The Experience of Living (Blog #531)

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It’s the day before my birthday, and the celebrations have already begun. This morning, after waking up WAY earlier than anticipated, I made a special trip to Fort Smith for Calico County cinnamon rolls. (They’re delicious.) Since the restaurant didn’t have any that were “day old,” I bought some that were fresh out of the oven. Even better. Anyway, that’s how the day started, with two just-baked cinnamon rolls slathered in butter.

Glorious.

At breakfast my dad asked how I felt about turning 38. And whereas I have a few hang-ups about what my exterior life looks like in terms of “accomplishment,” I said that I’m extremely pleased with what my interior life looks like at 38. With each passing year, I’m happier and more comfortable in my own skin. That is to say, I love myself more. In turn, I love others more as well. So what’s not to like about growing older? A few aches and pains, perhaps? Some skin that’s not quite as tight as it used to be?

A small price to pay, I think, for what The Experience of Living gives you in return.

This afternoon I saw my therapist, and when I told her about my conversation with my dad this morning, she reminded me that although I’m not “accomplishing” a lot in terms of the world’s standards, I AM investing in myself, and that always pays off. She also said that people whose lives are “a boulevard of green lights” are often entitled and not pleasant to be around. However, she said, people who have been knocked down over and over again and continue to pick themselves back up are quite lovely.

“Well, I have been knocked down once or twice,” I smiled.

So that’s something.

Lately two words–attention and relationship–have been floating around in my brain, and my therapist happened to mention both of them today. In terms of attention, which I’ve been thinking about because it’s a limited resource and something of mine that I can control, my therapist said we have to give ATTENTION to those people and things that we care about (as opposed to every random article posted on Facebook). Later she said that if you want to have a good RELATIONSHIP with someone, or even with your bank account, you have to put your focus on it and you have to treat it well.

I like this idea, that everything in my life is a relationship. In other words, I have a relationship with body, I have a relationship with my age, I have a relationship with my parents, I have a relationship with money, and so on. Seen this way, it would, of course, behoove me to NURTURE these relationships rather than STRAIN them by, for example, giving myself a lot of shit for what I have or haven’t accomplished by a certain age. No, that wouldn’t work at all. If I want a GOOD relationship with my age, I should be as kind to it (that is, to myself) as possible.

Maybe, just maybe, I should offer myself more cinnamon rolls as a good-will gesture.

Now it’s five-thirty. I’m meeting a friend for dinner in thirty minutes, so I’m going to wrap this up. If all goes as planned, I’ll be back tomorrow–first on Facebook at 8:47 in the morning CST (the time I was born) for a Live Video, then later in the day with a birthday blog in which I’ll discuss how the cycles of the moon relate to my particular birthday. (So just wait there, on the edge of your seat.) I don’t have a beautiful way to conclude today, other than to say I’m both grateful and hopeful. Grateful for cinnamon rolls, my therapist, my friends, and growing older. Just to be here, really. Hopeful that the next thirty-eight years will, like the last thirty-eight years, be filled with adventure, rhythm, and grace.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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A break is no small thing to give yourself.

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The Wisdom of Aeolus (Blog #527)

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Today was a repeat of yesterday, meaning I spent eight hours–from four to midnight–cleaning house for my friends who recently moved out-of-state. It’s a slow, repetitive process. One room at a time, I clean the windows, scrub the walls (and cabinets), wash the baseboards, sweep the floor, then mop the floor. But I’m making progress; the house has four levels, and I’ve got two of them knocked out. I even started on the third level before I left tonight. And whereas my inner completionist (I just made that word up) wanted to keep going, I forced myself to stop cleaning and go home (stopping on my way at the above-pictured dumpster to throw some stuff away). After all, I don’t have a deadline, and it wouldn’t hurt for me to get some sleep.

It wouldn’t hurt at all.

When not running the vacuum, I spent most of my time this evening listening to lectures by my man Joseph Campbell. In one of his talks, he told the story of Odysseus, Homer’s famous hero from The Odyssey. One section of the tale particularly stood out to me. Perhaps you remember it. Odysseus and his men are stuck on an island and need to get home. So Aeolus, the keeper of the winds, bags up the four winds in an ox-skin bag and tells Odysseus to use them to sail his ship. But Aeolus cautions–don’t open the bag all at once. Well, Odysseus does as he’s told, but while he’s sleeping, his men (who are under the impression that it contains gold) tear open the bag like a bunch of toddlers ripping into a piñata.

Surprise, suckas!

Of course, all hell breaks loose, and Odysseus and the boys end up not having any wind left to sail their ship. Later, they go back to Aeolus and ask for another bag, but he says, “Screw you. You had your chance.” So our hero is left with no other choice–he must find another way home.

