On Riding a Unicorn (Blog #1003)

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Yesterday I talked about how things aren’t personal, and today I’ve been thinking about how this concept applies to our dramas and traumas. For example, I’ve talked before about my home burning down when I was four and my dad going to prison when I was fourteen and how these incidents (in addition to others) have shaped my personality, fears, insecurities, and strengths. And in the sense that these events happened to and directly affected me, they certainly FEEL personal. And yet there are thousands and hundreds of thousands of children, teenagers, and adults whose homes have burned down and/or who have been separated from their loved ones through gross circumstances (imprisonment, abandonment, divorce, border patrol, death).

The logical conclusion being that these situations AREN’T TRULY PERSONAL to Marcus Anderson Coker. Rather, they’re simply things that go down here on planet earth.

What’s the saying?

Shit happens.

Having cussed and discussed every terrible thing in my life with my therapist and–to a large extent but not totally–on this blog, more and more I’m choosing to see these things not personally, but impersonally. Better said, I’m choosing to see them through the lens of symbol and myth. For anyone struggling to let go of and move on from a nasty circumstance, this is a lifesaver. Humor is a lifesaver, and symbolic and mythological sight is a lifesaver. What I mean is that in all good stories–including fairy tales, novels, and movies–every hero worth his or her salt has a challenge. They’re deformed. They’re beat up, abused, left out, alone, sick. They’re a forty-year-old virgin. They have to be.

Why, Marcus?

Because there wouldn’t be an interesting plot otherwise. Because there wouldn’t be any drama. Because heroes aren’t BORN doing heroic things. Rather, they have to have SOMETHING to overcome. Something sad, heartbreaking, or scary that forces or at least strongly encourages them to dig deep and bring forth their inner resources. This is how they BECOME a hero. This is why–let’s face it–Cinderella is nothing without her evil step-mother and step-sisters, Luke Skywalker is nothing without Darth Vader, and Inigo Montoya is nothing without the six-fingered man.

Once I heard the philosopher Alan Watts point out that the Bible says to love your enemies–it doesn’t say not to have any. “Love your enemies AS your enemies,” Watts said. Why? Because, again, we need our enemies to help shape us–not into bitter beings, but into better beings. And, to be clear, “our enemies” applies not only to humans, but also to events, circumstances, and situations that we’ve deemed awful, unspeakable, and tragic. Like being made fun of repeatedly; being born “the wrong” skin color, sexuality, or gender; being in a car accident; having a heart attack; getting cancer; and being cheated on or fired.

Yes, we need these things.

This sucks, I know.

Now, I’m not saying we NEED these terrible things the way we need air to breathe. But I am saying THEY DO happen (a lot), and we have a CHOICE about how to see ourselves when they occur. That is, we can picture ourselves as victims (and you know how that story goes), or we can picture ourselves as heroes. We can say, “This is the thing that will bring out my highest potential. This is my personal dark forest to walk through on my way to the castle. This is my dragon to slay.”

And then instead of whining and running, we can say, “Bring it on.”

This afternoon I went antique shopping with my friends Aaron and Kate and their son and wore a rhinestone unicorn brooch I bought just yesterday while shopping with my aunt. Y’all, it a big hit, at least for Fort Smith. I got three compliments, all from total strangers. The last person said, “I just adore your brooch. I LOVE unicorns. They’re such MYTHICAL creatures.”

So get this shit. While antique shopping I bought a handful of old books solely based on their covers (for craft projects). Well, when I got the books home I noticed one was called–and I’m not making this up–Bring Me a Unicorn by Anne Morrow Lindbergh. A few pages in there was even a poem by the author about a unicorn that went, “Everything today has been heavy and brown. Bring me a Unicorn to ride about the town.” And whereas I found all of this delightfully fun, I also found it synchronistic, so I thought, Okay, Marcus, hop to. What’s the universe reminding you?

