Scrooge McDuck and the Second Deadly Sin (Blog #850)

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Today while cleaning I listened to two one-and-a-half-hour lectures about spiritual alchemy and a one-hour podcast/interview about grief. Then I went to dinner and read Caroline Myss’s Defy Gravity for two hours (I’m on a Myss kick lately), then came back to where I’m house sitting and read it for an hour more. And whereas I’d intended to finish the entire book tonight, my body and this blog said no. We’re too tired, we have too much to do. So whatever, that’ll just be one more book I’ve started and “need” to finish. I say need in quotation marks because as my therapist often says, “You don’t NEED to do anything. You could stay at home and eat bonbons all day if you wanted to.”

Whenever she says this, I squirm in my seat.

Like the rest of America, I’m hung up on being productive.

In Defy Gravity Caroline says that of the personal healings she’s aware of, the healings haven’t come about as a result of the mind-body connection. Rather, they’ve come about as a result of the mind-body-SOUL connection, since, she says, your rational mind doesn’t have the power to heal you but your irrational soul (your spirit) does. If you’re a follower of Caroline’s work, this is why she talks about the healing power of forgiveness and how it will never make sense to your mind (your ego). It will however, make sense to your soul.

In discussing soul work and mysticism, Caroline associates each of the seven deadly sins, as well as the seven graces (gifts of the spirit) with the seven main chakras of the physical body. For example, the first (root) chakra is located at the base of your spine and is linked to one’s fear of and need for survival. It’s our connection to THE TRIBE, as in, What will THEY think? As such, according to Caroline, the deadly sin of the first chakra is pride, which is “rooted” in the fear of being humiliated. The grace for this downfall? Reverence.

As I understand it, a grace is something you can seek out and ask for, but it’s not something you can make happen. Likewise, it’s not something you can reason yourself around to with your mind because–again–a grace comes from or is at least given to the soul. It has an effect on your mind, but that’s not its home. And whereas it’s easy to think of a grace as something fantastic and spectacular that marches into your life like a Christmas parade, more often than not, it’s not. For example, the day I asked a counselor friend of mine for a recommendation for a therapist and he gave me my therapist’s name, that was a HUMONGOUS grace. Of course, I didn’t know it then. I just jotted down the number and off I went. It took time for me to realize how “lucky” I was to be introduced to that one person, how my much life would change for the better.

Back to the seven deadly sins, the one that’s on my mind tonight is greed, which Caroline links to the second chakra, our center of relationships–to other people, to money, to sex. Rightly so, I think, some yoga practitioners refer to the second charka, which is located at the level of your sex organs, as the emotional junkyard. Personally, I’m not afraid to say I have a lot of issues there–both emotional and physical. Anyway, it felt like a bit of a slap in the face when I read that greed is the potential driver behind the issues in my second chakra, since I don’t picture myself as a Scrooge McDuck. But one way Caroline describes greed is having the thought or feeling that “there’s not enough.”

Well, okay, fine, you got me there.

For me, the idea of “not enough” is deeply engrained and ever present. I could blame this on my particular life circumstances, but the truth is, scarcity is embedded in our culture. Just look at any form of advertising. All of it’s built around the idea that we don’t have enough–beauty, wealth, friends, or vacation time. Many spiritual books subtly (and not so subtly) convey the idea that we don’t have enough spirituality. Where I personally feel the most scarcity (or a greed for more) is in my finances and my knowledge-base. This is why I’m constantly listening to lectures, constantly reading. Granted, I enjoy these things thoroughly, but underneath it all is a fear that I don’t have enough of whatever it is and, therefore, need more of it. Personally, I think most of our ugly inclinations (seven deadly sins) have fear at their base.

Caroline says the grace we need to counteract greed (or the fear of scarcity if that’s easier for you to swallow) is piety, humility, or devotion to God. As I understand this, this grace puts us in touch with another quality of the second chakra–creativity. This is important because–and I can speak to this personally–our creative energy is a limitless flow of resources. Said another way, our creativity is abundant, anything but scarce. I’ve experienced this firsthand in writing every day for 850 days. Never once has my creative well run dry. Likewise, I’ve experienced instant creativity on the dance floor, especially when I’m in the moment and not thinking about what others think of me. This, I think, is where piety or humility comes in. Whenever I’m trying to impress someone, whenever I think, I’m hot shit, my creativity shuts down.

I’ve said before that I often feel or believe that good things happen to other people but not to me. Now, I can logically tell you that’s not true, but our feelings and beliefs are rarely logical. Anyway, my therapist says this is a dumb belief. “Good things happen to everybody,” she says. “If the Kardashians can make money, so can you.” Once while discussing this topic I said, “I guess it’s another way of feeling like I’m special–because I’m the exception to the rule.”

