On Pause (Blog #1084)

Today I’ve mostly stayed at home. This afternoon I went to my aunt’s house to help her with a computer problem and borrow a card table, and this evening I went for a walk (exercise is good for your immune system), but that’s it. Otherwise I’ve been around the house. Eating. Reading. Eating some more. Ugh. Pandemics are stressful. As one of my friends lamented on the phone yesterday, “I’m going to gain weight. I’ve accepted it. It’s just going to happen.” Alas, there are so many things happening right now that we need to accept. That are so hard to accept.

If you don’t know what they are, turn on the news. Or check your bank account.

This afternoon, from home, from a distance, I spoke to my therapist. In terms of COVID-19, she said everyone’s life has been put ON PAUSE, that it’s clearly time for all of us to slow down, slow the fuck down. “I feel really sorry for people whose identities are wrapped up in being productive or being social for the wrong reasons [so they can post about themselves online],” she said. “They’re about to get a serious reality check.”

“Right,” I said, “because if your self-worth is centered around doing things, what happens when you can’t do them?”

This is a serious and valid question, one, I think, we’re all being given time to consider. Along these lines, my therapist referred to this time in history as “a gift.” Not because people are terrified, sick, and dying, but because our collective go, go, going has come to a serious halt. Perhaps because we haven’t been able to do it for ourselves, life has pumped the brakes for us. Consequently, we HAVE to slow down, gather around our families, search our interiors, and think about the things that really matter: life, death, what we prioritize, the way we treat each other. Of course, all of this is not only scary as shit, but also a lot to handle at once. My therapist said, “Everyone is real crazy right now. So when you go to the grocery store you have to be psychically prepared to walk into a wall of fear.” In other words, tits up. Life right now ain’t for sissies.

As if it ever was, is, or shall be.

Joseph Campbell tells a story with this moral. Something about how little baby turtles that are born on a beach come crawling out of their hatched eggs and head straight for the ocean. And not only are there the waves to deal with, but–bam! right off the bat–there are seagulls swooping down to eat them. So like, this planet isn’t for the faint at heart. You gotta be tough. But not too tough. Because you don’t want to become bitter. Ugh. This is the challenge that Jesus talked about. To be wise as serpents (look alive, little turtles!) and–at the same time–innocent as doves (don’t hate the seagulls for being seagulls; they know not what they do).

I borrowed the card table from my aunt’s today because I have some editing work to do this week. And whereas I’d normally go to the library to work, thanks to COVID-19 and social distancing, I now need to work from home. Me and the rest of the world. Alas, the only table or workstation we have here is our kitchen table, and that part of the house is way too noisy for concentrating. So I set the card table up in my room as a makeshift desk, and now my room, more than ever, has become my little corner of the globe. True, the card table bounces a little with every keystroke, but it doesn’t suck. Indeed, as I look around my room, I think, I like it here. It ain’t the library, but if I absolutely had to, I could get sick and die here, content.

Not that I want to die, and not that my chances of dying are high. But as I’ve said before, at some point you have to consider your own mortality and what you’re really all about. For me this looks like asking myself if I can find peace no matter what. When I’m being productive, when I’m lazing around. When I’m healthy, when I’m sick. When I’m being embraced by others, when I’m alone. This is no small task, of course, and is the undertaking of a lifetime. And yet I’m proud to report that significant progress can be made in a fairly short amount of time. Having sat down every day for almost the last three years with the express intention of meeting and coming to know myself, I’ve realized I actually like who I am. And that I don’t need anything out there to make me feel good in here. Sure, chocolate cake, a load of money, and a hot lover wouldn’t suck, but there are increasingly more days when, in the absence of all that, I’m totally elated. The mystics say this is the big cosmic joke, when you finally get that everything you thought was important isn’t. That you don’t need “a thing” to make you happy.

What? My bank account is empty, and there’s not a roll of toilet paper in sight?

Hilarious.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Damn if good news doesn't travel the slowest.

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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)

"Authenticity is worth all the hard work. Being real is its own reward."

On Being a Time Traveler (Blog #1062)

This afternoon I saw my upper cervical care doctor and told him I’ve been out of sorts this last week–my skin’s flared up, my sciatic nerve’s been “talking to me,” my shoulder’s been pinched. “You probably need an adjustment,” he said. “Let’s put your head on straight.” (Ha.) This after his telling me two weeks ago that I needed an adjustment but that he wanted to wait, to see if my body would correct things on its on. (This was like a dare, I guess.) And whereas things were better last week, they were–apparently–crap today. “We want to push your body to take care of itself so it doesn’t get dependent on the adjustment, but sometimes we push a little TOO much,” he said.

Ugh. Balance is such a delicate thing.