Campbell says the lesson here is that you can’t use up all your spiritual energy at once–you’ve got to pace yourself. This is why the soul’s journey is so often depicted AS a journey and not–I don’t know–as a teleportation. Personal and spiritual growth are INTENDED to happen slowly, in pieces and increments. My therapist echoes this sentiment. “If all-of-a-sudden you became conscious of your unconscious or your shadow, you’d have a nervous breakdown,” she’s fond of saying.

Personally, this is a good lesson for me to keep in mind. I get in such a hurry about almost everything, whether that’s cleaning a house, reading a book (gotta get to the last page NOW!), healing a problem, or reaching my highest potential. Go-go-go. Let’s get this over with. But I’m learning (slowly) that this strategy doesn’t make sense, and is–in fact–impossible. Cleaning a house and reading a book take time, just like cleaning up your past or letting go of your fears take time. It’s just the way of it. And surely this is the gift OF TIME, that we can pace ourselves as we sail across the ocean of life, that we can GENTLY and STEADILY make our way home.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

For me, it's important to hang on to this idea that no matter how bad they are, your circumstances can turn around, to believe that if an elephant can show up in your life, it can also disappear, to believe that just as the universe full of big problems, it is also full of big answers.

"

On Seeing Constellations and Yourself (Blog #524)

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Last night my dad and I went to a concert in Van Buren. My sister and I bought the tickets for Mom and Dad for Dad’s birthday, but since the concert ended up being the same day as Mom’s surgery (which I blogged about yesterday), I went with Dad instead. And since my friend Bonnie graciously volunteered to come over and sit with Mom while Dad and I were gone, we didn’t have to “worry” about Mom being alone while we were out having a good time. Well, as good of a time as you can have at a gospel concert where the age of the average attendee is “one foot in the grave.”

Amen?

Anyway, when Dad and I got back from the concert, I took Bonnie out to eat as a thank-you (per Dad’s suggestion). Bonnie drove, however, which ended up being the perfect thing because Bonnie has a convertible and–after dinner–said, “You wanna go cruising?” Well, I of course said yes, and for maybe thirty minutes, maybe an hour, Bonnie both tootled and sped along the back roads of Van Buren.

Y’all, it was the perfect thing on the perfect night, and the majority of the time I had my head titled back toward the heavens, star-gazing. I learned recently that the constellations include nine birds, three of which can be seen from the Northern Hemisphere, and two of which are connected to the Summer Triangle, which are the three bright stars you could easily spot overhead if you were to look up any summer evening. Anyway, there they were–Aquila the Eagle and Cygnus the Swan (often called the Northern Cross)–soaring.

This afternoon I saw my therapist and brought up a couple of things that I’ve already mentioned here–the first being my recent dream about dead bodies, the second being my experience with someone being passive aggressive.

With respect to my gory dream about dead bodies (that were cut up in pieces), my therapist agreed that it was about all the “non-productive” parts of my psyche that I’m discarding (like people-pleasing, approval-seeking, perfectionism, and self-judgment). “And no wonder you were terrified in the dream,” she said. “This kind of work is unsettling, and God knows that working with me is NOT for the faint of heart.” Then she addressed another part of the dream that I didn’t blog about originally–the fact that there were cops from whom I was trying to hide the dead bodies. “That’s your inner authority,” she said, “the part of you that wonders, Is is REALLY okay to be myself?” Then she paused. “So what do you think–is it okay to be yourself?”

“Yes,” I said. “It most certainly is.”

With respect to my being DIRECT with someone who had been PASSIVE AGGRESSIVE, when I told my therapist that I’d called this person out, she almost jumped out of her chair and started doing the Macarena. Then, since this wasn’t the first time I’ve either been passive aggressive or had someone else be passive aggressive, we talked about the idea that certain challenges show up in our lives over and over again UNTIL we figure out the best way–the most direct, honest, and kind way–of dealing with them. This isn’t the perfect analogy, but it’s like the universe sends us “tests” until we get a “passing” grade–then it’s on to something else. “Since you’ve handled this situation so differently than you have historically, my guess is your future experiences with passive aggressiveness will drop by at least fifty percent,” she said.

Last night while Bonnie and I were out driving, I identified two constellations that I recently read about and had never seen before–Sagitta (the Arrow) and Delphinus (the Dolphin), both of which are located nearby or “above” Aquila the Eagle. Since all the stars in both constellations aren’t very bright (unlike me and you, dear reader), it took a while to find them. I kept thinking, Is that them? But after comparing the sky to my handy-dandy constellation phone app, I was sure of it–I’d found them. The best part? I looked for them again tonight, and they’re still there!