For me, this “coincidence” was first a reminder to believe in “impossible” things (like healing, mending relationships, finding a lover, and getting a job), something I’ve been challenging myself to do lately. Second, it was a reminder to see not only my own life but also life in general impersonally and mythologically. This is huge. Because when you’re impersonal about whatever shitty thing is going on (the way Jesus was when Judas betrayed him), it won’t change you for the worse, it will transform you for the better. You’ll say, “This HAS to happen because it’s part of my story.” (Note that if JESUS was betrayed–like any good hero is–you certainly will be too.) So yes. Especially on days that are “heavy and brown,” it’s vital to view things from another (magical, mystical, mythical) perspective. To not get stuck in your antique, non-productive, drag-me-down ways of thinking and believing. To instead be open to new ideas. To at least once a day ride a unicorn.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Ultimately, we all have to get our validation from inside, not outside, ourselves.

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On Sacrifice and Suffering (Blog #902)

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Mythology. There’s an idea in mythology that in order for something new to be born, something old must die. This is illustrated in the phoenix having to die before it could rise from the ashes, Jesus having to die before he could rise from the grave, and some poor pig having to die before you could eat breakfast. Simply put, death is required for life. (It’s gross, I know.) This is why so many biblical tales feature sacrifices.

Sacrifice. That’s what I’ve been thinking about today, the fact that the giving up of one thing is required for the receiving of another. Not that I’m suggesting you go out and purchase an altar. This is all symbolic, of course. For example, this week I started a rather strict diet that includes intermittent fasting, not eating for sixteen hours out of the day. This, indeed, is a sacrifice. I’m giving up sweets, breakfast, and midnight snacks. Honestly, it feels like a death, a violent one. There’s weeping of gnashing of teeth. But I want the new life that’s on the other side of this–feeling better, fitting into my pants again–so I’m willing to pay the price.

Everything comes with a price. In the television show Once Upon a Time, Rumpelstiltskin often said, “Magic comes with a price.” And whereas most people think of magic as all smoke and mirrors, something for television, I actually believe in it. Not like magic as in Harry Potter–Leviosa!–but magic as in–what else do you call the fact that there are stars in the sky or the fact that you were born here or the fact that certain people (or opportunities) show up in your life at exactly the right time? Do these things “just happen”? Sometimes, yes. There’s some amount of grace we all experience simply because we’re alive. But certain magic requires action on your part. Joesph Campbell said, “Follow your bliss and the universe will open doors for you where there were only walls.” In other words, you have to do something–follow your bliss, and it’s harder than it sounds–if you want the magic doors to open. You have to sacrifice. You have to pay the price.

The price. This evening I watched the final episode in Caroline Myss’s Sacred Power. I can’t recommend this series enough. Granted, Caroline doesn’t pull any punches. It’s not always fun stuff to listen to. But it’s needed. Tonight’s episode presented the idea that the consequence of living a congruent life (in which your head–what you think–and your heart–what you feel–are aligned) is that your life is going to change. Caroline says, “[Congruence] changes your life because it changes the speed at which you understand things.” And whereas this sounds great if you say it fast, it’s not–because it means you have to grow up and do something about whatever it is you understand. (This takes balls.) For example, I once dated someone and knew–deep down–on our first date that we weren’t right for each other. But we dated for three years because I didn’t trust my gut, because–and here’s the kicker–I didn’t trust myself. Were there good times? Absolutely. But the price I paid for thinking one thing and feeling another (for my head and my heart being disconnected) was that when the relationship ended, I was shattered.

Congruence. Now, after years of therapy and a lot of practice, I trust myself more. This year I’ve gone on dates and known in my gut–this guy’s an alcoholic, this guy’s on drugs. I’ve met people and known immediately–they have terrible boundaries. And not that in every case I’ve walked away, but sometimes I have. At the very least, I’ve proceeded with my eyes wide open. Now, I’ll never be able to prove that I’ve saved myself a lot of heartache, drama, and suffering, but I’m convinced I have. This too is a form of sacrifice–giving up one’s emotional pain for, in some cases, a night at home alone.

Suffering. Unfortunately, sacrifice is often associated with suffering. The story of Christ on the cross probably has something to do with this. That being said, there’s a story in The Acts of John that Christ danced on his way to the cross. This means he willingly gave up (sacrificed) his life for the resurrection and all that came with it. He said, “Not my will, but yours.” This is how I think sacrifice is best approached. Open your arms. Let it go, Nancy. Does it suck to give up chocolate cake for breakfast, a date with a hot guy, or time with someone fun? Sure. But it sucks worse to damage your body, date a train wreck, and be friends with someone who isn’t really your friend at all. Said another say, you either pay now, or you pay even more later.

