Leave the Raft Behind (Blog #1087)

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It’s 11:50 at night, and this is the beginning of the end. No, not of the world, although I guess that’s possible. Anything is possible these days. Rather, it’s the beginning of the end of this blog. I only have ten more posts including this one to go. And whereas I’m looking forward to having two hours (on average) of every day back to sleep, work on other projects, and do whatever the hell I want, I’m also anticipating a loss. That is, I’ve come to love my time here at this keyboard. Mostly, I suppose, because it’s been my safe haven, a place I’ve been able to run to for comfort time and time again, whenever anything–and everything–has gone wrong.

There’s a story in Buddhism, or one of those religions, that if your goal is to reach the other side of a river (enlightenment), then you’re going to have to use a raft (meditation, a guru) to get there. But once you’re on the other side you leave the raft behind. Because, well, why would you need it? You wouldn’t. Because for one thing it’s done its job already. For another, carrying around a raft for the rest of your life would be so terribly awkward.

And bad for your back

Along these lines, my original goal with this blog was to establish a daily writing practice. And whereas I don’t know if I’ll continue to write every day, every damn day, when this is over, I’ve clearly done that. What’s more, I’ve proven to myself that I have what it takes to commit to something I believe in. This writing project. What’s most important, however, is that, really without intending to when I came up with this idea three years ago, I’ve ended up committing to myself. And whereas I think this would have been the case had I–I don’t know–chosen to write a poem or a short story every day (because I would have been building self-esteem by keeping my word to myself), it’s certainly been the case given the fact that for over a thousand days now I’ve sat down and effectively been my own therapist, spiritual guide, healer, and cheerleader. There, there, Sweetheart, we’re going to get through this.

Not that I haven’t had tons of help along the way. And God knows I’ve talked ad nauseam about what that help has been. All my therapists, doctors, modalities, and such. All of which I’m extremely grateful for and have convinced me that there’s always willing help available. Ultimately, The Path is walked alone, but that doesn’t mean you don’t get plenty of support while walking it. Plenty of what Joseph Campbell called supernatural aide. And yet every day and always one finds themselves alone with their thoughts, emotions, dreams, terrors, situations, predicaments, and their past. Alas, although others can help you with these things, these things ultimately have your name written all over them. And so you must learn to deal with them.

And so you must learn to deal with yourself.

It’s weird the breadcrumbs my subconscious, or God or the universe, laid out before me when I (we?) first started this project. That is, my very first blog was titled “it’s time to soften up,” and it was about how I really wanted, needed to go easier on myself. Well, this has been an unintended and, apparently, much-cried-out-for theme these last few years. Sweetheart, chill the fuck out. Be gentle. And whereas I wish I could tell you that I’m “there,” I’m not. But I have made A LOT of progress. Still, recently I told my therapist that I have another project in mind to start after this one but that I wanted to wait a couple weeks before announcing it. “But I can still be planning and working on it,” I said.

“Or you could JUST REST,” she offered.

I mean, there’s an idea. The whole world is on pause right now thanks to COVID-19, so what better time to dramatically slow my roll? Seriously, it’s rough being stuck at home, but I may never be given this amount of free time again in my life. Time to read, time to watch Netflix, time to stretch. Time to get quiet and go inside. Time to heal. This morning I learned that my myofascial release wizard is closing her office for the time being, a fact that would normally upset me because we’ve been getting such good results lately. But more and more I’m trusting 1) divine timing and 2) that if a miracle can happen in a therapist’s office, it can happen in your bedroom.

Don’t I wish?

That was a sex joke, Mom.

Getting back to the idea of miracles (and not the “this is where the magic happens” kind), I’m learning that you have to do your part. Meaning that the chances that Jesus is going to knock on your door and strike you completely healthy are slim. But the chances that heaven is going to meet you more than halfway if you show them that you’re even remotely serious are pretty damn good. This has been my experience over and over again–with my therapist, with this blog, with my EMDR therapist, and with a whole bevy of doctors, practitioners, and helpful books. I cry out, “Help,” do what I know to do, and God (sometimes called Good) comes running.

Help is on the way, dear!

This evening I heard healer Charlie Goldsmith say that our emotions are meant to be felt and experienced but not held on to. “If someone told you a joke, you wouldn’t keep laughing for three weeks,” he said. And yet so many of us hold on to our anger, even when whatever it was that originally caused us to be angry was, like, fucking years ago. And not that you shouldn’t get angry when someone crosses a line or shit hits the fan. You’re just not supposed to hold on to that feeling. (Or, better said, let it hold on to you.) This is another way of saying leave the raft behind. Learn from the emotion and the experience, but don’t carry the teacher with you. Let the dead bury the dead. Let the past be over. Be right here, right now. Sweetheart, come to the other side of the river. Come home again.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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I believe that God is moving small universes to communicate with me and with all of us, answering prayers and sending signs in unplanned moments, the touch of a friend's hand, and the very air we breathe.

"

Free (Blog #1086)

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Ugh. I’ve spent all day reading, first a book about energy medicine (weird even for me), then a book about quantum physics and healing (fascinating), then a book I’m editing for a client (lacking commas, but that’s why I’m here). All the while our world has been going to hell in a hand basket. Because of COVID-19, many of us are on self- or government-imposed quarantine. This is confining and, therefore, scary (nobody likes to be pinned down; well, some people do, but I digress), but perhaps it’s for the best. A friend of mine in Alabama who has the virus has had a fever for ten days (and plenty of people are dying), so this virus clearly doesn’t fuck around. Drastic times call for drastic measures. Still, it often scares the shit out of me.

Which is a problem because I only have so much toilet paper.

