The Lost Art of Moseying (Blog #946)

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Earlier this week a friend called and asked if I wanted to ride with them to Tulsa today to pick up an antique lamp they recently dropped off to have repaired. And whereas I knew I’d be going to Tulsa tomorrow for both business and pleasure, I said, “Sure, I want to spend time with you.” The older I get, the more it’s important to me to spend time with the people who really count, even if it means getting up WAY earlier than usual, which I had to do this morning. Like, my alarm went off at seven, when it was still dark out. Y’all, I know my waking and sleeping hours are often turned upside down, but c’mon, it’s just arrogant getting up before the sun. What, you think you’re better than the center of our universe?

Despite my not being a morning person, believe it or not, I can–literally–rise to the occasion. Today I got myself together and managed to get to my friend’s on time. Well, fine. I was eight minutes late. And whereas my friend seemed a little put out, they quickly joked, “You’re ALWAYS late.” As my therapist would say, at least I’m consistent.

Marcus Coker–you can count on me to be there–five to ten minutes after I said I would be.

That’s me, predictable.

Thankfully, I wasn’t in charge of anything today. All I had to do was tag along and be a sidekick. Well, I take that back. I was in charge of deciding our lunch spot, but I ended up having some help. After my friend and I picked up their lamp and went somewhere else to buy a shade, we roamed around an antique store. The owner was super friendly, a real hoot. My friend said, “Your shop is freezing! I’d buy more if it were warmer.” The guy, who was wearing shorts despite the fact that it was fifty degrees outside (and inside I’m guessing), nearly died. Anyway, I asked him where we should eat. “Go to Vista at the Boathouse. It’s part of the Gathering Place [a new park],” he said. “I think you’ll say, ‘I’m glad we did this.'”

Boy was he ever right. My friend and I went to Vista at the Boathouse, and the atmosphere was great, the food fabulous. Just the right thing. After I downed two brisket tacos and a plateful of jerk chicken pasta, I wiped my lips, looked at my friend, and said, “I’m glad we did this.”

After lunch, my friend and I check out another antique store. And whereas I didn’t buy anything, I had fun strolling up and down every aisle, taking my sweet time.

Then we came back home.

Back in Fort Smith and still in the mood to shop, I visited ANOTHER antique store. This time I hit pay dirt. Well, sort of. I collect books and statues–and I found a bowl. I know, woo. But not just any bowl, a silver mid-century modern bowl with green enamel on the inside. Y’all, I kept thinking, I have absolutely no use for this. I don’t own a single mint or nut to put inside it. And yet every time I tried to walk away from this bowl, I couldn’t. I was simply spellbound by its shape, shine, and beauty. So I thought, What the hell, and bought it. After all, why must everything be useful or practical before I buy it? Isn’t it enough that something attracts me, that something mesmerizes me?

Yes, Marcus, yes it is.

One should be mesmerized now and then.

Now it’s 6:15, and I’m getting ready to have dinner with another friend, so I need to wrap this up. Yesterday I blogged about resting and slowing down, and I’m really trying to implement this by blogging sooner and not filling up every minute of every day. You know, I’m trying to breathe, to enjoy not only the main moments of my day but also the moments in between the main moments. Recently I made plans to have lunch with my aunt out of town and told her, “After we eat, I’ll mosey on home.” She said, “Moseying, that’s a lost art.” How true, how true. We rush around constantly, and yet there’s no hurry here in our universe. The sun takes an entire year to make its way around the sun, the sun and entire day to make its way across the heavens. All the more reason for us to pump the brakes, enjoy each other, and appreciate beauty wherever we can find it.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Life doesn’t need us to boss it around.

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Time to Slow Down (Blog #926)

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Last night I went dancing in Tulsa. And whereas it wasn’t my best night–I felt crummy, and my dancing was rough–it was good to get out of the house, move a little, and see friends. One friend I was not happy to see was Old Man Winter, who apparently showed up uninvited while the rest of us were dancing. When I left the dance, my car said it was forty-six degrees outside. I can’t tell you how unimpressed I was. But what can you do?