I suggest paying now.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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None of us is ever really lost. At least we're never really alone. For always there is someone to help point your ship in the right direction, someone who sees you when you can't see yourself.

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Life’s Labyrinth (Blog #448)

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Today was the summer solstice, the “longest” day of the year. (I had to take a nap to get through it.) For the next sixth months, the amount of sunlight we have will gradually decrease each day. Yes, dear reader, the long, slow march to winter has begun. I’m not excited about this. (I hate winter.) Historically, today is a day of celebration (the sun is high in the sky!), but it feels like a death to me. There’s only one longest day a year, and now it’s over–dead–just like spring is dead, just like increasingly longer days are dead.

I really liked these things.

I saw my therapist this morning, and we talked about relationships (friends, students, lovers). This was in the context of my tendency to people please, my desire to follow-up with everyone in my life to make sure they are “okay” or not mad at me. My therapist’s advice–don’t chase anyone. It’s desperate, needy, and stems from a “lack” mentality. Abundance, she says, is where it’s at. (Step right up and get you some!) My personal jury is still out on this one, but I’m considering it.

It SOUNDS like a good idea.

After therapy, I went to the park to read and watch hot guys jog around without their shirts on. Last year I started a book on mythology by PL Travers (the woman who penned Mary Poppins) and recently picked it back up. The book, called What the Bee Knows, is a collection of essays that Travers wrote for a magazine, so they are sort of all over the place topically. But an image that stuck with me from today’s reading was that of a labyrinth, this maze-like path that loops back on itself. Travers says life is like this, moving around in circles. We think we’re lost, that we’re going backwards, but that’s just The Way.

Going backwards. That’s how I feel a lot. I’m living with my parents. I don’t have “a real job.” I’m almost forty. Shouldn’t I be passed all this by now? Passed–my past? Even in therapy there are times I think, Are we STILL talking about my desire to please people?

Yes, yes we are.

You can’t get lost.

Back home this evening, I rested before teaching a dance lesson. For dinner my dad made chicken nuggets, then I went for a walk to make myself feel better about the fact that I ate so many of them. For a while I did my usual route, up down one block, then the next. Finally I stopped at a labyrinth at a nearby church and walked the path. I guess it was on my mind from the book this afternoon, but I like to do this sometimes, start on the outside of the circle, wind my way around and around until I hit the center. This is how a labyrinth is different from a maze. A maze has multiple entries and exits, or at least several possible ways to get where you’re going. Plus, there are wrong turns and dead ends. But labyrinths aren’t like that–they have one entry, the same exit. You can wind around getting to the middle (that’s the point) but you can’t get lost.

This is what I love about a labyrinth–there’s only one way. Perhaps this is why so many people use them as a meditative device. It’s easy to fall into a rhythm as you walk around in circles. Early on in the labyrinth you’re within steps of reaching the center–your goal–but then you’re taken away from it. Within minutes, you’re far away from it. All the looping back is frustrating and seems inefficient. But then you realize that looping back is, essentially, a way to time travel–to clean up your past–to pick up anything you dropped along The Way. So eventually you learn to trust the path you’re on.

This is something I’m working on, letting go of how I thought I’d “get there” and accepting each step along my particular journey. Every day it’s something new, something old. Oh, this again. Haven’t we been here before? I mourn the death of longer days, the changing of The Seasons, but this too is part of life’s labyrinth. Here, there’s one way in, one way out. Everything moves in circles. Everything loops back and repeats itself. You and the stars are no different–each on your own heavenly path. So one day you move a little closer to The Center, the next a little further away. No matter. The Center awaits. There are no wrong turns.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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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, anything that helped get you this far--but you've got to let go in order to make room for something new.

"

Between Job and Prometheus (Blog #344)

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Feeling a bit better, I ventured out of the house today. Like, past the mailbox. Y’all, I actually got dressed, put on a nice pair of shoes, and went to Fort Smith to run errands. My original intention was to simply go to Kinko’s and make copies, but I ended up going to Kinko’s, the dermatologist’s office, the post office, the bank, and Walmart. I also stopped by the Department of Motor Vehicles and even went so far as to “take a number” and sit down. But as soon as I looked at the current number being serviced and realized that ninety-five people were in line ahead of me, I thought, I feel better, but not that much better, and left.