I’m coming to think of parts of my personality this way, as constellations I’m just learning to see clearly. Not that they weren’t there before–those parts of me that are direct, bold, and self-accepting–they just weren’t defined or highlighted. And here’s the most beautiful thing about seeing a new constellation or a new part of yourself–you can’t UN-SEE it ever again. Just as the summer sky will never not include the Dolphin and the Arrow for me, my personality will never not include, or at least have access to, its stronger, healthier aspects because I can see them now. I can see–me–now.

[Tonight’s star/constellation image is from the Stellarium app. For a bigger, better version, right-click the image and select “Open Image in New Tab.”]

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Since one life touches another, we can never really say how far our influence goes. Truly, our story goes on and on in both directions. Truly, we are infinite.

"

On Assholes and Doormats (Blog #517)

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Late this morning I woke up in Tulsa, then drove straight back to Arkansas, to therapy. Then I poked around in two bookstores and went out for pizza and beer. (More therapy.) Then I went to see my friend Kim, who’d invited me to Porch Pickin’, this thing where a bunch of Kim’s friends get together and play music / listen to music on her neighbor’s front porch. Now it’s just before midnight, and I’m at my parents’ dinner table. So after being on the road and out-of-town for seven full days, I’m finally home–back in glorious Van Buren.

I’m so ready to go to bed, it’s not even funny.

Speaking of things that aren’t funny, despite the fact that I was exhausted all day yesterday–like, I was dragging the tops of my feet across the carpet on the way to bed–I couldn’t sleep for shit last night. No kidding, I tossed and turned all night. Maybe it’s because it was the night after the full moon. That really does affect me sometimes. Anyway, I eventually conked out, but then my alarm went off. What the hell? Color me not impressed.

Today my therapist and I talked about someone that–quite frankly–I think is an asshole. That being said, I’ve seen this person being extremely kind, and I admire them for their ability to be direct. They always say EXACTLY what’s on their mind, and you always know right where you stand. Anyway, the subject came up because I actually have a lot of fantasies about behaving like this person–you know, saying, “Shut the fuck up, Beatrice,” or “Go play in traffic, you little piece of shit.” I realize these wouldn’t be “nice” things to say or do, but that’s precisely the point. I’ve tried the “nice” thing; it’s exhausting.

According to my therapist, I’ve been rocking the 12-step, recovering-people-pleaser program for quite a while now. Things are so much better than they used to be. And yet, I still bite my tongue more than I’d like to. My therapist says the solution is a matter of combining directness with style. In this asshole’s case, he’s ALL directness. No class. In my case, however–this is my therapist’s opinion–I’m all style. The consummate diplomat. “Sometimes when a person who’s a jerk gets under our skin,” my therapist said, “it’s because we want a little bit of what they have. Like, we’d give up some of our style if we could have some of their directness.”

There really are times when I’d like this–to be a total snot. I’m not sure I’d like the consequences–my therapist says you can burn bridges–but I’ve shoved down so many emotions and NOT stood up for myself so many times over the last four decades that having at least one full-blown tirade sounds really appealing.

So maybe keep your distance until I can get a good night’s rest.

But really, my therapist and I agreed that you can be both direct and classy (or kind) at the same time. You can not be a doormat AND not burn bridges. You can speak your truth AND not degrade, demean, or be rude to the person with whom you are communicating. It IS possible.

This should be my new mantra–

Hum. This is something I’m working on. More and more, I’m not considering my people-pleasing tendencies or any part of my personality set in stone. A book I read recently said we do that–think of ourselves as unchangeable. We say, “I’m a people pleaser,” or “That’s just the way I am.” But the book suggested saying, “I THINK OF myself as a people pleaser,” since that subtlety suggest that changes can occur when we are willing to SEE ourselves in a different way. For me–ideally–that way looks like being direct, honest, AND kind. In other words–and maybe this should be my new mantra–not an asshole, not a doormat.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"Things that shine do better when they're scattered about."

On Levity and Gravity (Blog #510)

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Today and I went to therapy, and–for the first time in a long time–didn’t refer to “the list.” Rather, I let things unfold naturally and talked about whatever came to my mind. I’m frustrated about this. I’m worn out about that. I’m angry about this AND that. “Here,” my therapist said, “take these squeezie balls and squeeze the shit out of them.” (I took the squeezie balls, one in each hand.) “Or do you need to throw something? I have things you can throw if you want to throw things.”

As instructed, I squeezed the shit out of the balls.

“I think these will do,” I said, then continued to vent, mostly about the fact that my life isn’t working like I want it to work right now. “I just feel so–(squeeze, squeeze)–fucking stuck.”

