No Tornado, No Adventure (#553)

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It’s day seven working backstage for the national tour of The Wizard of Oz, and all the long days are starting to catch up to me. Physically, I’m trucking right along. Emotionally, I feel like I’ve been run over by a truck. I’m due for a good night’s rest, which, according to the science I’ve read, truly does reset your feelings to baseline. Alas, that’s not going to happen tonight, as we’ll be running the show until late this evening and have to be back early tomorrow for our first performance (for the local high school). But I think–I think–we get tomorrow night off, as well as the next morning. So maybe I can sleep in.

And since I know I’m not the only one who’s worn down and stressed out, maybe we can all sleep in.

I spent this morning painting and sprucing up more sets. However, one of them, The Oz Chamber, got called onto stage in the middle of my paint job, so it’s still not done. And whereas The Completionist in me can’t stand it, this is life–I don’t know when or even if the project will get done. Anyway, when The Oz Chamber got called in, I moved on to other matters. Specifically, I added more details to the flower pots I worked on yesterday and decorated a backup wand for Glinda (The Witch of the North), which is pictured above.

Here are yesterday’s pots.

Here are the same pots today.

Last night I dreamed I was driving home on the interstate and a fast-moving tornado was coming in my direction. I wonder if I’ll be okay, I thought, and then woke up. Of course, I assume the tornado image came from The Wizard of Oz, but I think it’s interesting symbolically, since tornadoes represent chaos and destruction. In Dorothy’s story, the tornado is this big, scary thing that rips her away from her family and the only world she’s every known. It’s terrifying.

I think of the worst things that have happened to me, and without exception they’ve all felt like tornadoes, these huge, strong, uncontrollable forces that have come into my life and ripped me away from whatever I held dear at the time. God, I felt so helpless when our house burned down, so powerless when my dad went to prison, so heartbroken when that relationship ended. But that’s what it’s like when a tornado comes into your life. One minute your feet are on solid ground, and the next minute you’re up in the atmosphere, floundering. And who knows where you’ll land–or if you’ll even land at all?

All you can do is surrender.

Personally, I think tornadoes get a bad rap. After all, had Dorothy not been picked up by her tornado, she never would have landed in Oz or faced her fears and overcome them. Clearly, she wasn’t doing that on her own, so she needed a nudge (a shove) in the right direction, and the tornado was obviously the only thing strong and powerful enough to separate her from her old way of thinking and being. Say what you will about the tornado, but it ultimately got Dorothy over the rainbow (to her true self). Personally, I wouldn’t trade any of my tornadoes, any of the terrible things that have happened in my life. Not a single one. Because they gave me my chops. They made me who I am. And I like who I am.

No tornado, no adventure.

I’m not saying you should write a thank-you note to the tornadoes in your life (because sometimes tornadoes are people–you know it and I know it). But I am saying that a story without a tornado (a little drama to shake things up) is no story at all. That is–no tornado, no adventure. And not that you should go inviting storms into your life (don’t worry–they’ll invite themselves), but consider that a storm may be the only force capable of prompting you to dig deep and unlock the power, beauty, and magic that you’ve been hiding within yourself–let’s face it–for way too long. This is, after all, how nature works. Only under pressure does a piece of coal turn into a diamond.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"When you’re authentic, your authenticity is enough. You don’t need to compare."

This Isn’t Brain Surgery (Blog #546)

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Things that have happened since we last spoke–

1. A good night’s rest

Last night I slept for over ten hours. I’m convinced that my recent commitment to going to bed earlier and getting more rest is doing me nothing but good. I’m starting to covet it, even protect it. Each night I use a pair of clamps to attach a dark blanket to the frame around my window. Then I lay another blanket in front of my door that leads to the hallway. In essence, I turn my room into a cocoon. It’s this odd ritual, specifically designed to keep the light OUT. At least until I awake.

When I started this blog a year and a half ago, I’d only write in the wee morning hours–between midnight and six in the morning. So much good has come from it. Now I’m convinced–the darkness* is where we heal ourselves. At least until we awake.