Some days you just can’t.

About the time I got to Walmart, I got a call from my friend Cameron. Cameron lives in New Mexico, and we met maybe ten years ago. Four years ago, when my life was a mess and I was just beginning therapy, Cameron came to Arkansas and helped me move. You know, he’s solid, one of those types who always insists on talking about you first. Anyway, after Warmart I headed home but took the scenic route so I could talk to Cam.

When I pulled in the driveway, it was five-thirty. And whereas I’d only been gone for two-and-a-half hours, I felt like I’d just gotten back from a sixteen-hour road trip. I came in, ate dinner, then lay down and promptly fell asleep. Now it’s just after nine, and I’m ready to go back to bed. At the same time, my body is stiff (in all the wrong places, as Grandpa used to say), and I have a headache. This is the damn thing about being sick. You spend most your time in bed because you have all the energy of a two-toed sloth, but you develop all these other problems because you’re not up moving around. Plus, you mouth-breathe when you’re congested, so not only do you wake up with a crick in your neck, but you also wake up with a tongue that has all the consistency of sandpaper.

It’s not pretty.

Dear Jesus, help.

Joseph Campbell often speaks about the Biblical story of Job. The way Campbell interprets it, God, having nothing better to do on a Friday night, makes a wager with Satan–do whatever you want to my servant Job over there (just don’t kill him), and I bet he won’t curse me. Of course, we all know how the story unfolds. Things got pretty bad for Job. Like he lost his fortune, all his children died, and he got leprosy. (Leprosy!) Talk about getting screwed. And oh yeah, his wife and friends said everything was his fault. Naturally bewildered, Job asks God, “Hey, man, what the hell?”

God’s answer? “Are you big? I am. Can you fill Leviathan’s nose with harpoons? I can. If you weren’t there when the world was created and if you didn’t create it (like I did), don’t tell me how to do things.”

In response to being served this cosmic piece of humble pie, Job backed off. He said, “I despise myself and relent in dust and ashes.” (Apparently both God and Job had a flare for the dramatic.)

Campbell compares this story to the Greek myth about Prometheus, the Titan who stole fire from the gods and gave it to man, thus thwarting Zeus’s plan to destroy the human race. Naturally, Zeus was pissed. He strapped Prometheus to a rock. (I’m sure some thunderbolts were involved.) Then every day an eagle came to Prometheus and ate his liver, which regenerated itself every night so the whole process could start all over again. Talk about getting screwed. Anyway, Hermes, the famous messenger god with those fabulous winged shoes, came to Prometheus and said, “You know, if you’d just apologize and tell Zeus how great he is, this could all be over.”

Prometheus’s reply?

“Go suck an egg.”

Campbell says these stories or myths represent two totally different and irreconcilable ways of being in the world. One–the story of Job–is mystical and mysterious. It’s spiritual. The other–the story of Prometheus–is human. Campbell never says that one is better or worse than the other, but does say that most of us are with Job on our lips and with Prometheus in our hearts. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, and Saturday, we think we know how to run the universe. Sunday, for a couple hours, we say that God knows best. The following Monday we’re on the shrink’s couch wondering why we have problems.

In the play of life, I’m an actor–not the writer, not the director.

Earlier today my friend Marla and I were texting about all the illness that is up in my family household, and she said, “What Jumanji god did you piss off?” I said, “Seriously, I feel like Zeus has strapped me to a rock.” As I’ve said before, I’m worn out by all this. I’m over it. Honestly, there are moments when I want to tell the universe to suck an egg. Like, what did I do to deserve this? What did any of us do to deserve this? In other moments, I recognize my small stature in the universe. Just as I don’t get to decide the weather each day, I also don’t get to decide which challenges show up in my life. I hate that, but that’s the way it is. In the play of life, I’m an actor–not the writer, not the director. This is the part I’ve been given for now, and my choice is how I’m going to play it. But this is the struggle I think we all deal with daily, deciding whose team we’re on, deciding between Job and Prometheus.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Your emotions are tired of being ignored.