Earlier today a friend of mine who’s both a mom and a therapist posted on Instagram about how to talk your kids about their feelings about, well, let’s face it, the end of the world as we know it. Her suggestion was to use notecards with blanks on them and have your kids fill in the blanks. For example, I FEEL (BLANK), ABOUT (BLANK), BECAUSE (BLANK) could be filled in as: I feel SCARED, about COVID-19, because I THINK I’M GOING TO GET IT. Of course, we as adults can do this too, especially since so many of us have trouble identifying and/or talking about our feelings. Personally, I feel ANXIOUS, about COVID-19, because I DON’T WANT ME OR ANYONE I CARE ABOUT TO SUFFER OR DIE. And because I’M LOSING MY FREEDOM (to go wherever I want when I want, to eat out, to make money like I have been).

Alas, many of our fears are coming true. Businesses are closing. Cities and states are on lockdown. Most people with the virus are getting better, but no small number are dying. As one of my friends just messaged me, it’s like we’re living in The Twilight Zone. And yet, at the same time that so many things are falling apart, people are rising to the occasion, offering online courses for entertainment, education, and morale-boosting for cheap or free. Companies aren’t charging for their services for the next month or the foreseeable future. Churches are offering to bring food to shut-ins. To borrow and bastardize a famous line, it’s the worst of times, it’s the best of times.

I realize “best” may be a stretch.

Pandemics happen.

One thing about this whole pandemic business that’s got me fuzzed up is the fact that it’s happening just as this blog is coming to an end. Not to make a worldwide crisis about me and my little writing project, but I only have eleven more posts left (including this one), and I’d personally like to be talking about other things. And going out to eat after my last post to celebrate three full years of daily writing and introspection. But as my dad said earlier, “Looks like you’ll be celebrating with your family.” (They’re real partiers. Thank God we have peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.) Alas, this is the way of it. Shit happens. Pandemics happen. And as for the content on this blog, my goal from the beginning has been to sit down at the keyboard every day, meet myself, and share as honestly as possible about whatever happens to be on my heart and mind. Lately, it’s been the virus. And if it’s the virus for the next ten days, so be it. I’m not going to change my format now.

I’ve talked before about how healing is 1) a non-linear path and 2) messy, and so is a blog like this. What I mean is that although I’ve written every day, every damn day for a damn while now, there have been a lot of peaks and valleys, posts that I’ve considered glorious, posts I’ve considered not so glorious. As I begin to look back on the project as a whole, however, these labels mean less and less. That is, good days and bad days don’t really matter. What matters is this project as a whole and, more importantly, me as a whole, how I’ve grown as a result of sticking to this thing. What matters is the encouragement, support, and information others have taken away as a result of that sticking. The mystics would say it like this–what helps one, helps everyone.

This concept is difficult to understand from a human, mind-only perspective, but I think it’s something we all know intuitively in our hearts. Currently people are getting upset when their neighbors don’t quarantine because they know they’re not just exposing themselves. They’re exposing all of us. So we get that we’re connected. The good news being that we’re not just connected when someone acts foolishly, we’re also connected when someone acts wisely. Meaning that I truly believe that as you work to deal with your shit, heal your past, and connect with and act from your own good heart, somehow the entire world is changed for the better. Not to put any pressure on you (like, the entire world is affected by your actions), but just to remind you that you’re a powerful being. Call it The Butterfly Effect. Just remember that just as a virus can spread around the world, so can a good idea. So can love and healing.

Mother Teresa, Gandhi, and Martin Luther King, Jr. understood this. We think of them as extraordinary humans, but in fact they weren’t. Rather, they were simply souls living up to their full potential, souls acting out of the conviction in their hearts rather than out of fear. This is the benefit to going inside and knowing thyself, the benefit to becoming familiar with and expressing yourself, the benefit of The Path. For one thing, you know what’s in your heart. You learn what power it contains. For another, having met even the scariest parts of yourself and your life with compassion, you’ve learned that there isn’t anything to fear. Or at least that there isn’t anything you can’t face and handle. This is what true freedom is about, not whether or not you’re stuck at home under quarantine, but whether or not you’re free in your spirit. Wherever you are. Whatever your circumstances.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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You’re exactly where you need to be.

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Sacred (Blog #1085)

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This afternoon I finished reading What’s in Your Web: Stories of Fascial Freedom by Phil Tavolacci and started and finished Tapping In: A Step-by-Step Guide to Activating Your Healing Resources by Laurel Parnell. And whereas it may sound like a big deal to start and finish an entire book in one day, I mostly skimmed it. Not that it wasn’t full of good information. It’s just that the meaty stuff, the technique for using bilateral stimulation to calm yourself and “lock in” positive and beneficial states of being, was up front; the rest of the book was about how to use that technique in, oh, seventy-five different scenarios.

I’ve talked a lot about EMDR (Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing) lately, thus my interest in bilateral stimulation. And whereas Tapping In is different from EMDR, it’s based on the same idea. That by gently stimulating your body in a back and forth (left, right, left, right) fashion, you somehow encourage your brain to process trauma, self-soothe, and achieve peak performance. In it’s most basic form, Tapping In looks like tapping your feet right-left-right, using your hands to do the same thing on your thighs, or crossing your arms and using your hands to tap your chest or shoulders. This can be done without a topic in mind, and, according to the book, some people say it works because it reminds our bodies of centuries of tribal drumming or just simply being rocked and soothed by our mothers. Others claim it works because it connects both sides of the brain by “crossing the midline.”

