On Whispering (Blog #1063)

Leave a comment

This morning I saw my myofascial release wizard and cried while she was working on getting my chest and shoulders to open up. “Raise your arms out from your side like you’re making a snow angel,” she said, “but stop when it hurts. Then go back and slowly stretch out like a telescope.” Y’all, I’m so used to push, push, pushing, forcing a stretch, but when I gradually telescoped my left arm, that’s when the release happened. My body shook and let go, and I cried and remembered a specific incident over ten years ago when I felt abandoned.

Ten years. Ten frickin’ years that emotion’s been hanging out, just waiting to be heard. And whereas my dad later pointed out that–thanks to all the different therapies I’ve been doing recently–I’ve been crying a lot lately, I think it’s fabulous. For one thing, getting an emotion out, or rather letting it move through you, is cathartic and healing and allows the past to finally be over. For another, sadness and grief and fear aren’t the only emotional responses that have been rising to the surface lately. So have anger, frustration, confusion, disgust, and joy. At times I’ve just laughed and laughed. Alas, at one point or another we’ve all stifled every reaction under the sun. And although we may have long forgotten them, our bodies haven’t.

This sucks, I know, especially when your stifled emotions show up in your shoulder.

Now, I’m not saying that any and every pain or problem you have is strictly emotional. What I am saying is that unacknowledged emotions are often part the pain equation. And whereas I know plenty of people just can’t “go there,” it makes sense to me. This morning thanks to the texts of a couple people, I realized I didn’t post a link to last night’s blog on Facebook. Rather, I posted a link to a website about EMDR, something I’ve briefly mentioned before and plan to discuss more in depth soon. Regardless, this morning I was terrified when I found out. I thought, I’ve made a mistake. My heart sped up. My breathing became shallow. I quickly calmed down, but my point is that we all experience the effect of our thoughts and emotions on our bodies on a daily basis. We get nervous and feel like we’re going to shit ourselves. We get angry and tense our shoulders, get a headache. So sure, I grant that releasing a decade-old emotion during a (for lack of a better term) massage is strange, but clearly you can’t separate your mind, emotions, and your body.

Sorry, but you this is the way you were made.

My myfascial release wizard says our bodies hold on to tension and emotions in order to keep us safe. They think, The last time I relaxed and honestly expressed myself, it didn’t go well. (I was in an accident, got hit, hurt or rejected, was made fun of, etc.) This is how our bodies become stuck in the past. Frozen in time. Thankfully, they can come back to the present. They can thaw out. However, this seems to require gentle coaxing. Gentle because–apparently–when a stretch or movement (or even an attitude) is forced upon the body–it fights back. Like, nope, not going there. But when it’s lightly encouraged, whispered to, not shouted at, the body gets the idea that it’s safe to let go, that things are different now than they were before.

That all the horrible things are over and that we can be free again.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

You can’t stuff down the truth—it always comes up.

"

On Being a Guinea Pig (Blog #1061)

Leave a comment

This evening I’ve been thinking about being a guinea pig. What I mean is that’s how I see myself, as a walking experiment. For example, over the last few years I’ve tried a number of things to help with a number of things: body odor, acid reflux, headaches, you name it. And whereas some of the things I’ve tried have been conventional, many of them have not. Not that I’m absolutely sold on home remedies and weird shit (because a lot of it is bogus), but–let’s face it–conventional approaches don’t always get the job done. I can’t tell you the number of college-educated doctors I’ve asked about my issues, yes, to be helped some, but also to only be told, “You’re an enigma” or “You’ve got me there.”

Used to, these sorts of answers would cause me to despair. Like, it’s hopeless. I’m fucked. More and more, I’m not bothered when someone–even a professional–says they don’t know what to do. Why? Because that lets me know THEY’RE not the one I’m looking for, the one with the answer. And I don’t begrudge them for this. After all, it’s good to know where NOT to look (or whom NOT to date), and just because someone doesn’t have every piece of a puzzle doesn’t mean they don’t have a piece of it. Dr. Johan Boswinkel said, “I believe that truth has 144 sides.” To me this means that we can’t expect one person to be able to solve all our problems, whether that one person is a doctor, a therapist, or even us. It takes a village to see the entire picture.

To solve the entire problem.