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The Best Part of the Adventure (Blog #232)

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Currently I’m in Springfield, Missouri, just back from a quick trip to Branson with my dancer friends Anne, Andy, and Matt. I’ve got to get up early in the morning, and the longer tonight’s blog takes to write, the less Daddy gets to sleep. I’d really thought about blogging today before I hit the road, but my body said, “Sleep–sleep or else.” Honestly, when I did get out of bed today, I felt worse than I did before I went to the doctor–my eyes were red, my body was jittery. “That’s the steroid,” my dad said. “It can absolutely do that.” Most the day, I’ve been coughing–that’s new too. Now I’m scared that the medicine won’t help and might actually hurt. Also, I’m imagining that I’ll be chronically ill until I die sometime in my mid-fifties–single and alone–at which point my body will finally be removed from my parents’ house.

Maybe I’m being dramatic.

As the day has gone on, I’ve perked up a little. The three-hour drive to Springfield went well, and I spent most the time listening to Joseph Campbell talk about mythology. He’s dead, of course, but over sixty-five of his talks are available through his foundation’s website, as well as on Google Play. And not that I keep a list of the ones I’ve listened to or anything, but I’ve listened to thirty-seven of them as of today. (I obviously keep a list of the ones I’ve listened to.) Anyway, Joseph Campbell is one of my favorite teachers, and I’ve spent so much time with his voice in my ears, I feel like he’s become a friend too–my man JC.

When I got to town, my friends and I packed up and headed to Branson, straight for Silver Dollar City. Y’all, I went to Silver Dollar City for the first and only time when I turned thirty, so it’s been a minute. But Anne suggested seeing the Christmas lights, and–oh my gosh–what a great idea that turned out to be. There were lights EVERYWHERE–on buildings, in trees, suspended in the air–it was gorgeous. Not only that, but the lights on the buildings were all lined up and turned in the same direction. My little OCD heart just soared. Honestly, I was so busy staring that I didn’t take any decent pictures, but if you Google “Silver Dollar City Christmas Lights,” you’ll get an idea.

Here’s a picture of one of our first stops–it’s the four of us pretending to be gingerbread people. We asked a couple to take our picture, and they quickly turned the task over to their angsty, headphone-wearing teenage son. Well, junior did NOT seem impressed with being volunteered, so I thought about saying, It’s okay for you to say no. That’s called having a boundary. But figuring he could take himself to therapy in his thirties like I did, I just shut my mouth, let him take the damn picture, and said, “Thank you so much.”

Since we were only at the park for a couple of hours, we spent most our time riding roller coasters. Well, Andy, Matt, and I did. Anne said she always–always–pukes on roller coasters, so she graciously stayed behind and watched our things. Having a personal aversion to being vomited on, I think this situation was a win-win for everyone. Y’all, it was awesome tonight–the weather was delightful (67 degrees), and none of the lines were long. In fact, we didn’t have to wait more than five or ten minutes to ride any of the four roller coasters we went on. On top of that, we were always in the front three rows. Talk about Christmas coming early.

I know some people hate them and some people puke on them, but I love roller coasters–the sudden drops, the loops that go upside down, the corkscrews. I always scream, then laugh, then scream some more. I guess what I love more than anything else is the thrill, the surprise of it all, the adventure, all of which were amplified tonight because the rides were in the dark–and everything is better in the dark.

That’s what she said.

During one ride, it did occur to me that an accident could happen. Like, a screw could come loose, and I could connect with a tree the way a bug connects with a windshield. (But then I guess my sinus infection wouldn’t matter.) I’m not trying to be morbid, but I’m just saying–these things do happen. I have a friend on Facebook who was on his way to the emergency room recently because he thought he had the flu, but he ended up being t-boned before he got there. He survived, but he had to be cut out of his truck with the jaws of life. Anyway, I can only assume the flu quickly dropped down on his list of problems. With this in mind, I’d like to publicly state that even though I often complain when I don’t feel well, I AM grateful to be alive and not currently plastered to a tree at a quaint little theme park in Branson, Missouri.

