Radiant (Blog #297)

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I guess I wore myself out dancing yesterday, as I’ve had all the energy of a slug today. Not even a young slug–like, a retired one with a bad hip. That being said, I did clean up and shave my face, so I at least look like a human, even if I don’t feel like one. It’s midnight-thirty now, and I really need to knock this out in about an hour and get some sleep. I’m up early tomorrow and have a full day, then Mom’s mastectomy is Tuesday. So it’s go-go-go, then wait-wait-wait. Provided everything goes as planned with Mom, things should slow down later this week. One day at a time, sweet Jesus.

It’s okay to write a short blog, Marcus.

Tonight I went to dinner and a musical in Fayetteville with a friend who doesn’t want their face or name splattered all over the internet. This sounds more mysterious than it actually is. For dinner, we went to eat at Pesto Cafe, a quaint little Italian restaurant that has red-and-white-checkered tablecloths and everything. Y’all, our waiter had the waistline of a prepubescent teenager. The Levi’s label on the back of his pants said they were 25 inches around. I think my left thigh alone is that big. Anyway, he was a great waiter, mostly because he gave me a compliment. (It really takes very little for me to love you forever.) Here’s what happened. We’d just sat down and were ordering wine, and the waiter looked at me and said, “May I see your ID?” So I started reaching for my driver’s license, and he said, “I’m SURE you’re old enough, but you’re just so radiant.”

Radiant. (I’m radiant.) Can I start putting that on my resume?

Seriously, my friend rolled his eyes, and I couldn’t stop laughing out loud. No one has ever used that word to describe me, certainly not another man. (Not that I minded, but I’m not even sure this guy was old enough to drive.) Also, I’m pretty sure “radiant” is a 32-inch-waistline-or-above word, so maybe he just meant I had oily skin.

Regardless, he got a good tip.

Come to the cabaret.

The musical we saw was Cabaret, as in “Life is a cabaret, old chum. Come to the cabaret.” If you don’t know the plot, it’s a little naughty, but also delicious. It’s about a nightclub in Berlin just before World War II and showcases the lives of dancers, prostitutes, and their friends (and customers). The cast did a fantastic job, and since we sat on the second row, we got to see everything (even the spanking) up close and personal. The star of the show is the emcee, a character with obvious homosexual leanings. In the beginning of the show he says, “Leave your worries at the door. There are no worries here.” But by the end of the show, things have gone dark, and the emcee ends up in a prison camp because of his sexuality. For two hours it was “life’s a party,” then all of a sudden it was “life’s a bitch–a real bitch.” You could hear a pin drop in the theater.

Walking out of the auditorium, I thought, That wasn’t exactly the feel-good musical experience I had anticipated. But the more I’ve thought about it, the more I appreciate the realness of it, since bullshit like that actually used to happen, people being killed for something they can’t change about themselves. We’ve made a lot of progress, but it still happens today. This is the planet we live on. This is how we’re capable of treating each other, pinning a pink triangle on another person and labeling them “less than human.”

Pink triangles were what the Nazis used to identify homosexuals, Mom. Like cattle branding.

On the inside we’re all shining.

Fundamentally, I don’t believe anyone is better than anyone else. Maybe you have a smaller waistline than I do and maybe I can dance better than you can, but we’re all human here. Period. There is no more-than or less-than in the human category. Regardless of sexuality, skin color, or religion, we all get tired, we all fall down. Each of us has a heart that bleeds and breaks, and each of us has a heart so full of love that it’s impossible to exhaust it. Just when you think you can’t love someone or something anymore than you currently do, you find yourself doing exactly that. Sure, we forget it plenty of times, but on the inside we’re all shining. This is what gives me hope, knowing that we are all radiant.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Things are only important because we think they are.

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You Gonna Open That or Just Let It Sit There? (Blog #296)

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Wow. It’s three in the morning, and Daddy is worn to a frazzle. (“Sometimes Marcus refers to himself as Daddy,” my mom recently explained my dad.) I’ve been dancing all day. My friend Matt and I worked this afternoon for about four hours (on three different dances), and tonight we went to an out-of-town dance where we cut a concrete rug with several friends to high-speed rockabilly music. Y’all, it was a blast, but I was sucking air. I guess I’m a little out of practice (and I HAVE been sick lately). Plus, this was at a bar where people were smoking. I’m not judging, but I’m sure that didn’t exactly help with the sucking-air thing. Anyway, it’s been a long day, but a good day.

Now somebody come tuck Daddy into bed.

Last night my parents and I went out to eat with my aunt, who drove in from Tulsa to visit. I honestly can’t remember the last time all four of us were together. Y’all, it was glorious (and the food was delicious). For at least a couple hours we caught up, laughed at each other’s jokes, and told stories about the past we’ve all heard a hundred times. At one point my aunt leaned back in her chair and said, “I am so comfortable right now. You don’t get that with everybody.”