*the place where our shadow lives, that part of us we’ve ignored, stuffed down, or forgotten about; the place where solitude and stillness exist; the place where you can hear yourself and meet yourself; the cocoon in which you transform

2. A bizarre dream

Early this morning I dreamed I was taking a shower, a common dream motif for me. (I’m sure it has to do with coming clean, bathing in the waters of my consciousness/unconsciousness.) Anyway, then I was throwing up moths–yes, moths–the kind that circle around your front porch light. Hundreds of them. There they were on the floor of the tub, most of them (but not all of them) dead. Some of them, I think, were still stuck in my throat. A friend or doctor said something about a prescription, but I didn’t recognize the name of the medication.

What this all means, I’m not sure. I associate moths with irritation, since they’re always eating holes in my shirts or flitting around my face. My sense when I woke up from the dream was that it had to do with my currently upset stomach, so maybe there’s something about the hundred things in my life that are irritating to me and my internal desire to voice them (moths to mouth). As my therapist says, “Get the poison out.” Or maybe I’m learning to not keep everything inside (throwing up the moths) and am closer to healing (the friend or doctor) than I realize.

3. An encouraging number

After breakfast I stepped on this scales and was delighted to find out that I’ve lost between one and a half and two and a half pounds since beginning my exercise program and “moderate” diet ten days ago. And whereas I hadn’t worked out in a few days and was thinking of giving up “this shit” altogether (because I obviously can’t do things perfectly), the number on the scale reminded me that small actions, taken not perfectly but consistently, produce results.

As someone once told me, “It’s not what you do 20 percent of the time. It’s what you do 80 percent of the time.”

So I worked out. Later, I ate a sensible dinner.

This isn’t brain surgery.

4. A moment of courage, a moment of kindness

This evening I went to the house I’ve been cleaning up for friends in order to roll their trashcan to the curb for pickup in the morning. However, since I’m working all weekend elsewhere, I wasn’t sure about getting the trashcan off the curb. Finally, I worked up the nerve to ask the neighbors down the street, who were hanging out in their driveway, if they could do it. I thought, Marcus, It’s okay to ask people for help. So when one of the daughter’s (I’m assuming) rolled their trashcan to the curb, I introduced myself and asked her for the favor. Well, she just acted confused, like she didn’t know if she could help or not. Shit, I thought, this isn’t brain surgery; it’s a trashcan. (In her defense, I’m guessing she’s in school all day tomorrow and that’s why she was unsure. Plus, teenagers suck at communication.)

Thankfully, her dad (I’m assuming) came over later and said he’d be glad to roll the trashcan back up the driveway after the trash truck comes tomorrow. And he was so nice about it. “No problem, brother,” were his exact words.

Again–
It’s okay to ask people for help.
People are kind.

5. A magical book

Yesterday I started reading a book called Into the Magic Shop by James R. Doty, MD, and tonight I finished it. I absolutely adore books like this–ones you can be absorbed into, be spellbound by.

Doty’s book is part autobiographical, part informative (he’s a neurosurgeon, so this IS brain surgery for him), part instructive (on the topics of mindfulness and visualization). And whereas I’ve read so many books on mindfulness and visualization that I want to vomit up a hundred moths, this one is different in the best possible way. More than once I found myself weeping as Doty describes his painful childhood, his desire for a better life, the magical woman who miraculously showed up and taught him how to open his heart and have everything he could ever want, and what has ultimately brought him happiness. (Hint–it’s not what he thought it would be.)

Doty says, “It’s easy to connect the dots of a life in retrospect, but much harder to trust the dots will connect together and form a beautiful picture when you’re in the messiness of living a life.” Amen. For anyone (like me) who’s waiting and desperately wanting the dots of their life to be connected, Doty’s story offers hope on almost every page. It’s a glorious tale gloriously told.

I don’t know what else to say. Read it.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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One thing finishes, another starts. Things happen when they happen.

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On Seeing Constellations and Yourself (Blog #524)

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Last night my dad and I went to a concert in Van Buren. My sister and I bought the tickets for Mom and Dad for Dad’s birthday, but since the concert ended up being the same day as Mom’s surgery (which I blogged about yesterday), I went with Dad instead. And since my friend Bonnie graciously volunteered to come over and sit with Mom while Dad and I were gone, we didn’t have to “worry” about Mom being alone while we were out having a good time. Well, as good of a time as you can have at a gospel concert where the age of the average attendee is “one foot in the grave.”