Another thing I thought about on one of the roller coaster rides was the fact that I wasn’t in control of the ride. I mean, I got on the thing, but at the point at which my seatbelt fastened and the guy hit the green button, I wasn’t in control anymore. When we got to the top and were about to be dropped straight down, it was too late for me to do anything except scream or pee my pants. (For the record, I screamed.) Anyway (actually while we were doing corkscrews), I realized I’m also already on the ride of life. Some days I’m at the top, and some days I’m at the bottom. (For a while now it’s felt like I’ve been going around in circles.) Anyway, I can scream and complain all I want, but the one thing I can’t do is get off the ride or control what’s going to happen next.

And I hate that.

You know how sometimes you get so wrapped up in what you’re doing that you lose yourself, maybe when you’re holding a baby in your arms, reading a good book, or dancing with someone you love? Well, this happened to me a few times tonight while I was either staring at all the beautiful lights or being whipped around on the roller coasters. The moments didn’t last very long, but when they did, I forgot about my sinus infection and the fact that I don’t currently have an income. My man JC calls moments like these aesthetic arrest, and they’re moments when we’re fully present, times when we’re not afraid of or wanting something, but are simply in a state of wonder about life as it is right here, right now. Of course, like a roller coaster ride, life is an adventure–right here, right now is constantly changing. But I’m starting to believe the best part the adventure is that state of wonder that never changes and–what’s more–is always available to us, no matter how good or bad we’re feeling.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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We can hang on and put everything safely in its place, and then at some point, we’re forced to let go.

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An Act of Surrender (Blog #72)

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I’m really disgusted by the way science works. Apparently, on a planet such as this one, a person (I’m not going to say who) can gain fifteen pounds over the course of three months (if he eats enough carbohydrates to feed the army of a small nation), but can’t lose those same fifteen pounds in five days. Come on. Who makes these rules? I’d like to have word. Maybe I could request a different planet to live on, one where eating carrot cake and wheat beer makes your ass smaller instead of larger. Who’s with me?

Everyone wants to call dramatically altering your eating habits a “lifestyle change,” but let’s admit it. It’s a fucking diet. I think it’s interesting that just like there’s no “I” in teamwork, there’s no “life” in diet either. However, there is “die” in diet, which sounds about right. Done correctly, a good diet is a death. Here lies refined sugar. In the name of our lord, we remember thee fondly.

Five days into this diet, I continue to be cranky. I should probably lock myself in my room until it’s over or until my body gets the message that having a chocolate shake on a daily basis is not a requirement for happy living. Until then, it’s throwing a temper tantrum. But in light of the fact that I’m already down a few pounds and can now find my hip bones, I’m willing to keep things up and trust that this piss-poor attitude will eventually pass.

This afternoon I finished reading a book by Karen Armstrong called A Short History of Myth, in which the author discusses what myths are and why we need them. She says that for most of human history, myths helped mankind feel important, connected to the world and divinity around him. But since Newton and the scientific method, a lot of that has been lost. Rather than being a mystery, life has become a collection of facts, something that can be measured.

Lately I’ve been hyper-focused on my posture. No one gives a shit about this except me, but for whatever reason, my head turns slightly to the left, almost all of the time. I’ve noticed recently that my hips do the same thing, and if I consciously square my hips, it helps square my head as well. But without the correction, my body seems to be permanently twisted, like a sapling that’s managed to survive a hard storm.

This posture problem–I imagine–has been going on a long time, but since I’m now aware of it, it drives me crazy. I’m constantly trying to correct it, constantly hoping heaven will hand me down a miracle, even though I’ve never heard of an archangel who gives chiropractic adjustments. It seems I have literally made myself a problem, and part of every day is devoted to worrying about it, searching high and low for an answer. Honestly, it’s like a hobby that’s not any fun.

I had an older friend tell me once that there’s a great dissolution that happens in your thirties, that at some point you realize life isn’t the dream you thought it was going to be. Rather, he said, it sucks. (I’m paraphrasing.) Honestly, it wasn’t an uplifting conversation, and it reminded me of my dad’s line–One day you’ll be old and fat. I think my friend’s point was that when you’re younger you think your body can leap tall buildings in a single bound, but when you’re older you realize that gravity applies to you too.

Personally, I fight this thinking tooth and nail. It’s not that I think I can fly. I don’t jump off bridges for fun. But I don’t believe that everyone has to get old and fat, or at least that those two things have to go together. And whereas I’m all for reality and the collection of facts, I’m also for the mythological, the mysterious, and the idea that anything can happen for anyone, at any age. I like to think that a tree doesn’t have to stay twisted forever.