Thankfully, I’ve felt better since the adjustment. Immediately after, I felt my shoulder relax. Not completely, mind you, but some. So far, this has been my experience with healing. Things get better–some. Then the slip back–a bit. Then they get better–some more. I’ve felt and witnessed some amazing things in my body and have ultimately found myself going in the right direction, but it’s not like I feel fabulous all over every minute of every day. Still, I’ve felt fabulous enough, especially compared to how I used to feel, that I absolutely believe my body is hard at work and can turn this ship around. My job, of course, is to do everything I can to support us and, perhaps more importantly, frickin’ be patient.

You know, some ships turn around faster than others.

More and more I believe that my body is on my side, that, given the right help, it’s completely willing and able to let go, change, and heal. Granted, figuring out what the right help is can be frustrating. Having tried dozens of different therapies and modalities over the years, I know. Whenever I have a pain it can feel hopeless. And yet time and time again, especially lately, I’ve witnessed my body rise to the occasion both in the moment and over the course of days, weeks, months. (Which, incidentally, in the grand scheme of things is no time at all.) So I can’t say that miracles aren’t possible because I’ve experienced them.

Caroline Myss says a miracle is something that happens faster than your watch. To me this means that whenever something happens faster than we THINK it should or are accustomed to, that’s miraculous. This is why I say I’ve experienced miracles. Because although the healing I’ve been experiencing lately is taking time (just as everything on planet earth does), it’s taking LESS time than it was before. For example, yesterday–in an hour with my new therapist–I processed and healed with my mind and body a topic that I’d previously–over the course of six years with my therapist and this blog–only processed with my mind. Was it instant? No, but it was pretty damn fast. Pretty damn miraculous if you ask me.

As far as I can tell, a situation like this is the closest any of us will ever get to time travel. What I mean is that every single person on this planet gets 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, 365.25(ish) days a year. But not every single person experiences the time they’ve been given the same way. Better said, not everyone has the same relationship with time. What I mean is that if it takes one person six years to process a trauma and another person one hour, isn’t time moving more slowly for the first person and more quickly for the second? And if things used to happen slowly for you and now they’re happening faster, hasn’t time effectively sped up for you, even though you’d never know it to look at a calendar? Even though you could never prove it to anyone else?

Something else Caroline says is that the more psychic WEIGHT you have, the longer you have to WAIT for things (a new job, a new lover, a healing) to happen. Weight=wait. This is why a master like Jesus could make things happen in an instant. Faster than your watch. Because he wasn’t heavy, he wasn’t psychically anchored to the past or the future (which, by the way, don’t exist right here, right now). This is why he taught his disciples to give no thought for tomorrow, to stay in present time. Think of a ship that’s bogged down with cargo. The heavier the cargo, the slower the ship. But throw the crap overboard and watch the ship fly. Less weight=less wait.

Along these lines, and maybe I watched too many episodes of Quantum Leap when I was a kid, I’m beginning to see each of us as time machines, always and forever determining the rate at which change happens in our lives. For example, earlier today I told a friend about once when I left a relationship because I found out there were too many lies, too many drugs involved. Well, I had some shit at this person’s house, and it took me 48 hours to gather it up. This after years of observing bad behavior and not putting the pieces together. Now, I hope, I’d be out of there in five minutes. Or never get involved in the first place. In this sense we truly do determine WHERE we as time travelers want to GO by deciding how much TIME we’re willing to spend there. How do you get out of a bad situation faster? Easy. Throw your personal crap overboard and, in so doing, change yourself and your life (two things you can’t separate). That’s the damn deal. Time only changes when you do.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Getting comfortable in your own skin takes time.

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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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Damn if good news doesn't travel the slowest.

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On Where You Are Anchored (Blog #845)

Here’s something weird. A few days ago I went shopping and bought two new t-shirts. One of them, pictured above, has an anchor on it. I don’t know why I bought it. I used to have a necklace with an anchor on it, but I’m not particularly attracted to either anchors or sailing. I more of a landlubber. Still, I liked the shirt’s color and length, and it was the right price. Seven bucks. Can’t beat that. Well, I guess you can, since the other shirt I bought was two. But how often does THAT happen? Once in a blue moon.

Anyway, here’s the weird part. That night I started watching an online video series called Sacred Power with Caroline Myss. In the first episode she explained that each of us is quite literally an energetic being and that we all receive energy (or power) through the top of our heads, what’s often called the crown chakra in yoga. The she said that as a medical intuitive, which is essentially someone who can “read” someone else’s energy system, she could tell where a person was losing energy. When I blogged about this the other night I gave the example of my recently running into someone I didn’t want to see and how I felt like I was going to shit my pants. This means that on some level, at least for that moment, I’d given my energy or power away. If you imagined a human-shaped balloon filled with water and then imagined someone poking a big hole in that balloon’s stomach, that’s what I felt like.

Houston, we have a problem.