With a topic in mind, Tapping In can be used when you’re nervous or recalling or anticipating a stressful or traumatic event. In this case, you’re basically acting like your own mother. There, there, Sweetheart, it’s okay. It’s over. However, the book recommends saving the “major stuff” for your (EMDR) therapist and instead using the tapping technique to make your positive memories “stick” and your best states of being last longer. For example, you could recall a time when you felt on top of the world, or safe, or in love, and then, once you really felt that all over your body, go to tapping. Thus “locking in” that positive feeling and bringing your past fully into the present.

One of my takeaways from from Tapping In was the idea that we all have an entire host of inner resources that are always available to us. For example, my dreams and daydreams are often full of strong animals or even celebrities. And it’s not that these characters with all their power and abilities are out there, in a book or on a movie screen. Rather, they are in here, inside of me. Waiting to be tapped into, waiting to help, waiting to save the day. They say that when you first begin therapy you imagine that your therapist is some sort of superhero. Perhaps this is true. Hell, I created a blog about mine (sort of). But they also say that eventually you realize your therapist is just another flawed human being. Also true. Sooner or later you conclude that all the magical powers you ascribed to your therapist actually reside in you.

Oh, I’m the strong one. I’m the badass. I’m the one who knows how to solve my problems.

Something I’ve been grateful for lately are all the people in my life who’ve supported me throughout my healing journey. The people with whom it would not have been or continue to be possible. Because what they say is true. People harm us, but they also heal us. This has been my experience. For all the crap that some people have directly or indirectly brought into my life (sometimes on a silver platter), an equal amount of healing has been brought to me by others–my therapist, my EMDR therapist, my myofascial release therapist, my upper cervical care doctor, my regular doctor(s). And yes, I know I have a lot of therapists and doctors. It takes a damn village.

Additionally, I’ve been supported sometimes vocally and sometimes non-vocally by my family, friends, and a host of acquaintances and strangers who have witnessed my journey through this blog. And whereas I’m grateful for all my professional and non-professional help, I’d like to point out that those who help you heal and those who support your healing are, often, not the ones you expect to or wish would. Indeed, many times when I’ve wanted the support of specific people, I’ve gotten crickets. And yet support has always come from somewhere, from someone. More and more I believe we get what we need from whom we need it. Having been held and cared for by total strangers while crying and falling apart (and at the same time coming back together), I’ve come to believe that this kind of care is the most profound anyway. Because it says, “I haven’t known you forever, but I’m here for you in this moment. If only for a moment, I’m willing to walk with you and be a cocoon for your metamorphosis. I’m willing to accept and love you as you are.”

Caroline Myss talks about something called a sacred wound, a pain or suffering that cuts so deep that it has the power to not only set you on the path of true healing, but also at the the same time launch your personal transformation. And whereas this may sound lovely, it sucks. Why? Because someone has to deliver the wound, and if you’re not careful you could spend the rest of your life hating that person (or persons). More and more I believe life is like a giant drama in which we all play many–necessary–parts. Meaning that sometimes we’re the wounded, sometimes we’re the wound-er. (This is an ugly job, but someone’s got to do it. Where would Jesus be without Judas?) Likewise, sometimes we’re the healer, sometimes we’re the healed. Deep down, there’s a peace about all this, a knowing that all parts must be played. A knowing that all parts are sacred.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"We were made to love without conditions. That's the packaging we were sent with."

On Pause (Blog #1084)

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Today I’ve mostly stayed at home. This afternoon I went to my aunt’s house to help her with a computer problem and borrow a card table, and this evening I went for a walk (exercise is good for your immune system), but that’s it. Otherwise I’ve been around the house. Eating. Reading. Eating some more. Ugh. Pandemics are stressful. As one of my friends lamented on the phone yesterday, “I’m going to gain weight. I’ve accepted it. It’s just going to happen.” Alas, there are so many things happening right now that we need to accept. That are so hard to accept.

If you don’t know what they are, turn on the news. Or check your bank account.

This afternoon, from home, from a distance, I spoke to my therapist. In terms of COVID-19, she said everyone’s life has been put ON PAUSE, that it’s clearly time for all of us to slow down, slow the fuck down. “I feel really sorry for people whose identities are wrapped up in being productive or being social for the wrong reasons [so they can post about themselves online],” she said. “They’re about to get a serious reality check.”

“Right,” I said, “because if your self-worth is centered around doing things, what happens when you can’t do them?”

This is a serious and valid question, one, I think, we’re all being given time to consider. Along these lines, my therapist referred to this time in history as “a gift.” Not because people are terrified, sick, and dying, but because our collective go, go, going has come to a serious halt. Perhaps because we haven’t been able to do it for ourselves, life has pumped the brakes for us. Consequently, we HAVE to slow down, gather around our families, search our interiors, and think about the things that really matter: life, death, what we prioritize, the way we treat each other. Of course, all of this is not only scary as shit, but also a lot to handle at once. My therapist said, “Everyone is real crazy right now. So when you go to the grocery store you have to be psychically prepared to walk into a wall of fear.” In other words, tits up. Life right now ain’t for sissies.

As if it ever was, is, or shall be.

Joseph Campbell tells a story with this moral. Something about how little baby turtles that are born on a beach come crawling out of their hatched eggs and head straight for the ocean. And not only are there the waves to deal with, but–bam! right off the bat–there are seagulls swooping down to eat them. So like, this planet isn’t for the faint at heart. You gotta be tough. But not too tough. Because you don’t want to become bitter. Ugh. This is the challenge that Jesus talked about. To be wise as serpents (look alive, little turtles!) and–at the same time–innocent as doves (don’t hate the seagulls for being seagulls; they know not what they do).