Along these lines, for example, I’ve made huge strides with sinus infections thanks to a blog I found online. Still, last week I asked my primary care physician about ways to deal with post nasal drip, and next week I have an appointment with the ENT who performed my sinus surgery three years ago (which helped with, well, breathing) to ask them the same question. There was a time in my life I would have only sought out one opinion, but now I just don’t believe that’s enough.

How many opinions are enough? However many it takes to get the answer you want. This is what I mean by being a guinea pig. I’m so determined to heal–whatever that means–that I’m willing to ask almost anyone, to try almost anything. Rather than suffer. I don’t know. There’s just something in me that keeps hoping, keeps insisting that life can be better. Better than it has been. Better than it is. Not that the past and present have been completely awful (all of the time), but I’m convinced there’s something more. Not out there, but in here. Inside of me.

I’m talking about potential.

Fortunately, my keep-hoping, never-quit, good-God-I-need-an-answer-right-now-damn-it-because-I’m-exhausted attitude has started to pay off. Over the last few months my body has begun to heal and to change thanks to upper cervical care. Thanks to the new therapist I’ve started seeing (in addition to my regular therapist and whose methods I intend to discuss more fully soon) and the myofascial release practitioner I mentioned last week, I’ve processed and let go of emotions that have been hidden in my body for decades. Ugh. It’s been said that emotions buried alive never die, and I’ve found this to be true. Just because you stuff something down doesn’t mean it’s not there. Sooner or later, all our feelings must be felt, expressed, and assimilated. Otherwise they’ll simply show up as our neuroses (anxieties, fears, compulsions, addictions) or, perhaps worse, our dis-eases (pains, ailments).

Honestly, my discomforts and diseases over the years have been the main reason I’ve worked so hard to “get better” mentally, emotionally, physically, and spiritually. (I believe you can’t separate the four.) My Reiki teacher says our bodies are our sounding boards, meaning they let us know when something in our life needs attention or is out of balance. Of course, achieving balance is a delicate undertaking and seems to require a lifelong commitment. So be it. Perhaps this is why we’ve been given life in the first place, so that both we as individuals and we as a collective can come to a greater sense of harmony.

Perhaps.

Getting back to the idea that it takes a village, when I think about the healing I’ve experienced over the last few years and even the last few months, I’d like to be clear. As much as I love my therapist and wouldn’t be without her, I also wouldn’t be without this new therapist I’m seeing. Nor would I be without my primary care physician, my ENT, or my myofascial release practitioner. Nor would I be without, well, myself, since I’ve figured out a number of things no one on my “healing team” has been able to. Not that I’m so fabulous. For every piece I’ve figured out, I have dozens of websites, books, and YouTube videos (and their producers) to credit.

So. We’re all in this together.

All this to say that if you’re struggling with something, if you’re looking for answers, if you’re, well, human, hang in there. It’s a big universe (with a big internet), and you’ve got more options now than ever. Granted, there are certain things we’re just “stuck with” for life (and we all have to get off this planet somehow), but more and more I believe our bodies and souls are capable of more than we give them credit for, certainly more than we’ve been led to believe. So keep trying, keep searching. Until you find your Self. Keep being a guinea pig until you find Balance. When it comes to others, especially experts, take them with a grain of salt. They are, after all, only human. No one knows everything. And only you get to say what your potential is.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

All things become ripe when they’re ready.

"

On Bracing, Letting Go, and Being Free (Blog #1058)

Leave a comment

In (what seems to be) my never ending search for healing and wholeness, last summer I found out about a somewhat local physical therapist who facilitates myofascial release, fascia being the connective tissue that touches and, well, connects everything in our bodies. (Even our spit is made of fascia.) And whereas I spoke to her and began making plans to see her, things came to a halt when I found out my insurance wouldn’t help with the cost. Not because the treatment wasn’t covered under my plan (it was and is), but because I’d run out of physical therapy visits for the year.

Thanks, knee surgery.

All this to say that now that it’s the new year and that I’ve seen my primary care physician and he’s sent in a referral for treatment, I finally got scheduled to see my–hum, what shall I call her?–myofascial release wizard (MFRW) today. Ugh. Sometimes things just take a while to fall into place. That’s okay, I thought on the drive there this morning. Maybe my body will be more receptive today than it would have been six months ago.