Amen?

Anyway, when Dad and I got back from the concert, I took Bonnie out to eat as a thank-you (per Dad’s suggestion). Bonnie drove, however, which ended up being the perfect thing because Bonnie has a convertible and–after dinner–said, “You wanna go cruising?” Well, I of course said yes, and for maybe thirty minutes, maybe an hour, Bonnie both tootled and sped along the back roads of Van Buren.

Y’all, it was the perfect thing on the perfect night, and the majority of the time I had my head titled back toward the heavens, star-gazing. I learned recently that the constellations include nine birds, three of which can be seen from the Northern Hemisphere, and two of which are connected to the Summer Triangle, which are the three bright stars you could easily spot overhead if you were to look up any summer evening. Anyway, there they were–Aquila the Eagle and Cygnus the Swan (often called the Northern Cross)–soaring.

This afternoon I saw my therapist and brought up a couple of things that I’ve already mentioned here–the first being my recent dream about dead bodies, the second being my experience with someone being passive aggressive.

With respect to my gory dream about dead bodies (that were cut up in pieces), my therapist agreed that it was about all the “non-productive” parts of my psyche that I’m discarding (like people-pleasing, approval-seeking, perfectionism, and self-judgment). “And no wonder you were terrified in the dream,” she said. “This kind of work is unsettling, and God knows that working with me is NOT for the faint of heart.” Then she addressed another part of the dream that I didn’t blog about originally–the fact that there were cops from whom I was trying to hide the dead bodies. “That’s your inner authority,” she said, “the part of you that wonders, Is is REALLY okay to be myself?” Then she paused. “So what do you think–is it okay to be yourself?”

“Yes,” I said. “It most certainly is.”

With respect to my being DIRECT with someone who had been PASSIVE AGGRESSIVE, when I told my therapist that I’d called this person out, she almost jumped out of her chair and started doing the Macarena. Then, since this wasn’t the first time I’ve either been passive aggressive or had someone else be passive aggressive, we talked about the idea that certain challenges show up in our lives over and over again UNTIL we figure out the best way–the most direct, honest, and kind way–of dealing with them. This isn’t the perfect analogy, but it’s like the universe sends us “tests” until we get a “passing” grade–then it’s on to something else. “Since you’ve handled this situation so differently than you have historically, my guess is your future experiences with passive aggressiveness will drop by at least fifty percent,” she said.

Last night while Bonnie and I were out driving, I identified two constellations that I recently read about and had never seen before–Sagitta (the Arrow) and Delphinus (the Dolphin), both of which are located nearby or “above” Aquila the Eagle. Since all the stars in both constellations aren’t very bright (unlike me and you, dear reader), it took a while to find them. I kept thinking, Is that them? But after comparing the sky to my handy-dandy constellation phone app, I was sure of it–I’d found them. The best part? I looked for them again tonight, and they’re still there!

I’m coming to think of parts of my personality this way, as constellations I’m just learning to see clearly. Not that they weren’t there before–those parts of me that are direct, bold, and self-accepting–they just weren’t defined or highlighted. And here’s the most beautiful thing about seeing a new constellation or a new part of yourself–you can’t UN-SEE it ever again. Just as the summer sky will never not include the Dolphin and the Arrow for me, my personality will never not include, or at least have access to, its stronger, healthier aspects because I can see them now. I can see–me–now.

[Tonight’s star/constellation image is from the Stellarium app. For a bigger, better version, right-click the image and select “Open Image in New Tab.”]

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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We don’t get to boss life around.

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On Dreaming of Dead Bodies (Blog #519)

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I’d intended to do nothing today. Well, nothing except read, that is. You know, go easy on myself. Maybe take a nap, rest. And whereas that’s exactly what happened for the first part of the afternoon, the rest of the day has gone to pot. For one thing, our air conditioner broke, which means the house has been getting gradually hotter with each passing hour. And if that weren’t enough, our freezer stopped working too, which I noticed when I walked into the garage and stepped into the River Jordan.

“It probably just needs defrosting,” Dad said

“Like my sex life,” I replied.