“Maybe you need to get laid,” she said.

“Yes, that’d be great,” I agreed, squeezing some more. “I’ll get right on that.”

I swear. She makes getting laid sound so easy. Maybe it would be if I were. (That’s a sex joke, Mom.)

Okay, here’s something wonderful about seeing a therapist. Specifically, here’s something wonderful about seeing MY therapist. No matter what mood I’m in or what we’re talking about, I almost always end up laughing. Even today while I was venting my frustrations about life, I was actually laughing and having a good time. And whereas this kind of joking around happens with some of my friends–I don’t know–when I over-vent to my friends, things can get so–what’s the word?–heavy. I mean, no one knows what to say when someone you love dies or you lose your job and you don’t know what the hell you’re doing with your life.

Or whatever your problem is.

But that’s a therapist’s job–to first of all know how to listen and second of all know what to say. They went to school for that shit! Not that they get it right every time (my therapist says she thinks she hits the nail on the head about thirty percent of the time), but at least they’re–ideally–objective, as much as a person can be. Like, with a friend or family member, they’re invested, often tied to or affected by your issues. But a therapist–who hears the good, the bad, and the ugly day-in and day-out–can offer a different, more-detached perspective. I know mine can watch me yell or scream or cry and not take it personally. Instead, she can support me by offering compassion, making me laugh, or otherwise helping me to lighten up.

“Let it out,” she says. “This is normal. YOU are normal. You’re going to make it. You’re going to get laid.”

Or whatever.

But back to lightning up. I’m currently reading a book called On Becoming an Alchemist by Catherine MacCoun that’s right up my alley. Today I read that two terms alchemists (people who, by one definition, are concerned with transformation) often use are “levity” and “gravity.” Levity, of course, relates to being light-hearted, lightening up, and not taking yourself or life so seriously. Think–gold. Gravity, on the other hand, relates to being heavy-hearted, serious, or–well–grave. Think–lead. Also, think about how “grave” is actually a term that relates to death or that which is below rather than above the surface (of the earth, of your consciousness).

One of my takeaways from reading about all this is that one’s perspective and (consequently) their emotions change depending on whether they’re looking at a problem from “below” or “above.” Think about it. When you’re feeling “down” and taking both yourself seriously, the world looks worse than it does when you’re feeling “up.” And it’s not that your problems have moved; it’s that YOU have.

This, I think, has been the prized jewel I’ve discovered through my work with my therapist and this blog–movement. On the horizontal plane of matter, time, and space, my problems look much the same. If it’s not one damn thing, it’s another. I still get angry and frustrated about all of it. But on the vertical plane of spirituality, psychology, and my interior, my life looks much different than it did before. Not that I don’t have “down” days, but I’m more “up” than I ever have been. Consequently, I see both myself and life differently, better. My problems are fewer and farther between. Largely due to my perspective, they resolve faster.

Except, apparently, the getting laid thing.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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One thing finishes, another starts. Things happen when they happen.

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An Attention Intervention (Blog #503)

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It’s five in the evening, and all I want to do is read. I’m still in the middle of the book by Richard Bach I mentioned yesterday, and I just picked up two more (one about the moon, one about the practice of alchemy) at the library. Really, “the hunt” is as much fun as the reading, looking around, digging for new sources of information and knowledge. I really have a hard time turning it off. Earlier this week my friend Marla said, “Marcus, you’ve GOT to watch this television show on Netflix,” and I said, “I CAN’T STOP READING!”

“Do you need an intervention?” she said.

Yes, yes I do. An attention intervention.

Earlier today I saw my therapist. She said I seemed “anxious,” which I guess I am. I’ve been working a lot lately, I’m going out-of-town next week for business, and–consequently–I have a hundred things on my mind. Plus, I’m signed up with the United States Postal Service to receive digital images (pictures) of the mail that’s being delivered every day, and this morning I found out that later today I’ll be receiving a letter from my doctor. I’m assuming it’s my results from last week’s cholesterol, thyroid, and testosterone tests. And whereas part of me wants everything to be “okay,” another part of me “wants” there to be SOMETHING wrong in order to explain why my health and energy levels have been so up and down this last year.

So I’m on edge.

At one point during our conversation today, my therapist used the phrase “enough for the moment.” I think it was in the context of dealing with stressful or self-critical thoughts. Like, putting your hand up and saying, “STOP. Back off, jerk-wad. That’s enough for the moment.” But later we were talking about that concept–enough–since I often feel like EVERYONE ELSE has what they need to succeed, but I don’t, as if I need to be smarter, or better educated, or richer, or better looking in order for my life to “work out.” But my therapist reminded me that I AM enough, that WHO I AM is enough.