I realize I still haven’t told you the weird part. Hang on, I’m getting there. Caroline further explained that as a medical intuitive she gets pictures or images of where a person’s energy is “going” or who or what it’s “attached” to. For example, if you wake up every day worrying about money, pissed off at someone, or holding a grudge about something that happened to you thirty years ago, she’d get an impression of that. Strange, I know, but you can walk into a room and know when someone you love is hurt, angry, or confused before they even say a word. We’re all sensitive to energy. Caroline has simply (and finely) honed a skill we all have. Anyway, most of this information was old hat to me, but then Caroline said something I’d never heard her say before. (Remember I’d just bought that shirt.) She said, “I call these energy leaks ANCHORS.”

When I heard her say this, something clicked for me. What I mean is that I get the idea of leaking energy, a balloon that’s losing water. But an anchor paints a different picture. An energetic anchor means that you’re tied to something in the past, something outside of you that that’s holding you down and holding you back. That is, the more energetic anchors you have, the slower you move through life.

As if the synchronicity of this situation weren’t enough to think about and be amazed by, yesterday I taught a dance lesson, and one of my students (who used to be a music teacher) said she called the “one” (the first beat in a measure) the ANCHOR.

“That’s my word of the week,” I said, and we left it at that.

Then today I saw her husband (my chiropractor), and he referenced my comment yesterday and said, “I’d like you to read something,” an excerpt from the book The Energy Codes by Sue Morter. Essentially, the passage spoke about how we can project our energy outside of ourselves. We all do this, for example, when we fall in love or put someone on a pedestal. Quite literally, we give part of ourselves (or spirit) to that other person (or object, say, if you’re in love with or can’t part with–I don’t know–your favorite pair of shoes). Anyway, Sue suggests a process called “central channel breathing,” which Judith Blackstone (who wrote Trauma and the Unbound Body) also recommends. This involves breathing “from” three (Blackstone) or four (Morter) of your energy centers or chakras, which are located along your spine. For a brief explanation, click here. In my experience this type of breathing provides a sense of being CENTERED. Sue calls it being ANCHORED.

Tonight, in another synchronistic moment, my dad, without any previous explanation from me, commented on my shirt and said, “Are you anchored to yourself?”

“That’s the idea!” I said.

What I mean is that our bodies, souls, and spirits operate best when we are anchored INTERNALLY rather than EXTERNALLY. That is, YOUR energy belongs in YOUR body. But when you worry about anything, hold grudges, or project your emotions (verbally vomit, my therapist says) on someone else, you’re essentially investing your domestic energetic dollars in a foreign bank. This is why Jesus spoke so much of giving no thought for tomorrow and of forgiving others. Both worrying and refusing to “let go” anchor or tie you down to either the future or the past. Neither of which exist outside of the thoughts in your head, by the way. So better to be right here, right now, anchored within. Better to be free.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Abundance comes in many forms.

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On Being in Control (Blog #778)

It’s five in the evening. Just a bit ago I taught a dance lesson to a couple who are preparing for their wedding. Now I’m reclining outside where I’m house sitting, soaking up the sun. The dog I’m taking care of, who really is adorable, is across the yard, chewing on a giant stick. Just before I came outside, she was barking, barking, barking to come inside and–after I let her in–barking, barking, barking to go outside. Two nights ago my friend Megan couldn’t decide what she wanted to eat at Subway.

Decisions are hard.

Today’s dance lesson was number four for the couple, and we talked about and worked on transitions. Their basic moves are coming along fine–it’s usually not a big deal for couples to learn the basics–but their transitions need work. When going from one move to another, they slow down. They get off beat. (I know, I said get off.) I’m the same way when I learn something new–awkward. If my left leg is used to going forward, but now I need it to go back, that requires effort. Until it doesn’t, of course. That’s the point–at some point, your transitions become quick and seamless. You think, Step back, and your body simply does it without lallygagging or putting up a fuss.

My friend Shauna says that the difference between a professional dance and an amateur dancer is that the professional dancer is able to control all parts of their body simultaneously. Conversely, an amateur dancer can only command so much of their physical body at once. For example, the guy I worked with today could take a step back on his own, but when he danced with his fiance AND tried to take a step back AND send his arms slightly forward at the same time, his step back became exaggerated. As a result, his butt shot back, his head dipped forward, and his posture went from being upright (and correct) to slouched (and weird). I wouldn’t expect it to be any different. Beginners can usually only control one thing at a time.

If that much.

Earlier today I read an affirmation/meditation by Stephan Hoeller that I can’t get off my mind. It said, “If it is the will of my Father to strike down everything I have built in my life, may He do so and do it swiftly. I shall be free of attachment to anything or anyone.” Wow. Talk about a tall order. I shall be free of attachment to anything or anyone. I can’t even begin to list the things and people I’m attached to, the circumstances I THINK or BELIEVE should turn out a certain way. I want THIS to happen. I want THAT to happen. This is normal, I imagine, but the problem with attachments is that they’re directly tied to our experience of peace. For instance, earlier when the dog was barking, barking, barking, I ever-so-briefly got irritated. Make up your mind, honey! Not because the dog was doing anything other than being a dog, but because I was ATTACHED to a certain thought–The dog shouldn’t be barking–that was in direct opposition to reality.