I went for a run tonight, but my body really wasn’t having it, so I ended up walking, deciding that running was for people who eat carbohydrates. I’d hoped that even the light exercise would alter my diet-induced sour mood, but apparently burning calories wasn’t the answer I was looking for. (Please try again.) But I did love the full-ish moon, and that made me think even more about the mythological and mysterious. Mostly, I was focused on a line from the book I read this afternoon that said, “You cannot be a hero unless you are prepared to give up everything; there is no ascent to the heights without a prior decent into darkness, no new life without some form of death.”

All great heroes, at some point, surrender to the unknown.

In light of that quote, it makes sense that there’s no “life” in diet. The diet itself is the death. The new life comes later. But what grabbed me most about the quote was the part about being prepared to give up everything. Lately it feels like I HAVE given up everything, but I know that’s not true. There’s plenty more I’m holding on to. And as I walked and obsessed about the fact that I kept looking to my left instead of straight ahead, I realized that one thing I have yet to give up is my idea about how my body should be. What’s more, I haven’t given up my idea about how my life should be.

But I think the myths would encourage me to do that. All great heroes, at some point, surrender to the unknown. Indiana Jones stepped out onto a bridge he couldn’t see. Jonah gave himself up to the belly of the whale. Jesus said, “Not my will, but yours be done.” Call it a dissolution if you want, but I think dissolution is a lot like resignation, and there’s usually not a lot of hope in that. Surrender, on the other hand, is full of hope. What’s more, it’s full of faith. It’s trusting that the bridge is there even when you can’t see it, or knowing that after three days in the belly of the whale or even the grave, you’ll rise again.

So not only am I working on accepting the facts of life–like the fact that it takes more than five days to lose fifteen pounds–but I’m also working on giving up control and surrendering to the unknown, letting go of my old life and letting the great mystery of life have me. All the while I continue to hope, dreaming of the very best life has to offer, trusting that even a twisted tree grows strong and tall, worthy of its place on a planet such as this one.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Freedom lies on the other side of everything you're afraid of.

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A Million Pieces of God (Blog #58)

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There’s a story in Eastern mythology that says when God first realized he was alive, he experienced pure joy. (What’s not to love about being alive?) However, he thought he might lose his joy or that someone might take it from him, so he experienced fear. (Sound familiar?) But then he remembered that he was the only one who existed, and the fear went away. (Phew!) But then he thought, Wouldn’t it be nice to not be alone? So after fear came desire, and out of that desire, God shattered himself into a million pieces and created the world.

Joseph Campbell, the famous mythologist, tells a version of this story. He says that fear and desire are the two basic emotions every human must deal with on his way back to God. They show up in every mythology and represent the world of duality and separation. In the Bible, this is depicted by the angels who guard the Garden of Eden. On one side of the gate is paradise, the place where God is all, and all is one. On the other side is duality, the home of up and down, good and bad, and you and me. If you want to get from duality to paradise, you have to go through the angels. In short, fear and desire keep us out of paradise. Fear and desire keep us separated.

Personally, I’ve spent a good part of my life in fear and desire, especially fear. I mean, your house burns down, your mom gets sick, and dad goes to prison, and that’ll pretty much divest you of the idea that life is good. The result, of course, has been a big feeling of separation, a big feeling of “something bad is going to happen.” That being said, I’ve worked really hard the last several years to get back to the Garden of Eden, or at least get closer to it. And although it hasn’t become a constant state of mind, I do think I’ve made a lot of progress. Life isn’t nearly as scary as it used to be.

The philosopher Alan Watts says that life is basically God–shattered into a million pieces–playing a big game of hide-and-seek with himself. Well, I really love this idea, and sometimes when good things happen, I like to think that God’s leaving clues, like, Hey, I’m over here (and over here, and over here).

So get this.

This evening my dance instructor friend Sheila and I danced at a private birthday party in Northwest Arkansas. A lovely lady named Carolyn was turning 90, and her son Jim hired Sheila and me to come dance to a live band because Carolyn loves dancing. Well, as it turned out, this was the kind of gig dancers live for. The party was at Jim’s home, and the place looked like it came out of a magazine. I’m pretty sure the chandelier in the entryway was bigger than my Honda Civic. And not to sound like a total redneck, but–Y’all, the downstairs bathroom was fancy. I mean, look at this sank.