After an initial interview about my problems, complaints, and posture, my MFRW had me lie on her table, placed her hands on my hips, and began gently pushing on my psoas. “Fascia responds to low, consistent pressure,” she said, “so I’m just going to keep pushing for three to five minutes.” Well, sure enough, after a few minutes I felt things begin to melt, shift, and move about: across my hips, my lower back, my legs, and even my ribs. “Everything’s connected,” she said, “so one part can affect the whole. Just like a sweater is woven together, so are you woven together. What’s more, every person’s WEAVE is different, so no two people get bound up or let go in the same way.”

Letting go, I thought, that would be nice. And whereas part of me did, the entire time there was another part of me that kept wanting to tense against the release, to brace for–I don’t know–the other shoe to drop. Ugh. This has been my mostly unconscious but sometimes conscious habit for years. To tighten, to constrict, to hide, to protect. Alas, after decades of this, it’s become intolerable. My head aches. My shoulder hurts. My hips, move movements have become so–inflexible.

Which makes it hard, of course, to live.

After working on my hips and midsection, my MFRW steadily rocked me back and forth, a movement called rebounding. The idea is that our bodies are largely made up of water, and just as the waves of the ocean can break apart a child’s sandcastle, so too can the water in our bodies break up our stiffened fascia. “Notice what parts flow,” she said, “and what parts feel solid like coral reef.”

“That’s easy,” I said, “my hips feel like coral reef.”

Next she moved my head and shoulders (my actual head and shoulders, not my dandruff shampoo), where she compared myofascial release to everyone’s favorite food. “You can eat a frozen pizza,” she said, “but it won’t really taste good unless you first put it in the oven and get that melty, runny cheese. That’s what we want from your fascia, for it to really let go.” What’s great is that it did. As she pressed her hands down on my shoulders, I could feel my fascia release all the way down to my (hurting) shoulder, my lower back, and even my shins. Trippy, I know, but everything’s connected.

And get this shit. When she worked on my neck, the area that’s responsible for my headaches and that I’ve tried a hundred ways to force to relax, she held out a tuning fork and said, “May I?”

“Sure,” I said. “I’m up for anything.”

Well, she tapped the tuning fork, and it began to vibrate. Then she held it against my neck, and things began to relax, to break up. Just like that. At the same time, I began to cry. “Sometimes emotions get stuck in our bodies,” she said. Go figure. All these things I’ve tried, all this pressure I’ve put on myself to heal, and yet this simple, small vibration cracked me open in a second.

Healing can happen in the blink of an eye.

Later I told my MFRW that for years I’ve carried an image in my head of a yoga instructor I once met whose hips looked so mobile, so free. “I used to be envious of him, like that could never be me,” I said, “but now I think I remember him because he’s an example of what’s possible.” I paused. “That’s what I want, that kind of freedom in my body.”

“What was the last time you felt that?” she said.

More crying. “Oh gosh,” I said. “Not since I was child.”

“So that’s your homework,” she said. “Remember when you felt that free. Remember what it looked like, felt like, sounded like, tasted like.” Additionally, I have two different stretches to do. Nothing forceful, just gentle, sustained pressure. “Wait for your body to let go,” she said. “Don’t force anything.” Lastly, I’m supposed to jiggle. (This should should be easy enough thanks to the chocolate cake I had last night.) jiggling being standing on both legs and just lightly bouncing around and, at the same time, bending over, leaning back. “If you feel something tense,” she said, “let the movement break it up.”

I can’t wait to try.

Now, did everything get fixed in one session? Of course not. Our problems aren’t created overnight, and they don’t go away overnight. So I go back next week. But I already feel looser in my body, I guess because we “took pressure out of the system.” This is a good thing. What’s even better is that I’m highly encouraged, both by my the treatment and my MFRW. And even more by my body. After the treatment I lay in a vibrating recliner (for more jiggling/rebounding), and I felt like it was saying, “Your mind may not remember what it was like to be free, but we do. We absolutely know what that felt like. And, sweetheart, we’re willing to go back there. We WANT to go back there. So just trust us. Let go and trust us. Trust yourself. Stop bracing. The worse is over.”

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"Beating yourself up is a far cry from self-respect."