I’ve been thinking about that today, that comfortable feeling thing. Last night Matt and I stayed at our friend Bonnie’s house, and I slept in until one this afternoon. (I’m pretty sure the bed in the guest room I was in was made by magic elves. Talk about comfortable! I may have drooled.) Anyway, Bonnie made “breakfast” for us and kept us full of snacks throughout the day as we worked on dance stuff. Periodically she’d pop into the dance room and dance with me to demonstrate or Matt so he could practice. And up until Matt and I left this evening, the three of us gabbed away, talking about dance events, life’s challenges, and anything funny we could think of. We did a lot–a lot–of laughing. At some point, just like my aunt did last night, I realized how comfortable I was, how good it felt to be around “my people.”

You know–people who get me, who really get me.

Recently I heard a spiritual entertainer of sorts say that he used to have a pretty big ego. Followers would come to him with praise or blame, and he’d take it all personally. He’d think, I‘m great or I’m shit or whatever. He said he finally got over this when he realized all those people were just looking for God or some deeper connection to themselves–it wasn’t about him at all. I’m still chewing on this idea, but I think he’s on to something.

Tonight I spent part of my time at the dance worrying about what others were thinking, but mostly simply enjoyed being there because I love dancing. Like spending time with “my people,” dancing is one of the things that almost always “feels right” and brings me joy. I think this is a good thing–having people, places, and activities that make our hearts sing. Still, the more I learn, the more I think it’s important to clarify–it’s actually impossible for another person or thing to “bring me joy.” Like, no one can put joy in a box and give it to me for Christmas. Rather, all my emotions and feelings come from inside me–they’re gifts I give to myself. At most, friends and favorite hobbies remind me that those gifts exist, like, Hey, you gonna open that or just let it sit there?

This is the deeper connection I think the spiritual entertainer was referring to, realizing that no one person or thing can give you something you don’t already have. So if I can feel comfortable around my family or friends, or if I can feel joyous at a dance, then I know I can feel comfortable or joyous–period. I’m not saying moods don’t come and go, but I am saying that all of them–all of them–are manufactured from the inside out, not the other way around. This means they’re not dependent on our circumstances. If they were, then I’d be sitting here uncomfortable and non-joyous because my family and friends are gone and the dance is over. But I’m not. Rather, the more I get to know and express myself–the more authentic I am–the more comfortable and happy I am no matter where I go, no matter whom I’m with. After all, if you’re content with yourself and you’re always with yourself, then what’s the problem?

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Give yourself a break.

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Knee Huggers, Silver Foxes, and Something I Can’t Think of (Blog #295)

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I’ve had way too much coffee today. Way too much. Probably half a pot or more at lunch, then two more cups at dinner. I’ve been wired all day long. Buzzing, practically glued to the ceiling. Now it’s two in the morning, and my brain is shutting down–fast. Can. Not. Process. Maybe I can keep this short and “not too deep” so my brain won’t have to do too much–uh–what’s the word for what brains do?–oh yeah–thinking.

This might be harder than I–uh–uh–thought.

I’ve been both talking and listening all day long. This afternoon I had lunch with a former dance student, and we carried on for three hours. Then I was on a business call for an hour and a half, then I went out to eat with my parents and my aunt, who drove in from Tulsa to see my mom before she has her mastectomy next week. Then my friend Matt came to town for dance lessons tomorrow, and now he and I are at Bonnie’s house, since she’s hosting us for the night so we can dance here tomorrow. Anyway, it’s been a lot of catching up. It’s been good–great, really–but my body and mind are so confused. We haven’t had this much social interaction in one day in for-ev-er.

The room I’m staying in at Bonnie’s is full of Christmas paraphernalia. On the bedpost is an elf with bendable arms and legs that Bonnie named Festus. Matt and I have been doing generally inappropriate things with him, putting him in yoga poses like Downward Facing Dog and The Plow. Currently Matt has Festus wrapped around the bedpost like a pole dancer. I don’t have a picture to show you, but it’s like he’s hanging on by just his butt cheeks, his arms spread wide.

On the dresser are several little elves from the 1950s with these creepy little smiles on their faces. Apparently they’re called Knee Huggers because they’re hugging their knees. (Genius.) I said, “It looks like they’re all waiting for a colonoscopy–and are way too excited about it.”

Just a little bit ago Bonnie pulled out her collection of fur coats for show-and-tell and dress-up. Matt tried on Bonnie’s longest coat, and we decided he looked like a king from Game of Thrones.

Then Bonnie tried on this sort of white/grey number, I guess the first fur coat she ever bought. She said, “It came from a silver fox.”

I said, “That coat came from Anderson Cooper?!”

Hot, grey-headed, older men are called silver foxes, Mom.

This silliness is about all I’m capable of at the moment. I’m seriously fried. Bonnie and Matt have been telling stories, and I’m only half-registering them. Now it’s four-thirty in the morning, and I’ve absolutely got to end this. I told Matt, “I don’t know what to say.” He said, “Say, ‘Goodnight–I’m tired’ and end it.” I said, I’ve never done that before.” He said, “Well, first time for everything.” And despite the fact that all my blogs have an “insight” or “lesson,” I’m about three minutes away from taking his advice. Maybe some days don’t have to be complicated or deep. But I do know this–despite how tired my brain is, I’ve loved every minute of today–spending time with people I love, listening to their stories, telling them mine, and being silly. So yeah–Goodnight–I’m tired–My brain is empty, but my heart is full.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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We can rewrite our stories if we want to.