This is an extremely small example–I could go on about being attached to people, relationships, or physical objects–but the point remains. Whenever I want one thing to happen and something else does, I sacrifice my inner peace. If just for a moment when the dog was going nuts, I was thrown off My Center. I went nuts. (The joke in my family is that “it’s a short trip.”) Byron Katie says if the dog’s barking and I think it shouldn’t, “I’m insane.” Not permanently, but in that moment. Why is it insane to think the dog shouldn’t bark? Because IT IS barking. And dogs bark. Just like cats meow (and throw up on your floor), the wind blows (and tornadoes tear your house apart), and bodies get sick (and die). This is reality. These things happen on planet earth.

As I understand it, just like you can practice dancing to the point that you can control all parts of your body at once, you can also work with your mind in such a way to control it too. That is, we think that thoughts are these things that just pop into our heads and we can’t do anything about them. And whereas that’s somewhat true, it’s also true that simply because a thought pops into your head–The dog shouldn’t be barking–that doesn’t mean you have to get carried away by it. This is one of the ideas behind meditation, that you can train your mind to focus on whatever you want it to and that–after enough practice–it will without lallygagging or putting up a fuss. Then if an old resentment comes knocking at your door you can say, “Sorry, not today,” and your mind will think about–I don’t know–chocolate cake. Something that makes you happy. Something that doesn’t steal your peace.

This is the hardest thing you’ll ever learn to do. I certainly don’t have it down. At the same time, I’m working on it. More and more, I think, What’s my peace worth? Am I really willing to let–you name it–a barking dog, a boy, a disappointment, a sinus infection, or my financial status move me off My Center? This, of course, means working on controlling my mind and not letting it be swept away by every damn thing. It means commanding my spirit, saying, “Hey, come back here.” This is The Hard Work. It’s what Jesus was so good at. The guards came to take him away, and Peter got “taken away” by his anger. He cut off a dude’s ear! But not Jesus. He wouldn’t let himself “be moved.” His peace was more important to him than that. Even when they hung him on a cross, he refused to let the outer world change his inner one. This is why he said, “Father, forgive them.” Not to convince God, but to convince himself, to convince his spirit to stay Centered rather than think thoughts like, I shouldn’t be hanging on a cross, or hate others, or chase resentments. Sorry, not today. Talk about a man free of attachment to anything or anyone, even his own life. (Talk about a man free.) Talk about being in control.

They didn’t call him Master for nothing.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Patting yourself on the back is better than beating yourself over the head.

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On Humble Beginnings (Blog #634)

It’s an hour before midnight on Christmas Eve, and I’ve spent most the day cuddled up in my favorite chair, reading. For me, today has been like most any other, since our family stopped celebrating Christmas over twenty years ago. It’s a long story. Part of me wishes I could go back and rewrite it, since I think traditions are important and my thinking around this particular tradition has changed a lot. But, of course, it’s hard to wind back the clock. Plus, once you’ve lost the magic of something, it’s difficult to regain it.

But not impossible, perhaps.

Really, I’m fine with this. Sure, when I see pictures of others celebrating with friends and loved ones and opening presents, a part of me misses that. But I’ve been with my family all day long, and I haven’t had to spend a dime on presents. Which is good, since I don’t have a dime. But I do miss the sparkle around the season. I used to adore decorating the tree and putting up lights on the outside of the house. Really, looking back at how I’d climb on the roof and meticulously unscrew and re-screw every bulb until they were perfectly arranged–green, red, green, red–someone should have told me a long time ago that I was a homosexual. Anyway, the last few years I’ve made an effort to participate and celebrate, if only a little. This year I helped a friend decorate the outside of their house. I was in a holiday variety show.

Ho. Ho. Ho.

I think one of the hardest things to do is accept your life both as it is and how it’s been. Especially in today’s world of social media, it’s so easy to compare yourself to others. Just scroll through your phone for a minute–one minute!–and you can see everything you’re not in terms of looks, friends, prestige, and holiday celebrations. But to really sit with your story, with all your humble beginnings, this is a tough thing to do. My mom’s been depressed since I was a child. Our home burned down when I was four. My dad went to prison. As if this weren’t enough to make us different, we stopped celebrating Christmas, and (years later) I came out of the closet.

This evening my sister, her husband, and their boys went to a friend’s house for dinner. A friend of theirs and their family ended up being there–because their home burned down tonight. The family was okay, but their pets died. This went on while my parents and I went out to eat at Chili’s and I shoved down a plateful of fajitas, two beers, and a chocolate molten lava cake. Granted, it wasn’t extravagant in terms of “what’s expected,” but we were together. Anyway, this is the world we live in. The worst things happen alongside the best things.