On One Way to Skin a Cat (Blog #878)

Leave a comment

Last night my parents and I ate at Denny’s for my dad’s birthday because they give you a free meal–a Grand Slam–if it’s your birthday. When we got home it was after midnight, and I was pretty beat. So I read a chapter in a book about Internal Family Systems and went to bed. This morning I slept as late as possible, ate breakfast, then decided that despite it being Sunday, I needed to paint at my friend’s house that I’ve been working on this month. “What is WRONG with you?” my dad said. Now THERE’S a loaded question.

I have an entire blog about the answer.

So far, I’ve completely painted four rooms at this house, and today I started the fifth. I don’t know, I think it’s a living room, but there’s a closet area (that leads to a porch), so maybe it’s a bedroom. Either way, it’s been entirely brown, ugly brown, from the bottom of the baseboards to the top of the ceiling, and my job is to paint it white, pure-as-the-driven-snow white. Anyway, this afternoon and evening I moved the furniture out of the room, prepped the room, and rolled on one coat of paint. Also, I ended up scraping part of the ceiling in the closet area because it was flaking off when I rolled it. Talk about a damn mess. Alas, it’s all part of it. With four rooms down, I’ve convinced myself nothing is going to get in my way. Come hell or high water, this room will get done too–one roller swipe, one brushstroke at a time.

While painting I listened to YouTube lectures about a variety of topics–the gut-brain connection, myofascial release, synchronicity. And whereas I learned a lot, a voice in my head that often shows up whenever I’m learning something new said, “You’ll never be as smart as those people.” Or rather, “You’ll never be enough.”

IFS compares the voices in our heads to a family of different personalities. That is, I have an inner critic who was active today, but I also have an inner loving parent, a voice that says, “Sweetheart, you were born enough and will die enough. Nothing you do or don’t do can ever change that.” One thing I like about the book I’m reading about IFS is an analogy it uses–the idea that our minds are like living rooms in which our internal family members come and go. Think of it like this–maybe your perfectionist shows up and hangs out on your living room sofa when you’re at work or with your parents but retreats into another room and takes a nap when you’re–I don’t know–playing canasta or eating Mexican food.

Like, how often do you think, I’ve got to eat these chips PERFECTLY?

Somewhere I heard the question, “Do you believe every thought you think?” For most of us, sadly, the answer is yes. Why? Because WE thought it. Alas, we have tens of thousands of thoughts a day, and most of them aren’t even true, especially when we’re thinking about US. (Which, really, when are we not?) Personally, I think there’s a lot of freedom in the idea that just because you think a thought doesn’t mean it’s true or accurate. (The Work of Byron Katie is based almost exclusively on this premise.) And I really like the idea that a thought can simply be the opinion of a part of you, not of the whole, that if you’re beating yourself up it may just be because your inner asshole is camped out on your living room couch and has taken over the remote control.

For me, there’s been a lot of relief in not taking my thoughts so seriously. Are there self-critical thoughts I wish I could never have again? Sure. But we living in a you’re-not-enough society, and certain messages are pretty embedded in all of us. However, just because we may never be completely rid of self-criticism doesn’t mean we can’t make major strides toward self-acceptance. This evening my friend asked me if I wanted to paint with a sprayer instead of a roller and brush. And whereas I said no thank you, it’s good to have the option. My point is that both in painting and in personal growth, healing, and transformation, there are many tools available. There’s more than one way to skin a cat.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"Obviously, God's capable of a lot. Just look around."

Hold on for One More Day (Blog #865)

Leave a comment

In an ongoing effort to heal my headaches and a number of other physical issues, this morning I saw an acupuncturist. Out of the blue, three years ago this person called me to remind me of my appointment at their office. But I hadn’t made an appointment. Rather, they’d dialed someone else’s phone number incorrectly and called me instead. Shit happens. Still, two weeks ago when I decided I wanted to give acupuncture a whirl, the name of this person popped into my brain. Maybe they’re the one I need to see, I thought. You know, because God works in mysterious ways.

As for my actual appointment today, it went well. First we discussed my issues, then the lady had me lie face down while she inserted several needles into my shoulders, neck, and ribcage. “You’re really inflamed,” she said. Then she put me under an infrared heat lamp (to help with the inflammation) and left the room. Ten minutes later she returned, removed the needles and the lamp, and replaced them with cups. Y’all, if you don’t know, cups are used for a weird process called cupping in which a flame is used to remove oxygen from glass cups. This creates a sucking action, at which point the cups are stuck to your skin. The idea is that the suction pulls against your skin and fascia and helps break up adhesions.

