Frankie and Downtown Abbey (and judging myself for it the entire time). And it’s like I have this underlying guilt about the whole situation that’s my life right now–not having a job, not having a calendar full of to-do items, not being “productive.”

Productive. That’s the word that keeps comes up in therapy. It’s like I always have to be doing something I deem worthwhile, moving objects from here to there, earning a dollar, “succeeding.” I look at people who are able to sit on their porch and drink their morning coffee for an hour, and on the one hand, I’m jealous that they can relax. On the other hand, I’m judging them for not multitasking, listening to a self-help podcast while they down their caffeine.

At one point, maybe a year ago, my therapist said, “How would you feel if I told you that you couldn’t read any non-fiction books, listen to any interviews with spiritual teachers, or watch any self-help videos for a week?” And it’s like my butthole did that thing that happens when you first realize you’ve got food poisoning. But then I calmed down, took a deep breath, and said I thought I could do it.

Well, it ended up being the greatest thing, like somehow it was okay to not be improving, striving for perfection every damn minute of every damn day. But sometime over the last year, I’ve forgotten the lesson. Or maybe now I’m just being asked to apply what I’ve learned on a broader scale. (The universe does a lot of shit like this. It’s like a video game. You pass one level, and then, damn it, you just move on to a harder one.)

And I guess this just feels like a really hard level, spending most days not doing much other than going to the mailbox and changing the cat liter. And yes, I get the irony that I think NOT working is difficult, but again, I apparently have a lot of my self-worth tied up in work and productivity.

This evening, I went to my friend Bonnie’s house. Bonnie and her husband, Todd, have offered their home as a space for me to teach dance lessons, so tonight I worked with a couple who are getting married in a few weeks. After the lesson, Bonnie and Todd invited me to stay for dinner, and then Bonnie asked if I wanted to dance for fun, which we did. For a minute. And then I started teaching. I couldn’t help it.

Before I left, Bonnie said, “You didn’t have to teach me anything. I really did just want to dance for fun. You know you don’t owe us anything.”

On my way home, I started thinking about when I was a teenager. My dad was a pharmacist, and he was a arrested for misusing his license, and he spent almost six years in prison. Well, Mom was pretty sick, so we didn’t have a lot of money. I remember having to return one car to the bank and them coming to get another. For a few years, I attended First Baptist Church in Van Buren, and one of the Sunday school classes gave my family this cardboard box wrapped in Valentine’s paper, and it was full of canned goods and Kraft macaroni. And I know that it was the sweetest thing, that they just wanted to give, but the box sat in a corner of the kitchen for years, and it was like this constant reminder of how we weren’t able to provide for ourselves.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about feeling embarrassed, and maybe it goes back to Dad being arrested and the Valentine’s box full of non-perishable food items. I’m just going to go ahead and say that’s exactly where it started, watching our nice things being repossessed because we could no longer pay for them. I remember one day, as a sixteen-year-old, having to go to the bank to meet with a loan officer. The whole meeting was about whether or not we could stay in our house until Dad got home from prison, since we weren’t able to pay for it. A family friend was there with me, but I just remember being totally overwhelmed, way in over my head. I remember crying in front of the loan officer, like I’m just a kid.

The bank ended up letting us stay, which I get now is a pretty big deal. It’s a huge grace. That being said, the whole situation really left me with this feeling that I had to earn my way in the world, that it’s somehow embarrassing to be in a situation where you need help. And what I’m thinking in this moment is that my need to be productive every damn minute of every damn day isn’t really about my self-worth, it’s about wanting to not be embarrassed. Because that’s what it feels like to not have a job or drive a nicer car. That’s what it feels like to move back in with my parents. And I know Bonnie and Todd well enough to know their hearts, that they really do want to give me a space to teach dance and they really do want me to stay for dinner–because we’re friends–and not because they feel sorry for me. And still it’s the hardest grace for me to wrap my head around, that I don’t have to earn my place in this world, that I don’t have to grow up and have all the answers as fast as I think I do, that there’s love available for me in each new moment if I can only accept it.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"You can't change your age, but you can change what your age means to you."