So that’s been the evening. Right in the middle of dinner, the air-conditioner repair man showed up, then the freezer thing happened. So everyone’s been running inside and outside, the guy working on the air conditioner, and me, Mom, and Dad transferring all the food from the outside freezer to the inside one–cramming-cramming-cramming everything from TV dinners to chicken wings inside and–since all of it was covered in water–making a big damn mess in the process. Then we dragged the freezer into the driveway, hooked up the water hose, and sprayed the caked-up ice inside until it disappeared like all my hopes and dreams.

Just kidding.

Sort of.

Now it’s seven in the evening, and I’m straight-up irritated, mostly because I’d rather be reading a book or visiting some friends who invited me over earlier. But instead there’s the freezer project and this, the blog project. I mean, some days writing is a real source of inspiration and relief for me, and other days it’s just a pain in my ass. Like, there are times I’d like to chunk my laptop across the room and give the internet my middle finger. Seriously, I don’t recommend trying to become a better person. Just watch Netflix. Self-help and personal growth, let along sharing your every thought with the entire virtual world, is for the fucking birds.

And as if ALL THIS weren’t enough to get me worked up, now there are a million flies circling around me, the result of the back door being opened and closed so many times this evening.

Shoo, fly, shoo.

For two out of the last three nights, I’ve dreamed about dead bodies. In last night’s dream, I was trying to dispose of a dead body, first in a large body of cold water, then in a trash can. And whereas my therapist says dreams like this are good because dead bodies represent the discarding of no-longer-useful parts of one’s personality, they’re still not fun dreams to have. Again, in last night’s dream, there was an entire row of giant trash bins filled with trash. That’s good because it means I’m discarding a lot mental and emotional junk I don’t need. But still, there was a dead body–and all that trash–there was even blood. Talk about gross. Not exactly the best way to start your morning.

I say all this to point out–once again–that personal growth isn’t everything the books in the self-help aisle make it out to be. It can be a real bitch at times–ugly and uncomfortable. Because what do you do when a part of you–even a not-so-useful part of you–dies? What do you do when you’re USED to having a lot of mental and emotional STUFF around, then suddenly it’s no longer there? Personally, I find that part of me wants to celebrate The Great Letting Go, and part of me wants to hang on. Ugh. It’s so disorienting, so frustrating. You think, If I’m not that person with all that trash, WHO am I? And WHAT exactly AM I becoming?

I still don’t have an answer.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Life is never just so. Honestly, it’s a big damn mess most of the time.

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After the Breaking (Blog #516)

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

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

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

There. That was easy.

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

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

In other words, the universe repeats itself.

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

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

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

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

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

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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You've got to believe that things can turn around, that even difficult situations--perhaps only difficult situations--can turn you into something magnificent.

"

The Bottleneck (Blog #508)

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Last night I dreamed that I was running in Dallas–of all places–and couldn’t quite pick up my feet. I’ve had dreams like this before, like, I’m not moving as fast as I want to. But this time I was lost. I couldn’t quite find where I was supposed to be going (my hotel, I think). I checked my GPS, and it provided the correct route–a straight shot up the interstate. HOWEVER there was a huge traffic jam–a bottleneck–six lanes of traffic trying to squeeze into one. Finally it cleared up. Just like that, all the cars and me (on foot!) were flowing through. No longer lost or jammed up like we were before. On our way as if nothing had happened.

Currently it’s four in the afternoon, and I’ve only been up for a couple of hours, since–again–I worked late last night helping some friends pack for an upcoming move. We’re getting SO close to done. As we’re working again this evening and I have a myriad of other things to do before then, I seriously need to keep this short. I feel like I’ve been saying this a lot lately–I’m in a rush–I don’t have to write–I don’t have time to read–I don’t have time to wipe my ass. Ugh. It’s so frustrating. No wonder my stomach has been upset.

“It’s stress,” my friend, who’s a pharmacist, said last night. “Everything is stress.”

No kidding. If I had to describe last night’s dream in one word, that would be it–stress. It’s just the worst sensation to feel like you’re not moving fast enough or like you’re all jammed up. That’s what it feels like lately–the bottleneck–like I have so much going on, and I’m not sure any of it’s getting me anywhere. Plus, my body still isn’t back to normal. I’m dragging, forcing myself at times. Last night one of my friends said, “How are you functioning?” and I said, “Willpower. It’s just willpower.”

