How You Get to Be King (Blog #856)

Last night I went to see a local production of Beauty and the Beast, the musical. It was glorious. And whereas I could go on about how talented the cast was (they were) and how fabulous the costumes were (they were too), I’d like to get right to what’s on my mind–the symbology behind the story. That is, there’s a reason certain stories (fairy tales and myths) endure for centuries. Not only do they address universal truths (don’t judge a book by its cover, beauty is only skin deep), they also speak to our psyches and souls. Indeed, psychology literally means “study of the soul.”

Psychiatry means “healing of the soul.”

There’s an idea I’ve mentioned before that you can tell a lot about a person (or yourself) based on their three favorite movies. This theory applies to one’s favorite fairy tale(s) also. I’ve found this to be true. When I look at my top two fairy tales (Robin Hood and The Sword and the Stone), they both have themes that I strongly identify with. That is, to borrow a phrase from J.R.R. Tolkien, the return of the king. But I digress for now. In terms of Beauty and the Beast, I see the the theme as embracing one’s shadow.

I’ll explain.

Joseph Campbell said, “All the gods, all the heavens, all the hells, are within you.” To me this means that every character in a fairy tale or myth can be interpreted as part of you the individual. I thought about this while watching the musical last night. In other words, there’s a part of me that’s an innocent bookworm (Belle), a part of me that’s hideous and angry (the beast), a part of me that’s brash and arrogant (Gaston), a part of me that’s naive and stupid (LaFou). Le Fou, incidentally, is french for The Fool. Anyway, if you’re only watching such stories to be entertained, you’re missing out. But if you can connect with at least a handful of characters, well, now we’re talking. Because, ultimately, you’re connecting with and learning about–yourself.

As Uncle Walt (Whitman) would have said, you contain multitudes.

Getting back to embracing your own shadow, Belle is initially repulsed by the beast. He is, after all, quite the proverbial jerk. This is how our shadow often seems–unapproachable, hot, seething. After all, our shadow represents all the icky, gross parts of ourselves that we’ve been ignoring for most of our lives–our anger, our rage, our lust, our sexuality, our neediness, even our tender inner child (the one we tell, Grow up, real men and big girls don’t cry). And yet when we can embrace our shadow (in the musical Beauty and the beast dance together), we receive the power our shadow contains. In Beauty and the Beast this is depicted as the beast being transformed into a prince. That which we thought was our enemy (that which we banished within ourselves) turns out to be our savior.

This afternoon my aunt and I went to see the movie The Lion King, the new remake of the classic Disney cartoon. Again, the theme of the shadow appears. Simba is told by his father, Mufasa, to not go into the shadowlands, where death and the hyenas rule. But of course he does. Every hero must eventually. Alas, he’s still a young cub and can’t fight his own battles, so all he can do is run from his demons (the hyenas) and let his father save him. Later, after his father dies (spoiler alert!), upon the urging of his evil uncle Scar (who wants to replace Mufasa as king rather than letting Simba take his place as ruler), Simba runs away.

Here’s where things get interesting. At this point in his journey, Simba meets Pumbaa and Timon, a warthog and meercat, respectively. They take him in as a friend, and under the spell of Hakuna Matata (no worries), Simba does his best to not think about his former life and responsibilities. In so doing, he almost forgets who he is (a lion, a king). Hell, he even goes on a vegetarian diet. There’s a lot to “chew” on here. Where in your life do you run away from yourself, your true potential–because you’re afraid, because you want to be like your friends, because you’d rather not grow up (a la Peter Pan)?

Eventually Simba leaves his carefree life and goes back home. This is another story about the return of the king, about self-empowerment, self-possession, and self-rulership. Still, before Simba can “assume the throne,” he MUST face his shadow. This is depicted in his battle against the hyenas and his uncle Scar. Now, in this story our hero doesn’t embrace his shadow so much as subdue it (the hyenas and Scar are either killed or driven out), but the point remains the same. You don’t get to be king–of the forest or of your life–by running AWAY from that which terrifies you. Rather, you get to be king (or queen) by facing, perhaps embracing, that which terrifies you, by confronting or coming to terms with that which controls you. You get to be king by remembering who you are. You get to be king–by growing up.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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There’s nothing wrong with taking a damn nap.

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Grasping for Door Knobs (Blog #639)

Last night I slept badly again–tossed and turned, had weird dreams, woke up with a headache. When I finally stumbled out of bed and used my walker to make my way into the living room this morning and my dad asked how I was, I said not so great. “Still,” I said, “I’m going to have an attitude of gratitude.” Then, since we both speak sarcasm, we laughed, and I ate chocolate cake for breakfast while I propped my injured leg up on the coffee table to help straighten it out. Honestly, this is the most painful thing I do–try to fully straighten or fully bend my knee. And whereas I’m making progress, it’s slight.