Back home from dinner, I returned to my reading chair. After my sister and her crew got home, my older nephew, who spends most his time in his own world and really isn’t into socializing, crawled up in my chair and read his comic book alongside me. Didn’t say a word. Just snuggled up between one armrest and me and turned his pages. It was the sweetest thing; I wouldn’t trade the thirty minutes he sat there for the world. Who’s to say if this would have happened in a living room full of packages? I mean, I’ve seen my nephew around presents.

It wouldn’t have happened.

Yesterday my friend Bonnie gave me a pack of positive affirmation cards called AFFIRMATORS!, and they’re my new favorite thing. There are over fifty cards in the pack, and the idea is that you shuffle them “like a three year-old” and pull one out at random. Well, get this shit. Three times today (out of four) I pulled out the same card–Magic. I’m including a picture of it here, but the idea is that life is a great mystery, and we’re surrounded by serendipity and wonderful, inexplicable happenings. Anyway, on a day that used to be filled with magic for me, during a time in my life that’s so difficult, it was the perfect reminder that miracles can occur in the most unlikely of places and circumstances.

Just after I pulled this card for the first time, I got a text message from a friend from high school that I haven’t talked to in–I don’t know–five or ten years. I guess they were last-minute shopping; they wanted to buy some dance lessons. This ended up being the perfect thing. They got a gift to give to someone they care about, and I got some cash (which I really needed). Anyway, I kept hearing my therapist’s voice in my head, since a couple weeks ago, after having injured my knee, I was bemoaning my financial prospects and suggested I could liquidate a few things. “Naw,” my therapist said, “let the universe do something.” And so it did. Talk about a Christmas miracle.

Magic.

In other good news, the skin rash that I’ve had for the last few weeks is finally getting better. Like, not just a little; a lot. I’ll spare you the details, but I figured out the right cream to use on it. Maybe this seems like a small matter, but when life’s knocked you down over and over (and over) again, it’s really delightful to be on the receiving end of a win. And in light of the fact that I’ll be having knee surgery in a day and a half, it’s nice knowing my body isn’t completely falling apart and that something’s on the mend. It’s good to be reminded that with a little persistence (and not a little magic) things can improve.

God’s got a big thing for humble beginnings.

Despite the fact that I’m not currently surrounded by the trappings of Christmas, I keep thinking about the mythological image of Jesus being born in a manger. I love that part of the story, since it reminds me that God’s got a big thing for humble beginnings. Shit, I can only imagine what Joseph and Mary must have felt like that night–worn out, tired, pregnant, no room in the inn. Surely one of them must have thought, God, I could use a break tonight. I could use a little magic here. Personally, I would have been pissed. Especially if I were Mary. I would have been looking everywhere for Gabriel, and when I found him I would have said, “You mean to tell me that first The Divine knocks me up, and now he wants me to deliver his kid in a barn?!” But I’m reminded tonight that The Divine is into this, into stories that don’t make sense from a human perspective, into “what seems small is big.”

With these things in mind, I’m doing my best to honor my story, including my past and present, as it is and not as I wish it were. Because no matter how humble or challenging and no matter how it compares to another’s, this is my life–my one, unique, and precious life. And no matter what, being alive is a gift. No matter how dark the night or bleak the circumstances, if you’re alive, you’re alive, and you’re story’s not over. And who’s to say what The Divine will make of your humble beginnings?

Who’s to say what magic lies ahead?

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Along the way you’ll find yourself, and that’s the main thing, the only thing there really is to find.

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A Stellar Interior (Blog #585)

Several brief things from the last twenty-four hours because I need to get ready for bed–

1. A stellar interior

Today I had lunch with a friend who studied physics in college, and when I brought up my interest in astronomy, they said, “Let me tell you about a stellar interior,” that is, what a star is made of and how and why it produces matter and generates heat. And whereas this information was fascinating, the only thing I could think about was how that phrase–a stellar interior–describes perfectly what I want for myself, an inside that’s strong, integrated, confident, calm, and kind.

2. A den of thieves

Currently I’m reading a book by Ervin Seale, and he says the biblical story of Jesus flipping his shit and throwing the money-changers out of his father’s temple is an analogy about our minds. Like, our minds should be a place of peace (a temple), but can’t be when we allow worries and anxieties (thieves and robbers) to enter in, take up residence, and do business there. I love the idea of picturing your mind as a building occupied by different types of people (or thoughts or beliefs). I especially love the idea of throwing some of these “people” out, of saying, “Wait a damn minute, who let you in here!?”

3. An ass for every seat

This afternoon I drove a friend to pick up a new car and ended up chatting with their salesman. When I commented about the HUGE number of cars on his company’s lot, he said that an old car dealer once told him, “There’s an ass for every seat.” To me this means not only that there’s a driver for every car, but also that there’s someone for everyone (for friendship or romance) and something (a job, a home, a dream) for everyone as well.

As Grandpa used to say, “It’s a big old world.”

