Leave the Raft Behind (Blog #1087)

It’s 11:50 at night, and this is the beginning of the end. No, not of the world, although I guess that’s possible. Anything is possible these days. Rather, it’s the beginning of the end of this blog. I only have ten more posts including this one to go. And whereas I’m looking forward to having two hours (on average) of every day back to sleep, work on other projects, and do whatever the hell I want, I’m also anticipating a loss. That is, I’ve come to love my time here at this keyboard. Mostly, I suppose, because it’s been my safe haven, a place I’ve been able to run to for comfort time and time again, whenever anything–and everything–has gone wrong.

There’s a story in Buddhism, or one of those religions, that if your goal is to reach the other side of a river (enlightenment), then you’re going to have to use a raft (meditation, a guru) to get there. But once you’re on the other side you leave the raft behind. Because, well, why would you need it? You wouldn’t. Because for one thing it’s done its job already. For another, carrying around a raft for the rest of your life would be so terribly awkward.

And bad for your back

Along these lines, my original goal with this blog was to establish a daily writing practice. And whereas I don’t know if I’ll continue to write every day, every damn day, when this is over, I’ve clearly done that. What’s more, I’ve proven to myself that I have what it takes to commit to something I believe in. This writing project. What’s most important, however, is that, really without intending to when I came up with this idea three years ago, I’ve ended up committing to myself. And whereas I think this would have been the case had I–I don’t know–chosen to write a poem or a short story every day (because I would have been building self-esteem by keeping my word to myself), it’s certainly been the case given the fact that for over a thousand days now I’ve sat down and effectively been my own therapist, spiritual guide, healer, and cheerleader. There, there, Sweetheart, we’re going to get through this.

Not that I haven’t had tons of help along the way. And God knows I’ve talked ad nauseam about what that help has been. All my therapists, doctors, modalities, and such. All of which I’m extremely grateful for and have convinced me that there’s always willing help available. Ultimately, The Path is walked alone, but that doesn’t mean you don’t get plenty of support while walking it. Plenty of what Joseph Campbell called supernatural aide. And yet every day and always one finds themselves alone with their thoughts, emotions, dreams, terrors, situations, predicaments, and their past. Alas, although others can help you with these things, these things ultimately have your name written all over them. And so you must learn to deal with them.

And so you must learn to deal with yourself.

It’s weird the breadcrumbs my subconscious, or God or the universe, laid out before me when I (we?) first started this project. That is, my very first blog was titled “it’s time to soften up,” and it was about how I really wanted, needed to go easier on myself. Well, this has been an unintended and, apparently, much-cried-out-for theme these last few years. Sweetheart, chill the fuck out. Be gentle. And whereas I wish I could tell you that I’m “there,” I’m not. But I have made A LOT of progress. Still, recently I told my therapist that I have another project in mind to start after this one but that I wanted to wait a couple weeks before announcing it. “But I can still be planning and working on it,” I said.

“Or you could JUST REST,” she offered.

I mean, there’s an idea. The whole world is on pause right now thanks to COVID-19, so what better time to dramatically slow my roll? Seriously, it’s rough being stuck at home, but I may never be given this amount of free time again in my life. Time to read, time to watch Netflix, time to stretch. Time to get quiet and go inside. Time to heal. This morning I learned that my myofascial release wizard is closing her office for the time being, a fact that would normally upset me because we’ve been getting such good results lately. But more and more I’m trusting 1) divine timing and 2) that if a miracle can happen in a therapist’s office, it can happen in your bedroom.

Don’t I wish?

That was a sex joke, Mom.

Getting back to the idea of miracles (and not the “this is where the magic happens” kind), I’m learning that you have to do your part. Meaning that the chances that Jesus is going to knock on your door and strike you completely healthy are slim. But the chances that heaven is going to meet you more than halfway if you show them that you’re even remotely serious are pretty damn good. This has been my experience over and over again–with my therapist, with this blog, with my EMDR therapist, and with a whole bevy of doctors, practitioners, and helpful books. I cry out, “Help,” do what I know to do, and God (sometimes called Good) comes running.

Help is on the way, dear!

This evening I heard healer Charlie Goldsmith say that our emotions are meant to be felt and experienced but not held on to. “If someone told you a joke, you wouldn’t keep laughing for three weeks,” he said. And yet so many of us hold on to our anger, even when whatever it was that originally caused us to be angry was, like, fucking years ago. And not that you shouldn’t get angry when someone crosses a line or shit hits the fan. You’re just not supposed to hold on to that feeling. (Or, better said, let it hold on to you.) This is another way of saying leave the raft behind. Learn from the emotion and the experience, but don’t carry the teacher with you. Let the dead bury the dead. Let the past be over. Be right here, right now. Sweetheart, come to the other side of the river. Come home again.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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There’s nothing you can do to change the seasons or hurry them along.

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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)

"No one's story should end on the ground."