“You have EVERYTHING you need to succeed,” she said.

So now I’m telling myself, I am enough. I am enough for this moment.

This is something that’s been on my mind lately–this moment. Earlier today I started re-listening a set of Caroline Myss lectures that are some of my favorites–Fundamentals of Spiritual Alchemy. (Alchemy is a theme for me lately.) The basic idea is that in “this moment,” your physical body may be sitting in your chair in the living room (or wherever), but that–chances are pretty good–your spirit or soul is what Myss calls “non-local.” Like, you’re still thinking about that argument you had with a co-worker yesterday, or angry about what your mom said to you twenty years ago, or worried about what you’ll wear for your date this weekend. In other words, you (and me too) are way spread-out, anywhere but right here, right now.

Myss says that the point of alchemy and the ancient mystery schools was to train a person (an “initiate”) how to be in present time. Jesus said it this way–“Give no thought for tomorrow.” Of course, this is hard work, but worth it– since being out of present time creates psychic “lead,” which not only is a bitch to carry around (we’ve all got baggage!), but also literally slows down the pace at which your life moves–how quickly you can manifest your dreams, even how soon you can heal a physical illness. It’s fascinating. (It’s terrifying.) As Myss says–it takes AT LEAST an entire lifetime to learn.

In my way of thinking, so much of this work comes down to what you let yourself think about, what you allow to command your attention. Maybe this is a good way to say it: Do you let the circumstances of your life command your attention, or do YOU command your attention? When my therapist and I were talking about not feeling good enough, she said, “That’s a slippery slope to go down–the ‘poor me’ slope.” (I said, “Yeah, it’s a real Black Diamond.”) But the point is, we do have a choice about which hills we step onto and consequently go down. We CAN work at putting our focus on the here and now, rather than the past and awful, or the future and terrifying. We CAN self-initiate an attention intervention.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Abundance comes in many forms.

"

What Would My Therapist Do? (Blog #496)

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Today I woke up early-early-early to get blood drawn at my doctor’s office–cholesterol, thyroid, testosterone (GRRR). Afterwards–because I was feeling faint–I went to a donut shop and overloaded on sugar and caffeine. Honestly, I could have crashed, gone back to bed. But I was already awake and out of the house–I had clothes on for crying out loud!–so I spent the morning chugging coffee and reading my book on alchemy and mysticism. Only a hundred more pages to go!

This afternoon I poked around in one of my favorite used bookstores and unearthed two psychology books that I’ve been looking for. (They’re on Amazon, of course, but I think it’s more fun to find them in person.) Then at lunch a waiter at a local burrito shop made my day when I placed my order (three tacos) and he smiled and said, “I feel like The Three Tacos are the most undervalued item on our menu.”

Beaming because I had the good taste to value something others apparently don’t, I said, “Well, I for one appreciate a good taco.”

Or three.

My next and last stop for the day was seeing my therapist, and I realized even before getting there that I was in a good mood. This is nearly always the case on therapy days. First, my therapist is consistently funny, insightful, and uplifting, so there’s an anticipation and expectation that things will go well. Second, I often use therapy days to do things I love–read a book, peruse book and antique stores, eat tacos–like I did today. I mention this because I’m starting to realize how important it is to notice the things that put you in a cheerful mood–activities you participate in, thoughts you think (like, I’m a good person. I value tacos.) Then if you find yourself in a shit mood, you’ve got some reliable things you can try to shift you into a better one.

My personal shortlist of feel-good actions:

  • Get out of the house (get some sun)
  • Go for a walk
  • Read a book
  • Buy a book
  • Listen to eighties music (current favorite: “Private Eyes” by Hall and Oates)
  • Eat a taco (feel-good bonus: while listening to eighties music)
  • Flirt with a stranger
  • Window shop and daydream about when I can afford more things
  • Look at the stars

My therapist and I talked about this stuff today, the idea that you can create touchstone actions to help encourage better feelings, and she said you can also create touchstone thoughts to do the same thing. This part of the conversation came up because the hypnosis book I read yesterday said that when you’re in a downtrodden or sourpuss mood, it’s often because you’ve forgotten something good and positive in your life. For example, if you’re thinking, I CAN’T go up and talk to that person, in that moment you’re forgetting all the times you HAVE talked to a stranger, all the times you HAVE been confident and outgoing. So my therapist suggested having a shortlist of thoughts that make you feel happy and strong whenever you think about them–like that time your friend or relative did that one thing and you couldn’t stop laughing, or that person you love more than anything else in the whole-wide world, or that thing you did that you thought you couldn’t and are really proud of.

See–doesn’t that feel good?