I borrowed the card table from my aunt’s today because I have some editing work to do this week. And whereas I’d normally go to the library to work, thanks to COVID-19 and social distancing, I now need to work from home. Me and the rest of the world. Alas, the only table or workstation we have here is our kitchen table, and that part of the house is way too noisy for concentrating. So I set the card table up in my room as a makeshift desk, and now my room, more than ever, has become my little corner of the globe. True, the card table bounces a little with every keystroke, but it doesn’t suck. Indeed, as I look around my room, I think, I like it here. It ain’t the library, but if I absolutely had to, I could get sick and die here, content.

Not that I want to die, and not that my chances of dying are high. But as I’ve said before, at some point you have to consider your own mortality and what you’re really all about. For me this looks like asking myself if I can find peace no matter what. When I’m being productive, when I’m lazing around. When I’m healthy, when I’m sick. When I’m being embraced by others, when I’m alone. This is no small task, of course, and is the undertaking of a lifetime. And yet I’m proud to report that significant progress can be made in a fairly short amount of time. Having sat down every day for almost the last three years with the express intention of meeting and coming to know myself, I’ve realized I actually like who I am. And that I don’t need anything out there to make me feel good in here. Sure, chocolate cake, a load of money, and a hot lover wouldn’t suck, but there are increasingly more days when, in the absence of all that, I’m totally elated. The mystics say this is the big cosmic joke, when you finally get that everything you thought was important isn’t. That you don’t need “a thing” to make you happy.

What? My bank account is empty, and there’s not a roll of toilet paper in sight?

Hilarious.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Sometimes the best you can do is metaphorically sit you ego down, look it square in the eye, and say, “Would you shut the fuck up already?”

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Good and Beautiful and True (Blog #1083)

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This afternoon I saw my myofascial release wizard, and, phew, what a trip that was. By this I mean I cried. A lot. I don’t know. If you haven’t experience myofascial release or anything like it, I know it sounds odd. Marcus got a massage and cried. How strange. And I admit, it is strange. Hell, I’ve HAD myofascial release before and still think it’s odd. No, phenomenal. Phenomenal is a better word. This being said, when I had myofascial release before, it was by a lower-level practitioner, and for a shorter session. So maybe that’s the difference. Or maybe my body just wasn’t ready. That’s one thing I’ve become convinced of. If you’re body isn’t ready to let go, sweetie, you ain’t letting go. If you’re body doesn’t think it’s safe, it’s going to remain on high-alert.

High-alert. I guess that’s how I’ve felt for, oh, twenty-five years now. Granted, I’ve never experienced classic panic attacks, but I have spent ever so much time feeling nervous and unsettled, breaking out in hives, having headaches, and on and on. More than enough signs to let me know my body was, in a very real way, upset and needing attention. Like, Darling, we can’t handle this any longer. This being the go, go, going and self-pressuring. “Sometimes we keep ourselves busy so we don’t have to feel,” my myofascial release wizard (MFRW) said today as she was working on my neck and shoulders, which have been consistently tight for decades. “But what would it be like to let the weight of the world slip off your shoulders?”

“Honestly, I don’t know,” I said. “It’s been there so long.”

This is one of the challenges of healing. We live with our our pains and problems so long that we get used to them. Not that they’re ever fun, but we become comfortable with them. We even identify with them. We say, MY headaches, MY hives. We say, I’M sick, I’M stressed. Whereas some cultures say, I’m experiencing a headache or sickness, thus making an important distinction. That you and your illness are not synonymous. Of course, this is a difficult perspective to keep in mind, especially when your body’s been hurting for years. And yet more and more I’m convinced that a body that’s hurting is a body with a story that desperately needs to be heard.

Where things really got interesting today was when my MFRW worked on my belly button. “I’m going to do what’s called an umbilical cord release,” she said, “and it’s your connection to your mother.” Well, before she really even got going, I started bawling like a baby, I suppose because my mother has been clinically depressed since I was in her womb and, consequently, she hasn’t always been able to be there for me like I’ve wanted her to be. And whereas logically I can say that I understand all this, that it’s okay, alas, my inner child, that little fellow that was in her womb, is apparently not big on logic. This is to say that the story my body told this afternoon was one of sadness, disappointment, grief, confusion, and even anger. Because so many times both my parents weren’t able to be there. Because I had to grow up “too fast.”

The more I allow myself to acknowledge and feel these feelings, the more I’m convinced that my inner child (for lack of a better term) is alive and well. That is, although my driver’s license, the mirror, and my bathroom scales clearly indicate that I’m a 39-year-old man, there’s very much a part of me that’s stuck in 1994, the year I was in a terrible car accident and my dad was arrested. The year I had to grow up. “What does that boy need?” my MFRW asked. “What does he need to hear?”

Sobbing, I thought, He needs to hear that he did a good job. (A great job.) And that it’s over now and he can relax.

Something my MFRW said that stuck with me today was that whenever the wind gets knocked out of our proverbial sails and our boat gets tumped over, we often blame the people we most care about. Like, You weren’t there for me. This is your fault. But the truth is that, most likely, they got knocked out of the boat too. Because shit happens. In my case, I was clearly affected by my mom’s depression, but so was she. Ever so much more than I was. So was my entire family. When dad was arrested, my whole world shifted. But all of our worlds did. This perspective doesn’t change the feelings and emotions that got shoved down all those years ago, but it does help me let them go now. More and more I’m convinced there’s never a good reason to hang on to all that shit anyway. People say that holding on to anger is like drinking poison and expecting the object of your anger to suffer, and I’m coming to believe this is quite literal. Our bodies pay the price for our rage.

And sadness, etc.

To be clear, I don’t think the goal is to be free from any one emotion or the information it carries. I say information because I wish that years ago, even as a teenager, I’d been able to hear what my sadness and tight shoulders were telling me. Sweetheart, we need to be cared for. We need to lighten up. We need to know we’re good enough. This is valuable information, and why I don’t think the goal is to be free from our emotions. Rather, I think we need to experience them. To let our long-buried feelings finally have their say.