You can put on a coat.

Today, like every other day for the last week, I woke up hacking and coughing. Again, I was unimpressed. Despite my best efforts, this junk is not getting better. At the same time, it’s not getting worse. My energy level is a consistent “blah to medium well,” and I’m able to get around. I keep terrifying myself thinking I’ll have a three-month-long sinus infection like I did over a year ago, but I also keep reminding myself that I made it once before and can make it again if I have to. It’s how I feel about winter. Somehow I will survive.

Me and Gloria Gaynor.

I’m always amazed at how life continues even when you’re sick. No matter how bad things are, you can almost always manage to get yourself dressed, talk to the people you love, go to the bathroom. Maybe not in that order. This morning I met my aunt, my cousins, and their significant others for breakfast. And whereas I was subdued, it was delightful. Much better than staying in bed blowing my nose. Along those lines–everyone, I’m sorry for that one time I coughed on the table. I couldn’t help it.

After breakfast my aunt and I visited back at her house, then I hit the road. Well, first I stopped for more probiotics to hopefully help my sinus junk. Honestly, I’m about to get tired of trying things, but my experience has taught me that this crud doesn’t go away on its own. Of course, I’m open to being surprised. If anyone with any authority is listening, I’m down for a miracle.

One of the things my aunt and I discussed was the ways therapy and daily blogging have benefitted me for the better. And whereas I could go on and on (and often do) about how much my life has been positively transformed by both of these things, suffice it to say that–in a nutshell, I’m kinder to myself. What I mean is that when I got that mother of a sinus infection over a year ago, on some level, I blamed myself. I thought I should be able to fix it, if I were good enough, smart enough. Thankfully, this time around, a lot of that is gone. Is it gone completely? Of course not. Old patterns die hard. But consistent self-reflection and self-soothing does make a difference. This evening I’ve been tired, overwhelmed, and irritated, and I don’t blame myself for any of that. My body is sick. It can’t help it. The air is getting colder. It’s time to slow down.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Pressure, it seems, is necessary to positive internal change. After all, lumps of coal don't shine on their own.

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On Assholes and Doormats (Blog #517)

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Late this morning I woke up in Tulsa, then drove straight back to Arkansas, to therapy. Then I poked around in two bookstores and went out for pizza and beer. (More therapy.) Then I went to see my friend Kim, who’d invited me to Porch Pickin’, this thing where a bunch of Kim’s friends get together and play music / listen to music on her neighbor’s front porch. Now it’s just before midnight, and I’m at my parents’ dinner table. So after being on the road and out-of-town for seven full days, I’m finally home–back in glorious Van Buren.

I’m so ready to go to bed, it’s not even funny.

Speaking of things that aren’t funny, despite the fact that I was exhausted all day yesterday–like, I was dragging the tops of my feet across the carpet on the way to bed–I couldn’t sleep for shit last night. No kidding, I tossed and turned all night. Maybe it’s because it was the night after the full moon. That really does affect me sometimes. Anyway, I eventually conked out, but then my alarm went off. What the hell? Color me not impressed.

Today my therapist and I talked about someone that–quite frankly–I think is an asshole. That being said, I’ve seen this person being extremely kind, and I admire them for their ability to be direct. They always say EXACTLY what’s on their mind, and you always know right where you stand. Anyway, the subject came up because I actually have a lot of fantasies about behaving like this person–you know, saying, “Shut the fuck up, Beatrice,” or “Go play in traffic, you little piece of shit.” I realize these wouldn’t be “nice” things to say or do, but that’s precisely the point. I’ve tried the “nice” thing; it’s exhausting.

According to my therapist, I’ve been rocking the 12-step, recovering-people-pleaser program for quite a while now. Things are so much better than they used to be. And yet, I still bite my tongue more than I’d like to. My therapist says the solution is a matter of combining directness with style. In this asshole’s case, he’s ALL directness. No class. In my case, however–this is my therapist’s opinion–I’m all style. The consummate diplomat. “Sometimes when a person who’s a jerk gets under our skin,” my therapist said, “it’s because we want a little bit of what they have. Like, we’d give up some of our style if we could have some of their directness.”