“Well, yeah,” she said, “but special in a real dumb way.”

Like I frequently do in our sessions, I laughed out loud when she said this. Why? Because it’s true. It is dumb to think good things happen to others but not to you. It’s another form of scarcity. Likewise, it’s dumb to think you live in a “not enough” universe when you’ve been taken care of and had more than enough you’re entire life. Like, how many pairs of shoes do you have? And yet you only have two feet. If you really get this point, you’ll laugh out loud too. This, I think, is another way grace comes to us, through those moments when we really see ourselves and how ridiculous we can be. Scrooge McDuck had so much gold that he could swim in it, and yet he wanted more. We have everything we have (we have enough, we are enough), and yet we want more.

Talk about funny.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Go easier on yourself.

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On Where You Are Anchored (Blog #845)

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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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Give yourself an abundance of grace.

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On Rituals (Blog #844)

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Today I finished a house sitting gig, so this morning I went through my last-day routine–wash the sheets, clean the dishes, put everything back in its place. Then this afternoon before leaving I took my bags (yes, I have multiple bags) one-by-one to my car, Tom Collins. This is honestly one of the only drags to living temporarily in other people’s houses. There’s a lot of stuff shuffling on the first and last days–bags of clothes, books, an exercise mat and foam roller, groceries. Gosh I’ve got a lot of shit. Fortunately, although it does take a while to load and unload all my stuff, I don’t have to go through TSA with any of it.

Now that would be a real nightmare.

This evening I taught a dance lesson to a new couple, then went to a local bookstore to read. I’d be good with doing this every day–sticking my nose in a psychology book. My current challenge is to not take everything I read so seriously. For example, if a self-help book suggests several exercises to try, I’m working on not seeing them as “required.” My therapist says I’m so hung up on completion. (True, and it’s getting better.) “But you could just choose one or two exercises to do,” she says. “Or not do any of them at all.”

There’s a novel thought.

This evening I picked up Subway for me and my parents, and ended up chatting with the girl who made our salads. I asked about her tattoos, and she told me she got one of them for her best friend who committed suicide. Wow, you never know what’s going on with someone. Also, it’s amazing what people will tell you if you show the slightest bit of interest.

After getting the salads, I ran to Walmart to pick up food for our family dog, Ella. While there I bought a two-dollar hairbrush. Y’all, I don’t think I’ve ever purchased a hairbrush before. Talk about confusing. There were so many options. Anyway, that’s not my point. My point is that since my hair has gotten long I’ve been using an old hairbrush I’ve had since–I don’t know–I was a teenager. Literally, it’s falling apart. And gross. Let’s not forget gross. But here’s the real deal–because I’ve been putting off buying a new one just to save a few bucks, every time I use the old one, I feel poor. Inevitably part of me thinks, This is all I’m worth. So as much as being helpful, the new brush is for me a symbol of I’m worthy of good things.

Things that work.

I’ve used this symbolic approach in a few areas of my life lately. For a while I’ve been losing socks or simply wearing them out. So earlier this week I started fresh–I bought a new pack. Then I went through my old ones and got rid of the ones that were gross or stretched out. At the same time, I threw away a few ratty shirts. What’s the point in keeping them? Again, they just make me feel like I’m–I don’t know–one of the kids in Oliver!

The word that’s been on my mind today is ritual. When I got home from Walmart tonight, I one-by-one unpacked my bags, hung up my clothes, and put everything in its place. While I did this, I threw out a few more things, rearranged my sock drawer. And whereas I’ll be packing things back up for another gig before the week is over, it feels really good now for everything to not be haphazard. As I understand it, this is what rituals (including how you get dressed in the morning and the way you go about eating a meal) do for us–they provide much-needed structure. They ground us.

Tonight my dance couple said they’d already been online looking for shoes. This is another ritual–buying new things when starting habits or hobbies–and it’s something we do intuitively. It’s a conscious, physical act that communicates to our unconscious, I’m serious about this. This would be my suggestion to anyone wanting to make progress in any area of your life–weight loss, writing, decluttering. Turn whatever it is into a ritual. You’ll be more likely to succeed. It’s why I blog every day, usually while I listen to the same music. It’s why I, on a regular basis, sort through my stuff and throw or give away what I no longer like or need. It’s not that I CAN’T hold on to things–there’s nothing inherently wrong with that–but I know that if you hold on to one thing in your life, you’ll hold on to other things in your life as well. So I want my entire system (body, soul, spirit) to get the message–We let go easily. We don’t cling. We’re worthy of new things, things that work.

Recently I told my therapist I’d dreamed I was on a toilet taking a shit. “Really?” she said. “Yeah,” I said, “I have a lot of bathroom dreams like that.”

“THAT’S VERY AUSPICIOUS!” she said.