Here are the results from my back.

The lady said that healthy tissue will turn out pink. In the photo above, reference the few (faded) circles closest to the right of my spin. Not-so-healthy tissue, however, will turn dark red or purple. Reference the spots by my right shoulder, the one that’s been giving me hell for over six months now.

After removing the cups from my back, the lady had me turn over. Then we repeated the whole ordeal–needles first with infrared lamp, then cups–on the front of my body. “I did some stuff for your hurting ankle as well as for digestion,” she said, since these were two of my complaints. When the front side of me was done, we discussed an herbal formula for my upset stomach, which she said could also help with my tight shoulders. “In Chinese medicine both things are related to liver chi [energy] stagnation,” she said. “The associated or blocked emotions are frustration and anger.”

“I feel that,” I said, but meant I FEEL THAT!

Then she added, “You may see sufficient results from the acupuncture and cupping, but the herbs could help get that energy moving too.”

“How much is a month’s supply of pills?” I asked.

“Thirty bucks,” she said.

“Hand ’em over.”

As for the results from the treatments I had done today, I’ve actually felt a difference. While on the table I could feel an increase in energy (blood flow?) down my right art. I could also feel my shoulders and neck relax. Not completely, but notably. Enough improvement to try the whole thing again. The rest of the day I’ve felt less constricted. I started the herbs tonight. We’ll see what happens.

I’m hopeful.

Today, it seems, is a day for hoping. Recently I set an intention (goal) of healing my headaches and living in a pain-free body, and whereas the universe hasn’t hand-delivered a letter to me saying, “Here’s the answer you’ve been looking for,” a number of interesting options have been brought to my attention. For one, acupuncture. For another, I randomly watched a video online that mentioned a specific book about posture, which I downloaded and started reading this weekend. I’ll say more about it later, but it mentions the importance of myofascial release, something I’ve been fascinated by for a while now. However, the book stresses releasing tension in your body in a certain order. Basically, the lower half first. Because that’s where most of our problems start (because we sit all the time, which tightens our hip flexors and causes hell). Anyway, I’ve started going through some of the release techniques.

Since I had surgery to repair my ACL over seven months ago, the inside of my left knee (my lower adductor) has been tight. Like, it’s difficult for me to sit on the floor with my legs crossed or in butterfly position because my left leg, by my knee, hurts so bad. When I asked my massage therapist and my physical therapist about it, they both suggested stretching. Well, the book I’m reading listed a myofascial release technique for the exact spot that’s been troubling me, so I did it tonight. The picture at the top of tonight’s blog shows me trying it, but basically you sit on the floor with both legs bent mermaid style and use the elbow opposite your lower adductor to apply pressure wherever there’s tenderness.

Y’all, at first this HURT like nobody’s business. However, and this is the point, after a few minutes of steady pressure, the pain went away. This means the fascia broke up or relaxed. And just like that–after months of consistent tension and pain, it was–I don’t know–eighty-percent better. No stretching required.

Obviously, all my problems haven’t been solved in one night. But I do feel like significant strides have been made today. Hell, tonight at Walmart I nearly jumped out of my moving vehicle and confronted a total stranger I saw spanking their child a hundred feet away (I hate spanking), so, yeah, I think my liver chi is moving. But I digress. My encouragement, both for myself and you, is to hang in there. Even longstanding problems can be solved. Pain can hang around for months, years, then begin to break up or dissipate in an afternoon. So keep working at it. Keep trying new things. As Wilson Phillips says, hold on for one more day.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

Whereas I've always pictured patience as a sweet, smiling, long-haired lady in a white dress, I'm coming to see her as a frumpy, worn-out old broad with three chins. You know--sturdy--someone who's been through the ringer and lived to tell about it.

"

Unbound (Blog #821)

Leave a comment

Currently it’s almost midnight, and I’m just sitting down to write. Where has the day gone? Of course, I know. Last night I was up until four, so I slept in this morning. This afternoon I drove out-of-town to teach a two-hour dance lesson, and this evening I ran errands and helped my aunt assemble some new lamps she recently bought. Then I came home and surfed the internet to wind down. Now here I am, typing, trying to focus but mostly distracted by the fact that I’m tired and feel a little gross. I hope I’m not coming down with something.

