The Fires of Transformation (Blog #490)

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Last night I stayed up reading a book called A Headache in the Pelvis, about how tension in the muscles of the pelvis can cause (among other things) bacterial and non-bacterial prostatitis, frequent urination, and low-back and abdominal pain. The book proposes a number of relaxation and stretching exercises to help with these issues and says that the key to relaxation is (ironically) acceptance of tension. In other words, don’t fight it. Let it be. So both last night before going to bed and today while traveling, I’ve been trying this technique–paying attention to my aches and pains while breathing deeply and trying to listen to what they may be saying.

Slow down, baby. You don’t have to work so hard.

This morning, after packing all our shit into my car (Tom Collins), my aunt, my parents, their dog, and I left my sister’s in Albuquerque. (I stepped in the dog’s shit just before we left. That’s a good omen, right?) Now we’re at my cousin’s in Oklahoma City. Currently my mother and I are sitting in the dark in the living room, since my father’s sleeping in one of the recliners in here. I think we’re all a bit worn out from the trip. Tom Collins is a comfortable ride, but thanks to our massive amount of luggage (and the coolers of drinks and bags full of snacks), we were rather cramped. Plus, it was over eight hours on the road. And personally, I’m rather sick of the road.

As my aunt said, “Next time, we’re flying.” (My dad replied, “Donna Kay, you’re not flying anywhere. Do you know what it costs to check your baggage these days?! The way you pack, you’d have to win the lottery just to afford the luggage fees.”)

To my dad’s point, my aunt DOES have one carry-on-sized suitcase filled completely and exclusively with her makeup.

I spent the entire trip today with my nose in a book about alchemy and mysticism. The book itself is concerned with historical art that conveys alchemical and mystical ideas and concepts, but what’s particularly fascinating to me is the idea of transformation. Not literally turning lead into gold, but symbolically turning lead into gold–taking something base and ugly, something that at first weighs you down, and turning it into something pure and beautiful, something that sets you free or gives you new life.

Incidentally, in classical alchemy this process of transformation was sometimes seen as occurring in five specific stages that are depicted in many paintings as corresponding birds–the raven, the swan, the peacock, the pelican, and the phoenix. (How cool is that?)

Take your challenges and turn them into the source of your strengths.

As I see it, we all have lead in our lives. Put another way, we all have emotional baggage we take everywhere we go. (Can you imagine if the airlines charged for THAT?) Here on earth, it’s simply the way it is; everyone gets weighed down. But honestly, I think we were meant to travel light, to let go of tension, of physical possessions, of emotional baggage. Think about it–we come here with nothing–we leave here with nothing. This is what turning lead into gold is about–traveling lighter–not lugging around more shit than you have to. And not that you suddenly forget your life experiences or magically make them disappear, but you find a way to process them so they don’t weigh you down like Jacob Marley’s chains. You take your challenges and turn them into the source of your strengths. Like the phoenix, you burn yourself up in the fires of transformation and rise anew from the ashes.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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

"

Don’t Worry, Mom (Blog #483)

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It’s just before midnight, Pacific Standard Time, and I’m in Somewhere, California. It took me a solid fourteen hours of driving to get here from Albuquerque, including one hour stuck in traffic due to construction. I’m absolutely ready for bed. So much so that it doesn’t matter that I’m in a cheap motel and completely disgusted by the bad decor and awful lighting. Granted, I AM wondering how many people have been murdered in my room, but I don’t think that will keep me from getting a decent night’s sleep.

Don’t worry, Mom. I’m exaggerating about the motel. Although I DID have to walk to a gas station to get my own shampoo because all they gave me was a quarter-sized bar of soap. (I could have driven to get it, but I’m SICK of driving.)

The long haul out here went well. I listened to three lectures by Joseph Campbell, two marketing podcasts by Seth Godin, two origin-of-dirty-words podcasts, and a lot of Madonna and friends. The scenery in Arizona was stunning, despite the thin air at 7,000 feet altitude. (I didn’t take any pictures.) The desert heat got up to 118 degrees, at least according to the outside thermometer on Tom Collins (my car). Thank God for air conditioning. Parts of California smell like the Arkansas/Oklahoma State Fair–like barnyard animals or wet socks. But where I am now is–decent.

When I got stuck in traffic, Google Maps told me that I was in an eight-minute slow down. Then it bumped it up to nine minutes, then ten. But it lasted a freaking hour. (Come on Google, get your act together.) Thankfully, no one was in a crash–it’s just that they were doing repairs to the two-lane highway, so it temporarily had to become a one-lane highway. Still, it was bumper-to-bumper, and the whole situation made me so nervous that–as my dad says–you couldn’t have driven a spike up my butt with a sledgehammer. The silver lining for me, however, was that I got to watch the sun go slowly down over the desert. Gorgeous.

After the sunset, I noticed myself getting nervous. Maybe hyper-aware is a better phrase. At home I love the dark, but California is foreign territory for me. I haven’t been here since I was a child, and I’ve NEVER driven these roads. You know–what if something happened? (Don’t worry, Mom, I’m okay.) Plus, I’m alone. Not that I can’t take care of myself–I DID buy my own shampoo!–but it’s always easier when you’re with another person. But again, other than the terrible lighting in this tawdry motel, things are dandy. I’ve eaten, locked the door, brushed my teeth, and am ready for the la-la land. I’m excited about the dance event this weekend. With any luck, I’ll have an easy morning, a few more hours on the road, and I’ll be THERE.

I’ll let you know how it goes.

Good night.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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If you're not living a fully authentic life, a part of you will never be satisfied.