Her point was just this. What do you do when you go to the bathroom? You get rid of toxicity–waste–that which is no longer useful to you. Shit is what’s left over after your body has garnered all the good it can from your food. So my dreaming about going to the bathroom means the same thing is happening in my unconscious–in my beneath-the-surface thoughts and emotions. That is, I’m getting rid of that which is no longer useful. I’m taking the good from my experiences and ditching the rest. (Bye, Felicia.) So in both my outer and inner worlds, I’m letting go. This isn’t a coincidence, since what’s happening outside usually mirrors what’s happening inside. Not that it’s always easy to see, of course. This is what a ritual helps with. It draws a clear line between two things that aren’t otherwise obviously connected. You let go of old clothes, you let go of old beliefs. You get your room in order, you get your mind in order.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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You know when someone crosses a line. You may not want to admit it, but you know.

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Our Burdens Fall Away (Blog #840)

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

It’s great.

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

And by relax I mean read.

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

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

I’ll explain.

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

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

We punish ourselves.

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

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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More often than not, the truth is a monster. It gets in your face and makes you get honest. Sometimes the truth separates you from people you care about, if for no other reason than to bring you closer to yourself.

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On Following Your Bliss (Blog #839)

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Yesterday I spoke about the feeling of delight, and today has been delightful. Not that it’s been ALL that different from most of my days on the outside, but there’s been a certain quality about it that’s made it different on the inside.

I’ll do my best to explain.

This morning I made breakfast and got around slowly. Then a couple hours later I made a snack and took it outside to eat. Then because the sun felt so nice, I lay outside and read a book. And whereas I think I overdid it (my stomach is currently medium rare), it felt fabulous. Then a friend of mine asked me to help her install an air conditioning window unit, so I did that. I love a good project. Plus, another friend was there to help, and since they’d installed several window units before, I ended up learning something. I love learning.

Lately my therapist and I have been talking a lot about money. I’ve said before that I have a lot of gross feelings about money, largely due to the fact that I had to be responsible for my family’s finances as a teenager. And although it’s taken me, oh, twenty years to identify how I felt about that, I can now say that it was extremely overwhelming. Anyway, I’ve made a lot of progress in this area. There are several areas in my life that I’m super neutral about. For example, my romantic life. I think, Whatever happens, happens. I don’t have time for bullshit. Well, my therapist says I can take this same attitude–laid back–and apply it to money. “Something ALWAYS comes along for you,” she says. “Chill out.”

Well, damn if she hasn’t been right (again). First there was that air conditioner work today, then I picked up a yard-mowing gig this evening. And not that I’m sitting pretty or anything, but everything helps. Plus, I’ve told the universe that I really am willing to work doing almost anything so long as it affords me the time to continue to do what I love–read and write. Apparently it’s listening. Things keep showing up–house sitting gigs, odd jobs, dance lessons–and I haven’t even advertised. Other than talking about my life and random jobs here on the blog, I haven’t tried to drum up business even once.

I keep going back to Joseph Campbell’s quote (that I’ve mentioned several times here before)–“Follow your bliss and the universe will open doors for you where there were only walls.” This means that as we listen to our heart, we’re helped by “unseen hands.” (If you’re not listening to your heart, I don’t know what to tell you.) When we’ve talked about what writing project I want to tackle next, my therapist says, “Follow the energy–do the thing that excites you the most.”

I started to say, “Listen to you heart and do The Hard Work” because listening to your heart, as lovely as it sounds, is tough stuff. That is, rarely is anyone else going to encourage you to do what YOU want to do, since everyone else wants you to do what THEY want you to do. Think about it. It’s human nature. A while back I did some work, and my gut told me it was worth a certain price. Well, the client initially offered slightly less. What the big deal? you might say. But I knew that I’d feel like I’d compromised myself if I didn’t at least ask. So I did, and they said yes. This is a small example, but my point is that following your inner guidance isn’t just about becoming a writer, or whatever it is you want to do professionally. If you’re going to listen to your truth, you’ve got to listen to it across the board.

In all situations.

Not to beat a dead horse, but I can’t count the number of times in the last several years when following my bliss has looked like putting a friendship on hiatus, saying no to bad behavior from lovers or potential lovers, and even confronting my loved ones. Again, the idea here is that if you want the universe to start opening doors for you, you have to be willing to do your part, which may include shutting a few windows. At the very least, you have to be willing to walk a different path, and that means being able to say no when necessary. It means being willing to go against the grain and withstand criticism. I can’t tell you the number of times people have told me, “You should go to college. You’re gonna have to get a real job one day.”

“Fuck that shit,” my therapist say. “That’s their problem.”