I hope I can stop worrying about it.

For the last several weeks I’ve been attending a short-story writing class taught by my friend Marla. The idea behind the class is that we the students will produce a fully fleshed-out short story (of about 1,500 words) by the end of the class, this coming Tuesday. That’s three days from now. And whereas I’ve STARTED a short story and have about 400 words, I’m at a loss for where to go next. For the last four nights (including tonight), I’ve told myself I’d sit down and work on “that thing,” and yet it hasn’t happened. Instead, life has happened. There have been lawns to mow, lessons to teach, books to read, blogs to write, and interwebs to surf.

Ugh, this has caused a lot of internal tension. I keep thinking I’ve GOT to finish that story, that I’ve GOT to have something to read this Tuesday, and that it’s GOT to be good. Great even. And yet I haven’t made writing–or at least trying to write–that story a priority. Consequently, this has become a reason for me to–metaphorically speaking–kick myself in my own shins. Geez, Marcus, would you stop being so lazy? What’s wrong with you? Way to let everybody down.

Ouch, ouch, ouch.

Last night I started reading a book by David Spangler called Everyday Miracles: The Inner Art of Manifestation. I’ve read a lot of books along these lines, and, so far, this one is the best. At least it makes the most sense to me. The author says he’s always had difficulties with traditional approaches to manifestation like positive thinking, affirmations, and rote visualization, and that’s been my experience too. Anyway, I’m only about halfway through the book, but one of the things it suggests when you’re wanting something in your life to change is to 1) get in touch with your current essence and 2) get in touch with the essence of that which you desire. For example, because I get a lot of tension headaches, I’d like to manifest a life without tension headaches. (Is that so much to ask?) So when I did the “essence” exercises last night, my current essence felt like “tension,” and my desired essence felt like “freedom.”

As I’ve thought about this today, I’ve realized that more than feeling tension in my head, I feel constriction. Like things are clamped down, not as open as they could be. Also, I’ve realized that I feel constriction in almost every area of my life–in my finances (scarcity), in my body (in my head, neck, shoulders, and hips), and in my relationships (because, until recently, I’ve so often bitten my tongue or hidden who I really am). In this sense, the headaches I experience are a mirror for how I really feel deep down–bound up. This is what it feels like when I’m afraid of being sick or afraid of not producing a short story or anything else in my life, like I’m–um–frozen.

Stuck.

I’m working on this. Physically, I’m doing all that I know how to do–exercising, stretching, myofascial release. In terms of the pressure I put on myself to be healthy or “get shit done,” I’m trying to listen to my body. For example, when I finish blogging, I’m going to bed. Rather than force myself to stay up and try to write or do other work, I’m giving myself a pass. Hell, Marla told me that if I don’t finish my story, “that’s okay.” There you have it, permission from the teacher to not be perfect. Ugh. Trying to be perfect. Again, that feels like constriction. But permission to not be perfect, that feels like freedom. Going easier on myself, that feels like freedom. This is something I’m learning, that freedom, more than anything else, is a state of mind, a place you visit inside yourself where you can let go–let go of all constrictions and self-imposed expectations and be yourself, unbound.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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

 

On Making Friends with Yourself (Blog #813)

Leave a comment

Today is the summer solstice, the longest day, the shortest night of the year. The day when the sun is highest in the sky. From now until the winter solstice, the sun will begin its descent, and our days will get shorter, our nights longer. That’s right, for those of us who love sunshine, it’s all downhill from here.

Other than today being the solstice, it hasn’t been remarkable. This morning after breakfast I read an entire (short) book about essential tremors, a neurological/movement disorder that runs in my family and amounts to involuntary shaking, usually of the arms. One of my friends who has it calls it Jazz Hand Syndrome. Anyway, I’ve been aware of this book for a while but have been putting off reading it because, What if the suggestions are too hard or don’t work? Alas, tired of this sort of thinking, I tackled the book today. And whereas some parts of its protocol for healing (with which the author has seen 80 to 90 percent improvement) are going to require vigilance (cut out coffee, alcohol, and products containing aluminum), I’ve done more difficult things before. And since my issue with tremors isn’t in need of immediate attention, I at least have the weekend to caffeinate, toss back a beer, and think about things.