Personally, I’m working on become more aware of my thoughts. After reading the hypnosis book, I know that MOST of my bad moods don’t come from what I physically feel (kinesthetic) or what I see either in the world or in my head (visual), but rather from thoughts I think (auditory). In short, there’s a lot of internal bitching, a lot of “this isn’t good enough.” But lately I’ve been catching myself mid-thought and audibly saying, “Stop.” Then I’ve been turning whatever the situation is into a joke, like “there I go again,” or otherwise trying to “lighten up.” Armed with my shortlists, I’ve started telling myself, I don’t have to make a problem where there isn’t one. I know how to feel good.

I know how to value and appreciate tacos AND myself.

Another thing my therapist and I discussed was “three strikes and you’re out,” something that came up because I’ve recently been putting up some bad (rude) behavior from an acquaintance of mine. My therapist said, “If you flake out on me once, shit happens. If you do it twice, you’re on thin ice. If you do it three times–[here she held out her closed fist then suddenly opened her fingers wide]–mic drop!” Later my therapist said that many of her clients–whenever they’re uptight, frustrated, downtrodden, or “in a pickle” with another person–will think, What would my therapist do (or say or think) in this moment? (WWMTD?) In other words, Would she put up with this shit?

If you don’t have a therapist, you could say, “What would a mentally healthy person do?” (If you don’t know a mentally healthy person–that’s a problem.)

You can be more discriminating.

This is something I’ve really been focused on lately–healthy models for change–since it’s become really clear to me that we all have default ways of thinking and responding to our environment, but there ARE other ways of being in the world. Like, just because I do a lot of internal griping, doesn’t mean everyone does or that I HAVE to. It’s simply a habit, and my mind IS CAPABLE of learning something new. Or just because I’ve always given people a million chances, doesn’t mean I have to for the rest of my life. I CAN BE more discriminating–in my thoughts, actions, and relationships.

I AM being more discriminating.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

For me, it's important to hang on to this idea that no matter how bad they are, your circumstances can turn around, to believe that if an elephant can show up in your life, it can also disappear, to believe that just as the universe full of big problems, it is also full of big answers.

"

The Sound of My Shoes Splashing (Blog #495)

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For the last three days, my stomach has been upset something awful. I’m not doubled over in pain or anything–it’s not time to call an ambulance–but it has felt like a pubescent demon has been poking at my insides with his pitchfork.

Stop, demon, stop.

When I was a teenager, I had stomach problems constantly. I have so many memories of being curled up in my bed, knees to my chest. I used to toss back calcium tablets like they were candy corn. My therapist once said she thought my tummy troubles were because I was repressing my true (and fabulous) self. “You don’t think it was just a bad case of gas?” I said. Anyway, those days are mostly over. Mostly. A few years ago an ulcer (or something) did show up uninvited and lasted several weeks. I wanted to scream.

Well, get this shit.

In the midst of my last great intestinal undoing, I picked up a remodel job that required that I completely tear apart a friend’s subfloor, which had rotted due to water damage. I think it took two days and every hammer, crowbar, and power tool I had to bust up the tile, rip apart the linoleum underneath, and pull out the old plywood. Talk about feeling like a man. I’ve never done so much grunting in all my life. But the best part is that after I spent two afternoons absolutely fucking a floor up(!), my stomach problems completely went away.

Just like that.

My therapist said–in this instance–she thought my stomach problems were a direct result of my tendency to internalize my emotions (who, me?) and that busting some shit up was a good way for me to “get the poison out.” She’s recommended this strategy on a number of occasions–throw something, go for bike ride, break a damn sweat.

Believe it or not, I have been thinking about this advice the last few days while my stomach acids have been bubbling up and boiling over my intestinal cauldron. Actually, even BEFORE my stomach began hurting, I was thinking, I need to start walking again, maybe even running. But it’s been so damn hot. And I’ve been tired. (And drinking beer.) But when I woke up this morning and my belly was STILL hurting, I thought, Today’s the day–I’ve got to do something. So this afternoon I went to the health-food store and got some ginger/peppermint tea, as well as some kombucha, a probiotic drink that I was consistently ingesting before my recent two-week vacation but haven’t had since I’ve returned home. And whereas I think they helped, I kept thinking, Go for a run, Marcus. Get out of the house.

But again–it was like a hundred degrees outside, and I prefer to run at night.

Finally, just about the time the sun was going down and a thunderstorm warning was being issued for our area, I decided to take off. “I’m going for a run,” I told my parents, “but it’s supposed to rain.” My dad, engrossed in some television program, didn’t even look up. “You won’t melt.” So I stuffed a Ziploc bag in my pocket to protect my phone if it started raining and hit the pavement.