4. A big old snake

Last night I dreamed that while traveling through a swamp I was suddenly aware of a giant snake. Initially terrified, I kept traveling. Meanwhile, the snake traveled too, right beside me, face to face. Eventually, I experienced a shift in mood. Not like I was relaxed, but like I was “okay.” The snake wasn’t going to bite me.

As far as I recall, this is my first-ever dream about a snake. And whereas Freud would say it was phallic (everything was phallic with Freud), for me the dream was about power (snakes are strong), attitude (snakes are clever and pick their battles), and transformation (snakes shed their skin). I don’t know–sometimes when you’re in an icky place in life (a swamp), it’s easy to forget that certain parts of you can actually thrive in less-than-ideal environments, that you yourself are strong and clever and capable of transformation and navigating murky waters.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Even a twisted tree grows tall and strong.

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A Synopsis of The Wonderful Wizard of Oz (Blog #558)

Recently I spent ten days working backstage for the national tour of The Wizard of Oz. This afternoon, as an act of mourning, celebration, and education, I read the book on which the musical and movie were based–The Wonderful Wizard of Oz by L. Frank Baum–for the first time. And whereas the musical and movie contain much of the original story, they leave many notable details out.

Prepare yourself for a rather long (but entertaining) book report.

According to the Baum, Aunt Em never smiles, and she, Uncle Henry, and Dorothy (and Toto) are the only characters who live in Kansas. (Later we find out that the wizard is from Omaha, Nebraska.) There’s no mention of the three farmhands–Hunk, Hickory, and Zeke–nor is there any mention of Miss Gulch, and Dorothy never runs away or encounters Professor Marvel.

When Dorothy is swept up by the tornado and lands in Munchkin Land, she finds out that the land of Oz is divided into four sections–the east, where she’s landed, where the Munchkins live, and that used to be ruled by The Wicked Witch of the East; the west, ruled by The Wicked Witch of the West; the north, ruled by The (nameless) Witch of the North; and the south, whose details we find out later. The City of Emeralds (or The Emerald City) is in the center of all four lands. The Yellow Brick Road goes from the east to The Emerald City, and there’s NO ROAD that goes to the west.

At this point in the story, The Wicked Witch of the West does NOT appear in Munchkin Land, but Dorothy does receive a pair of magical shoes from The Witch of the North, the shoes that used to belong to The Wicked Witch of the East. However, these shoes are silver, NOT ruby, and it’s only at a later point–when Dorothy changes from a red dress into her famous blue and white gingham dress–that she puts the shoes ON. The dress, which she’s brought (in her house) from Kansas is significant because all the Munchkins wear blue and believe that anyone who wears white is a sorceress. So (like Jesus), they see Dorothy as both one of them (or human) and divine.

As we all are.

As Dorothy sets off to see the Wizard–who’s referred to as The Great and Terrible, NOT The Great and Powerful–she quickly encounters The Scarecrow, The Tin Woodman, and The Cowardly Lion, much like she does in the musical and movie. Baum describes The Scarecrow–who’s supposed to have no brain–as saying things “thoughtfully” or “after some serious thought.” At first I judged these descriptions as either poor writing or pure irony, but one could argue that they are neither, as all the main characters clearly possessed that which they were seeking the whole time but simply didn’t realize it yet.

As we all do.

Another interesting point the book makes is that just as The Scarecrow didn’t have a brain (or a heart), The Tin Woodman didn’t have a heart (or a brain). But, for different reasons, one values the head above the heart, and the other values the heart above the brain, so each seeks what is important to him even though both things are “missing.” Personally, I think one should have, value, and use both their brain AND their heart.

In the scene in which Dorothy, The Scarecrow, and The Tin Woodman encounter The Cowardly Lion, the lion asks if Toto is made of straw or tin. Neither, Dorothy says, he’s “a meat dog.”

Before reaching The Emerald City, Dorothy and her friends encounter a number of trials, none of which have anything to do with The Wicked Witch of the West. Like in the musical and movie, one of these trials is the poisonous poppy field, where they initially have to leave the lion–who falls asleep–but later come back to save him. (They haul him out on a cart made by The Tin Woodman and are assisted in pulling it by hundreds of field mice.) When they do reach The Emerald City, they are required to wear green spectacles, which they are told is to protect their eyes from all the shiny objects and is something everyone has to do. Later, when it’s found out that the wizard is a fraud (“a humbug”), they’re told the spectacles are used to fool both the citizens and visitors into believing that everything is green even though in reality it’s not.

The book says that Dorothy and her friends get to see the wizard, but they have to do it separately. The wizard appears in a different form to each one, but asks them all to do the same thing–kill The Wicked Witch of the West. (Because he’s not really a wizard, he’s a afraid of her.) In the musical and movie, he asks that they bring him her broomstick, but the broomstick isn’t mentioned in the book at all–because, like Mary Poppins, the witch carries AN UMBRELLA!

Also, in the book, the witch has ONE EYE instead of two.