Lately I’ve had a lot of experience with this sort of thing, and I freely admit that I don’t do the best job explaining it. It’s not that I get in a room, start talking about my history, and break down in tears. Rather, while in a safe place in which I feel comfortable, emotions like sadness, anger, and self-pressure (if that’s even an emotion) bubble up. Very much like the way a sneeze does. All of a sudden, you’re aware that your body has something to say, something to let go of. And you can either hold it in (ouch), or let it come out. Having gone through this process over and over again over the last month or two, the go, go, goer in me is ready to let it all out. Now. To let go of the tension in my body and experience, I guess, more freedom. Because I always feel lighter, looser on the other side of a release. And yet it appears that the body has its own timeframe for healing. As my MFRW says, “It’s baby steps.”

I used to read stories of healing and releasing like the one I just told and think there must be something wrong with me. Because I was try, try, trying and not getting the same results. Now I think it was just timing. “There’s a season for falling apart,” my MFRW says, “and a season for healing.” It just wasn’t my season yet. Granted, I was learning a lot, which I think gave me a solid foundation for my current experiences. That is, had I not read so much about the mind-body connection and the way our fascia stores our memories, I could have been seriously freaked out by all-of-a-sudden needing to wail or hiss or grunt. I could have shut it down. Which is honestly my first instinct. Because if I’m not all my pain and suffering, all my trying, all my tension, then who am I? And whereas I don’t have an answer, I’m willing to find out. Not only because I can’t keep going like this (twenty-five years is long enough), but also because I’m convinced it’s something good and beautiful and true.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Our struggles unearth our strengths.

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A New Way of Living (Blog #1082)

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Today I taught two dance lessons. I know, touching people. But we all washed out hands first, and Daddy’s gotta make a living. Groceries and toilet paper, after all, don’t pay for themselves. Anyway, after two full days of being “locked up” at home, it was nice, just to get out and see people. This evening I went to the pharmacy to pick up prescriptions for me and my parents and ended up having a long conversation (in line) with a friend’s son. How about that? A conversation! Of course, it was about COVID-19, but it was still good to connect.

This, I think, is one of the good things coming from this whole mess. Most of us aren’t shaking hands, but we’re empathizing with and understanding each other in ways we perhaps haven’t in a long time. One of my gay friends ranted that, in effect, this is what it’s like to be afraid of catching a virus you don’t deserve. And whereas I think he came off a little strong (a lot of people are angry right now), I still think he had a point. All too often when other people suffer, we find some reason to blame the victim, I suppose in order to distance ourselves from the idea–the fact–that IT could happen to us. HIV is just for gay people. Sinners. Oh, she wasn’t wearing her seat belt? No wonder she broke her neck.

As if being straight or wearing a seat belt somehow magically excuses you from life’s challenges and tragedies. Or from being compassionate. Please.

I’m not saying you should’t be smart, of course. When you’re in a car, buckle up. When you have sex, as my therapist so delicately says, wear a raincoat. When you do anything for the next several months (or longer), wash your hands. And yet the fact remains that, no matter what you do, this virus in an equal-opportunity invader. It doesn’t care what color your skin is, who you sleep with, or how much money you have. Or what religion you are or aren’t. In this, it reminds us that WE ARE ALL EQUAL. Whether we want to admit it or not.

Intuitive Robert Ohotto says that things like COVID-19 only come around when something down here on planet earth isn’t working. To me this means that from a larger, mystical viewpoint, life is always trying to “correct” itself, to bring balance where balance is needed. Now, I know that from the ground level things look like a shit-show. And I know that the pain and suffering and death are awful. But I also know that anything that causes us to slow down, question our values, reconnect with each other, and be kinder to one another is, well, not 100 percent bad. Who among us hasn’t had something “terrible” happen only to look back later and say, “I grew a lot from that, it really taught me something”? I mean, the day Jesus was crucified was a BAD DAY for Jesus and a lot of his homeboys and homegirls. And yet the whole thing has worked out nicely in terms of human history. My point being that it’s difficult to judge bad and good when you don’t have all the facts. When you don’t have a cosmic perspective.

Something I’ve heard a lot of talk about since COVID-19 really amped up is that although this could go on for months, life (and the stock market) should, eventually, return to normal. With all due respect, I should hope not. (Why, Marcus?) Because if something of this magnitude comes into our lives, I would hope that we and our lives are not the same afterwards. Because let’s face it–we’ve had a lot of room for improvement for a damn while now. And as uncomfortable as a trial like this can be, the point–one of them–is that it SHOULD change us, transform us.

Into something better.

This is how I’ve come to think and feel about the tribulations in my life. All the shit things that have come out of nowhere and knocked me to the ground. Have they sucked? You bet. Would I want them to happen again or wish them upon my worst enemy? Hell no. But at the same time I wouldn’t be without them. Because, in a very loud voice, the hardest times in my life have taken me by the hand and said, “Sweetheart, we can’t live like this any longer. It’s time to grow. It’s time to become something more.” This is how this current journey started for me. For months I was depressed, and I finally realized it was my soul telling me it couldn’t stand, well, my life as it was. Owning the studio, doing the same old thing. So I closed the studio, sold almost everything, and here I am now. Living with my parents. Writing. Happier. Because I’m doing something that satisfies my soul. Now when everything falls apart, I think, This has God’s name written all over it (because who else could turn your life upside down so thoroughly?), and, Things will come together soon enough.

Along these lines, I’ve often wondered and even asked God why things have to fall apart in the first place. WHY must we be forced or strongly encouraged to find a new way of living? And whereas I don’t think God has to explain himself/herself/itself to anyone (and therefore doesn’t), what makes sense to me is this answer–

Because the old way wasn’t working.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Life is better when we're not in control. When we mentally leave room for anything to happen, anything can.