In last night’s dream there was a brief pause, something that happened between the huge traffic jam and everything clearing up. I don’t know, it was like a rest, a break in the bottleneck, when everyone collectively realized how crazy it was to force-force-force the situation rather than letting it flow. And that’s when it worked, when we stopped trying to push every little damn thing. That’s when we were on our way again. So maybe I can stop pushing too. Maybe I can stop trying to run so fast and simply walk instead. Or maybe I can stop completely, watch other people go first, and think, I’ll be on my way soon enough–yes, it will be just like that–as if nothing had happened.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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We all need to feel alive.

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Beautiful, Indescribable You (Blog #498)

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It’s 12:45 in the afternoon, and I’ve been awake for about an hour. I’ve already made breakfast. In about two hours I’m supposed to start work–helping some friends pack for their upcoming move–so I’m doing my level best to knock this out in record time. What would that be nice, Marcus, to write for twenty minutes and stop? (Yes, yes, it would.)

Currently I’m elated because I DID NOT wake up in the middle of the night last night shivering and sick like I did the night before. Granted, my stomach is still “meh” and I don’t have a boatload of energy, but hey–I do appear to be on the mend.

This is cause for celebration.

Okay. A few things that have been on my mind today–

1. The language of dreams

Yesterday I blogged about the different languages that our right and left brains speak, specifically that the right brain speaks in pictures, myths, and dreams. Then last night I dreamed that I was in a church, a dream location that comes up for me–uh–occasionally. A number of key players in my life were there with me, including—are you ready for this?–my cell phone, which I was recharging. Then there were a few characters I didn’t know but was getting to know–one that (I think) represents my inner writer, one that represents my inner healer.

Normally, I would spend more time analyzing this dream. At first glance, I assume it has to do with the sacred within me (the church), taking time to rest (recharging), and owning my different archetypes and abilities (writer and healer). However, one of my takeaways from the book I read yesterday is that your left brain doesn’t HAVE to analyze and make sense of your right brain’s communication. In other words, you don’t have to understand your right brain’s images–BECAUSE IT ALREADY DOES. It creates the images, it understands them.

So for now it’s enough for me to visualize the images from last night’s dream and to meditate on them, trusting that my right brain can and will use them appropriately–for change, transformation, and healing.

2. The size of the universe

At breakfast my mom showed me a 60 Minutes special about the Hubble Space Telescope. First, wow!–the universe is frickin’ big. Second, the special explained that you and I are literally made of star dust. The calcium and iron in your body and blood? That comes from the creation of galaxies. So the next time you look up in the night sky, remember–that’s where you were born. (The bad news? You’re MUCH older than you think you are.) But if you’re ever having a rough day (I’ve heard people have them), think about this–you’re one and the same with the cosmos–never separate–and just as large and as deep and beautiful and mysterious as anything else in the sprawling heavens.

You’re indescribable.

3. Hello, I’m sorry

Big props to my mom this week, since a few days ago she introduced me to SOMETHING ELSE on television–a singer named James Graham on The Four. In the show’s final episode, James sings Adele’s “Hello,” and I can’t stop watching it. First, he absolutely kills it. Not only does the audience know it, but the judges do too. I love watching their faces. And the girl he’s competing against? She knows it most of all. Her face says, “I’m toast.” But secondly, the song itself is powerful. It’s obviously about one ex-lover apologizing to another, but I often think of it as being about part of me apologizing to another part of me–my adult to my inner child, my left brain to my right brain.

Hello, it’s me / I was wondering if after all these years you’d like to meet / To go over everything / To tell you I’m sorry for breaking your heart

Because ultimately, I believe that’s where most our pain comes from, when we disconnect from our own loving hearts, when we stop listening to our inner guidance and dreams, when we forget how beautiful we really are.

[Note: When I posted this originally–about an hour ago–I got the right and left brains switched up, stating that the left brain thinks in pictures. It’s fixed now. The right brain is the one that does that.]

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Healing is like the internet at my parents’ house—it takes time.