Not that I’m advocating dumb or negligent behavior. Only you get to decide what’s best for you, and I can only speak to my specific life. All I know is that since I was in high school, it’s never felt deep-down right to “just get a degree” or be like everybody else. Rather, since then I’ve had a deep-down dream to be a writer and do things associated with writing. Some people may say this is a pie-in-the-sky idea, and I get it. It’s hard to make it as a writer. But more and more I KNOW. This is what I came here to do. If I have to do random odd jobs until it “happens,” so be it.

I’m willing to pay the price.

What’s more, I know that my day-to-day happiness doesn’t depend on what’s happening out there.

It depends on what’s happening in here.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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You've really got to believe in yourself and what you're doing. Again, it comes down to integrity and making something solid of yourself, something that's so well-built on the inside that it can handle any storm.

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I Meant to Do That! (Blog #837)

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Photo by Virgilia Dale. Thanks, V!

This morning I saw my therapist and read her yesterday’s blog, about childhood memories. I don’t do this very often, maybe once every couple months, if I’d like her opinion on something or it seems relevant. For example, on our last therapy-iversary, I read her my post about why me and my therapist are successful. It was my way of saying, “Thank you.” (I also brought cookies.) Anyway, I read last night’s blog because, as I told her, “I cried when I wrote it and am hoping I can cry again.”

“Go for it,” she said. “Get the poison out of your water.”

Then she added, “I like how you’ve been crying more lately.”

Well, sure enough, it worked. I cried more when I read the post to her than when I wrote the damn thing. I guess there’s something about my therapist’s presence. It’s like I know I can say anything, be completely me in the moment, and that’s going to be okay. Never once in five years have I felt judged. Not that I’ve always been agreed with–far from it–but I’ve never felt judged. Instead, no matter if I’ve been angry, sad, depressed, irate, confused, lethargic, disappointed, hurt, or horny–I’ve felt totally accepted. And I guess that’s been one of the big gifts this blog has given me too–acceptance.

Self-acceptance.

I imagine this is why certain posts make me cry. Like last night’s, they’re usually the ones that have something to do with my childhood. The way I see it, I probably needed to cry (and yell and scream) back then but just didn’t know how. Consequently, it’s like some part of me got asked to sit down and shut up indefinitely. But here’s the thing about writing if you do it correctly–you bring your whole self to it. This means that when you’re being creative all the parts of yourself that have previously been silenced can potentially speak up. They may cry and they may to tell people to fuck off. If you’re smart, you’ll listen. This is what self-acceptance is–not letting every part of you run the show, but letting every part of you be heard.

The above picture of me at a lemonade stand showed up in my Facebook memories today. For a while my dance studio was in the same building as a photographer, and the lemonade stand was one of her props. Anyway, this picture always makes me think of that overused saying–when life gives you lemons, make lemonade. Along these lines, there’s this quote from Joseph Campbell–“To transform you hell into a paradise is to turn your fall into a voluntary act. Joyfully participate in the sorrows of the world and everything changes.” To me this means not so much that you make the best of a bad situation, but that on some level you actually choose the bad situation.

I’ll explain.

There’s an idea in the self-help world that you’re happy not when you have what you want, but rather when you want what you have. Think about it. We usually associate wanting with things we don’t have, but if you were to–in this moment–look at everything in your life and say, “I want this,” you’d immediately experience a sense of contentment. For me this would look like saying, “I want to weigh 190 (ish) pounds. I want to be single. I want to be living at home with my parents and experiencing a headache.”

Good news! I am.

Applied to one’s past, all of this means that rather than labeling your difficult circumstances as bullshit or something that never should have happened, you look at them and say, “That was exactly what I needed.” This is what Campbell means when he says, “Turn your fall into a voluntary act.” Children do this all the time. They trip on their shoelaces, hit the concrete, and scab their knees then immediately look at their friends and say, “I MEANT to do that!” In keeping with my previous discussion about last night’s blog about childhood memories and specifically the fact that my family’s home burned down when I was four, this means that yes, I cry or scream about it when I need to, but I refuse to let myself be bitter about the situation. Instead I think, That helped make me who I am today. And I like who I am today.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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There’s a power that comes when you meet life’s challenges head-on. Those are the times you breathe the deepest. Those are the times the waters come forth and your heart beats every bit as loud as the thunder claps. Those are the times you know more than ever—no matter what happens next—in this moment, you’re alive.

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How to Change the World (Blog #834)

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Yesterday I started reading a book about dream interpretation and active imagination, active imagination being a technique you can use to dialogue with various parts of your unconscious. For example, you could dialogue with the part of you that’s depressed, angry, or lazy. Or the part of you that doesn’t want to lose weight (and probably has a good reason for that) even though you do want to (or rather, your ego or personality does). The basic idea is that you get quiet and still, then ask your unconscious to present an image or symbol that represents that energy pattern in your life. I’d like to talk to the part of me that’s resentful. Then you see who or what shows up and you have a conversation with it, with yourself.