Finding Some Way to Un-clutch (Blog #523)

This morning, after going to bed at 1:00 and sleeping for three short hours, I woke up at 4:00 and–I’m not kidding–got ready for the day, since Mom was scheduled to have surgery at the ungodly hour of 7:00 (AM). “Be there at 5:00,” they said, so we were–me, Dad, and of course Mom–who’s wanted this surgery since January when she had her double mastectomy and the doctor left “excess skin.” Obviously, it’s personal (and I’m my mom’s son), but she said things just haven’t “looked right,” and the doctor today was going to fix them. And I get that, the need to go back and clean things up, the need to have everything just so. But must we do these things so frickin’ early in the morning?!

The only consolation was the fact that Mom’s doctor was smoking hot.

But I digress.

The surgery itself went well, and everything–registration, prep, surgery, recovery–only took four hours, during which time Dad and I grabbed breakfast (and saw a full rainbow), read, and harassed the other people in the waiting room. Well, Dad did the harrassing. “Have you read that magazine?” he asked a complete stranger. “MY SON HERE wrote an article in it!” Not surprised by my father’s behavior, I looked up from my book to the lady before me and tried to manage a smile.

“Hi,” I said.

After leaving the hospital, Mom, Dad, and I ran a couple errands and came back home, and I went straight back to bed until one this afternoon. Then I went to a used book store, since–I thought–that would be a good thing to do on a Friday. However, I discovered upon arriving at the bookstore that today is, in fact, NOT Friday, but rather Tuesday (and the bookstore ISN’T open on Tuesdays). I swear, I felt so turned around and confused. How could I not know what day it was? That being said, I haven’t had a regular schedule in a while, we just came off a holiday weekend, and I WAS up EXTREMELY early this morning.

Already frustrated, I decided to use the rest of the afternoon doing everything I didn’t want to do but needed to do, things like requesting some of my personal medical records (from the car accident I was in last year) and paying my property taxes and other bills. Just get it all over with, I told myself.

Recently I wrote about the parking ticket I got when I visited San Francisco and the protest I filed in reply. Well, I got the city’s response today, and they didn’t buy it. “Screw you,” they said in not so many words. Well, to be fair, they said, “You should have known to turn your wheels when parking on a hill. That’s a thing. So pay up.” Anyway, again–in an effort to get something unpleasant over with–I paid the ticket today too. (The City of San Francisco conveniently takes payments online.) But still–I’ve been thinking a lot about it, since it really is drag. Part of life, maybe, but a drag nonetheless. $69 down the drain because I made an honest mistake.

But here’s the thing–a lot of shit things happen in life. Maybe you’re happy when you’re a small child. You’re happy for no reason, really. And then your mom gets sick, your house burns down, the neighbor kid’s an asshole, your dad goes to prison, you’re in a car wreck (or two), and–I don’t know–you fall in love with Satan. (I’m just pulling stuff out of the air here.) But you know, this is life. We accumulate baggage. And yeah, sometimes it’s big baggage; sometimes it’s little baggage, little things that get under your skin that you inevitably gripe about–things like living with your parents, not feeling well or not having a job, or the fact that you got a parking ticket.

Again, these are just random examples.

In my experience, somewhere along the way–because of the shit we go through and the shit we hang onto–we lose a certain amount of our childlike happiness. In exchange, we get our irritations, complaints, and things to bitch about. We get to “be right.” This is the ATTRACTIVE thing about baggage; it’s part of why we clutch tightly to it. We get to think or say, “Can you believe what those assholes did to me?” and “Fuck them AND the horse they rode in on.”

Like anyone rides in on horses anymore. But here’s my point–as much as baggage is kind of fun–as much as being upset about a parking ticket gives me something to blog and bitch about–baggage is baggage is baggage. In other words, baggage–big or small–is by definition heavy and weighs a person down. This is why, having protested and lost, I immediately paid the parking ticket this afternoon. I’m TIRED of CARRYING that issue or problem around. I was just fine before it showed up and DON’T want to carry that problem into tomorrow. Honestly, I don’t want to carry ANY of my past into my future.

The past is too heavy to carry around.

The past, after all, is simply too heavy to carry around. This is why Jesus said, “Let the dead bury the dead.” He wasn’t being unfeeling; he was being practical. It’s over. Let it go, Nancy. Forgive. (And if that doesn’t work, forgive again). Forgiveness–I don’t use that word very often on this blog, but I’ve used ever other word or combination of words that mean the same thing–letting go, patience, self-acceptance. Forgiveness is what I mean when I say that I get the need to go back and clean things up, to get everything just so. That’s what I’m doing here on this blog, after all–cleaning things up and forgiving the past, finding SOME WAY to look at all the shit and baggage in my life and NOT hang onto it, finding SOME WAY to un-clutch and start tomorrow lighter and more childlike, more free.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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If you think only girls cry or that crying is inappropriate for some reason, fuck you. Some things are too damn heavy to hold on to forever.

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