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On Life’s Seasons (Blog #484)

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It’s nine in the morning, and I’m still in Somewhere, California. I survived the night and actually got some rest. I just went down to the lobby to grab coffee, and this motel appears better in the daytime. Not great, but better. From the looks of it, the only thing this city offers is a pit stop. Just a place to gas up and rest your head on your way to a better place. For me, that better place is San Francisco, which I plan to roll into later this afternoon. I’m blogging now so that I can have time to get there, maybe explore some used book stores, and find my bearings before the dance tonight.

Not last night but the night before, I dreamed that I was in a large, decorated warehouse that was mostly green–green walls, green comforter on the bed, green everything. Hanging from the ceilings were a few orange and red flags. The owners asked my opinion, and I said, “There’s too much green. It needs balance. More fall colors.” Later, I was in a swamp, and several people were carrying a casket. (This is where things get violent.) Then I took out a shotgun and shot the pallbearers. Blew their faces right off.

It was an absolute blood bath.

Frightening, I know, but–upon waking–I actually thought that last part was delightful. My therapist says that dead bodies in dreams represent the parts of your psyche that are no longer beneficial or helpful, and in mythology blood always represents new life. So the fact that I was taking a shotgun to the pallbearers (whom I generalize as “not useful” and just there for looks), tells me that I’m done with being fake (both personally and with regard to others). Give me something new, something real.

I’ve been reading about the stars and seasons lately, and there’s a lot of talk about festivals. In spring we have easter to commemorate new life, and in fall there is (or at least used to be) Michaelmas, a celebration of the Archangel Michael that honors the end of the growing season. In the Jewish tradition there’s Passover in the spring and the Feast of Tabernacles in the fall. But the point remains the same–there’s a time for spring and a time for fall, a time to be born and a time to die. Balance.

Endings are just as important as beginnings.

With this background in mind, I think the two dreams I had were communicating the same thing. In the first one, part of my consciousness was saying, “There’s too much growth (green) in your life. You need more death (more fall colors.)” In the second dream, it was more obvious. Grab a shotgun! I don’t mean to be morbid here. It’s not that I’m celebrating death. But I am starting to recognize that ENDINGS are just as important as beginnings. In fact, they’re necessary for beginnings. If I hadn’t divested myself of most of my worldly possessions, how would I have room for whatever is coming to take their place? How could the spring occur without first the fall occurring and then the long, cold winter?

Primitive people recognized this fact. It’s gross, but it’s why they sacrificed, why they were cannibals. Death makes room for more life. Endings create beginnings.

Sometimes I worry that I won’t get to wherever it is that I’m going. It’s not that I don’t see progress in my interior and external life, but it’s like I get to a pit stop and think, What if I don’t get to my better place? But surely the planets never think this way, wondering whether or not they are in the right place at the right time. I’m in such a hurry to be “somewhere else,” to get to my summer, my sweet spot, but I’m reminded that even the earth couldn’t rush her seasons if she tried. So I’m going to try to follow her example, to stay steady and sure in my orbit, to let my seasons come and go, to give each one its due respect.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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if you're content with yourself and you're always with yourself, then what's the problem?

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In Unexpected Places (Blog #457)

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Because I have other things I’d like to do besides blog, today I’m keeping this short by writing a list of things for which I am grateful. Although all related to the last twenty-four hours, they are in random order.

1. The “Do good” wall

The above photo, me in front of a wall that says, “Do good,” was taken just down the street from where I’m staying in Springfield. I used a brick I found nearby to prop my phone up for a selfie, then spent fifteen minutes trying to take a picture of myself doing a cartwheel. Proof that you don’t need money, Marcus, to enjoy yourself.

But it wouldn’t hurt, would it?

2. Understanding

This morning while reading a book by PL Travers (the lady who wrote Mary Poppins), I came across this phrase–long stretches of nothingness. It reminded me that it’s normal, perhaps necessary, to have times in your life when it feels as if nothing is happening.

3. Recognition

After lunch today, I told my friend Matt that the truth was that all sorts of things are happening in my life right now. They’re just on the inside, where they’re not as obvious to other people.

4. Chocolate Cake

Last night after cleaning the studio downstairs, we all had chocolate cake. Anne let me lick the knife, then this morning while reading my book, I had another piece for breakfast, with coffee. My pants are tight, but life is good.