"

Christ Between the Two Thieves (Blog #481)

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Currently the only pair of swim trunks I own are short by anyone’s standards. They hit me about mid-thigh, higher if I’m sitting down. They’re orange and white, and I personally think they’re rather “gay.” (Since I’m gay too, it’s not a problem.) That being said, the more tacos and beer I eat and drink, the more I think, These shorts COULD use some more fabric. Anyway, I wore the trunks last night while swimming with my nephews and brother-in-law, and my younger nephew, who’s four, said, “Tio [Tio is Spanish for uncle], someone cut off the bottom of your shorts!”

So there I was, eighty-five percent skin (eighty-five percent beer and tacos), and my brother-in-law, who’s one-hundred percent Mexican, said, “You’re WHITE. You need to get some sun.”

This is how I was welcomed to Albuquerque.

Y’all, it’s a 100 degrees here–we’re in the desert for crying out loud–but it’s 65 in my sister’s house. (I think she’s doing this to appease my warm-natured father, but still, I’m freezing.) Last night when I went to bed, I shut both the vents in my room, turned off the fan, added two blankets to the bed, AND put a sock cap on my head. It’s the middle of July. All this to say that after breakfast this morning, I needed to defrost, so I curled up on the couch on the back patio with a blanket over my legs and a book (called The Hero Journey in Dreams) in my arms.

The blanket had ants in it, but it WAS warmer.

After a while, my aunt came outside to work in my sister’s garden and said, “Marc, I figured you’d be in the pool.”

Well, I thought this was a good idea, so I changed into last night’s shorty-short swim trunks, grabbed a towel, and headed for the water. And whereas the water felt great, I spent most my time in a recliner soaking up the sun (because I’m WHITE) and continuing to read for what I thought was about an hour. (I didn’t take my phone with me.) It really was the perfect morning/early afternoon–breakfast with coffee, reading by the pool, the warm sun. Glorious!

Except for the fact that I burned myself.

Y’all, by the time I came inside, I was already pink, mostly on my taco-tummy. Having toasted my back a few weeks ago, I thought, Shit, I‘ve done it again. But what do you do? Personally, I came inside and asked my sister for help. She’s apparently become one of those essential-oil people and told me last night that some of her oil magic (my words, not hers) had kept her from peeling when she got a sunburn not long ago. Anyway, the next thing I knew, I was rubbing a concoction of coconut oil and lavender (and eye of newt) all over my chest, and my sister was rubbing the same stuff all over my back.

“Let’s hope this works,” I said.

Afterwards, I left the house to go used-book shopping. Y’all, I LOVE to book shop and especially love to used-book shop. I could EASILY spend all my money on books and pretty much do. But I’m really proud of myself–I went to two large stores and perused for three hours and only bought two books–one on the history of Easter and one on hypnosis. $24.05 total. Not bad, all things considered.

Just before I left the last bookstore (in the middle of an empty aisle), I lifted my t-shirt and looked at my belly, which was BRIGHT red. Oh no! I thought, I’ve really done it. Back to the house, I looked in the mirror. Y’all, I was (and am) the color of a red, ripe tomato. My brother-in-law said, “How long were you out there?” I said, “Just an hour, but maybe longer.” My sister said, “Either way, you ARE at a higher altitude–an entire mile closer to the sun. Plus, it’s dry out here, and it sucks the moisture out of your body, so you fry faster.”

Now they tell me.

So basically I spent the afternoon in God’s convection oven, and now I look like a lobster. It’s not cute. Seriously, there’s a wide red stripe down my front and another down my back, and both my sides are white. I feel like a candy cane without the swirl. And I’m pooped. Earlier Mom helped me reapply the coconut/lavender witch’s brew, and I’m about to do it again and go to bed. I’m making jokes about the oils, but I will say that when I checked my skin about an hour ago, it was definitely less “angry.”

SO WE’LL SEE WHAT HAPPENS.

Tell me God doesn’t have a sense of humor.

Currently my stomach is burning up, but I’m here in my sister’s giant meat locker–er, living room–freezing my ass off, despite the blanket over my legs and sock cap on my head. Tell me God doesn’t have a sense of humor. The mystics say this is the world of duality (which is sometimes represented in mythology by the number two). You spend a glorious afternoon in the sun, you get a not-so-glorious evening to follow. Here, every up has a down, every good has a bad, and every hot has a cold; and you can run yourself ragged going back-and-forth between them, thinking, I want THIS and not THAT. But there is another way, say the mystics–the middle path, or acceptance of whatever comes your way. This is the Garden of Eden between the two cherubim, Christ between the two thieves.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Your emotions are tired of being ignored.

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Filled with Glorious Light (Blog #480)

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This morning–after 13 hours of traveling and one 5-hour stop to see my cousin in Oklahoma City–my aunt, my parents, their dog, and I rolled into Albuquerque, where my sister lives, at 8:30. Talk about being worn the fuck out. It was all we could do when we arrived to say hello, hug everyone, and unpack the overloaded car. I shit you not–my parents brought their digital scale. Granted, my dad’s on a diet (he calls my mom The Food Nazi), but still–I found everything except the kitchen sink while unloading things this morning–three boxes of crackers, Dad’s insulin, even Mom’s FOOBS (fake boobs), the ones she got after her double mastectomy in January.

In case you were wondering, each one has its own carrying case.

Today itself has been a blur. My nephews have been hyper non-stop, so we’ve played board games, video games, Mr. Potato Head–you name it.

This evening my sister and brother-and-law made dinner–burgers and baked beans–then my brother-in-law, the boys, and I got in their pool until it started raining. Now it’s 8:15, and the kids just went to bed, as did my father. Both my aunt and mom took naps this afternoon–I took two–but I think we’re all still tired and groggy–road weary. Plus, it can take a minute to adjust to the higher altitude out here.

There’s simply less oxygen for your brain and body to run on.