So Dorothy and the gang take off a-witch-hunting, but by this point, the one-eyed witch has found out about them, so she sends 40 wolves to have their asses for dinner. (The Tin Woodman chops their heads off.) Then she sends 40 crows. (The Scarecrow breaks their necks.) Then she sends a swarm of bees. (They break their stingers on The Tin Woodman’s chest.) Then she sends 12 Winkies, which are yellow, by the way, the same way the Munchkins are “blue.” (The Lion scares The Winkies off.) Finally, the witch sends the winged monkeys, whom she controls by means of a golden cap. The caveat–whoever has the golden cap can only command the monkeys three times, and this is the witch’s final “wish.”

But the monkeys succeed. (In the musical, a creature called The Jitterbug causes the main characters to dance until they are exhausted, at which point the flying monkeys scoop them up. The Jitterbug scene was shot for the 1939 movie–during the peak of the Lindy Hop/swing dance/jitterbug era–but was ultimately edited out.)

In the book, it’s only Dorothy and the lion who are brought to the witch’s castle; the other two friends are left in the woods to be rescued later. And whereas the lion is kept outside to starve to death (Dorothy saves him by sneaking him food each day), Dorothy is kept in “the house” to do dishes, much like Cinderella was. Of course, what the witch really wants is Dorothy’s shoes, and when she finally manages to steal ONE of them but not the other, Dorothy gets pissed off and throws a bucket of water on her, and it’s then that the witch both melts and dies.

And Dorothy gets her other shoe back.

At this point, Dorothy and the lion rescue their two lost friends, and since Dorothy has taken the golden cap from the witch, the four of them (and Toto) are ultimately transported back to The Emerald City by the winged monkeys. (These guys are better than Uber.) From here, the storyline pretty much follows the musical and movie, except that when the wizard takes off in the hot air balloon, The Witch of the North DOES NOT show up to save the day. Rather, our heroes are forced to take off on more adventures, and this time they go in search of The Witch of the South–Glinda–who lives in a land where everything is RED and sits on a throne made of RUBIES.

MGM (who made the movie) obviously COMBINED The Witch of the North with The Witch of the South.

Nowhere in the book (that I remember) is the phrase “lions and tigers and bears–oh my!” used. However, while the four friends are going south in search of Glinda, the come upon a land where everyone and everything is made of china (The Dainty China Country), and each of the characters except the lion says, “Oh my!”

Once the four travelers reach Glinda, she indeed teaches Dorothy how to use her magical shoes in order to get back home. But first she uses the golden cap, which Dorothy gives her in exchange for her help, to call three times upon the winged monkeys ato The Scarecrow back to rule The Emerald City (as the wizard asked him to do when he left in the hot air balloon), The Tin Woodman back to rule The Winkies in the west, and The (no-longer) Cowardly Lion back to rule a particular forest.

So Dorothy clicks her heels together three times and is whisked (in three steps) across “the desert” and back home to Kansas. (The shoes fall off her feet along the way.) However, during this whole ordeal, she never says, “There’s no place like home.” She does that earlier, when she meets The Scarecrow, who says he doesn’t understand why Dorothy would want to go back to dull, drab Kansas instead of staying in colorful Oz. “This is because you have no brains,” she says. “There’s no place like home.”

In the musical and movie, it’s strongly indicated that Dorothy was stuck unconscious by the tornado and has simply dreamt her adventures. But in the book, Dorothy comes running up to the farm, and Aunt Em says, “Where in the world have you come from?” Dorothy replies, “From the Land of Oz. … I’m so glad to be at home again!” And that’s it–THE END. Nothing is said about the tornado or the fact that Dorothy used their house as an airplane to go on vacation but didn’t bother to bring it back.

So that’s CoCo’s Cliff Notes for The Wonderful Wizard of Oz. But before closing, since I’m so fascinated by the symbology of this story, here a few final things that stood out to me in the book that didn’t stand out to me in the musical or movie:

1. On going into the forest

Joseph Campbell says, “You enter the forest at the darkest point, where there is no path. Where there is a way or path, it is someone else’s path; you are not on your own path. If you follow someone else’s way, you are not going to realize your potential.” So I think it’s appropriate that there’s NO ROAD to The Wicked Witch of the West. Like Campbell says of all true heroes, Dorothy and her friends must blaze their own trail.

Symbolically speaking, the forest Dorothy and her friends enter en route to The Wicked Witch represents Dorothy’s unconscious, and The Wicked Witch represents her shadow. (It’s all the same.) The Guardian of the Gates of The Emerald City is the one who says there is NO ROAD to The Wicked Witch and explains WHY this is the case–because “no one ever wishes to go that way.” Exactly, no one WANTS to face their shadow. Why would they? It’s dark, dangerous, and scary as hell. But it is–ultimately–the way home. As the saying goes, “The only way out–is in.”

Along the same lines, Caroline Myss says, “Always go with the choice that scares you the most–because that’s the one that’s going to require the most from you.”