There really are times when I’d like this–to be a total snot. I’m not sure I’d like the consequences–my therapist says you can burn bridges–but I’ve shoved down so many emotions and NOT stood up for myself so many times over the last four decades that having at least one full-blown tirade sounds really appealing.

So maybe keep your distance until I can get a good night’s rest.

But really, my therapist and I agreed that you can be both direct and classy (or kind) at the same time. You can not be a doormat AND not burn bridges. You can speak your truth AND not degrade, demean, or be rude to the person with whom you are communicating. It IS possible.

This should be my new mantra–

Hum. This is something I’m working on. More and more, I’m not considering my people-pleasing tendencies or any part of my personality set in stone. A book I read recently said we do that–think of ourselves as unchangeable. We say, “I’m a people pleaser,” or “That’s just the way I am.” But the book suggested saying, “I THINK OF myself as a people pleaser,” since that subtlety suggest that changes can occur when we are willing to SEE ourselves in a different way. For me–ideally–that way looks like being direct, honest, AND kind. In other words–and maybe this should be my new mantra–not an asshole, not a doormat.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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

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After the Breaking (Blog #516)

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Last night after flying in from DC, I slept at my Aunt Terri’s house in Tulsa, and this morning while trying to figure out her damn espresso machine, I broke the handle off one of her coffee cups. SHHH–don’t say anything. She’s currently at work, and I haven’t told her yet. Anyway, ironically, the cup said, “Life is good.”

Is it? I thought, staring at the broken handle. IS IT?!

Fortunately, unlike me and many of my past relationships, the cup and its handle made a clean break. Also fortunately, I happen to travel with super glue, which I keep in my lesbian toolbox in the back of my car, Tom Collins. So after I scrambled some eggs, made coffee in ANOTHER cup, and ate my breakfast, I glued the broken cup back together, temporarily holding the handle against the cup with a couple of rubber bands I found in a drawer.

There. That was easy.

This morning before waking up, I had a series of dreams. Having chewed on them a good part of this afternoon, I’ll spare you a lot of the details and focus on what I think is most important. First, I began backstage at a theater. I was up high in the shadows, watching. Then I was on the ground floor in a rehearsal space that was brighter and was practicing a cartwheel-type move with a woman. Then I was outside on a large deck in the full light, practicing the same move with a man, who was more powerful and confident than the woman was. Because of his strength, I was concerned he was going to flip me off the deck into the mud–or the unfinished yard–below. Finally, I was in my friend Mary’s kitchen, next to a refrigerator (a common dream symbol for me).

At first glance, I took this dream to be about my work life and being prepared, since first I was watching in the shadows (learning by watching), then I was rehearsing (learning by doing, gently), then I was literally “on deck” or getting ready to do (with power). As for the mud and rocks, I see them as representing the unknown, the unfinished, or that which is to come. Since I relate refrigerators to stored energy or potential, all this would make sense and is probably true. But as dreams can have multiple meanings, I’m considering another possibility, largely due to a statement I read in a book yesterday that said both dreams and life communicate with us through REDUNDANCY. In other words, the universe repeats itself.

In other words, the universe repeats itself.

As I understand it, the idea behind this concept is that when your subconscious is wanting to get a point across, it will bring it to your attention through multiple avenues, including dreams, symbols, experiences, and bodily sensations. With this in mind, I now interpret all of my dreams last night from the viewpoint of “things coming together.” First, the dreams were filled with images of opposites–shadow and light, male and female, inside and outside, confidence and concern. With all these pairs there was a joining, some sort of stage or platform where they–what’s the word?–played together. Even the mud can be seen as a “coming together” of the opposites earth and water. Likewise, a kitchen is where ingredients are joined, and all the more sense that the kitchen in my dream belonged to a woman named Mary–or rather–Marry. (Dreams often speak in puns.)