Personally, I’m in a daze. Normally I have a plan when I travel–read a book, go to a bookstore, check out the local dances. At some point, since I’m attending a dance event in San Francisco this coming weekend, I need to figure out when to leave for California and how to get there. But I’ve been so tired from last week’s manual labor and the night’s travels, I can’t rub two thoughts together, much less make a decision about what I want to do.

Maybe tomorrow.

Now I’m on my sister and brother-in-law’s back porch, huddled up on their couch, watching a storm roll in. [It’s the desert, but it’s also monsoon season.] I’d planned on watching the stars come out, but instead I’m getting to see the tree branches whip and sway. The wind is really strong. I may need to go in.

Early this morning, between three and four and between Santa Rosa and Tucumcari, New Mexico, I was in the backseat of my car, Tom Collins, and asked my dad, who was driving, to pull over the car so I could look at stars. Except for the occasional (and annoying) passing car, it was pitch-black outside. No street lights, no “light pollution.” This to say I was expecting a good show, different from what I normally see in town. But–oh–my–god, it was glorious.

Looking up, I saw thousands and thousands of stars, each shining and twinkling unimpeded by any city fog or haze. Typically when I spot Cassiopeia (The Queen), I can “make out” four of her five major stars. But last night, every one of her five bright lights were unmistakable. And THERE was Cepheus (The King), and Pegasus (The Horse), and Perseus, and EVERY STAR in Capricornus (where Mars is currently and which I can never, ever see any part of in the city). And in the midst of it all was The Milky Way–our galaxy–a wide swath of stars that arched across the heavens like a nighttime rainbow. To say that this–all of it–was stunning is an understatement, especially since this was my FIRST time looking at the sky with a modicum of knowledge about the constellations and “what’s going on” up there.

Facing south, it looked something like this. (Screenshot from the Stellarium app.)

Each of us is just as mysterious as the night sky.

Twenty minutes later we were in Tucumcari at a Denny’s, and the city lights we so bright that all I could see were six stars. Six. From thousands to six in fifteen miles. And The Milky Way–nowhere to be found. I can’t tell you how disappointed I was, how frustrated I was at all our modern technology and progress. Effectively–at least in town–we’ve wiped out the heavens, our very own galaxy. It’s not that it’s not there, but we simply don’t SEE it because it’s been covered up. This is what the mystics say about our hearts. Not that they’re embedded with original sin, but that they’re embedded with original goodness and unconditional love; those qualities have just been “covered up.” I’m coming to believe this, that each of us is just as mysterious as the night sky–in a daze sometimes, but absolutely filled with more glorious light than we could ever begin to imagine.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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

"

This Show Is Far from Over (Blog #206)

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Last night I decided to stay one more day in Albuquerque. Now it’s nine at night, everyone else is in bed, and I’m planning on leaving bright and early in order to be back tomorrow evening. I have dinner plans, so that means hitting the road at a rather ungodly hour and spending the entire day trying to figure out how much coffee I can drink without having to stop to use the restroom. When I worked at summer camp and drove a school bus, the teenage boys used to drink two liters of soda then pee in the bottle. So far I haven’t succumbed to this wisdom, but I’ve thought about it more than once. It certainly would make the trip go faster.

I’ve spent most the day with my nose in a book. Well, four books, two of which I finished. Currently my eyeballs feel as if they’re going to fall out of my head, roll across this countertop, and bump into my whiskey-and-coke. Considering the fact that reading has seriously been my entire day, my sister said, “I’m really curious as to what you’re going to blog about tonight.” Even now I’m thinking, Me too, sis, me too. I guess I could tell you that Ander dressed up as a pirate again today. At three years of age, the boy talks nonstop, and he kept trying to say, “Ahoy,” but saying, “A whore” instead.

Aren’t kids great? (I guess “a whore” does give a completely different meaning to the phrase, a pirate’s “booty.”)

Yesterday I attended the musical An American in Paris. Not that I need a reason to see a bunch of men in tight pants dancing under spotlights, but my friend Brian is in the show, and that’s why I went last night. Y’all, it was fabulous. If you get a chance to see it, don’t hesitate. All that being said, I’ve been nursing a small amount of melancholy today, since I said goodbye to Brian when the show was over. On one hand, I’m so glad I met a wonderful guy this week. On the other hand, it may be a while before I enjoy his company again. Plus, this entire trip has been fabulous–my dance mentor Maggie, the guru, my sister and her family, my dance partner Kaleb. All of it feels like a big Show’s Over, and I guess I’m just sad to see everything end.

One of the books I started and finished today was called The Revolutionary Trauma Release Process by David Berceli, PhD. As I’ve mentioned before, a number of books about trauma state that the body can store stress, anxiety, and tension in the muscles, but the body can heal itself and return to a state of balance by shaking or “tremoring.” (I wrote about one experience I’ve had with this sort of thing, here.) Many animals and children do this naturally, quiver or tremble when they’re angry or afraid. The problem with adults, however, is that our brains usually stop our bodies’ natural instincts because we think it’s weird or embarrassing to vibrate like a heart-shaped bed at a cheap motel.

But the book I read today said it’s not weird or embarrassing. Actually, it’s normal. The idea is that muscles naturally contract when under stress or trauma to pull us into the fetal position and protect our “soft parts”–genitals, vital organs, face. If the body doesn’t realize a threat is over, we can end up permanently contracted. And whereas massage or yoga works to relax tight muscles from the outside in, shaking helps to release them from the inside out. So the book includes exercises that encourage the body to shake (gently, not like a Pentecostal) and therefore heal itself. Of course, I had to try them.