The party itself was out by the pool, and the band was under a tent. Sheila and I danced together several times, and I even got to dance with the birthday girl, who told us that when her late husband first asked her for a date, she immediately said, “Can you jitterbug?” (I plan on stealing this dating requirement and think you should too.)

Here’s a picture of me and Carolyn. Thanks to her granddaughter (who said she was the favorite) for taking it.

As the evening continued, Sheila and I were invited to join Carolyn’s family and friends for dinner, drinks, and desserts. We looked at the four birthday cakes, thought about it for like two seconds, and said, “Okay, you talked us into it.”

On the surface, it was a wonderful evening. I haven’t worked a lot lately, so having a job was nice, and the atmosphere was amazing. I mean, the pool house would have passed for its own property, there was a playroom for the grandkids that looked like a castle, and I think the main staircase came out of Gone with the Wind. (I’d show you pictures, but I think that would border on creepy, and I’ve already posted a picture of these people’s freaking bathroom.) Plus, I found out that Jim used to play in a band that opened for Johnny Cash, Merle Haggard, and some guy named Bob Hope, so there were plenty of reasons to be impressed. (I kept hearing Mary Poppins say, “Close your mouth please, Marcus, we are not a codfish.”)

But below the surface, I couldn’t stop thinking about mythology and God playing hide-and-seek with himself, and here’s why. When I first walked outside and saw the pool, I noticed the fountain in the middle–three ladies–who are, of course, the three graces that represent charm, beauty, and creativity. (I should learn to zoom, but I think you get the idea.)

So the fountain set the mythological mood for me, and then it continued when Jim gave a present to his brother, whose birthday is close to Carolyn’s. I’ll let you see it for yourself, and then I’ll explain.

That’s right, it’s a statue with breasts and a penis. (I mean, is this a great family or what?) So everyone laughed about it being a fertility god, and I guess it’s a joke of some sort because Jim’s brother told me that it’s been passed around to several family members like a white elephant gift. I think everyone in the photo has owned it at one time or another. (For some reason, no one wants to keep it.)

Well, I think the statue is technically not a fertility god, but rather a hermaphrodite, which is a being with both male and female sex organs. (I recommend that you take my word for this instead of doing a Google search for fertility gods.) In Greek mythology, Hermaphroditus was the son of Hermes and Aphrodite and was a beautiful boy who fell in love with a water nymph that prayed to the gods to unite them forever. According to Carl Jung, hermaphrodites symbolize the union of opposites. Seen in light of the story told by Joseph Campbell, they represent the re-union of God, the return from duality back to the garden.

But wait, it gets better. You can’t see it in the picture of the swimming pool, but on the other side of the three graces is a large, triangle-shaped backyard. (Triangles represent the trinity, wisdom, and the divine power of the female). On one side, of course, is the pool. But on the other two sides are two creeks, and those creeks meet at the top of the yard as one creek. So as I walked out into the yard, I met yet another mythological image of the two becoming one. But what’s more, when I got to the top and realized which direction the water flowed, I saw that it was actually the one creek that became two–God shattering himself into a million pieces.

As I drove home tonight, I thought a lot about the mystical meaning of the party. I know for some people, it may sound like I’m reading a lot into it. But of all the places I could end up on a Saturday night dancing, I ended up at a place with the three graces, a hermaphrodite god, and, from my perspective, two creeks becoming one. Additionally, since I used to work for a wedding photographer, I’ve been to a lot of private parties, and tonight I ended up at a party with some of the kindest people I’ve ever met. And when you add all of that to the fact that I’ve been thinking a lot about mythology lately, trying to get away from the idea that “something bad is going to happen,” I just don’t think anything about tonight was an accident. Rather, I think God was bringing a few pieces of himself back together. Personally, I think he was saying, “Hey, I’m over here,” inviting me to return to the garden where something good is going to happen, there’s nothing to be afraid of, and–most importantly–we are one.

[My deepest gratitude to Sheila for inviting me tonight and to Jim and his wife, Jacqui, for all your kindness.]

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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A break is no small thing to give yourself.

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