As I spent most of today continuing to read the book I started yesterday, I tried this active imagination exercise earlier this evening with several different parts of myself, including my resentful part. Y’all, it was fascinating. It presented itself as a poor, newsie-type boy with bad grammar. “Whadayawant?” it said.

“I’d like to hear what you have to say,” I replied.

“Oh yeah, you ain’t been so interested before,” it said.

“Well, I’d like to try again,” I said.

I’ll spare you the rest of the conversation, but this is an important point in active imagination or talking to your internal parts–because they’ve been so frequently ignored, they often won’t want to chat. So you have to let them know you’re serious about (re)establishing a relationship with them. Sweetheart, I’m here for you. In the case of my inner resentful kid, he ended up saying that I give him a lot of crap for not knowing enough, not knowing enough being an internal attitude of mine that manifests itself as my cramming book after book into my brain and always having to learn. “You must think I’m a real dope,” he said. Later he said that it wasn’t that he was against learning, but he’d really like to have a break now and then. “Maybe you could just sit around and chew on a toothpick,” he said.

I realize this may sound like a bunch of crap, but it’s something that hit home for me. Lately I’ve been putting a lot of pressure on myself to produce, stay busy, learn more, and even heal. Because my outer life doesn’t look like I want it to, I feel like I’ve got to DO something about it. And whereas this may be true, going nonstop is exhausting. But when I think of that kid I dialogued with this evening, I picture someone free in his body and world. A kid who’d just assume lie around or play baseball than read a book or LEARN. Honestly, that sounds nice. I could use more of that–relaxation.

One of the book’s points is that when your unconscious gives you information (in a dream or via active imagination) it’s not enough to think about or even interpret that information–you need to do something with it. For example, after my inner resentful kid told me I could be a real stick in the mud, I went for a walk and–according to his suggestion–didn’t listen to an informational podcast along the way. Last night I dreamed I drank pickle juice, which I associate with being sour but also full of electrolytes (energy). And whereas I’m still chewing on the meaning, I’m thinking it has to do with the idea that although some of my current experiences are sour, they’re giving me energy for what’s to come. Anyway, the point is that in order to HONOR the dream, I drank some pickle juice for breakfast.

This idea, that you need to do something with the knowledge your unconscious gives you, seems to be true across the board. For example, recently I got a text message that fundamentally bothered me. Essentially it was from someone I really don’t know that well who wanted a favor. Well, this has happened a number of times before, and although it’s always bothered me, I just ignored it, which is to say I ignored the part of myself that was bothered. However, when it happened this time, I dealt with it directly. I said no. And whereas my answer was well-received, that’s not the point. The point is that when your unconscious or even your intuition gives you information, it’s usually asking you to take an action. To further illustrate the point, there were a lot of insights about my relationships I had in therapy that never really “sunk in” until I had the balls to have difficult conversations and–in some cases–set boundaries.

Granted, my therapist says that you don’t have to take action EVERY time you’re alerted to a problem or a situation. “The important thing is to see things for what they are,” she told me once when someone I knew had said something shitty to me. In that case, I acknowledged their behavior for what it was and let it slide. Still, I had fantasies of telling that person off and ultimately wasn’t satisfied until I said SOMETHING to them.

For the record, I didn’t tell them off; I was simply honest. I think this is shitty. This is another point the book I’m reading makes–that our dreams and fantasies are often extreme because they need to get our attention. Last night after the pickle juice dream I dreamed that I was yelling at someone who wouldn’t let me have fun with my friends or, later, be by myself. “FUCK OFF!” I said. And whereas I think the interpretation of this dream goes back to my needing to go easier on myself and take a break now and then, the point remains the same–my unconscious isn’t asking that I start aggressively telling other people, or even my inner task master, to fuck off. Rather, it’s simply trying to alert me to the fact that a previously ignored part of me would like to be heard, would like to be considered.

Start by accepting every part of yourself.

For quite a while now, there’s been a (small) idea floating around the globe about equality–equal rights for women, for all races, for all sexualities. Along these lines, there’s also the idea that everyone deserves to have a voice. And whereas sometimes when I look at the flapdoodle people say and share on social media, I fundamentally agree with this–the right to free speech. Also, and I realize I’m not the first to do so, I’d like to propose that equality and freedom of speech start at home, inside of you. What I mean is that if there’s any part of you that’s angry, resentful, sad, depressed or anything else, and you’re unwilling to listen to, hear, or consider it, then I guarantee that you’ll be unwilling to listen to, hear, or consider something or someone outside of you as well. Conversely, the more you open up to the variety of voices inside of you, the more you’ll open up the variety of voices outside of you. Want everyone in the world to be accepted? Start by accepting every part of yourself. This isn’t easy, of course, but it’s how you truly change the world. You change YOUR world.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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You've got to believe that things can turn around, that even difficult situations--perhaps only difficult situations--can turn you into something magnificent.