Believe it or not, I’m a skeptic. At the very least, I’m a cynic. I’m always hoping “something that works” will be at the end of the next book, the next weekend workshop, but I’m usually disappointed. So as I went through the exercises, I thought, This is bullshit–it just feels like stretching. But then midway through everything, my diaphragm started to quiver, and by the time I got to the last instruction, my hips started vibrating and sending mild to somewhat violent pulses down both my legs. This went on for a good twenty to thirty minutes.

I’m guessing for some people, this would be a strange experience, but for me it was a welcome one. Since I’ve had similar experiences before and read a lot about this, it didn’t freak me out. I even called my sister into my room and said, “Put your hands on my knees.” (As they bounced about, she said, “That’s crazy!”) Plus, although the book said sometimes people experience a rush of emotions when shaking, the experience tonight was strictly a physical one. Well, I did laugh a little.

That felt good.

When the shaking was finished, I’m sad to say that I didn’t see Jesus descend from heaven. But I did try a couple yoga poses that are usually a real bitch for me, and both of them were considerably easier, so something relaxed. Clearly the exercises tonight weren’t a “one and done,” but I do think they were a good start, and I noticed when I stood up that I felt considerably lighter. Specifically, I felt less sorry for myself and simply grateful for the last two weeks and all the people I’ve had the privilege to spend time with.

Before he went to bed tonight, Christopher gave me a hug and said goodbye. At first he was totally sweet, but then said, “We would’ve had more time to play together, but you were too busy talking to Mom to spend time with me.”

I said, “I appreciate your getting your feelings out in the open. Is there anything else you’d like to say?”

He said, “I love you,” and went to his room.

Nothing lasts forever.

On the counter next to me is a toy called a Buddha Board. It’s a canvas for painting–with water. Of course, the water evaporates, so it’s about the concept of letting go. Perhaps it could teach both my nephew and me a thing or two. I guess we all have our disappointments, things we want to happen or last longer that don’t. Fabulous experiences come into our lives the way wonderful people do. Maybe they stay for a night or fifty years, but they eventually leave, all of them gone like water into thin air. Sooner or later it’s just you and your feelings, and that’s gotta be okay. The good news is that uncomfortable feelings leave too. Nothing lasts forever. Even if your body spends thirty years tensed up because it’s waiting for the other shoe to drop, one day it can begin to let go. Then you can look around at all the shoes on the floor, be thankful you’re still alive and have loved ones beside you, and think, This show is far from over. In fact, it’s only just beginning.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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

Courage and Those Who Hold Our Hands (Blog #205)

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When I woke up this morning around nine I coughed up some bloody snot. It looked like what I felt like the time. Now it’s four in the afternoon, and things could be better, things could be worse. Statistically speaking, my brain is functioning about sixty percent–well, considering I can’t figure how to end this sentence, let’s say forty-five. Anyway, I figure it only goes downhill from here, so I’m blogging now. Plus, I’m planning to go out this evening to see An American in Paris, the musical, since that seems like a good gay way to wrap this trip up. Anyway, the show starts in less than four hours, and the clock’s ticking.

Last night I went dancing again with my friend Kaleb, this time at a country-western bar called The Dirty Bourbon. Is that a great name or what? Anyway, The Dirty Bourbon is primarily a straight bar, but I guess they’re accepting. Kaleb and I were the only guys I saw dancing together, but I did see some women dancing together, and–most importantly–nobody got their ass kicked. Actually, I saw several people smiling at us, one guy at the bar complimented our dancing, and a lady in the crowd videotaped us doing the rumba.

Situations like the one last night are always affirming for me in the best way. Typically, if a guy holds my hand–let alone dances with me–in public, I usually feel like jumping out of my skin and running away because I’m afraid of what everyone else will think, say, or do. I know straight people have their problems–everyone has their problems–but I imagine this isn’t one of them, being afraid to publicly show affection for or connection with another person. A while back a guy held my hand on Garrison Avenue in downtown Fort Smith, my hometown. As we got close to our car, a couple dudes were standing outside a rather seedy bar, and I thought, Thank God I know a good plastic surgeon because this is not going to end well. Everything in me wanted to drop my date’s hand, but I didn’t. Then as we passed the dudes, one of them said, “Hey, fellas.”

And that was it.

Granted, I know bullshit happens to gay (and straight) people all the time. Strangers are total assholes, say mean things, commit acts of violence. Sometimes parents even cut ties with their own children when they come out of the closet. That being said, thankfully, my experience has been quite the opposite. Despite the fact that I’ve spent much of my life afraid of rejection and confrontation based on my sexuality, so far the only person to make a big deal about it has been me. Part of me still worries, of course. Last night at the country bar I was very aware that Kaleb and I were the only gay guys dancing together. But why should fear stop you from doing something you not only want to do but also have a right to do? Obviously, it shouldn’t.

This morning my sister and I took Christopher to an acting class. Y’all, it was absolutely adorable. The teachers were animated, patient, and amazing. There were maybe fifteen or twenty kids, and the teachers taught them about stage directions, getting into character, and memorization. Some of the kids were shy and timid. Others like my nephew had no problem projecting or asking questions (that didn’t actually have to do with acting).

For one of the exercises, the kids had to memorize a line from the movie What’s Up, Doc? The line was, “What do you think I am, a piece of ripe fruit that you can squeeze the juice out of and cast aside like an old shoe?” Best quote ever, right? Hell, I should probably use it on a few people, maybe add it to my Tindr profile. (I don’t have a Tindr profile. My therapist said the guys on there have a quality rating of “zero point fucking shit.”) But I digress. In addition to memorizing the line, the kids had to come up with a character, stand on stage, and perform the line as that character. (One girl was a cat.) Anyway, here’s Christopher performing as a robot. My sister and I were super nervous for him, but I don’t think he was nervous at all–and he nailed it.