According to the book I’m reading, since the universe speaks in redundancy, it sends us the same messages in our waking life as it does our sleeping one. If this is true (and I believe it is), it would make sense that immediately after having these dreams about “coming together,” I would break a cup–where?–in my aunt’s KITCHEN and then join the broken pieces back together. Of course, this whole affair is even more stunning for me, since that’s what I think this blog is about–repairing those parts of myself that have been broken off along the way.

Aunt Terri, I’m sorry your hopefully-not-favorite mug had to be sacrificed in order to serve as an illustration of the process I’m going through.

If all this isn’t weird enough, things have gotten even weirder as the day has gone on. For one thing, as I was cleaning up after breakfast, I noticed a bag in my Aunt Terri’s kitchen that said, “Bring your table to life.” And whereas the actual meaning, I think, has to do with bringing LIFE to your table (by putting the company’s food or products on it), I like the slogan literally just as well. Bring YOUR TABLE to life. In other words, start exactly where you are, with all your shadows and broken pieces, then find a way to animate yourself. Find a way to JOIN your shadow to The Light. Find a way to put your broken pieces back together.

I spent this afternoon here in Tulsa looking for books at a fabulous bookstore. And whereas I didn’t find anything I was looking for, I did find two books I WASN’T looking for. Anyway, when I finished book-looking, I went to a Panera Bread (where I am now), since I really haven’t felt superior today and figured coffee would help animate ME. Well, I’ll be damned if I wasn’t just about to get out of my car when I looked over and saw a business named RESURRECT. (It’s a resale store.) And maybe some would call it a coincidence, but I choose to see it–once again–as the universe communicating, since RESURRECTION is what happens after THE SACRIFICE of your old life. It’s what happens after THE BREAKING. Resurrection is the coming back together or The Joining. It’s your new cup. It’s your new life.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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You can’t change what happened, but you can change the story you tell yourself about it.

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As We Wiggle (Blog #500!)

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Yesterday I drove to Tulsa to dance and have an informal business meeting with a friend of mine. It was simply the perfect day. First I poked around in a bookstore, did some window shopping, and read a short book that I bought a few days ago about quality. Then I went to the dance and saw some of my favorite folks. Talk about quality! I got to see my friend Hannah, who’s a badass dancer, has a killer wardrobe, and always makes me laugh-laugh-laugh. She’s glorious. Then I got to see my friend Marina, who’s ninety-six, still dances, and had a t-shirt on that said, “I never planned to be AWESOME. It just happened.” Also glorious.

At the end of the evening, Marina and I got into a conversation about birthdays. Hers is in March. “Yours is in September,” she recalled. “Yes,” I said. “What do you think I should do to celebrate?”

Marina leaned back and threw her arms out wide. “DO SOMETHING CRAZY!”

I love it, and just might.

After the dance I met my friends Greg and Rita for dinner at a local pub, Kilkenny’s, the coolest spot to hang out. There, while waiting for the son Mason to show up, Greg and Rita and I talked about how this was the norm in some societies, to end the day by meeting your friends for a drink, to connect with your community. “In Europe, television is expensive,” Rita said, “so people actually get out of their houses and look for ways to interact with each other.”

Now there’s a novel idea.

When Mason arrived, he and I turned our chairs toward each other and chatted about business and marketing (his field of expertise) for an hour or two. At one point Mason joked to someone else, “I charge $500 an hour, but Marcus doesn’t know that yet.” At the end of the evening, I said, “I really do appreciate your letting me pick your brain, since I know this is your profession.” Then Mason gave me a hug and said, “Anytime. You’re family.” This is no small thing, when other people accept you with open arms.

Also glorious.

Leaving Tulsa at two in the morning, I stopped once on the side of the turnpike in the middle of nowhere to look at stars. There’s a meteor shower (The Perseids) this weekend, and I was hoping to get a better glance outside the smog and light-pollution of the big city. And whereas I only saw two falling stars, I saw two falling stars! Plus, I could see the Milky Way and hundreds (if not thousands) of stars that I normally can’t see in Van Buren. Actually, I saw so many stars that I had a hard time finding many of the familiar constellations that I can normally spot at a glance. I’m just not accustomed to the sky being so “busy.”