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On Freedom (Blog #826)

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Two years ago on July 1 I was in a car accident. It was the death of my Honda Civic Polly. And whereas it wasn’t the death of me, it certainly left it’s mark. (I was rear-ended in the worst way. That’s a sex joke, Mom.) For one thing, my neck continues to hurt. It feels permanently braced. I get a lot of headaches. And whereas I’m working on healing, it’s a process. A process, that’s what the entire accident ordeal was–a process of seeing doctors, talking to insurance agents, and buying a new car.

The new car part is why I’m blogging about all of this now, on July 4th, because it was precisely two years ago today when I first saw, met, and test drove my now car, Tom Collins, whom I love and adore greatly. I remember it like it was yesterday. I pulled up at the car lot on America’s birthday thinking I was about to test drive a different car (a Ford Focus–ick), but the lot owner said, “The SUV we talked about yesterday came in a day early.” Indeed, there on in the middle of the lot sat a Hyundai Sante Fe, doors open, sparkling clean, and blaring one of my favorite songs on the radio–Africa by Toto. Well, I hopped in to go for a spin, and the rest is history. Before I got three blocks away, I knew This is it. Later my dad said, “Marcus, bite the bullet. You won’t be satisfied with anything else.”

Boy was he right. Two years down the road (haha), Tom Collins and I couldn’t be happier. Well, he’d probably be happier if he had new brake pads, but I should be able to take care of that next week. And by “I” I mean my mechanic. But seriously, I enjoy Tom Collins now as much as ever. I absolutely adore his heated seats, power windows, sunroof, and tons of storage space. He’s continues to be simply perfect for me.

All of this to say that earlier today I was contemplating whether or not I was happy or grateful that I was in that car accident, since without it I wouldn’t have acquired Tom Collins, the car that’s taken me to San Francisco and back, to Colorado and back. The car that’s taken me to therapy for the last two years. I thought, Am I GLAD that guy slammed into my bumper and gave me a seemingly permanent crick in my neck? Hum. That’s a good question.

So here’s what I came up with. In addition to giving me Tom Collins, that accident provided me several opportunities. For one thing, it gave me a chance to face my scarcity and talking-about-money issues by dealing with the insurance company of the guy who hit me. (They were asshats, by the way, although very “nice” about it.) For another, it allowed me to accept help from my doctors and caregivers, as well as from my insurance company, who, oddly enough, started covering me the very day of the accident. So, even thought it might sounds like a weird thing to say, yeah, I’m glad I was in that car accident.

Not that I want to repeat it.

It’s weird how we’re often so reluctant to say we’re glad something “bad” happened. It’s like we think we’re inviting trouble, more of the same, if we see the positive side to a difficult situation, so we say things like “not that I want to repeat it” in order to clarify–Hey, Universe, no more car wrecks. I don’t approve of this sort of thing. All of this is superstition. Being grateful for difficult circumstances (or even difficult people) that bring out the best in you doesn’t make them right or wrong or pleasant or fun. It simply means that you rose to an occasion and are happy you were given an occasion to rise to. For me, it’s becoming less and less of a question of whether or not I’m GLAD for the shit things that happen in my life. Why? Because it doesn’t matter whether I’m glad about them or not. Either way, they happen. Except it DOES matter whether or not I’m glad–to me. That is, in this moment I can bitch and moan about that terrible day two years ago and enslave myself. Or I can be glad and set myself free. It’s that simple. I choose to be free.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"That love inside that shows up as joy or enthusiasm is your authentic self."

On Rip Van Winkle (Blog #820)

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I’ve said before that I sometimes have dreams of yelling at people. Saying, “Fuck you, Nancy!” and things like that. Well, I also have daytime fantasies of telling people off, courtroom-type dramas in which I either replay a situation that happened weeks or years ago or imagine a future circumstance in which I get to tell someone to “Go to hell, Harry!” I don’t know if you do this sort of thing, but it’s fun. At the same time, it’s exhausting, since it’s like the past is never over, the future never safe.

It’s like you’re never–what’s the word?–free.

When I’ve talked to my therapist about these fantasies, we’ve agreed it’s because I’ve spent so much of my life not saying what I really feel. By trying to be everyone’s friend and get everybody to like me I’ve essentially created an imbalance. That’s what the dreams and fantasies are about, evening things out, since, really, I’m neither Mr. Nice Guy or Mr. Asshole. I’m somewhere in between I’m Fine and I’m Pissed Off As All Get Out.

We all are.