This afternoon my sister and I took both the boys to a costume-themed birthday party at a local park. Ander dressed as “Captain Hook,” but he really just looked like a pirate. My sister’s husband said, “Don’t say anything.” Isn’t he adorable? (Christopher dressed as Peter Pan and was adorable too, but I forgot to take pictures of him. Since I took so many this morning, I hope he doesn’t end up in therapy due to this one oversight.)

At the party there was a piñata, and if you’ve never seen a bunch of blindfolded toddlers swing a stick at a moving paper-mache cat head, you’ve still got a lot of life to live. It was really more cute than I could handle for one day. Well, even before all the kids got a chance at swinging the stick, the piñata burst open, and every single one of those children went from zero to sixty in 1.2 seconds. I’ve never seen anyone move so fast. They were on that candy like white on rice. My head’s still spinning thinking about it.

As I’m sure you know, sugar is the great motivator, so the kids were quickly all over the playground equipment. For a while I looked after Ander, and he kept wanting to go down this one little slide over and over (and over) again. I kept asking if he wanted to try a different one, a longer, taller one, but he kept saying, “No, it’s scary,” so we kept returning to the familiar. Even at that slide, every time he said, “Stand at the end to catch me–closer–no, closer.”

I suppose we are all timid like this now and then. After all, life can be a big, scary place. Of course, there are days we wake up feeling as if we can conquer the world, and these are the days we stand proudly and confidently on the stage of life. Other days–maybe most days–we feel as if we’re swinging a stick blindfolded, just hoping to connect with what we want. These are the days when our brains function below one hundred percent, when we are shy and unsure of our right to be here, to taste and enjoy all the goodness life has to offer. But I’m starting to believe that courage always looks like trying something even when you think you’re not ready, even when you’re afraid. Thankfully, we often have others who are willing to take us by the hand and courageously walk, dance, or slide into the unfamiliar with us. This reminds us, of course, that no one is alone. Also–more often than not–things turn out just fine and the world ends up being a safer place to live than we realized.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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So perhaps perfection has little to do with that which changes and everything to do with that which doesn't. For surely there is a still, small something inside each of us that never changes, something that is timeless and untouchable, something inherently valuable and lovable--something perfect.

"

Somehow We Ascend (Blog #204)

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Currently it’s eight in the evening, my sister and her husband are on a date, and their friend Laurel is putting the boys to bed. I just got back from spending the day in Santa Fe with Brian, the boy I met for drinks last night. I’m putting a certain amount of pressure on myself to finish tonight’s blog and finish it fast, as I may go out dancing in a couple hours. Not that I really have the energy, but I don’t want to miss the opportunity. I’ve only got one more day here, then it’s time to say goodbye, so why stay home?

We’ll see how it goes. I could very well pass out on this keyboard and wake up in my own drool.

This morning before leaving for Santa Fe, Brian and I went to Starbucks, and I’m pretty sure the guy at the drive-thru said, “Welcome to a normal human Starbucks.” Even now, I have no idea what he meant. Was he trying to be funny? If so, no one was laughing. My therapist says humor is a function of intelligence, so that would say something about either the barista’s smarts or mine. (Since this is my blog, let’s assume he’s the one with the problem.) Also, are most Starbucks for abnormal humans?

I still have so many questions.

In Santa Fe, Brian and I went to an exhibit hall called Meow Wolf. We spent a couple hours there, but much like the interaction at Starbucks, I still can’t tell you what it was about. Outside there were several sculptures, so I made the assumption that we were going to an art gallery. But when we got inside, it was pretty much one big acid trip–or what I would imagine an acid trip to be. The first room was a house, but there was some story about how the people in the house had been sucked into an alternate dimension or universe, so a lot of the doors (and even the washing machine) opened up into strange and bizarre worlds full of dinosaur bones, chutes and ladders, or a hall of mirrors.

Initially we didn’t realize there was a theme–the whole bit about the family disappearing into a different world. But I guess if one had the intelligence and patience, there were notes and clues hidden throughout the entire exhibit, and supposedly you could piece together what the hell everything was about.

One of the clues said the rooms represented the emotions the family members were feeling before they got swept away, but what do you make of a psychedelic forest, cereal boxes that look like they’ve been eaten by aliens, or a bathroom floor that’s been crumbled up like last week’s newspaper?

Seriously, most days I can’t make sense of my own emotions, and now I have to figure out someone else’s? I mean, I gave it the old college try for about five minutes, but then quit because some days you just can’t–you just can’t even.

Again, I still have so many questions.

After Meow Wolf, Brian and I checked out downtown Santa Fe, starting with two of the chapels. Perhaps the more famous of the two, Loretto Chapel, contains what many call a miraculous staircase. (I think an escalator beats a staircase any day, but that’s just me.) But really, this staircase is pretty awesome. The story goes that over a hundred years ago a stranger showed up to build a staircase when the church was in need. No one knows who the man was, but people say he was an angel or at least a genius because engineers today say the staircase, which is spiral and doesn’t have a center support pole, shouldn’t be able to hold the weight that it does. Supposedly no one has been able to explain how the staircase is structurally sound.

People have so many questions.

Since we got back from Santa Fe and I dropped Brian off, I’ve been entertaining opposite emotions. First, I had a wonderful time with Brian today. I spend so much of my life doing things by myself, it was really–really–nice to be in such good company. I texted my friend Bonnie about it, and she said, “Sounds like your time together made your heart light for a minute. That’s definitely something.” In response, I said, “That’s definitely something. And I didn’t realize it was so heavy.”