All while wearing deodorant.

That’s right, deodorant has aluminum in it.

One of the contentions of the tremors book is that our bodies develop diseases and disorders when we are out of balance with our environment. This could look like something being off-kilter in your diet (like having a food sensitivity or, uh, just eating junk) or even in your job or relationships. Seen from this perspective, our bodies are our partners, not our enemies. They let us know when something needs our attention.

This is a viewpoint I’ve believed in theory for a long time and am slowly coming around to in practice and experience–that my body is my friend. Of course, this is difficult to believe when it’s in pain. For months my neck has been bothering me, and try as I might I’ve yet to figure out what it’s attempting to tell me. (Maybe “Stop pushing yourself so hard” or “Stop looking at your damn phone all the time.”) That being said, I’ve been working with fascial release lately and have seen improvements. Not miracles, but improvements. This afternoon I read an entire (short) book about fascia called Touching Light by Ronelle Wood that convinced me even more that our bodies are intelligent and capable of solving long-standing problems.

For a quick glimpse at the amazing web of light and water that lives inside of and is you, check out this video.

This evening I began reading ANOTHER (short) book, this one called Hear Your Body Whisper: How to Unlock Your Self-Healing Mechanism by Otakara Klettke. And whereas I just started, its main idea seems to be that rather than follow someone else’s diet or health regimen, you should learn to listen to and follow your individual body’s wisdom. Because only your body knows what you need to heal. Maybe you need whole milk, asparagus, and a divorce; maybe I need electrolytes, salted nuts, and a good lay.

I’m just saying–we all have our needs.

One thing all this reading has been teaching me is that nothing is ever truly hopeless. Well, maybe a problem could FEEL hopeless if you never read books. But if you read books, I swear, there is a veritable wealth of information out there to address, treat, and potentially cure nearly every problem humanity has ever faced. Is it overwhelming to sort through all this information? Yes, it certainly can be. But is it also fun to play detective, learn new things, and–more importantly–learn about yourself in the process? For sure. And here’s something. Once you learn to make friends with your mind and body, regardless of what the sun’s doing, your days will be brighter, I promise. You’ll walk through life lighter. When you make friends with yourself, it’s all uphill from there.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"I believe we're all courageous, and I believe that no one is alone."

Cicadas Were Meant for Flying (Blog #127)

Leave a comment

Currently I am not amused. Not amused, I say. I sat down to begin writing about an hour and a half ago, and my site was completely inaccessible, which means I couldn’t look at the site, write a post, diddly freaking squat. (I said, “Shit, hell, fuck, damn.”) Thanks to Google, I figured out the problem was a plugin I installed a couple of months ago. I’m not sure how to explain a plugin other than saying it allows certain things to happen on the website. Like, there’s one plugin that lets me share my Twitter feed, another that lets me list the most recent posts, stuff like this. Anyway, one of those damn things was messed up, so the recommendation Google suggested was to disable (turn off) the guilty party.

Which would have been easy enough to do–had I been able to access my site.

SHFD.

Well, I guess there’s always more than one way to skin a cat, so after some more time on Google, I enabled FTP protocol through the website host, which is different than the site itself. Think landlord (host) versus property (site). (I can’t explain FTF other than to say it’s a way to access your site files away from you site–sort of like using your cell phone to turn up your hearing aids or open your garage door). After enabling FTP, I had to actually download an FTP application, and then I was able to rename the plugin file folder that was causing the problem. And guess what? Voila!

Stupid internet. (The end.)

Just kidding. I don’t even remember what I did today. Oh yes. I got a massage–myofascial release–and talked to my massage therapist about the theory that our memories are stored in our fascia. (I plan to check into this more. I’ll let you know how it goes.) Anyway, he said that sometimes when people are “letting go,” they remember traumatic experiences from their past–car accidents, injuries, even things that happened in the womb. (Wild, huh?) He said people can release a lot of emotion on the table and the body can heal long-standing problems. In his training, this is apparently called “unwinding,” and it can really scare the shit out of someone if they’re not ready for it.