Because the pissed-off part of me refuses to go away on its own, I’ve been working on speaking up when I’m angry. Not because it’s fun or pleasant, but because, in my experience, every part of me deserves to be heard and–here’s something–staying silent doesn’t work. Well, it works if you want to make other people happy instead of yourself and–consequently–create a lot of internal anxiety, nervousness, tension, and stress. Not to mention a stomach ulcer and inauthentic relationships. Biting your tongue is great for these things. However, having tried people pleasing, biting my tongue, and being “nice” for decades and realizing (finally) that they can’t give me what I want (personal freedom, inner peace, and happiness), I’m trying something novel–honesty.

A couple examples.

Lately I’ve been posting my blogs to my Instagram account, and after I posted yesterday’s blog, someone I don’t even know, a mental health worker in Texas, commented, “Love this! Mental health is so important! Check out my profile if you’d like; I’m all about giving people the tools they need in order to get to be where they want to be!” Well, this immediately pissed me off, and not just because they used an exclamation point at the end of every sentence. I kept thinking of a business friend of mine who always says, “Build a relationship with me before you try to sell me something.” Anyway, two years ago I would have brushed the whole thing off thinking, What if I upset this person? What’s it even matter? But as I’ve said before, our emotions show up for a reason, and if we don’t listen to and honor them, we’re going to pay the price.

So I responded: “Thank you, and I agree. Also, my comments section is for conversation and isn’t intended as a billboard for total strangers to use. #boundaries”

Immediately, I felt better. And whereas part of me wondered if I ruined this person’s evening, the majority of me didn’t care. Because they showed up on my turf and started it. If they had a bad evening, they did that. Plus, and this is an important point, I wasn’t a total dick. In other words, although my pissed-off fantasies often involve name-calling and violence (and if yours don’t, you’re not being honest with yourself), I didn’t demean this person as a human or “fight dirty.” Instead, I firmly said, “I’m not okay with what you did there.”

Along similar lines, tonight my Dad and I went to Waffle House, and our waiter was, in my opinion, a little too friendly. I don’t know, I like space when I eat, and this fella was up in our grill, dancing and singing around our table. Then when he brought our ticket and Dad said he couldn’t read the small print and I said I’d help him, the waiter stood there watching and eventually said, “Are you gonna make him wait?” To which I replied, “Well, I’m waiting for to walk away.” (He did.) Why did I say this? For one thing, because I didn’t want to discuss money and this guy’s tip in front of him. For another, it was the plain, simple truth–I WAS waiting for him to walk away.

A while back I ran into someone with whom I’d had a bit of a falling out. In my mind the whole situation was a big damn deal, but, really, things were just awkward. In this respect, the running into each other was a good thing because it forced a changed in my perspective. Also, it gave me a chance to be honest. That is, when the falling out was eventually brought up by the other person, I got real serious and said, “We can talk about that if you’d like.” In response, they said, “Oh, it’s no big deal. Water under the bridge.” And whereas I was thankful they didn’t call me a bastard or throw their drink on me, I had a hard time believing it truly wasn’t a big deal, or at least a little deal. If that had been the case, they wouldn’t have brought it up.

My therapist says that most of us live our lives unconsciously. This means we’re not truly aware of our thoughts, feelings, and emotions, and THIS means we’re not truly in touch with our own behavior. Consequently, we say things like “it’s fine” and “water under the bridge” even if we don’t mean it. (Here I’m speaking from my personal experience, as I grant that I can’t know what was true for the person I mentioned above.) We play nice and bite our tongues, then wonder why our stomach hurts or why we dream about throwing things. The truth slips out in sarcastic comments and passive aggressive statements.

Remember the story of Rip Van Winkle? I read it tonight, and it’s about an unhappy, passive, “hen-pecked” husband who’d rather attend to anyone’s business but his own who falls asleep for decades. When he wakes up, his entire world has changed. There are new shops in town, his wife is dead. He’s absolutely elated–he’s finally free. Again, this is about living unconsciously versus consciously. When you’re unconscious, you “go along to get along,” you put everyone else first. When you’re conscious, you’re free, free to be yourself, whatever that looks like–happy, elated, somber, pissed-off.

Freedom is worth all the effort.

Sometimes my therapist shares helpful examples from her personal life, and recently she told me that she was involved in some difficult circumstances that required her being honest. And whereas my experience of her is that she LOVES confrontation (because she’s told me this before), she said that lately it’s been challenging. Because sometimes life is hard and doesn’t let up. “Would it be easier to roll over or let things slide?” she said. “Of course it would. But I did that for years, and I’m not going back to sleep.” Both then and now, this statement–I’m not going back to sleep–brings tears to my eyes. Because as difficult as it is to speak up, advocate for myself, and have difficult conversations, the consequences of staying silent are worse. I’ve been asleep, and it’s hell. And not that I claim to be fully awake, but, if like Rip Van Winkle, it takes me twenty years (or twenty lifetimes) to fully wake up, so be it. Having tasted freedom, I know freedom is worth all the effort.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Take your challenges and turn them into the source of your strengths.