That’s the second part–the opposite emotion–heavy. Part of me thinks it’s about all good things coming to an end, but another part of me thinks it’s about realizing what I’ve been missing out on. It always feels like that in some way–like I’m missing out on a good time at a dance, some magical relationship, or some better life. My therapist is quick to point out that plenty of people in relationships would trade places with single me in a heartbeat, so I guess we all want what we don’t have.

Clearly, we all have so many questions. At least us normal humans do.

People say your life only makes sense in reverse, that one day you’ll look back and realize why things happened the way they did. But lived moment-to-moment and day-by-day, life is a real head-scratcher. Nothing seems to compute, including our experiences and emotions. Try to figure yourself out, and you might as well have a conversation with a wannabe stand-up comedian at a drive-thru or spend a day at Meow Wolf. Maybe we’re not really meant to connect the dots, at least as we live them. Some days I guess the best we can do is embrace the wonder of it all, ever grateful for those places and people who cause our hearts to beat, even when it’s time to say goodbye to them. Perhaps this feels like climbing a miraculous spiral staircase and not understanding how we’re being held up. Yet step-by-step we’re supported and somehow we ascend–ever higher into our own mysteries.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"It's really good news to find out that the world isn't as scary as you thought it was."

How Life Proceeds (Blog #203)

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It’s two in the afternoon, and it seems like I just did this twelve hours ago–because I did. Currently my sister is on her way to pick up Christopher from school, she has Ander in tow, and I have the house to myself. God willing and the creek don’t rise, I’m going out tonight. I guess you could call it a date. It’s been so long, I’m really not sure what the rules and definitions are anymore. Regardless, I’m meeting a boy for drinks, and it sucks to ditch a cute face in favor of a laptop. Not that I don’t love y’all, but let’s see if we can wrap this up before Daddy hits the town, okay?

Also, I’d really like to take a nap. I don’t mind saying this no-oxygen, sort of sick thing is a real drag. I used to have a boss that said that–What a drag, what a serious drag. All things considered, it could be a lot worse. But yeah, a nap would be good. And I should probably hydrate. Well, shit. I just realized I didn’t hit the right button to start my laundry for tonight. No worries–if at first you don’t succeed…

Drink. (To be clear, I don’t endorse drinking to solve your problems. Or anyone else’s.)

Well, shit again. I just saw a mouse run across the kitchen and back again. This must be his time of day to do cardio. I hope he doesn’t expect me to join him, at least until my lungs can get acclimated to the altitude. He could be waiting a while. We all could be waiting a while.

This morning my sister and I took Ander to story time at the local library. Y’all, it was the cutest thing. There were all these tiny people running around, and one of the boys had round red-rubber glasses strapped and fastened around his little head. My friend Leah calls kids like him “false advertisement,” since they look cute but will throw up on you before the week is over and not think twice about it. Also, once you have one, you can’t take them back. Anyway, the lady in charge of story time was wonderful. Today she wore an orange apron for Halloween, so I kept forgetting she wasn’t a Home Depot employee. But still, she read to the kids, played games, and used props. Had it been me, I could have been totally frustrated that all the little tots weren’t paying attention, but she was so patient. Amazing.

When we got back from the library, my sister and I changed clothes with the intention of painting in her master bedroom. She and her husband have been remodeling it since they’ve moved in. Anyway, we couldn’t find any rollers, so she ended up cutting in while I did the hard work of taking off light switch plates and trying to entertain Ander, who insisted on being underfoot. This went on for less than an hour before Dee-Anne had to leave to pick up Christopher. She said a lot of days she feels like saying, “Fuck it–these pink walls aren’t that bad,” since it’s so difficult to get stuff done with kids running around and wanting attention.

Obviously, there’s a reason they invented Benadryl and the Disney channel.

Now the wash is almost done, and I just took a lap around the house in search of inspiration. Normally I write at the end of the day, plenty of things “have happened,” and there’s a well of information to draw from. But this is clearly different–the sun is still up. What happens while the sun is up? Really, all I can think about is that nap. Also, I leave in a few days, and I’m feeling as if I’m running out of time. There were several things I wanted to do, but they simply haven’t happened yet. So it’s possible I won’t watch a movie, go country dancing, or see the Catholic chapel with the dirt that performs miracles. Que sera, sera.

Last night I started reading a book about writing, and the author says that artists need a lot of down time, a lot of time to “do nothing.” Maybe this looks like going for a walk, but only if going for a walk is not a to-do list item. Like, it should be relaxing. (I’ve heard this before and have been really slow to come around to this notion.) The idea is that inspiration and creativity happen in the present moment, and most of us wouldn’t recognize the present moment if it hit us between the eyes because we’re so busy running around stressing and fretting.

If this last part sounds familiar, please raise your hand.

Obviously, that last picture was a setup. My sister said, “Christopher doesn’t stress or fret about anything.” This is where I really believe children are our teachers. They’re almost always focused on what’s in front of them and not imagining they’d be better off somewhere else. When they do get upset because they’d rather be watching TV instead of eating brussel sprouts, they pitch a fit, it’s over quickly, and they don’t bitch or blog about it the next day. Children don’t give a shit how long it takes to paint a bedroom, whether or not there’s a mouse in the house, or whether or not they’ve been on a date in the last year.

Life proceeds at its own pace.

Of course, children can’t drive or pick up their own socks, so it’s not like they’re perfect. Still, today I’m reminded to accept life as it comes. Sometimes this looks like go, go, go. Things get done left and right. Other times it’s as if your every routine and desire have lain down for a long winter’s nap. You wake up, and not matter how hard you push, what gets done gets done. Just as your head hits the pillow you think, Is this really my life? Well, obviously the answer is yes. What happens, happens. One day your child grows up and stops needing so much attention. Somehow the walls get painted. Even if they don’t, life proceeds at its own pace. Constantly, quietly it saunters along, refusing to be hurried.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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You can rise above. You can walk on water.