Driving the rest of the way home, I thought, I wish I’d seen more falling stars. But when I got back to Van Buren the sky was covered in clouds–I couldn’t see a damn thing. So I was immediately and deeply grateful for my time on the side of the turnpike with my head craned toward the heavens, when, for a brief moment, everything shone.

During the last half of my drive, I listened to a CD by the philosopher Alan Watts. He’s dead now, but he’s one of my favorites. Anyway, just as I was pulling into Van Buren, Alan said, “When you look at the clouds, they are not symmetrical. They do not form fours and they do not come along in cubes, but you know at once that they are not a mess. They are wiggly, but in a way, orderly, although it is difficult for us to describe that kind of order. Now, take a look at yourselves. You are all wiggly. We are just like clouds, rocks, and stars. Look at the way the stars are arranged. Do you criticize the way the stars are arranged?”

I can’t tell you how much I love this, the reminder that it’s okay–normal–to be wiggly like a cloud or scattered about like the stars–sometimes hiding behind the clouds, sometimes shining brightly, sometimes falling. Today’s blog is number 500 (in a row!). Looking back, it’s been a lot of “seasons,” a lot of ups and downs, a lot of trips and falls. Yet this is clearly the way of it, the way of life. We come together, we dance, we say goodbye. (We wiggle.) And how good it is to know that as we wiggle, you and I are exactly like the clouds and the stars–also glorious.

All–so–glorious.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Perhaps this is what bravery really is--simply having run out of better options, being so totally frustrated by the outside world that all you can do is go within.

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Create, Adjust, and Maneuver (Blog #395)

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Last night was one of the best night’s I’ve had in a while. Our improv group, The Razorlaughs, performed in Tulsa at a venue called The Rabbit Hole. A few of our regular members were unable to attend, so at first it was just going to be my friend Aaron and me. (I realize that, grammatically, that should be Aaron and I, Mom.) But at the last-minute our friend Victoria jumped in, and y’all, last night was her first improv show ever, but she did great! We had a small audience, a baker’s dozen, but all of them were into the show, and most of them participated. As a performer, this makes all the difference, performing for people who want to be performed to.

In the above photo, we are making a nod to one of our improv games–Stand, Sit, Kneel–where someone always has to be standing, sitting, or kneeling. (Therefore, if one person changes their position, the others have to also.) In the picture below, Aaron and I were playing a game called Pillars with two audience members, who had to “fill in the blanks” or give us suggestions at random times during the game.

One of the highlights of last night’s show was that my friend Kara, whom I went to high school with, came to watch. She even got up on stage. (She also took the above photos.) When we graduated, Kara was the valedictorian of our class, and I was the salutatorian, so I couldn’t help but notice how well she did with The Alphabet Game, where players have a conversation in which the first sentence starts with A, the next with B, and so on. When it came to the letter X and it was Kara’s turn to speak, she said, “Xerxes (pronounced Zerksies) only knows. (Pause.) It starts with an X, I promise.” So this morning I texted Kara, referenced this moment on stage, and said, “#ThingsOnlyValedictoriansSay.”

Last week at therapy I told my therapist that I was doing the Autoimmune Paleo (AIP) diet, which basically means eating nothing enjoyable–wheat, dairy, tomatoes, legumes, eggs, nuts, or alcohol. Later she told me, “Go easy on yourself. It’s okay to modify. If you want to eat some nuts, eat some frickin’ nuts.” So last night after the show I took her advice to heart. Aaron, Victoria, Kara, and I met at Kilkenny’s, a cool Irish pub, and whereas I stuck to AIP for my meal, I decided to have a drink. I told myself, “It’s okay to modify, Marcus. If you want to have some vodka, have some vodka.”

When our group wrapped up for the evening and said our goodbyes, I walked around the corner at Kilkenny’s and ran into my swing dancing friends Gregg and Rita, who had come by for a bite after last night’s celebratory swing dance. (Yesterday was International Dance Day). Y’all, it was the perfect little unexpected reunion. They were with their son and some of his friends, and everyone was so kind. We sat for a couple of hours and just caught up, talking about dance, work, family, earrings–you name it.

