On Creating Time (Blog #1002)

Today I’ve been thinking about how we create time. (I’ll explain.) Caroline Myss says that the divine works in present time, in vertical time, where thought moves into form like a lightening flash. God says, “Let there be light,” and there is. Like, instantly, not in the amount of time it takes to earn a college degree or pass a bill through Congress. Conversely, most of us earthlings work in non-present or past and future time, in horizontal time. We say, “Let there be a pot roast,” and–well–we’re looking at waiting the better part of an afternoon, anywhere from four to eight hours for a seven pound hunk of meat using a crock pot.

How do you cook a pot roast faster, Marcus?

You turn up the heat, of course. You switch your dial from low to high.

Yesterday I touched on the idea that we can decide how quickly we want to get over something–anything from a minor irritation to a gigantic heartache–by (in part) refusing to give it our attention and thus keeping it alive. For example, this afternoon while driving I momentarily crossed into the other (wrong) lane in an effort to get into the turning lane. Well, there was a car coming down the other lane (toward me), but they were far enough away (I thought) as to not be dangerous. Alas, the lady driving the oncoming car apparently disagreed, since she laid on her horn like it was going out of style.

“Did you see her flip you the bird?” my dad said.

“No,” I said, “I try not to look at people when I KNOW they’re angry with me.”

Now, could I have handled this better? Probably. But you know how we all make in-the-moment decisions that aren’t always the best in hindsight. I figure this is part of driving. People pull out in front of me all the time, and usually (but not always) I just think they’re in a hurry or that God wants me to learn patience. Hell, maybe they’re doing me a favor, slowing me down and allowing me to miss some horrific accident down the road. You never know. God works in mysterious ways. Anyway, this afternoon when the lady flipped me off, instead of taking it personally like I have in the past, I kept hearing my therapist say, “People choose their reactions.” Like, the bird lady could have CHOSEN to be gracious.

The lesson being that people’s responses have almost everything to do with them and almost nothing to do with you. Not that I’m recommending TRYING to piss people off, but let’s face it, that lady would have flipped ANYONE off who got in her way. So it really didn’t have anything to do with me.

In other words–and here’s a phrase that’s full of grace should you choose to use it for yourself–it wasn’t personal.

Getting back to the idea of creating time, had I CHOSEN to obsess about what a rotten driver I am or what a turd bucket that lady was, I could have dragged this three-second incident out for hours, days, or weeks. Instead, it was over IN MY MIND in three minutes because I convinced myself it wasn’t worth my mental and emotional resources to keep it alive. Now, I know this example may seem silly, but let’s drive things home (in the correct lane, of course). Recently I heard a story about a woman who, upon FIRST MEETING SOMEONE told them she’d divorced her cheating husband and was absolutely in shambles because he’d fallen in love with her best friend. And whereas my therapist would say this woman had bad boundaries (because you don’t talk about your personal shit to total strangers), here’s the kicker–

all of this happened nineteen years ago.

Consequently, this woman’s body was right here, right now, but her spirit was stuck in the Clinton Administration.

This is what I mean by dragging things out and creating time. When I was with my ex there was a night I got a call from a friend who told me my ex was cheating. Deep down I knew it was true. Had I been willing to move as fast as my intuition (which, incidentally works in present time), to “change as fast as God,” it could have been over that night. I could have moved out the next day. Instead, because I didn’t want to face the truth (as is always the case when we create time), I was with him another five months. Now, I know it could have been worse–some people stay in bad situations for years, decades–but it was a miserable five months.

My aunt’s visiting from out of town this weekend, and earlier today we ended up talking about paper and clutter because we each tend to let things pile up before going through them. Anyway, she said, “I’ve read that the goal with paper is to handle it just once.” Like, you put it in its proper pile and move on with your life. Instead, most of us shuffle this here, shove that there. We say, “I’ll deal with it later.” Consequently, we drag things out and slow things down. We create time. What could be done in five seconds goes on five weeks, five years. And whereas it may not be a big deal to not deal with your TJ MAXX receipts, it is a big deal to not deal with your dramas, traumas, and relationships.

I once knew a grown woman who was absolutely petrified of dogs–any breed, any size. She could see one on a leash blocks away and start running like Florence Griffith Joyner. She never said what the deal was, so I can only assume something terrible happened when she was younger. Anyway, intuitive Robert Ohotto calls this sort of reaction “a time warp.” In other words, in present time there wasn’t a problem. Here’s a lady, there’s a dog a mile away. But in her past-oriented mind, it was a big damn deal. She would tremble. She would cry. This is why the master Jesus taught letting the dead bury the dead and giving no thought for tomorrow. Not because he was insensitive, but because there’s such a heavy price to pay for not being right here, right now.

This is why he taught forgiveness. Not because it’s a holy thing to do, but because it’s a powerful thing to do. Because it keeps you from being stuck in the past.

In the Clinton Administration.

According to Myss, the more we’re stuck or anchored in the past, the slower our life moves. “The more psychic WEIGHT you have,” she says, “the more you have to WAIT for anything [getting a new job, finding a lover, or healing] to happen.” In other words, the faster YOU change, the faster your LIFE will change. This sounds great, of course, but most of us prefer cooking our pot roasts at a slower, lower heat as opposed to a faster, hotter heat because–quite frankly–we can’t stand the heat. For one thing, most of society moves at–at best–a medium, lukewarm speed, and it’s never fun to outrun your friends and family. It’s lonely at the top and whatever. For another, most of us LIKE holding on to the past. We enjoy not forgiving.

Because we get to be right. We get to make other people feel guilty.

We get to flip total strangers the bird.