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Life As Explosion (Blog #201)

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It’s three in the morning, and I just got back from a long night of dancing. I’m exhausted, and most of me would rather be in bed. Since this is a blog about honesty, I can say that. The house is supposed to be quiet, but one of my nephews is apparently awake, and I think my sister just got up to check on him. Seriously, is this what parenting is like, cooking meals and running a professional taxi service during the day, then playing night watchman when the sun goes down? I don’t know how parents get anything done. Well, yes I do–they put their children in front of a television. But still, my hat is off to you people.

This afternoon my sister and I went to Costco. Y’all, I’d never been to one before, and it was pretty damn ridiculous. There were giant televisions, cheap alcohol (name brand!), and a hotdog stand. It was like an adult carnival plus Hanes underwear in bulk. What’s more, there was a refrigerated vegetable room bigger than my parents house and twice as tall. (Who the hell is eating so much lettuce?) And did I mention it was freezing? I had to put on a long-sleeved shirt just so we could walk halfway across the room and pick out some strawberries.

But I digress.

I guess my nephew Ander and I have a lot in common because that boy is always hungry. After the vegetable freezer he started asking for food, so my sister opened up a package of cheese right there in the middle of the tomato sauce section and gave him a slice. Maybe this is a mom thing, but I was mortified. I thought, We haven’t paid for that yet! Well, I bit my tongue, but Ander obviously wouldn’t have given a shit anyway because he had a slice of delicious cheese in his hands. I mean, he threw the wrapper on the floor and started munching away. (I picked up the wrapper and sneaked it in my pocket like, Nothing to see here.)

Thankfully, the cops didn’t show up.

After Costco and before we picked my other nephew up from school, we went to Chick-Fil-A and ended up talking about how frickin’ friendly they are. You know, they always ask your name, smile, and say “my pleasure” whenever you say, “Thank you.” Who are these people? I mean, I’m all for customer service, but sometimes I feel like I’ve walked into an episode of The Twilight Zone whenever I step on their property in search of a simple chicken sandwich. Geez. My pleasure. (It’s weird, right?) Just once, could someone say, “You’re welcome”?

Is that too much to ask?

Okay, so I’m not sure how to introduce this next section without talking about gay cowboys. I realize that’s a weird transition, but it’s true. A couple years ago I was having a bad day/week/month and took myself to a gay bar in Dallas called The Roundup because there’s nothing like a bunch of homosexuals in Wranglers to make a boy feel better. Really, I don’t care who you are, you should go. They have a great dance floor, and everybody two-steps with everybody else. Guys dance with guys, girls dance with girls, girls lead as guys follow. It’s just a happy thing–perfect for shattering stereotypes and fun for the whole family.

Anyway, that was the night I met my friend Kaleb. We met on the floor, then danced and danced and danced some more. I don’t mind saying it was pretty magical. You know how you ladies always get excited when some handsome guy leads you around the dance floor? Well, despite my profession, I’ve never really gotten that, at least from a follower’s perspective. But I got it that night, thanks to Kaleb. The man could (and can) flat dance. I don’t remember the last time I had so much fun.

As it turned out, Kaleb was also visiting Dallas to get away–from Albuquerque–where he teaches ballroom dancing. (Isn’t that wild?) So for the last couple years we’ve kept loosely in touch, and I messaged him this afternoon to see if he wanted to go to a swing dance. (He said yes.) Y’all, a couple times I thought the altitude and lack of oxygen was going to kill me, but I survived and had a fabulous time. Kaleb and I took turns leading and following, no one gave us funny looks, and a few people even clapped.

I guess Kaleb or I could have said, “No need for applause, it was my pleasure.”

Give me a break.

When the swing dance was over, Kaleb and I headed to a local gay bar called Sidewinders for karaoke. That’s right, not only am I gay, but sometimes I sing karaoke. There, I said it. (And if anyone repeats any of this on the internet, we–are–finished.) Anyway, there weren’t a lot of people out tonight, so Kaleb and I had room to dance while other people sang. Again, so much fun. And then–and then–the cast from the national tour of An American in Paris showed up because–where else would they be on a Tuesday night? No, seriously, the cast just had a big turnover, and tonight was a lot of the members’ first city, first night, first performance, so they went out to celebrate at Sidewinders (as one does). They were dancing and we were dancing–some of us introduced ourselves and some of us didn’t–but it was just this beautiful thing–several Americans in Sidewinders.

Tonight Kaleb told me there’s a couple theories when it comes to art. (I don’t know how he knows this.) One theory says that art is meant to stand the test of time, that it should be around for generations and be enjoyed by as many people as possible. Another theory says that art is transitory, that it’s meant to pop up rather suddenly then disappear, like a flower that only blooms for a night. This theory, Kaleb said, is called “art as explosion,” and I’ve been thinking about it the last few hours. We spend so much of our lives trying to hang on to things we can’t hang on to. We paint paintings and take pictures trying to remember the people and experiences that make us feel loved and alive, hoping to grasp that which is most lovely to us. Of course, this is not possible. Thankfully, that which is lovely happens constantly if we have the eyes to see it. It looks like a child rebelling in the middle of a grocery store by eating cheese that hasn’t been paid for yet, a smile on the face in the drive-thru window, and a roomful of people dancing together. This is the very mystery of life, of course–one moment, one miracle exploding into the next.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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There’s a power that comes when you meet life’s challenges head-on. Those are the times you breathe the deepest. Those are the times the waters come forth and your heart beats every bit as loud as the thunder claps. Those are the times you know more than ever—no matter what happens next—in this moment, you’re alive.