It was a wonderful night.

This is what I want for my life.

Now it’s two in the afternoon, and I’m back in Arkansas. When I first woke up this morning, I thought I was going to be sick because my sinuses were running. Maybe it’s just allergies, I thought. Still, I took some probiotics that usually help my sinuses, lay back down for a nap, and have been hitting the water pretty hard since I woke back up. (Water covers a multitude of sins.) I just had breakfast, and I need to get on the road again in an hour and a half, since I’m seeing a show in Little Rock tonight. I don’t have a “deep thought” for the day, but I do wish you could see an improv show–the way the people on stage have NO idea what’s about to happen, but are still able to create, adjust, and maneuver their way into something fun. More and more, this is what I want for my life, to be able to rise to any occasion, to take what life gives me, roll with it, and enjoy.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Better that you're true to yourself and the whole world be disappointed than to change who you are and the whole world be satisfied.

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We All Have Elephants (Blog #361)

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This morning I woke up in Tulsa, Oklahoma, at my aunt’s house. In no real hurry to get back to Arkansas, I spent a couple hours reading a book I bought this last Saturday, which, by the way, was the four-year anniversary of the first day I saw my therapist. Talk about a wild ride.

The book I read, The Magician’s Elephant by Kate DiCamillo, is about an orphan boy who is searching for his long-lost sister, whom a fortune teller predicts he will find by following an elephant. Said elephant literally magically appears in the boy’s town when a stage magician tries to produce a bouquet of flowers and produces the elephant instead. (Everyone, including the magician, was amazed–except for the lady whom the elephant landed one when he apparated. To put it mildly, she had a very bad day.) I believe the book was intended for children or young adults, but I personally found it delightful.

Toward the end of the story (spoiler alert), there is talk about making the elephant disappear, sending it back to wherever it came from (probably Albuquerque), which the magician says he cannot do. However, the narrator of the story says, “If the world held magic powerful enough to make the elephant appear, then there must exist, too, magic in equal measure, magic powerful enough to undo what had been done. There must be magic that could send the elephant home.”

This is something I’ve been chewing on today, something that speaks to my soul. So many things in my life historically and recently have felt like these giant, unsolvable problems, like elephants that show up in my living room and refuse to leave. (Hey, get your dirty feet off my coffee table!) As an example, four years ago I couldn’t see my way out of a bad (really bad) relationship. God, things were such a mess, I didn’t even realize what a mess they were. It was like I was drowning and didn’t know it. But stumbling across my kick-ass therapist, I lucked out. The universe threw me a lifeline.

Also, I don’t mind saying, it’s been a long journey to shore.

Sometimes when I tell people I’ve been in therapy for four years, I imagine them thinking, You must be really fucked up. Maybe they aren’t actually thinking that, but if they are, I honestly don’t believe I deal with issues that are all that different from anyone else’s. We all have relationship problems, family problems, work problems. We all have elephants. In my case, I know that a big reason I had relationship problems is BECAUSE I had other (childhood) issues that hadn’t been properly addressed. (For one, I’d never learned about boundaries and wouldn’t have known a boundary if it’d hit me in the face.) My point is–it’s taken some time, but my therapist and I have dealt with every all of my “elephants in the room.” With hard work, courage, and what my therapist calls “sitting in truth,” we’ve effectively made all my elephants disappear. At the very least, we’ve shrunk them down to a manageable size.

The universe is full of big answers.

As I look back at the last year and this blog, it’s been a lot of ups and downs. Based on how I’m feeling this very moment (worn out and tired), it’s been A LOT of downs. Feeling well or normal has been a struggle, believing that I’ll be back on my feet physically and financially has been a struggle. But surely these are just elephants too, and surely all is never lost. For me, it’s important to hang on to this idea that no matter how bad your circumstances, they can and will turn around, to believe that if an elephant can show up in your life, it can also disappear, to believe that just as the universe is full of big problems, it is also full of big answers.

[Thanks again to my friend Frank for the High School Musical calendar. I hung it on my wall as soon as I got home today! Talk about daily inspiration.]