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That Which Isn’t Broken (Blog #294)

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Last night I went to bed at six in the morning. Two hours later I woke up in order to clean house because my parents were at the doctor’s office and I work better alone. That is, without my father looking over my shoulder. You know how it goes, too many cooks in the kitchen. Anyway, my plan was to spruce the place up for company coming tomorrow and be back in bed before my parents got back home–like a surprise, even though I’d told my mom this was my plan. So not like a surprise at all. Well, three hours later I was almost done. I just had a little vacuuming left, and–boom–in walk the parents. Busted–caught in the act of cleaning.

Okay. How do I say this? So I’m pushing the vacuum around, basically because my dad asked me to earlier this week. And I wish I were a saint and didn’t need any gratitude for fulfilling such requests, but I’m not, so I’m thinking a little “Thank you, Marc” would be nice. I mean, a lot of things would be nice, like 20/20 vision or winning the lottery, but sometimes the world isn’t a nice place. Well, you’d just have to know my dad, or know my dad and me, because he skipped over the whole gratitude thing and said, “It doesn’t look like you vacuumed under this rug over here–see how there’s a wrinkle right there?–that was there when we left.”

Wash the dishes, Cinderelly.

I said, “See, this is why I waited until you left to start cleaning.”

“So I wouldn’t be telling you what to do?” he said.

“Right.”

I’d like to extend as much grace to my father here as possible. This type of back-and-forth has gone on with us about one thing or another since I was a child, and I know he comes by his part honestly. I remember watching my grandfather come in behind my dad and redo things “his way” even when my father was an adult–like I am now. Also, I know that I’ve come in behind others and redone things in an effort to get everything “just so” or “perfect.” But it sucks to be the one it happens to, to be told whatever you didn’t wasn’t good enough, especially when you’re trying to do something nice for someone else. Maybe this is why everyone gives gift cards anymore–we hate it when our gifts are returned.

I promise.

This afternoon I took a nap. That helped. But then I got my blood work back from the doctor’s office. And whereas there were no major problems, my cholesterol was high. It’s always high, but apparently now it’s even higher, despite my mostly healthy diet. (I know, cholesterol is inherited, but I hate that.) Anyway, I already feel like my body is falling apart and that I don’t have any answers, so it was a letdown. I just feel like everything in my life is so–broken. To his credit, my dad said, “Marc, don’t worry about that–we can get that under control. And everything else is going to work out, I promise.”

Oh, and he thanked me for cleaning.

The rest of the day has been jam-packed. I worked on some therapy material, journaled, meditated, and spent an hour composing an email for a business meeting tomorrow. Around midnight I went to Walmart to buy groceries for both me and my parents. The cart was full. Midway down the juice aisle, I noticed that I felt absolutely wiped out, depleted. For a moment I started to push, to bear down and just “get shit done” in my usual fashion. The word that kept coming to my mind was “grit,” and I can’t quite explain it, but I know I’ve been doing it for a long, long time. It’s like my body tenses up ever so slightly, and I start to shut my feelings down, like, I just can’t do this right now.

This method of walking through the grocery store or life works for a while, of course. But the problem is that after twenty or thirty years, you’ve walled off so much of yourself that even you don’t know who’s inside you. There’s this whole range of emotions you no longer have access to. You end up being a mere shadow of who you could be. So tonight on the juice aisle, I told myself it was okay to feel whatever was there, to even cry if I needed to. I mean, I was wearing sweatpants in Walmart, so clearly my standards had already been relaxed. Oh hell, I thought, let’s go a little lower.

Well, I didn’t cry at Walmart. When I got home, Mom and Dad were asleep, so I put the groceries away solo. Then I futzed with the jigsaw puzzle we worked on over Christmas. Earlier today I glued it together in order to get it off the kitchen table. Wouldn’t you know it, the glue kind of clumped up in one corner, and a little fleck of the puzzle got ripped off. I fixed it with a black marker, but for a moment it was more than I could take. The straw that broke the came’s back or whatever. Maybe that’s how Dad felt about the wrinkled rug. Like, life ain’t easy and his wife has cancer, and can’t one fucking thing go right? Can’t I even control this rug?

Can’t I even control this puzzle?

I don’t know if y’all do this, but sometimes when I listen to a song I pretend someone else is singing it to me. Sometimes it’s a past or future lover, and sometimes it’s even God. For the last year or two, sometimes I pretend I’m singing to me, or like a part of me is singing to another part of me. I guess it’s like affirmations (you’re good enough, you’re smart enough) set to a steady beat. Anyway, my favorite song to do this with Rick Astley’s biggest hit. Never gonna give you up, never gonna let you down.

What can I say? I love the eighties.

After I got all my “chores” done, I put a chicken pot pie in the microwave because I’ve heard those are good for cholesterol. Then I put my headphones in and put the song “Lego House” on repeat. I fell in love with a new version of this song earlier this week, and it’s got a great “to me/from me” vibe. So I’m looking at my reflection in the microwave, the lyrics start to break my walls down, and the tears come. It’s dark in a cold December, but I’ve got ya to keep me warm. If you’re broken, now I’ll mend ya, and keep you sheltered from the storm. I’ll pick you up when you’re gettin’ down … I think I love you better now.