"

Time Well Spent (Blog #200)

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9:33 AM

I’ve been awake for an hour or so, and I just finished a continental breakfast here at the glorious Comfort Inn and Suites in Carbondale, Colorado. Check out is in an hour and a half, so I’m about to take a shower, pack up, and hit the road. (It’s been real.) My destination is Albuquerque, where my sister lives, and it should take about eight hours, stops included. Because I’m still feeling yuck, blah, and gross, I imagine it’s going to be a long day. Jesus, take the wheel. Still, at the end of the road will be the ones I love. All things considered, life is good.

If it’s not obvious, I’ll be writing the blog in “installments” today to make my life easier. If you can think of some little something to make your life easier today, do it–you have my full support.

4:12 PM

I think I just set a new personal record. I drove for five and a half hours without a pit stop. I didn’t realize that was possible, so I’m considering nicknaming my bladder Champ. Who knows why the sudden change in behavior? Usually I pee constantly. Maybe my kidneys got enlightened this weekend, or maybe I’m just dehydrated.

The drive so far has been surreal. For whatever reason, my mind is at ease, and my usual sense of nervousness is nowhere to be found. Even when driving along narrow roadways with steep drop-offs, I was like, Whatever. I’ve only taken one picture (at a stoplight in Aspen), but the scenery has been gorgeous–Colorado and New Mexico in the fall are basically God’s backyard. Anyway, I’m in road-warrior mode and ready to see my nephews, so I’ll write more later.

8:08 PM

I got to my sister’s a couple of hours ago. When I arrived, the nephews started bouncing off the walls, and even Ander (the younger one), who usually hides from me, went nuts. They were skipping, jumping, leading me outside then back in. Eventually I sat down for dinner (thanks, Dee-Anne) and visited with my sister and her husband while Ander scooted across the kitchen floor on his back and repeatedly said, “Ow, ow, ow.” My brother-in-law said, “Imagine this non-stop for seven years.” I said, “I can’t.”

Seriously, how do parents do it? Well, how do parents who don’t drink do it?

Before Christopher (the older nephew) went to bed, he put a craft book on the table and asked me to help him make a paper airplane.  Seriously, this kid is great with building and making things, so he probably could have done it himself, but I guess this was an “advanced” model. Y’all, uncle-ing is hard. The instructions had like ten steps–the plane had a tail fin and everything. It was super detailed, complicated actually, and a couple times I thought, I can’t figure this out. But then I did–it finally came together. What’s more, it flew!

That’s right, I’m thirty-seven and can make a paper airplane.

But get this shit. Christopher–that little turd–ran straight to my sister and said, “Mom–I made an airplane!”

(Awkward pause)

“Well, I helped make one.”

9:40 PM

We always have more support than we realize.

For the last hour I’ve been chatting with my sister, but she just went to bed because she’s a mom. Anyway, I really like her. We talked about our family, school, and our individual responses to some of the bullshit we went through as children–specifically the fact that she expressed her emotions back then and I stuffed mine way, way down. (It’s okay, they’ve been working their way back up–like they do.) Since Dee-Anne lives so far away and most of my healing progress has happened the last few years, sometimes I forget that she went through a lot of the same stuff I did. Of course, it’s always good to remember that you’re not alone. We always have more support than we realize.

10:08 PM

A couple hours ago I realized that today’s blog is number 200. That’s 200 days in a row of sitting down, more than once propping my eyelids open with toothpicks, and opening my mind and heart for both me and the world to see. The goal is every day for a year, and I recently hit the halfway mark (183 days), but I note it on the blog every fifty days if I remember. So that’s why we’re talking about it now.

When I started this blog over six months ago, I had no idea what I was getting myself into. Since I’ve been living back at home, I was originally going to call the blog Me and My Parents, then Me, My Parents, and My Therapist. But I thought, Surely I’ll move out again one day, so I dropped my parents altogether (but just from the blog). Anyway, as I’m writing about the blog now, it makes me want to cry. Maybe that’s because I’ve come to think of it as a friend. We have all these memories together. Each night we cuddle up together, I talk about my day, and the blog listens, wraps me up in its arms, and tells me I’m okay.

I’ve said it before, but I can’t overemphasize what a positive journey this has been. I’m out of work, living with my parents, and really have no idea what the rest of my life will hold. On the surface, I don’t have a lot to show. But beneath the surface, where it counts, I’m better than I ever have been. I’m less afraid and more sure than ever before. I’m more self-confident, comfortable in my own skin. I’m not perfect, of course, but I own my shit and am either working on it or okay with saying, “I’m fine the way I am.” The reason I want to cry, of course, is because I realize it’s not the blog that’s been my friend these last 200 days–it’s me–I’m the one who’s been there for me.

10:31 PM

At the spiritual retreat this last weekend, the teacher was joking about how people approach their spiritual lives, like, “Oh yeah, I’ve got a few free hours between errands today, I’ll check out that meditation thing.” This attitude, of course, is ridiculous. After all, he said, what’s more important than your freedom?

Learning to be there for yourself is the essence of healing.

I’ve thought about this question off and on today. I know I’ve worried a lot this last year about how I’m going to make a living or what I’m going to do with the rest of my life, but when I consider how much freer, happier, and peaceful I am now as compared to six months ago, all that “worldly stuff” pales in comparison. I’m not saying this process has been easy. On the contrary, there have been plenty of days that it’s felt like making a complicated paper airplane and letting someone else take the credit for it. Often the road has been long, and I haven’t felt so great. Still, I’d recommend the journey to anyone. For surely learning to be there for yourself is the essence of healing, and making time to be your own friend is time well spent. And here’s what I can promise–at the end of the road will be the ones you love (and that includes you), and things will finally come together.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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No emotion is ever truly buried.

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