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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What are you really running away from?

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Me, The Moth, and The Eyeball Oracle (Blog #285)

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Currently it’s 9:15 in the morning, and I’m in Somewhere, Oklahoma, waiting to see The Oracle.

Let me back up.

I woke up at five this morning, although my alarm wasn’t set to go off until six. You know how it is when you’re both eager and anxious about something. You can’t sleep. Plus, the waterbed was especially hot last night, and my legs kept jerking. They do that sometimes, go into these violent, sudden twitches just as I’m starting to nod off. It’s startling, maybe related to my magnesium levels. Of course, the internet could be wrong–it’s been wrong before. The body is a mystery. Anyway, at five-thirty I decided there was no point in continuing to try to slumber, so I got up, got dressed, meditated, wrote in my journal, and made breakfast and a full pot of coffee in preparation for my big day.

Last week my friend Elisabeth messaged me and said she’d been hearing a lot about a woman near Tulsa who practices iridology, a field of alternative medicine that basically identifies problems in one part of your body based on the appearance of another–specifically, your eyeballs. Like–I don’t know–that fleck there means your liver is broken and is in need of repair. (Take this vitamin, do a colon cleanse, and call me in the morning.) Elisabeth said four different people had recommended this lady, that she was thinking about going, and that I should go too. (If I wanted.) “Maybe she could help with your allergy and sinus issues,” she said. Well, on the scale of weird things I’ve tried over the years, eyeball gazing actually ranks pretty low, so I said, “I’m in. Let’s go tomorrow.”

Since the vitamin shop where the iridology lady works ended up being closed last week, I’ve been on pins and needles ever since, just waiting for today. I’ve spent a lot of time reading reviews online, and everyone that talks about this lady absolutely raves. They call her The Oracle. (Personally, I like The Eyeball Oracle.) They say they’ve been seeing her since they were a child, she’s always spot on, she helped when no one else could–shit like that. So I’m hopeful. That being said, this isn’t my first alternative medicine, stranger-things-have-happened rodeo, so I’m trying to keep both feet grounded in reality. I’ve mentioned recently that I’m seeing a new medical doctor this week, and that’s still happening. I’ve been telling myself, Do your weird shit first, get all the information you can, then go talk to someone who went to college.

Like, “Doc, a Native American told me my liver was broken. Fact or crap?”

On the drive here this morning, I listened to my new favorite podcast, The Moth. If you’re not listening to it, you’re missing out. It’s basically real people telling stories about anything and everything, without notes, in front of a live audience. It’s delicious. This morning I heard a story about a girl who grew up with a mom who was both a nudist and a stripper. The story started when her mom stripped for her and her brother one evening as her step-father manned the music. This reminded me that there is no such thing as normal–there’s only “normal for you.”

Another story I heard earlier was about a gay actor and writer in California who had two different psychics tell him that Montgomery Clift, the famous actor, was trying to communicate with him from beyond the grave, trying to get the man to write his story. (Clift was closeted, and apparently both he and the man had had facial reconstruction following respective accidents.) Whether you believe that something like this is possible or not, the story really is fantastic to hear, and as the host of The Moth pointed out, is true to the person who told it.

Now I’m inside the shop, waiting. The lady isn’t scheduled to be here for quite a while, but the online reviews said to show up early, so that’s what I did. At first, I was the only one waiting. Now there are two other ladies, and Elisabeth is on her way. We’ll see what happens. Originally I’d intended to blog after this person looks into my eyes, looks deep into my eyes, but I’ve decided to make this a cliffhanger and post about the results tomorrow. But I’ve been thinking, This is a little crazy, but the universe is a big place. How do we know what’s possible? Who’s to say what’s “normal”? Maybe a dead movie star can talk to a stranger. Maybe a medicine woman can look into my eyes and reveal my body’s secrets. I’m open to it. After all, the universe, like the body, is a mystery. Of course, I’m trying to stay grounded in reality, but am more and more open to what reality can look like.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Along the way you’ll find yourself, and that’s the main thing, the only thing there really is to find.

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