A half-mile in, the wind started picking up, blowing dust and trash across the road. It was like something from the movie Tombstone. Part of me thought, Marcus, go home before a tornado picks you up and sweeps you off to Oz. But surrounded by dark, billowing clouds and feeling the air push against my skin, another part of me thought, Keep running–this is what it feels like to be alive. (Don’t worry, Mom, it wasn’t lightning–very bad.) About twenty minutes in, the bottom of the sky fell out, so I ran up under a pine tree and slipped my phone into the Ziploc bag. Then I pulled my shirt off, shoved it in my pocket, and kept going.

Within minutes, I was soaked to the bone, but I was loving it–smiling, laughing, evening yelling along with the thunder (getting the poison out). Alternating running and walking, I played in the rain for two miles until I made it home, sometimes watching the “rivers” run along the sides of the streets, sometimes listening to my tennis shoes splash-splash-splash through the puddles, but never once thinking about my stomach.

That was two hours ago, and–go figure–my stomach is better. Maybe not perfect, but good enough that I’ve been going significant stretches of time without thinking about it. So that’s something. This afternoon I finished a hypnosis book that said if you’re having physical (kinesthetic) pain and can focus on something you see (visual) or hear (auditory), your pain will lessen or neutralize because it switches you over to a different input/output system. (You may want to try it NOW). So maybe that’s what happened. Or maybe it was the kombucha and ginger tea. Or maybe I had internalized a handful of emotions and frustrations (I DID just complete a road trip with my immediate family) and was able to EXTERNALIZE them.

We all need to feel alive.

Personally, I’m inclined to think it was the running and externalizing, since my body has been telling me for the last few days that it wants to run. So often I forget this, that the body has wisdom and knows what it needs. I’ve spent a lot of time lately inside with my nose in a book. I love reading, of course, but it’s easy to sit inside and 1) think I can solve everything with a book and 2) concentrate on my problems. And whereas these two activities are fun on a certain level (who doesn’t like to read and wallow?), neither of them feel like the rain on my face or sound like my shoes splash-splash-splashing through the puddles. Yes, we all need this–both once in a while and fundamentally–to connect with nature, to be soaked to the bone, to feel alive.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Some things simply take time and often more than one trip to the hardware store.

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On Life’s Seasons (Blog #484)

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It’s nine in the morning, and I’m still in Somewhere, California. I survived the night and actually got some rest. I just went down to the lobby to grab coffee, and this motel appears better in the daytime. Not great, but better. From the looks of it, the only thing this city offers is a pit stop. Just a place to gas up and rest your head on your way to a better place. For me, that better place is San Francisco, which I plan to roll into later this afternoon. I’m blogging now so that I can have time to get there, maybe explore some used book stores, and find my bearings before the dance tonight.

Not last night but the night before, I dreamed that I was in a large, decorated warehouse that was mostly green–green walls, green comforter on the bed, green everything. Hanging from the ceilings were a few orange and red flags. The owners asked my opinion, and I said, “There’s too much green. It needs balance. More fall colors.” Later, I was in a swamp, and several people were carrying a casket. (This is where things get violent.) Then I took out a shotgun and shot the pallbearers. Blew their faces right off.

It was an absolute blood bath.

Frightening, I know, but–upon waking–I actually thought that last part was delightful. My therapist says that dead bodies in dreams represent the parts of your psyche that are no longer beneficial or helpful, and in mythology blood always represents new life. So the fact that I was taking a shotgun to the pallbearers (whom I generalize as “not useful” and just there for looks), tells me that I’m done with being fake (both personally and with regard to others). Give me something new, something real.

I’ve been reading about the stars and seasons lately, and there’s a lot of talk about festivals. In spring we have easter to commemorate new life, and in fall there is (or at least used to be) Michaelmas, a celebration of the Archangel Michael that honors the end of the growing season. In the Jewish tradition there’s Passover in the spring and the Feast of Tabernacles in the fall. But the point remains the same–there’s a time for spring and a time for fall, a time to be born and a time to die. Balance.

Endings are just as important as beginnings.

With this background in mind, I think the two dreams I had were communicating the same thing. In the first one, part of my consciousness was saying, “There’s too much growth (green) in your life. You need more death (more fall colors.)” In the second dream, it was more obvious. Grab a shotgun! I don’t mean to be morbid here. It’s not that I’m celebrating death. But I am starting to recognize that ENDINGS are just as important as beginnings. In fact, they’re necessary for beginnings. If I hadn’t divested myself of most of my worldly possessions, how would I have room for whatever is coming to take their place? How could the spring occur without first the fall occurring and then the long, cold winter?