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Responsible (Blog #1081)

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When you stay home all day (#flattenthecurve), you can get a lot done. This afternoon I watched two videos about the esoteric history of Egypt with my dad and finished two custom-order brooch projects. Then this evening I dusted and vacuumed my room and cleaned my bathroom and shower. And washed my sheets. Woowho. That’s twice this year already. Then I cried while watching American Idol and took a much-needed shower. Now I’m basking in all the cleanliness. I’m clean, my sheets are clean, my room is clean. God’s in his heaven, all’s right with the world.

Except for COVID-19, of course.

Along these lines, this morning I read a Facebook post about COVID-19 that used the phrase “we’re not in control.” And whereas I agree with this statement and said as much a couple days ago (that at some point we have to surrender), I think it’s a statement worth clarifying. Because how often do we through up our hands and say, “What can we do!?” when, in fact, there’s plenty we can do? Too often, that’s how often. What I mean is that although we are not in control of viruses, epidemics, and pandemics, we ARE in control of ourselves. To this end, we can make CHOICES, to wash our hands, to stay home, to practice social distancing, to reflect and act consciously rather than out of panic, and to be kind at the grocery store. To fill our time, hearts, and homes with patience and understanding rather than blame and fear.

Unfortunately, so many of us spend our lives cleaning our physical homes, even to the point of obsession, but not our internal homes. In other words, we have sloppy minds, filled with rage, guilt, finger-pointing, worry, and anxiety. Alas, we think, This is just the way I am. (Deal with it.) Having spent the last several years purposefully working on my interior, I’m happy to report that, no, it’s not just the way you are. Rather, if you spend your days feeling stressed or nervous or being rude and inconsiderate (and I know it’s not fun to admit these things about yourself), chances are it’s simply the result of past dramas and traumas (like, you’ve developed defense mechanisms) or because you haven’t learned a better way (or haven’t wanted to). It’s not because, although you may have been told this once or twice, you were born a wretch, totally rotten, beyond hope.

This is a complete lie. Utter nonsense. Sure, you may have some work to do, but–I promise–you were made from stardust. You are a mystery, and your life–as it is right here, right now–is worthy of your respect, gratitude, and awe.

Getting back to the idea of control, six years of therapy and consistent introspection have taught me that there are few things we don’t have SOME say in. Indeed, in all this time there hasn’t been one rough relationship or situation that I haven’t been able to do SOMETHING about. Sometimes this has looked like having a difficult conversation or distancing myself, and sometimes this has looked like changing my attitude. Or forgiving. Of course, the challenging part about admitting that you have choices even in gross circumstances is that you have to be responsible for the consequences of those choices. For example, recently I flipped off someone that I actually care about. Now, I did it with two fingers, but the look on my face said the second finger didn’t count. Anyway, I could have handled it better. But I’ve been upset with and hurt by this person for a while now, and this is the way my held-in feelings came out. So there’s been some relief. And if I ever have to own up to being a little shit in that moment, I’m ready to. My actions are never anyone else’s fault.

My life is mine to own.

Perhaps this is why more people don’t get into therapy or otherwise take a good, hard look at themselves. It sucks. I mean, who wants to be responsible? Tonight on American Idol there was a contestant in their mid-twenties dressed like an eight-year old. Indeed, they handed the judges a book they wrote–when they were nine. And whereas they had a beautiful voice and did well, it was clear that their inner child was running the show. Oh well. We all act like children or little shits occasionally. Because we all have parts of ourselves that still need healing and show up from time to time (daily) in order to let us know.

In times of crisis like these Mr. Rogers is often quoted as saying, “Look for the helpers,” and its our unhealed parts that like to hear this. But one of his staff pointed out in the podcast Finding Fred that that advice was meant FOR CHILDREN. As adults, we’re meant to BE the helpers.

So this means growing up. And this sucks.

I recommend it anyway.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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It’s enough just to be here.

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Together (Blog #1080)

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Doing my small part to #flattenthecurve and slow the spread of COVID-19, I stayed home today, as I plan to do tomorrow and for the foreseeable future, with a few exceptions (therapy appointments, etc.). This morning I slept in then gradually got going with some do-it-yourself myofascial release exercises. Then I ate breakfast and spent the entire afternoon reading. First I finished a book about continuous bilateral stimulation (The Art of BART: Bilateral Affective Reprocessing of Thoughts as a Dynamic Model for Psychotherapy by Arthur G. O’Malley), the technique my EMDR therapist uses during my EMDR (Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing) treatments, although he uses a different protocol than the author of the book does. (There’s more than one way to skin a cat.) Then I read a book (God-Man: The Word Made Flesh by George W. Carey) about how, at least according to the author, the stories in the Bible are actually allegories meant to explain the inner workings of the human body and, among other things, its endocrine and nervous systems.

Then my eyeballs fell out of my head.

This evening I finally finished a 1,000-piece puzzle I’ve been now-and-then working on for months. I can’t tell you how good this feels. Especially since the last puzzle I finished was missing a piece. (We can’t all be perfect.) Anyway, I plan to bask in the glory of this finished project before jumping right into another. Hell, maybe I’ll even have this one framed, you know, once I feel comfortable letting someone else touch my things with their bare hands.

Along these lines, in a lecture I listened to while working on the puzzle, Caroline Myss says that although it’s the physical nature of viruses to spread organically, it’s the energetic nature of epidemic viruses to spread among those who are most tribally, rather than individually, oriented. “There’s a physical weakness, and there’s a vibrational weakness,” she says. “Both are true.” What I personally find interesting about this statement, and about COVID-19 in general, is that an epidemic forces us to become more individually oriented because it strongly encourages us to set boundaries (as in, don’t shake my hand, or, as Sting said, don’t stand so close to me) and take care of ourselves (hands off, that’s MY toilet paper).