2. On recognizing your own power

When The Wicked Witch enslaves Dorothy, she KNOWS that Dorothy could use her silver slippers to escape if she only knew what to do with them. But she explains, “I can still make her my slave, for she does not know how to use her power.” I think this is a gorgeous lesson, the perfect reminder that we are all more capable than we recognize; it’s just a matter of learning how to rise above rather than be intimated by that which at first blush seems scary. Jesus obviously knew how to do this–he slept through a storm, walked on water, and danced on his way to the cross. The reason they called him Master? Because it’s not easy.

But it is possible.

3. On being wonderful

When Glinda is preparing to send The Scarecrow back to rule The Emerald City, she says it’s because “it would be a shame to deprive the people of so wonderful a ruler,” and The Scarecrow says, “Am I really wonderful?

Glinda’s reply?

“You are unusual.”

Oh the shade! (Shade is when you insult someone discreetly, Mom.)

But seriously. Perhaps these two things–being wonderful and being unusual–go hand in hand. I don’t know–we so often want to be like everyone else. But the truth is, we are ALL unusual. For all our similarities, there will never be another YOU or another ME–ever, ever, ever. So why not own and celebrate our differences? Don’t they make us wonderful?

Don’t they make us FULL of wonder?

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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It's the holes or the spaces in our lives that give us room to breathe and room to rest in, room to contain both good and bad days, and--when the time is right--room for something else to come along.

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The Emptying (Blog #526)

It’s two in the morning, and I’ve spent the entire day–well, my entire day–cleaning. Some of my friends recently moved out-of-state, so I’m getting their house ready for their realtor to put on the market. And whereas it’s not hard work, it is long work, since I’m scrubbing the walls, washing the baseboards, and making sure every little nook and cranny is spic-and-span. This afternoon and evening I worked for eight hours and got three rooms–including the kitchen–finished. So that’s something.

Having spent a few weeks helping these same friends pack for their move, it really is something, walking around in their empty house. I mean, there was SO MUCH stuff before. You know how it is–possessions are magnetic–and since my friends were in the same place for nearly three decades, it all just accumulated. But now there’s not a lick of furniture, not a picture on the walls. There’s just a dust bunny here and there, a bottle of ketchup in the refrigerator, and box of lightbulbs for whoever ends up buying the house.

Whoever ends up buying the house–I thought about this person or persons while cleaning today. My friends’ realtor came over, and she talked about what buyers like, what they don’t like. “Families with young children might have a problem with the steep stairs,” she said. Anyway, I’m still wondering–who will end up there? Who will move into that empty (and soon-to-be-clean) house, fill it with their furniture and knickknacks, and make it their new home?

Whom am I helping to get it ready for?

For a few weeks I’ve had it in my mind to pack up a bunch of paperback books that have been on the shelves that run around the top of my room and store them in my sister’s old closet, since the books belong to Mom and Dad and everything else on display in the room belongs to me. Anyway, my friends left some empty boxes at their house, so I used those when I got home from cleaning tonight to pack up the books and tote them down the hallway out of my sight and out of my mind. Then I came back in my room and cleaned the shelves, an activity that ended up being a trip down memory lane, since I found two small nails and a glob of sticky-tack placed just above one of the shelves, remnants I’m sure of pictures or action figures I had displayed when I was much younger.

Once I got the shelves clean, my first instinct was to fill them. After all, nature abhors a vacuum, and so do I. However, when I started looking for things to put on the shelves, I realized first that I don’t really own anything and second that the three books I do have that need a place to go would look stupid up there surrounded by twenty feet of emptiness. So for now the shelves remain barren. And just like I wonder who will move into the house I’m cleaning, I wonder WHAT will move onto my shelves.

There’s a phrase in the Bible I’ve been thinking about for the last week–poor in spirit. You know, “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.” As I understand it, this phrase isn’t about money or a person’s external life but rather about a person’s internal one, the idea being that before you can be filled with new ideas, perceptions, or values, you first have to make yourself empty (or poor) by getting rid of whatever ideas, perceptions, or values currently fill you up. Jesus communicated this same idea when he said that in order to obtain salvation, you must first become like a child (who has no preconceived notions).

Anyway, this is what my life has felt like the last two years–the emptying–both with respect to my material possessions and to my immaterial ones. Nothing looks like what I thought it would on the outside. Nothing feels like it used to on the inside. Honestly, the results-oriented part of me is often embarrassed by everything that’s taken place during this period; so many days I feel like an empty shelf–nothing to show. And yet just like the house I’m cleaning or the shelves that run atop my room, I know it’s just a matter of time before I too am filled with whatever will come next. And until then, what a beautiful thing to have some extra room, a space that’s not full yet, a space that’s ripe with possibility.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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And God knows you don't make everyone else happy. But this is no reason to quit or be discouraged, since doing what you love and feel called to do is never--never--about gaining acceptance from others.

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