Brick by brick, everything will change for the better.

I can’t tell you how important I think this is, promising yourself that despite all the things in life that are beyond your control, you’ll never fully abandon yourself, seeing to it that the walls you’ve built up are brought down once and for all. It’s like you think you’re protecting yourself by putting up barriers, by stiffening your upper lip and gritting your way through life, by not feeling. However, you end up living life a stranger to yourself, and that sucks. But I truly believe that the more you let your walls down, the more you’ll like the person who’s been hiding behind them. Brick by brick, everything will change for the better–I promise. Then one day while looking at your own reflection, you’ll finally know–of all the broken things in your life, you’re not one of them–and you never have been.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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We’re all made of the same stuff.

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The Gifts We Give Each Other (Blog #293)

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Well shit. It’s two-thirty in the morning, and–once again–I’ve let the day get away from me. My routine is all effed up. I haven’t blogged or meditated or anything yet. I just took a selfie and turned my face THE OTHER direction. WHAT is going on? Is Mercury in retrograde? ( Mercury MUST BE in retrograde.) Hum–I just looked, and it’s not. But still–something ain’t right. I guess it all boils down to the fact that I slept later than normal, then spent my usual-routine time on a business call. Well, before I knew it, it was time to teach dance for a few hours, then I spent time visiting with my friend Bonnie, since I think it’s important to have a freakin’ social life. At home, my mom and got in a long conversation, which hasn’t happened in a while. “I just love talking to you,” she said.

Isn’t that adorable?

In short, even though I still have things to do and my brain currently feels like Cream of Wheat, it’s been a great day. I mean, it’s winter (which I hate, or at least strongly dislike), and I don’t feel well. (I may have mentioned this last part before. I can’t remember.) So it wasn’t THAT GREAT. But at least I got out of the house. Sometimes my dad says this, and I’m like, “Dad, going to the mailbox doesn’t count as getting out of the house.” But seriously, I can’t tell you what a difference this made, just a brief change of location. Also, it didn’t hurt that I was able to teach for a few hours, to focus on somebody else and help them in some way.

Today has been a shot in the arm in this respect. During the business call I had today, a friend asked me about marketing. “That’s not really my specialty,” I said. “I don’t think I have much to offer you.” But then we talked for a while, and they ended up saying, “I think you know more than you think you do. I’m really glad we talked.” Since then, I’ve been thinking about the marketing stuff, and maybe I do know more than I give myself credit for. I know a good bit about design and I’ve certainly read a lot about human behavior and how to communicate, which I guess is what marketing is. But the point is that for an hour on the phone this afternoon and three hours teaching dance this evening, I felt useful, like I was making a difference.

I think this is something we all need to be reminded of from time to time. I know it was a big reason why I closed the studio over a year ago. I wrote an essay in order to process my feelings and realized in the process that I felt like I had a lot to offer, but my particular community wasn’t interested, at least enough for me to pay my bills. I mean, let’s face it–Arkansas isn’t a dancing mecca. ‘Round these parts, it’s football over cha-cha every single time. Either way, having something to give but no one to receive it feels like shit.

It’s never a small thing to open your home or heart to another person.

More and more, I’m convinced we all have something to give, and it’s probably something most of us take for granted. You know, something that makes the biggest difference to someone else that we’re almost oblivious to. It’s a Wonderful Life and all that. Like, as much as my mom loves talking to me, I love talking to her. She’s a fabulous listener, like a really, really good one. She could get an award for paying attention. (Unless my dad’s talking, of course.) But really, she doesn’t interrupt, and that’s–oh my god–so rare these days, to actually be heard, to be able to talk about anything and know you’ll be accepted. Likewise, Bonnie and Todd’s house has become a place I can put my feet up. Tonight Bonnie fed me and gave me a glass of wine. Once Todd told me, “Just come on in. You know you don’t have to knock here.” For me, these gestures are anything but small. I guess it’s never a small thing to open your home or heart to another person, to make someone else feel welcome, to make someone else feel valuable and important.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Nothing was made to last forever.

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The Deepest Waters (Blog #292)

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Today my body has, once again, felt like seven-day-old leftovers–questionable. Like, this could go either way. On the outside, I look fine. (Damn fine, bitch.) But seriously. My face is a little red with histamine (or something), but it’s only noticeable if you stand close and know what you’re looking for. My nose is a bit snotty, but I’m breathing fine–that’s not a problem. But my energy is shit. I keep thinking, I know my body can feel better than this. I just know it. Come on, body, let’s do this. My body’s response to this pep talk?

Crickets.

Proudly, I’ve stayed off the internet. I have, however, been playing around with my vitamin regimen, laying off everything for a few days to see if that makes a difference, adding things back in. And whereas one day’s a little better, one day’s a little worse, outside factors like vitamins and diet don’t seem to make a difference. This is why you have a smart doctor, I keep telling myself. This is her mystery to solve now. Honestly, I’m eager for her to figure things out. I’m not-so-patiently waiting for my blood work to come back and for that referral to the immunologist, who hopefully won’t be booked solid. My doctor said I should hear something soon, but two-thousand years ago Christ said he’d be returning “soon,” so that word obviously means different things to different people.