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On Tick Bites, Emotions, and Self-Acceptance (Blog #817)

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This morning my dad said he had an area on his back that had been “itching for weeks” but that he couldn’t see. You know that spot in between your shoulder blades. Well, sure enough, he had what I initially thought was a mole that was red and inflamed. Pissed off, really. Dad said, “I’ve been scratching it with the back scratcher.” Alas, this story doesn’t end here. As I took a closer look at Dad’s mole, I discovered it was a tick. An honest-to-god, bloodsucking dog tick. And, y’all it was still alive. I can’t tell you how grossed out I was. (I’ll spare you the picture I took.) I thought, These things wouldn’t happen if you had your own apartment, Marcus. Still, I rubbed the tick with an alcohol swab, and it backed out. Then I flushed it down the toilet.

Following The Great Back Tick Incident of 2019, I rushed around today from one thing to another. First I taught a dance lesson. Then I saw my therapist. Then I saw my physical therapist. Then I saw my massage therapist, then my chiropractor. I know, I know, all this help, and I STILL have problems. What can I say? It’s hard out here for a pimp. Anyway, finally, this evening, I attended my friend Marla’s short story writing class. And whereas I stayed up late last night and TRIED to write the middle of the story I started last week, I didn’t get very far, just a hundred words.

When I confessed my “sin” of not having written more this last week, Marla said, “That’s okay, you got a hundred words. A hundred words is something.” And whereas my inner perfectionist disagrees and thinks a hundred words isn’t “enough,” I know she’s right. A couple months ago I completed what was supposed to be a 1,000 piece puzzle only to find out that a single, solitary piece was missing. Talk about wanting to pull my hair out. Still, the point remains, every piece of a puzzle is important. Likewise, every word, sentence, and paragraph in a story is important. For one thing, you never know where something will lead, what something is connected to.

This is what I keep telling myself as I’m working on my short story, that it’s just as important to get all the pieces laid out on the table as it is to put them all together. Indeed, when writing, you’ve got to find out what you’re working with. This means sitting down consistently and shaking your conscious and subconscious minds out onto the page. THEN you can begin to arrange, THEN you can begin to make sense of things. Marla says writing is “so healing” because, in effect, you get to use your characters to work through all your issues. I agree. Even though I haven’t written a lot of fiction, this project has taught me that if you want good writing, you’ve got to let everything inside you bubble up.

Lately I’ve been having dreams in which either I or someone else has been 1) yelling or 2) behaving like a slut. Always in these dreams there’s another person, or me, doing just the opposite–speaking calmly or being a perfect gentleman. My therapist says the meaning of the dreams is obvious. Good Boy Marcus and Bad Boy Marcus are “trying to figure things out.” This is what you have to face whenever you write or otherwise decide to work on yourself–that, in the words of Uncle Walt (Whitman), you contain multitudes. For me this means that although I’m almost always a “real nice guy,” I have the potential to be (and sometimes am) a real prick. (“What’s wrong with being an asshole?” my therapist says.) Though I’m usually a finicky prude, I have the potential to be a real whore.

As one book I read about one’s shadow said, the back is as big as the front.

Honestly, I don’t like this setup. I’d much rather think of myself as all this and none of that. However, having spent years believing that parts of me were bad and needed to be ignored, silenced, flushed out, or otherwise done away with and having tried unsuccessfully to eradicate these parts of my personality, I’ve finally come around to a rather novel concept–total self-acceptance. This means all of the Marcuses are welcome here–Marcus the Nice Guy, Marcus the Asshole, Marcus the Prude, Marcus the Slut (as long as he’s not stupid). Now, does this mean that I’m going to go to any of these extremes? No. (Don’t worry, Mom.) But it does mean that every part of me is going to be heard before any final decision is made about pressing matters.

There’s an idea in the world of healing that your body only creates pain or discomfort when it believes there is something wrong. For example, my dad’s back itched because his skin had a tick attached to it. So the itching was actually a good thing. It was a signal that something needed attention. This is what I’m truly coming to believe about our emotions–that every single one of them is there to help us. They show up to say, Houston, we have a problem. Or, if it’s anger that shows up, Houston, we have a fucking problem! Of course, at times our emotions can be explosive. In my experience this happens when I shove them down. Oh no, I’m not angry. Alas, ignored emotions, like ignored ticks, only grow bigger. So the sooner you listen to (every part of) yourself, the better.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Nothing physical was ever meant to stay the same.

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