Personally, I don’t think I “unwound” today, although I wish I had. (I did feel my neck and shoulders let go a little.) I’ve had some experiences on the massage table and in yoga before when I spontaneously started crying, even laughing. Sometimes it’s just been the emotion, other times it’s been the emotion and a memory. Oh, that’s why my leg muscles are so tight–because I had to grow up so fast. Maybe it all sounds weird if this is new to you, but I’ve come to see that every part of our bodies is absolutely alive, conscious, and wise. And it seems that often emotions and experiences literally get stored in our bodies (the issues are in our tissues) until we are best able to address and process them.

Let’s just put all that stress in your shoulders until a later date. There now–everything right where it belongs.

This afternoon I spent some time at Sweet Bay Coffee Company setting my mom up with a tablet so she could get on Facebook and read my blog. (What else is there to do online?) She’s been using my old phone, but the port has been crapping out, which has made charging it a problem. But I got a sweet deal on an Amazon Fire, which is perfect for her.

In addition to all that, I also worked through an exercise about my beliefs in money while at Sweet Bay. (Fill in the blanks: Rich people are _____, If I had money I’d _____, Dad thought money was _____, etc.) Honestly, most my answers were negative, which only surprised me because I thought I’d made a lot of progress in that department.

Guess not.

Anyway, when I left Sweet Bay, the cicadas outside were so loud it sounded like an entire herd of baby goats were being sacrificed as part of a pagan ritual. I thought, Holy crap.

So I got this new car, right? Tom Collins–that’s his name. Well, when I bought Tom Collins, the guy who sold him to me (Johnny) said to be sure to start the car and let it run for about thirty seconds before throwing it into gear and taking off. He said it would be better for the engine. Therefore, like the straight-A student that I am, I’ve been trying to follow his directions. (Where’s my gold star?)

So get this shit.

There I was sitting in the Sweet Bay parking lot, car running with the windows down, and a giant cicada flew–actually buzzed–into my car. (I screamed and nearly peed my pants.) I swear, it was huge, practically an Oscar Meyer weiner with wings. Anyway, the not-so-little sucker went directly into my door handle–and got stuck–like little Timmy in the well. So I opened the door hoping he’d fly out, but I guess he didn’t have enough space for a runway.

You’ve got to be freaking kidding me. 

It’s moments like these when I think it’d really be nice to have a man around. I mean, isn’t that what husbands are for–dealing with insects? Oh go ahead, honey, you handle it–you’re so big and strong. Why, look at those muscles. Well, as it turned out, I was the only man available for cicada-removal duty. Crap, I thought, I guess I’ll have to do. So I fished out an umbrella from the trunk, stood back, and poked around in the hole, but nothing came out, other than a bunch of noise that sounded like a frozen turkey being dropped into a pot of boiling vegetable oil.

CRACKLE, CRACKLE, ZIP, POW.

I was finally able to get the umbrella tip behind the little guy’s bottom, and he used his legs to crawl out of the well. Then just like that, he flew off, up-up-and-away over the Dollar General.

You’ve got to let go in order to make room for something new.

Tonight before I found out my website crashed, I cleared off the phone that used to be mine, the phone Mom’s been using for a couple of months–backed up the photos, deleted the applications, restored it to factory settings. It’s not worth much, and I’ll probably take it apart with a hammer tomorrow, so I’m not sure what all the fuss was about, other than–and I know this sounds silly–it felt like I was saying goodbye. I mean, we’ve been through a lot together.

Earlier I looked up the symbolism of cicadas. As it turns out, they represent rebirth because they spend much of their life underground. But then after a good while, they break free, lose their shell. For this reason they stand for metamorphosis and change. Honestly, I don’t think it was an accident that little demon flew into Tom Collins. I mean, I’m thirty-six years old, and that’s never happened before. Plus, I’m actually going through a rebirth.

What I love about this reminder from the heavens is that it’s normal to have a long seemingly inactive period before breaking free. More so, if you want to become who you were meant to be, it’s absolutely necessary to shed your old skin. Sure it might be sad to say goodbye–to your old phone, to your old beliefs about money, anything that helped get you this far–and it might feel awkward at first–but you’ve got to let go of whatever it is in order to make room for something new. You can’t say wound up forever. After all, cicadas weren’t meant to have their wings pinned down, and neither were we.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

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

"