Alas, this is often the case, that we have to either get scared, sick, cheated on, or walked all over before we stand up for ourselves. All too often, we need an excuse (or we think we do), something others will understand, in order for us to set a boundary. I used to have a student that liked to hug people without their permission. And whereas I didn’t always mind being hugged by this person, there were plenty of times I did mind and let them do it anyway. If the old me were here today, he would say, “I would, but, you know, Corona,” the whole time thinking, Thank God. I can finally be left alone. Thankfully, now I don’t need an excuse. If I really don’t want to touch someone or let them touch me, I don’t. It’s that simple. Explanations be damned.

Although sometimes I do say, “I’d rather not.”

And whereas for years I thought it would be terrible–the worst thing ever–to stand up for myself and set boundaries with people, it hasn’t been. Granted, at times it’s taken a lot of courage and therapeutic support, but the world has yet to stop spinning. Granted, people have gotten upset and even cried (what can I say, I’m a heartbreaker), but, for the most part, the boundaries I’ve set have been–accepted. Once I quit a job and thought the person was going to get ever so mad, but they said, “Okay.” Now, did it sort of suck to find out that I was that-fast replaceable? Sure. But it felt even better to walk away from shit-paying work and have all kinds of time back to myself.

As this daily writing project is getting close to “the end,” one thing I’d like to make clear is exactly what I’ve done to grow as a person, improve my relationships, and heal. Not that I consider myself or any these things “complete,” but I do consider that I’ve come a long way over the last several years. And sometimes when I look at people who have improved their lives, I get the feeling that they’re leaving something out. Or at least making a long, difficult journey sound easy. Like, you can do it too in 8 easy steps! Hell, in an afternoon. This is why I’ve said repeatedly that The Path takes time and patience. It takes commitment. YOU take commitment (and you’re are worth it, by golly). This is also why I’ve done my best to share the specific titles of books I read, the teachers I listen to, and the therapies I try (the ones I both fail and succeed with). Not because I think the formula I’ve used will work for everyone, but because I want everyone to understand that 1) you have to work things out for yourself and 2) sometimes you’ve gotta kiss a lot frogs before you find a prince.

And then again, sometimes you don’t.

This being said, I will always and forever promote 1) remaining curious and hopeful, 2) educating yourself, 3) setting boundaries and being your own best advocate, 4) having both a personal and professional support network, 4) learning to trust yourself and your intuition, 5) having a spiritual practice, and 6) working with body-based practices and therapies (as opposed to cognitive-only ones) in order to heal. Having tried a hundred things, lately I’ve gotten a lot of mileage out of upper cervical care, myofascial release, and EMDR. (I could talk your ear off about any of these things if you’d let me.) I DID NOT get a lot of mileage out of iridology, although that post is consistently one of my most read. But I do believe there’s more than one way to skin a cat, and if another approach or combination of approaches works for you, fabulous. Truly, I’d love to hear about what you’ve tried and what’s worked and what hasn’t. (Drop me a line.) THIS is one of the benefits to breaking away from the tribe and individuating. Afterwards, you can COME BACK to the tribe and share what you’ve learned. Then we can all grow and be stronger, together.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"Not knowing what's going to happen next is part of the adventure."

Knowing (Blog #1079)

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What a long day. Yesterday I spoke about, upon my sister’s recommendation, stocking up on food and supplies for my family. For the next month. Because of COVID-19. Well, today was more of the same, since Walmart didn’t have many of the things on our list last night. This afternoon my dad and I went to Sam’s (which, incidentally, was seriously picked over in terms of chicken, beef, and paper products), Aldi’s (where we found chicken thighs at one location and dog food at another), and Walmart (where we finally found chicken breasts, ground beef, ground turkey, and pot roast). This after I went to Walmart (for a prescription), the health food store (for elderberries), and Target (for distilled water) this morning.

In the midst of my running around, I had an hour-long discussion about COVID-19 with my best friend Justin. I always call Justin whenever I want to know something because he’s super smart, well-informed, and level-headed. And whereas I don’t have time and it’s outside the purview of this blog to relay everything he said, Justin basically said, yes, stock up so that you can comfortably survive a quarantine, limit exposure, and avoid the madness. “The last thing you want is to be standing in line at the pharmacy waiting on your blood pressure medication with everyone coughing on you,” he said.

This makes sense to me. So thanks to my sister and Justin, I’ve now spent the last two days preparing. Granted some people refer to preparing as panicking, but there’s a distinct difference. There’s a lot of middle ground, room for common sense. Because I’ve been to half a dozen grocery stores in the last two days, my common sense tells me it’s smart to take this seriously. Pandemics don’t fuck around, especially if you’re in certain age and/or health categories, and neither do scared/worried/concerned citizens who want to be able to wipe their butts during a pandemic.

I’m trying to tell you that toilet paper is almost impossible to find.

But don’t worry. “French people have been living without toilet paper for centuries,” Justin said. “It’s called a bidet.”

As Crocodile Dundee said, “To wash your backside, right?!”

This evening my parents and I spent a couple hours rearranging our refrigerator and freezer and getting everything we bought today put on shelves in our pantry. Of course, my mom has already started a list of things we forgot. Ugh, you don’t realize how much stuff you use and depend upon until you start thinking that stuff may soon be difficult to come by. Anyway, I’m worn out. It’s been a full day of go, go, go, and I’m spent. At the same time, I’m still wired, thinking, What else do we need to do? Alas, at some point, after all our hand washing, all we can do is wait. Yes, we can be prepare, take good care of ourselves. (“Getting good sleep is essential to a strong immune system,” Justin reminded me.) But we can’t control everything, certainly not a virus. (They don’t historically take orders from well.) At some point we have to surrender. At some point we have to admit that we’re human. Vulnerable. Temporary.