Even so, Lord Jesus, come quickly.

In addition to feeling wiped out, I’ve also felt weepy today. Everything has brought on tears–YouTube videos, “that one song,” poems by Maya Angelou. Maya Angelou can almost always make me cry. (May she rest in peace.) I don’t know, maybe feeling like the bug on a front of a windshield provides the ideal environment for tears. Like a left-on light at a Motel 6 says to a weary traveler, perhaps a weary body tells grief and sadness, “You’re welcome here.” This is something I’ve been thinking about today, the “benefits” to being sick, the “gift” of getting knocked on your ass and being unable to stand up no matter how hard you try.

I recently read that all inner and spiritual growth begins with the cry, “Help.” This makes a lot of sense to me. When you feel well and everything is going your way, it’s easy to feel invincible, to think you can do everything by yourself. But when the wheels of your life fall off, when you can’t find the brakes, and when all you can do is hold on for dear life, you suddenly find yourself in the land of vulnerability, this scary, tender place with shaky, uneven ground where there’s nothing to hold on to. First you fall, then you fall some more. You can’t see where you’re going. You think, I’m in the dark here.

You think, Help.

My Reiki teacher says there are two types of people in the world. Those who like Neil Diamond and those who don’t. (Just kidding. That’s what the movie What About Bob? says.) My Reiki teacher says the two types of people are grief people and anger people, meaning that if you’re holding on to something inside, it’s either “a deep sadness” or “a deep rage.” As I understand this theory, healing requires letting go of that thing you can’t let go of. In my case, I’m a grief person. When I think about the injustices in my life and in the world, the waters run long before the fires burn. Not that I never feel anger. I certainly do. But anger, for me, is a shallow well. The Grief Well, however–that’s the one with the deepest waters.

Lately I’ve been wondering just how deep the sadness within me goes. Considering what I’ve lived through, I think, Pretty deep. Considering what my family has lived through, I think, Pretty fucking deep. With this is mind, I’m really trying to be patient with the healing process. Of course, some days, when I cry at the drop of a hat, I think, This again? Haven’t we dealt with this already? I mean, I’ve been in therapy for almost four years. I’ve read more self-help books in the last six months than most people read in a lifetime. I know what my “issues” are. But I’m finding that healing for the mind is very different from healing for the body. The body remembers–it holds on to everything. And whether it’s a deep sadness or a deep rage, your body won’t let go of it until it’s ready, until it’s safe to.

If you think only girls cry, fuck you.

This, I think, is the sweet spot of having done plenty of personal work. A lot of people think crying is something to be ashamed of. As a society, it’s something we hide and apologize for. Granted, it’s not “pretty” like smiling or laughing. And yet we were designed to express all our emotions, not just the socially acceptable ones. We weren’t meant to hold on to any of them. But having done enough of what my friend Elisabeth calls The Hard Work, I can easily say I don’t care what society says. If you think only girls cry or that crying is inappropriate for some reason, fuck you. Some things are too damn heavy to hold on to forever. (Maybe I’m a tad bit of an anger person.) This is the sweet spot I’m talking about, being strong enough to finally let yourself feel weak and vulnerable, being able to stand on shaky ground and watch your world fall apart having full confidence that it will eventually be put back together in a better way, knowing that the deepest waters are the only ones capable of carrying you home.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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You can be more discriminating.

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What Interests Me, What Interests My Body (Blog #291)

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It’s two-thirty in the morning, and I’m not sure how the day got away from me. Well, yes I am. Dad and I watched a documentary about Robin Williams, and I finished reading a book about meditation then made further progress in one about figuring out the most important thing you can do every day. (I’m in the middle of the book, so I still don’t know what that thing is, but I’m thinking, Breathe–breathe is the most important thing I can do every day.) Currently I’m propped up in my waterbed, which is not an easy thing to do. I feel like I’m going to fold in on myself, like a jackknife, any minute now. But at least it’s warm here. I love it. It’s like a full-body heating pad.

Winter, winter, go away.

I’ve blogged a number of times about the idea that the body can release stress and trauma through shaking or quivering. This is a process that happens naturally in many mammals, but humans often intellectually shut it off or aren’t aware they can access it. Anyway, there are some exercises, called trauma release exercises or TRE, that encourage shaking, and I’ve been working with them lately. (I’ve blogged about this most recently here.) Today I watched a video about trauma release exercises that said at first you have to go through this whole setup to fatigue your muscles and start them quivering (what a funny word), but after a while it doesn’t require much. This has been my experience. Sometimes my legs will start shaking with minimal encouragement–even when that’s not my intention. Not just randomly, like a seizure, but like if I’m doing yoga or some other stretching.

Today my legs started vibrating while I was reading in bed. I had them propped up a certain way, which I guess put tension on my adductors, and bam! All of a sudden it felt as if I was lying on one of those vibrating beds at a cheap motel. Not that I’ve ever done that. So I just let my body do it’s thing from the waist down and kept reading from the waist up. (Why not multitask?) Later I watched a video of someone else experiencing TRE, and I noticed that whereas only my legs jerked, their entire body jerked about, like a Pentecostal on the floor. (It really was fascinating to watch. Next time I’m breaking out the popcorn.) Anyway, I started comparing myself. I thought, It’d be really nice for MY back to vibrate like that. Maybe it would help my headaches. Am I broken from the waist up? Is something wrong with my back-shaker? Do I need to put another quarter in this thing?