[FYI, the above pictures are of me and my friends Kate and Aaron and their son, the main connection to tonight’s blog being that they were taken tonight (when we all went out for Tacos). Although we didn’t plan it, we all wore denim jackets. This is one tie-in to creating time I considered writing about but didn’t because I want to go bed. That is, our wearing the same jackets is an example of a synchronicity, and, according to Myss, the more you live your life in present time, the more synchronicities will occur for you.]

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Even a twisted tree grows tall and strong.

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Coupons on the Table (Blog #184)

Okay, kids, it’s one in the afternoon, I’ve been up for an hour, and the sun has been shining the entire time. I just ate breakfast, which I made myself like an adult, and I’m ready to go back to bed. Honestly, I don’t like alarm clocks. This morning I woke up in the middle of a dream about eating food from a fast food restaurant where one of the sodas had two strips of bacon in it. I can only assume the dream had something to do with my guilt around food, and it’s no fun to wake up feeling that way then immediately march into the kitchen and start shoving calories into your mouth.

Tonight I’m going to Rogers to see one of my friends perform the lead role in The Rocky Horror Picture Show. I can’t wait. I’m going with a friend I haven’t seen in a long time, we’re having dinner, and I’m literally already writing the rave reviews for whole evening. Of course, the truth could look totally different, but I do think it will be a great time. That being said, I don’t want to drive all the way home after the show, then start writing. I’ve done that before, and it’s a bit like popping a balloon. I love writing, of course, but some nights this commitment is like drawing the short end of the “you get to go to bed now” stick.

Currently I’m sitting at our kitchen table next to Dad’s deluxe pill caddy, a tube of all-natural anti-fungal wash, and a stack of coupons. I’m hoping this isn’t a preview of things to come, but considering it’s also what my grandparents’ table looked like, I may be–as they say in Savannah–shit out of luck, my dear. Dad’s watching television and occasionally he starts talking to me, since he doesn’t realize I have my headphones in. When I told him I was writing early today because of the show tonight, he said, “Can you write in the afternoon?” Well, that’s a valid point, but I said, “I think so. I’ve done it once or twice before.”

The problem, of course, is that nothing remarkable has happened. The last two mornings I cut into my breakfast grapefruit and discovered they were both rotten–rotten to the core (haha). Well, this morning I had one grapefruit left, and–ever the optimist–I figured it would be rotten too. But it wasn’t. Although it was a little dirty on the outside, it was like a virgin on the inside–fresh as the noonday sun. And maybe it’s just because I’m quickly approaching forty, but this was really exciting. A non-rotten grapefruit!

God, I need to get laid more.

Now I’m worrying about the mail. Last week I ordered a couple items from Amazon, and yesterday I got a notification that the package had been left in my mailbox. Well, it must be invisible because it’s not there. But it SAYS it’s there. But it’s not. Maybe it went to the wrong address, or maybe it’ll show up today, but I’m trying really hard to let it go and put it in the pile of things I can’t do a damn thing about, right next to “most of the situations in my life.” Still, I keep wanting to jump up from this laptop, run to the mailbox, and–I don’t know–hold up a postal service protest sign that says, “Liars,” or something creative like that. My armpits are sweating just thinking about it.

As you can see, the letting go thing is a real success.

Rejecting yourself is what really hurts.

Last night I dreamed I was in bed with my therapist. I mean, we weren’t having sex or anything, just physically in bed together–like a slumber party from an 80s movie. Well, this sort of thing has happened before, and my therapist (in real life) says the dream really isn’t about her–it’s about all the qualities that I associate with her that actually belong to me. So I’m taking last night’s dream as a sign that I’m getting really, really comfortable with being authentic and speaking my truth. That being said, my therapist’s hair in the dream was–quite frankly–a fucking mess. Since I’m vain about my hair, that probably means I’m still judging myself or worried about what other people will think.

I’ll ask about the dream this week, but that sounds about right.

Okay, for the last thirty minutes I’ve been getting out of my chair, looking out the window for the mailman, and basically behaving like Gladys Kravitz. Anyway, the mailman just showed up, so I marched my happy little ass over to the community mailbox and asked about my package (from Amazon–don’t be dirty). For a moment I thought I was going to be up shit creek again, but the mailman ended up finding the package in the “parcel locker.” He said, yes, it was delivered yesterday, but SOMEBODY forgot to leave a locker key in my box.

Sweet, another mystery solved. Good job, Nancy Drew. Honestly, there would have been a time when I was too afraid to bother the mailman. I would have thought, I’ll just wait until next week, or, He’s too busy. Everyone says, “It can’t hurt to ask,” but it honestly can, at least on the inside. Having asked a ton of people to dance over the years, it can still be challenging. What if they say no or tell me to go fly a kite? Well, obviously, you move on or go fly a kite. Rejection hurts, but somehow we survive. Looking back, I’m probably more disappointed in the dances I didn’t even ask for than the rejections I’ve received from others because rejecting yourself is what really hurts. Package in the mailbox or not, I’m proud of any moment I practiced a bit of courage and therefore took care of myself in some way.

We imagine things should be different than they are, but life persists as it is.

Now I’m almost done blogging and ready to start preparing for tonight’s festivities. I kind of hate to admit it, but it feels really good to finish writing with the day ahead of me instead of behind me. In conclusion, I’ve been thinking this week that I make a lot of plans in my head. All week I’ve been imaging dinner tonight and going to the show. You know how you think about talking to people and fill in both parts of the conversation. But, of course, it never happens that way. Every day is full of surprises–weird dreams, rotten grapefruits, and packages that are just out of reach. All the while, we imagine things should be different than they are, but life persists the way it is, looking like undelivered mail, feelings of hope alongside rejection, and coupons on the table.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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We can rewrite our stories if we want to.

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