Primitive people recognized this fact. It’s gross, but it’s why they sacrificed, why they were cannibals. Death makes room for more life. Endings create beginnings.

Sometimes I worry that I won’t get to wherever it is that I’m going. It’s not that I don’t see progress in my interior and external life, but it’s like I get to a pit stop and think, What if I don’t get to my better place? But surely the planets never think this way, wondering whether or not they are in the right place at the right time. I’m in such a hurry to be “somewhere else,” to get to my summer, my sweet spot, but I’m reminded that even the earth couldn’t rush her seasons if she tried. So I’m going to try to follow her example, to stay steady and sure in my orbit, to let my seasons come and go, to give each one its due respect.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Allowing someone else to put you down or discourage your dreams is, quite frankly, anything but self-care.

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Route 66 and the Quest for the Holy Grail (Blog #482)

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This morning I woke up to an e-bill (from the lab that did my immunology testing) for $1,600.00. This is not a good way to start the day. (Marcus, from now on, at least wait until you get out of bed before checking your phone.) Anyway, I spent my morning dealing with this matter–calling the company to see what’s going on, talking to my insurance agent. After a solid hour of this business, the matter still isn’t resolved, but we’re closer. As it turns out, my first visit to the lab was billed to the wrong insurance (technically mine, but the wrong one), and the second visit is still being processed. My insurance agent said, “You can handle this when you get back. Stop worrying.”

Does she know me or what?

Similar incidents have happened a number of times this last year, and my therapist always reminds me that 1) this is the nature of medical billing and insurance, 2) the universe is abundant, and 3) considering my background with financial stressors, it’s normal for me to overreact. The good news, however, is that I actually didn’t overreact today. Sure, I stressed out a little, but I didn’t flip shit. So maybe my attitude about such things is improving. Yesterday I read that the word grail (as in the Holy Grail) is related to the word gradual. The point was that advances in consciousness (depicted as challenges and victories in the grail-quest legends) happen in phases, rarely all at once. My point is that I AM changing my mind about things–just a little at a time.

And that’s okay.

Other than dealing with the insurance company, I paid bills this afternoon and spent some time reading. Then this evening I (finally) mapped out a plan for getting to San Francisco. As it turns out, the drive is close to 18 hours, so I’ve decided to break it up into two days. Hopefully I’ll drive 13 or 14 hours tomorrow, find a place to spend the night (I have a few options already), then drive the rest of the way Friday morning/early afternoon. Since the dance event I’m attending starts Friday at 8 PM, this should work out just fine.

God willing and the creek don’t rise.

I’ve spent this evening getting ready for the trip–taking a shower, shaving, washing clothes. Now it’s 9:30, and I’m trying to keep this short so I can knock myself out with Benadryl and get some sleep. I’m going to TRY to get up early in the morning. (Early for me that is.)

When my family and I first got to Albuquerque, I noticed a car I hadn’t seen before in my sister and brother-in-law’s garage–an antique–a 1971 Volkswagen Karmann Ghia, it turns out. And whereas I’m not a “car guy,” I thought this car was awesome and asked my brother-in-law if we could go for a spin. So tonight before I cleaned up, he said, “Do you want to drive it? It’s a standard.” Hesitating because I technically know how to drive a standard but don’t do it often enough to be confident about it, I said, “Uh–uh–yes!”

I added the exclamation point, both on the blog and in real life, because I think it’s important to be enthusiastic about trying new things.

So my brother-in-law started out, then pulled over to let me try. And y’all, we give him a hard time sometimes for being rough around the edges, but he was a great teacher. First, he gave me a refresher course about all the pedals, then he talked me through any jerking or rough spots along the way. And whereas I thought we were just going to stay in the neighborhood, he navigated me onto the highway–historic Route 66. (As in, get your kicks on.) Talk about feeling like a badass–driving an antique convertible, top down, on Route 66.

Believe it or not–all things considered–I did a good job. I only stalled out once–at a stop sign. (Technically, I was just following directions.)

We have time to figure things out.

Just before we got back to the house, it started pouring down rain, so I pulled over and my brother-in-law put the top up and took over driving. (We couldn’t roll up the windows because he recently had the interior redone and hasn’t put the cranks for the windows back on.) Anyway, he sped home and pulled back in the garage. (We were only half-soaked.) The whole affair was one of the funnest things I’ve done in a long time. During the trip I kept getting nervous, like, What if I mess up or do something wrong? But honestly, my nervousness paled in comparison to the good time I was having, even the pride I felt at trying and learning something new. So again I’m reminded that life is meant to be fun, that we have time to figure things out, that we can “get our kicks” gradually.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Suddenly the sun breaks through the clouds. A dove appears--the storm is over.

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