For Christmas my friend Matt gave me an Amazon gift card. Talk about the perfect thing. You can buy everything (from A to Z) there. Plus, this boy loves to read–real books, digital books, you name it. And Amazon has them all. So this evening I went through all my Amazon wish lists, sifting through hundreds of books I’ve marked as interesting over the years. Whenever a title jumped out as “still interesting,” I jotted it down, along with the price. I knew I could buy several things, but I’d still have to think about it. When it was all said and done, there were several “serious” books and several “fun” books, including an out-of-print, limited-edition collection of dance photographs I’ve been wanting for over a year but haven’t been willing to “splurge” on. Well, I finally decided, Tonight’s the night. I bought all the fun books. I mean, I’m up to my ears in serious reading material, and–what the hell!–it’s Christmas.

Thanks, Matt!

As I scanned through my Amazon wish lists, I noted several books that I’m honestly not interested in anymore. Only a handful of them seem currently fascinating. I try to trust this. Sometimes I grit through a book because I “should” and am usually disappointed by the last page. What a waste of time, I think. But when a book seems fascinating from the get-go, when I’m actually enthusiastic about reading it–those are the books that make the biggest difference, the ones that stick with me. Joseph Campbell says, “Follow your bliss,” and I’m realizing you can’t fake your bliss. You can’t fake what excites you, or even what interests you. This applies to little things like books, as well as big things like work and sexuality.

You’re either into something or you’re not.

My friend that I had dinner with last night said she really believed the body had its own mind, its own wisdom. So I’ve been telling myself tonight that my body knows more about healing than I do. If it wants to shake its legs and not its shoulders, there’s probably a good reason for it. Maybe it wants to work on issues at the base before it moves higher. Either way, like me and some of those books on my wish lists, at this point in time, it’s simply not that interested. Maybe it will be interested in “shaking loose” other areas later. So I’m trying to be patient, trying to trust both my body and its inner compass, trying to let this mystery unfold one page at a time.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"Why should anyone be embarrassed about the truth?"

Me and My Dead Grandfather (Blog #290)

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It’s almost one in the morning, and I just got home from dinner with a friend, which turned into drinks at their house afterwards. I had a lot of bread, a lot of carbs. I’m confessing that as it were some sort of sin and I blame the media for that, always telling us what we can and cannot eat and that our bodies need to look a certain way. It’s not a sin to eat bread, Marcus. It’s delicious. A couple days ago my doctor said she thought that I was “yeast dominant.” I don’t think she meant this as a compliment. Anyway, my doctor didn’t say the yeast in my body was a bread-hungry monster the size of a gerbil, but that’s how I’ve been picturing it, this miniature blob growing in the pit of my stomach, with fangs for teeth, seething, “Feed me–feed me white bread!” So even though I enjoyed my burger and dessert tonight, I worried I was giving the yeast gerbil fuel for takeover and thus killing myself.

Oh well, it’s been a good life. Certainly a tasty one.

For the last seven or eight years, I’ve off-and-on practiced a healing art called chi kung, which is sometimes spelled qigong. A form of meditation, it’s a bit like tai chi, in that there are soft movements. But whereas tai chi is a martial art, chi kung is not–it’s specifically for helping the body heal and encouraging the flow of chi, which is what the Chinese call a person’s vital life force. Anyway, chi kung can get pretty emotional. Sometimes I laugh during the practice, sometimes I even get angry. But for whatever reason, I never cry. Maybe once in all these years, but just a drop or two. That is until today.

This next part could get a little weird.

Also, I should probably back up a minute.

It’s difficult enough to deal with family members who are alive.

There’s another healing art I’ve studied called Johrei, pronounced Joe-Ray, as in Joe, Ray, Me, Fa, So, La, Ti, Doe. Anyway, it’s not really “my thing,” but Johrei makes a big deal about ancestors. They say that pain gets passed down from parent to child, and that healing requires healing the whole family. So people who really get into Johrei set up altars, say prayers for the dead, and make a point to send healing energy to those who came before them. Again, I’ve read about this theory but have never felt led to do anything about it. I figure it’s difficult enough to deal with family members who are alive, let alone those who have bought the heavenly farm. Like, if you don’t have a physical body, you’re just going to have to wait your turn.

Okay. So today during chi kung, I’m just standing in my room doing these gentle stretches with my eyes closed, and I think about my dead grandfather–my dad’s dad. You know how people pop into your head sometimes without explanation. Well, I didn’t think too much about it, but I also couldn’t think about anything else. I didn’t open my eyes, and I’m sure I wouldn’t have seen anything if I had, but it felt like he was right there, as if he’d just dropped by to say hello, about five feet in front of me. Now, y’all, I’m really (really) open to strange things happening, maybe more than I should be, but I’m also skeptical. So I kept trying to “move on,” to think about something else, like my grandmother or my father. I thought, They should be here too. But my gut kept bringing me back to my grandpa, saying this wasn’t about them, at least directly. This was about me and Papaw.