Even if it’s not from this, sooner or later, we all have to go.

This being said, more and more I’m believing in our bodies’ phenomenal capacity to not only adapt but also to heal. Earlier this week I did EMDR (Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing) on a major car accident I was in when I was fourteen, which for over twenty-five years has left me feeling “vulnerable.” Well, the major message I got from my body during the EMDR treatment was, “We know what to do.” I wish I could adequately convey how deeply I felt and heard this, that my physical organism wanted me to know, “We have good instincts, we’re smart, we know how to survive, we know how to get through things and be better after the worst has happened.”

Of course, I was like, “Who, me?”

This really has been the longest journey, coming to trust myself, coming to believe that I’ve come equipped with everything I need to “make it” on earth. And yet I am coming to believe this. Not just because I read it in a book somewhere a long time ago or because my therapist says, but because I’ve experienced it in my being. And whereas I know the path I’ve taken isn’t the path for everyone (or even anyone) else, I do wish everyone this same knowing. Even if, in the beginning, it’s just a hoping. The conviction that no matter what happens, no matter how ugly things get, we’re going to be okay.

At least in our souls, if not in our bodies.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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We’re all made of the same stuff.

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If You Had to Leave the Planet Tomorrow (Blog #1078)

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It’s three in the morning, and–good lord–I need to keep this short. All day long I’ve been engrossed in conversations about and preparations for COVID-19. Perhaps this is rightly so. Cases are popping up, well, more than anyone would like. Consequently, schools are closing, small and large gatherings are being canceled or postponed, and people are washing their hands like crazy. (Some, I understand, for the first time in their lives.) This afternoon I went to the library and learned they’re wiping down their hard surfaces with disinfectant three times a day. Scrubbing the outside of books like it’s going out of style. “But what are they doing about the insides?” a friend of mine asked. “What if someone sneezes on the inside of a book?”

This, of course, is what’s got people so afraid. When it comes to viruses, we simply don’t know where they may be lurking. If we wanted to, we could drive ourselves mad imagining.

Historically in these types of situations (like flu season or Y2K), it’s been difficult for me to find the happy medium between panic and apathy. Like, I’m either completely paranoid or totally flippant. More and more I’m learning to find balance. To not scare myself to death, but to not bury my head in the sand either. Along these lines, I haven’t been overly concerned about COVID-19 until recently, despite my having a sister who’s been paying more than close attention to the subject for six weeks now. “I know you think I’m crazy,” she says. Then she adds, “But you don’t know what I know.”

Granted. I certainly don’t claim to be an expert on the topic. If you watch the news, you probably know more than I do, so let’s be clear–it’s not my objective to inform anyone about the facts. This being said, I have spent a fair amount of time in grocery stores this week and am listening intently to the conversations of friends and strangers, and here’s what I know–people are afraid. At the very least, they’re cautious. To this end, the toilet paper shelves at at least two of our Walmarts are completely barren, as they are at our Target. Tonight between eleven and one in the morning, upon my sister’s encouragement, I stocked up on non-perishables for me and my parents, and there wasn’t an ounce of disinfectant to be found. Otherwise, I didn’t have much problem finding things, although they were EXTREMELY low on rice, Ramen, peanut butter, and canned soups, fruits, and vegetables.

My sister says that stocking up isn’t panicking; it’s preparing. To me this makes sense. If you don’t get sick or quarantined, fine, you’ve got some extra food. If you do, you’ve got food period. Plus, the fewer trips to the grocery store you make, the more you limit exposure to yourself and others. And even if all of this doesn’t persuade you (which really isn’t my objective here, do what you want to do), there’s the fact that plenty of other people are stocking up, and therefore certain supplies will soon become much harder to come by. Toilet paper, for example.

Honestly, and I realize this may be future fodder for me and my therapist (the people, not the blog), one of my biggest concerns when I think about the possibility of getting COVID-19 is that it could keep me from finishing three consecutive years of blogging. I think, What if I got too sick to write, or died?! What if I couldn’t finish? But then I take a deep breath and remember that the truth is, it would be okay. I’ve done more than enough here.

In this sense, I think there’s benefit in contemplating your personal worst case scenario with respect to this thing. Because, let’s face it, we’re all leaving this planet one day, so the sooner we confront our fears, the better. This is part of the reason I’m so determined and vigilant to “deal with my shit” through therapy, this blog, EMDR, and other methods. I simply refuse to be a slave to my fears if I don’t have to. So I’m like, Let’s deal with them. Let’s get them out on the table. Let’s look our monsters in the eyes.

Let’s ask ourselves, “What am I really afraid of?”

One thing I’ve realized from thinking about the possibility of dying–and dying soon–is that if I did die, I’d leave this world satisfied. Not that there aren’t a hundred other things I’d like to do and accomplish, but I really do have a deep feeling of pride and satisfaction having (almost) completed this blog. Like, I believe it was and is part of the reason I’ve been put on this planet and part of my legacy, my gift to humanity, including myself. And I’ve done it. I’ve risen to the occasion, and I’ve done it. I haven’t shared every detail of my life (that’s never been the point), but I’ve created and given something true. Not that every word is gospel, I’m just saying this is honest and real, from my heart. And I would hope that everyone, if they had to leave the planet tomorrow, could feel this good about something they’ve done and the life they’ve lived.

Like, I did it right this time.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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We’re all made of the same stuff.

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