5. Sleeping in

I slept in until noon today.

6. Dreams

Last night I had a series of dreams, all of which I think are connected. I don’t want to go into them, but the dreams ended with my telling two people in the last dream (who looked good on the outside but were also lying and manipulative) to “GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!” This was in an office, and I even waved my arm dramatically toward the door. Then the office manager came in and said, “Would you calm down? There are women here.” And I said, “It’s over!”

I’m still analyzing it, but I love this dream because it shows that I’m emotionally and mentally done with bad behavior, even with “acting right” or listening to my inner office manager. And as much as “Nice Marcus” would never scream or slam doors, I’m recognizing that there’s more to a person than “always being nice” or people-pleasing. Anger has its place. Sometimes a good, strong HELL NO is required. Opinions be damned.

As a t-shirt I saw this afternoon said, “If I gave a shit, you’d be the first person I’d give it to.”

7. This cat in my bag

Before falling asleep last night, I noticed Anne and Andy’s cat Frankie sitting in my luggage. Adorable.

8. New foods, old friends

For lunch my friend Matt took me to a restaurant called Van Gogh’s, a dutch place. I had some sort of pancake with gyro toppings. It was stupid, as in delicious. Matt–as always–was kind, a good listener, and generous.

9. This knocker on this door

Walking down a local alley this afternoon, I saw a brass knocker on a teal door. I found it stunning, something beautiful in an expected place. Now I think, What other wonders await in unexpected places?

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"It's never a minor thing to take better care of yourself."

All Your Made-Up Problems (Blog #455)

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The last twenty-four hours have been fabulous. Last night my friend CJ and I took her kayaks out on Beaver Lake, which has temporarily been renamed OmaHog Lake until the end of the college world series–I think–I don’t know–it’s a sports thing–I’m gay. Anyway, I left my phone in the CJ’s truck (no one called, anyway), forgot about everything else, and we paddled around for a couple hours and watched the sun go down. Then, like Michael, we rowed our boats ashore (to an island). There, under the light of the full moon, we ate fried chicken and I drank beer.

After eating, we paddled the kayaks back across the lake, me going backwards so I could watch the stars and identify constellations. Back at CJ’s farm, where I slept over last night, we sat on her porch and ate ice cream. Far from the city and artificial lights, with my eyes fixed on The North Star (Polaris), I was finally able to spot Cepheus, The King, which rotates around Polaris and is just counterclockwise to and above Cassiopeia, The Queen.

CJ said, “Why do men always have to be on top?”

Since the constellations are like a clock that runs backwards, the good news is that this situation is reversed in the middle of the day. The Queen is on top of The King. Of course, because the sun is shining, no one can see it.

This morning I slept in, took my time getting around. After making a light breakfast and a cup of coffee, I scrubbed down the kayaks, per CJ’s request. Then I read a book, put the kayaks away, sun-bathed, took a shower. Now I’m blogging, trying to keep things short because I’m growing weary of long posts and don’t want this day to be anything but easy and relaxing. Plus, I’m going to a dance later this evening, so I need to point my car in that direction.

Last night I dreamed that my therapist asked me, “Do you hate yourself?” The question was so jarring that I woke up. I remember lying in bed, maybe at five this morning, thinking, NO, why would you even ask that? Still–obviously–inquiring minds want to know. Specifically, my mind, or it wouldn’t be asking the question (in the form of a dream). So I’ve thought about it today. As I sun-bathed and picked my body apart–this is too big, that’s had too much fried chicken–I asked myself, Do you hate yourself?

No, the answer is no.

Then stop beating yourself up, Marcus.

Fresh off yesterday’s post, I realize that life isn’t black or white. You don’t fully love yourself or fully hate yourself. There’s room for gray, that place where you love your hair (I love my hair) and hate–hate’s a strong word–dislike your waistline.  And yet, how would my moment-to-moment experience change if I were to fully embrace–to love and not just tolerate–all parts of my body and my experience? Surely it would make life easier–better–something akin to spending an evening on a lake under the stars, something akin to forgetting all your made-up problems and enjoying this present moment.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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You can be weird here. You can be yourself.

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