When you hide your hurt, you can’t help but pass it on.

My intuition said that he’d “shown up” for healing. So I put one hand on my heart and stretched the other out in front of me “toward him.” Immediately, I began to cry. More accurately, I began to sob, something that rarely happens and almost never happens without warning. This went on for a while, and I kept getting the sense this had to do with the men in my family, with pain that went way back. I pictured scenes from my grandpa’s life–him being whipped by his father on their farm, him learning to smoke when he joined the navy, him being in the war. I always thought of Papaw as this big, strong ox of a man, but I realized today he hid a lot of hurt. Of course, when you hide your hurt, you can’t help but pass it on. It ends up seeping, sometimes exploding out. So I told Papaw today, “I’m sorry for what happened to you, and the pain stops here. The pain stops with me. As much as I’m able, I refuse to pass it on to anyone else.”

My grandpa was a good man, a really good man. Also, he made some mistakes, mistakes that affected my father and affected me. I can’t tell you whether his spirit actually showed up in my room today. I’m open to the idea that it did and I’m open to the idea that it didn’t. For me it’s not important, though personally I believe the veil is thinner than we realize. Today was about letting me know that he was doing the best he could and not blaming anyone who came before me. It was about forgiveness, love, and healing.

And if he really was there and listening, good. It’s been a while since we’ve talked. Lookin’ good, Papaw! But seriously, I’m out of the closet now, so let’s talk about those coveralls.

We don’t get to boss life around.

I’ve spent a lot of time lately “trying” to heal. Every morning I take vitamins, every afternoon I search the internet for answers, and every evening I do chi kung. And whereas I think it’s important to “unlock all your doors” and invite healing in, I also know we can’t decide what door healing walks through, should it accept our invitation. Maybe one day it’s the fewer carbs/less bread door. Maybe the next it’s the sobbing with your dead grandparent door. Either way, it shows up how it needs to, on its own terms. We don’t get to boss life around.

The mystics say we’re never hurt because of what someone else says or does, but rather because we disconnect from our own hearts. A parent takes a switch to your backside or you lose someone you love and you say, “I’ll never trust anyone else again. I’m done being vulnerable.” So you shut down–that’s the disconnect they’re talking about. If that’s true, then perhaps it’s the other way around. Perhaps healing is what invites us in, back inside ourselves where we can reconnect with our own kind hearts, hearts that are always ready to forgive and love 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.

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Neutral Mind and Cup of Prayer (Blog #289)

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It’s late in the day, even for me, and I’m just starting to blog. I’ve spent most the day in bed cuddled up with my Kindle, feeling generally–meh. I think that’s a technical term. In addition to having little energy, I’ve felt light-headed and shaky. I keep telling myself it could be worse–it could be a lot worse. Whenever I stand up and the room spins ever so slightly, I think, Enjoy the trip, Marcus. People spend money on drugs to experience the world this way.

Lucky me–I get the experience for free.

Yesterday when I went to Walmart to pick up my prescriptions (plural), the pharmacy only had one of them. “I think the doctor was supposed to call in two,” I said. The girl at the cash register checked with the pharmacist, and he said–nope–they only had one listed. “That’s okay,” I said, “I’ll just take the one and call the doctor’s office to see what’s up.” Well, I guess basic human kindness and understanding are in short supply these days, since the girl looked me right in the eyes and said, “Thank you for being pleasant.”

Assuming she was having a bad day, I said, “Are most people not?”

“No,” she said. “So thank you for being pleasant and good-looking.”

Talk about making my day. Two compliments at the same time, from a total stranger. I laughed and said, “You’re welcome.” Still, I thought, I only have control over one of those things, you know.

The book I started reading this afternoon is called Learning to Breathe Again: My Yearlong Quest to Bring Calm to My Life by Priscilla Warner. I’m halfway through, and so far it’s about meditation and other peace-of-mind and trauma-healing techniques the author explored in her effort to stop or minimize her panic attacks. In the beginning of the book, she says that everything started when a lady in a new age bookstore held her hands and told her was a calm person. Her friend that was with her laughed, but she realized the lady was right. Despite her panic attacks, she knew she was capable of stillness.

This part of the book touched me, since I think sometimes someone else has to see something in us before we can see it in ourselves. (Look, Ma, I’m pleasant and good-looking!) Once my massage therapist Rod told me that according to tantric numerology, my soul number is 4, which means I have a “neutral mind.” In tantric numerology, a person’s soul number is the day of the month they were born reduced to a single digit, meaning anyone born on the 4th, 13th (like me), 22nd, or 31st would also have a neutral mind. Whether this theory is true or not, I do think it’s true for me. I didn’t realize it until Rod pointed it out and I’m not always in touch with it, but now I absolutely know I have a neutral mind. I have the ability to be detached from things, other people, and results. I can take life as it comes.

(If you’re curious about what your soul number is and what it means, click here.)

The key phrase for someone with a neutral mind is “cup of prayer.” This means that if life hands you a cup, you don’t argue about whether it’s too full or not full enough–you’re simply glad that it exists and has been given to you. This can be difficult to do, of course, especially when life kicks you in the nuts and your body feels like crap. Like, Can I give this cup back? Is there an exchange policy? I’d really prefer something different.