A little bit here, a little bit there.

After breakfast I did my first set of rehab exercises for the day, then iced my leg. Then I read, took a nap, ate a snack, and did the exercises/ice thing again. Then I ate dinner, and now I’m blogging while drinking a chocolate shake, which I’m assuming is what my post-operation directions had in mind when they told me to “eat nutritious foods because they help you heal.” After this, it’ll be the exercises/ice thing again, then back to bed for HOPEFULLY a good night’s rest.

Clearly, my days after surgery are revolving around physical therapy and ice packs, and I hate that. I hate that a month ago it was easy to get in and out of bed, in and out of a chair, and in and out of shower, and now I have to think like MacGyver to do any of those things. I hate that everything from getting a Q-Tip to changing my underwear now has to be “thought out.” Last night during The Great Sleep Disaster of 2018, I woke up at four in the morning sweating; my shirt was soaked. Not like I had a fever, but it was definitely damp. Anyway, I got up to change shirts, and despite the fact that my closet is only five feet from the end of my bed, I had to think about things. What am I going to hold on to? What am I going to lean against?

I think it’s the leaning against thing that pisses me off the most. I guess it’d be more accurate to say “that I have the hardest time accepting.” For so long I’ve done everything on my own. Easily flitted from here to there. And now I’m finding myself in countless awkward positions–hopping on one leg, using crutches, grasping for door knobs–just to change a shirt. Byron Katie says that we’re always supported. By life or whatever. Like, if you’re sitting in a chair, the chair’s holding you, and the ground’s holding the chair. And if you trip and fall, well, there’s the ground again, holding you. Most people, of course, would be mad about the trip, but her point (I think) is that in this moment–right here, right now–the trip is over.

From this perspective, I can’t do anything about that dance accident I had four weeks ago. It’s over. But I can recognize that I’m currently in a warm bed and my leg is resting on a pillow. Supported. And I can try–try–to be grateful for my one good leg, for crutches, and for door knobs. For anything I need to lean against.

Since it’s day three after surgery and my directions said I could, this evening (after dinner) I removed the gauze and bandages around my knee. Ugh. There was a lot of dried blood. Also, there were staples, which I wasn’t completely prepared for. You know, sometimes they do things laparoscopically. And whereas there were two such incision points, there were also two “cuts,” one with five staples, and one with twelve. (Prepare yourself, since I’m going to post a picture.) Honestly, I can’t figure out how I feel about these incisions. I mean, I’m grateful that I’ve been repaired, but my knee looks like the side of Frankenstein’s face. I don’t know, I guess it’s the finality of the whole thing. This really happened. I’m going to have a scar.

All things considered, it could be worse. After I took the bandages off, I carefully navigated my way into the bathtub and cleaned up for the first time in four days. Phew, did that feel good. Also, it was exhausting, getting in and out of the tub. Seriously, this is a lot of emotional back and forth–feeling grateful, feeling pissed. But this is life. It’s never just one thing.

Whenever I finish blogging, I’m going to cover my staples with bandages as instructed. However, for now, my view is essentially your view in the picture. 17 shiny staples staring back at me. Earlier today while trying to climb into bed, my left knee gave out–er, faltered–and I fell back into the bed. Now I see why. It’s been though a lot. But this has happened a few times, when all my strength wasn’t there, and I’ve had to catch myself. My point is, there’s always that uncertainty–Am I going to be able to hold myself up? This is something I thought a lot about during the night last night, the applicable metaphors regarding this injury. Because these are some of my greatest fears–Can I walk tall and move confidently forward in the world? Can I support myself?

A few times since starting tonight’s blog, I’ve reached down with my left hand to simply feel my knee. Physically, it’s a little swollen, tender, and–um–leaky. (That’s gross, I know, but this is real life and facts are facts.) When I put my hand on my knee, I can’t help but cry. It’s like I’m putting my hand on the shoulder of a dear friend who feels sad and tired. Oh so tired. Like it’s been though a lot, and not just this last month. At the same time, it feels willing to heal, willing to try again, willing to support me like it has for all these years, despite my never having given it any credit for all its hard work until now. It seems to say, We’ve got this. Be patient. Grasping for door knobs is only temporary. I hope this makes sense. More and more, I really do believe our bodies are trying to communicate with us.

More and more, I’m trying to listen.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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The deepest waters are the only ones capable of carrying you home.

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