A couple days ago I had dinner with my friend Marla, and during a conversation about difficult childhoods, I said that I often compared myself to friends who grew up “better off,” that sometimes I felt “less than.” Marla said, “Consider how deep and kind your childhood has made you, Marcus. It turned you into who you are, in a good way. Not everyone can say that. I think you were given a gift.” I said, “I like thinking of it that way–a gift.” Since then, I’ve been trying to see the gifts in my current circumstances, like all the time I’ve been given to finally get myself sorted out and heal on the inside. Sure, my body’s been sick lately, but I’m getting good help, most of it’s being paid for, and I don’t have other demands on me, so I can give this problem my full attention. This is the cup of prayer thing, being grateful for whatever your circumstances are, knowing that even if the cup you’ve been given is full of sour lemons, it can still be turned into something sweet to drink.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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All the while, we imagine things should be different than they are, but life persists the way it is.

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Solid Help, Solid Hope (Blog #288)

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I swear I didn’t intend for this to become a blog about my health problems. Whatever–this shouldn’t surprise anyone who knows me–I’m a hypochondriac. Plus, life isn’t predictable–you gotta go where it takes you. Anyway, here we go (again). Last night I only slept a couple hours and woke up at six-thirty this morning to drag my ass to see my new medical doctor, an internist. Thinking she might want to draw blood, knowing that blood is best drawn on an empty stomach, and not wanting to make the early-morning haul to her out-of-town office any more than I have to, I decided to skip breakfast. Y’all, sick, sleep-deprived, food-deprived Marcus is not a pretty picture. But what do you do?

I got to the doctor’s office about eight-thirty, a little earlier than my appointment time in order to check in. Folks, this clinic was pretty so-phis-ti-cated. I got to use an electronic device, a tablet, to fill out all the standard new-patient forms. Talk about fancy. They had free WIFI! (The password was–are you ready for this?–care4you.) Anyway, I was impressed from the get-go. There was even a human anatomy book in the exam room that I got to thumb through while I waited for the doctor. Seriously, there’s so much I never knew, like apparently the correct term for my butt crack is “intergluteal sulcus.” And that horizontal fold that divides your butt from your thighs, the one my friend Kenny calls your “undercut”? Well, that’s actually called your gluteal fold.

Isn’t medical science fun?

Just as I was learning all the proper terms for the parts of my butt, my new doctor showed up. By this time I’d convinced myself she was going to be like everyone else, that she’d just suggest more steroids and antibiotics for all my sinus issues. But that’s not what happened. For over an hour we talked about my medical history–constant sinus infections, body odor, warts, prostatitis–everything I’ve talked about on this blog and more. Even before our time was up, I was completely impressed. She listened, asked questions, patted my back in encouragement, and never talked down to me or used five-dollar words. She didn’t even make fun of me for taking a dozen vitamins or going to see a Native American witch doctor.

In terms of my sinus issues, which have been my major health complaint for twenty years, she said that if you took the germs in your nose and compared them to the germs in your butt hole (my phrase, not hers), the germs in your nose would be grosser. “It can get pretty filthy up there,” she said. “And some of your nasal passages are no wider than the tip of a ballpoint pen, so when things get inflamed, it’s no wonder they get clogged up and disgusting.” Anyway, her immediate prescription for my sinus (and allergy) issues was to put me on a different anti-histamine, as well as a histamine blocker, since apparently anti-histamines only stop histamine symptoms and not histamines themselves. (No one’s ever told me this before.)

She also started me on probiotics and wrote down the names of specific strands and brands to buy that target the sinuses. She said my bacterial biome was probably all fucked up from all the damn antibiotics over the years (again, I’m paraphrasing), and that was most likely the root cause of my body odor issue. I’ll spare you the point-by-point details, but for each health issue discussed, she either gave me specific things to do or told me not to worry.

In terms of my overall health, she ordered some blood work, and I had my blood drawn before I left. But the big thank-you-Jesus moment was when she said she’d like to refer me to an immunologist. “I don’t think you have a serious disease or disorder,” she said. “But some people are born with a part of their immune system missing or not working, and sometimes that shows up as chronic sinus infections or other problems like prostatitis, which is an odd thing for someone your age to have had. If that is the case, you can take shots, maybe just for a while.”

“Let’s do it,” I said.

Solid help and solid hope are quite the same thing.

That’s where we left it. I got back in six weeks. She said I should hear from the immunologist within two weeks– that if I don’t, call her. So even though I don’t have an immediate answer and don’t feel physically any different than I have recently, I feel extremely hopeful because it’s like I finally have someone squarely in my corner who’s willing to look at my overall health and address my issues in both a different and aggressive manner. I don’t love the idea of having a substandard immune system, but I’m excited about a possible explanation. Plus, I feel validated. Like, I’ve had sinus infections for twenty years, and someone is finally agreeing that that’s not normal. I’m not a hypochondriac! I feel like that dead guy with the headstone that says, “I told y’all I was sick.” More than anything else, I feel grateful, glad to have some solid help and solid hope, which I’m learning are quite the same thing.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Stop buying your own bullshit.

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