Like a Shooting Star (Blog #1018)

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It’s eleven at night and I’m in my favorite chair. I’ve been here most the day, reading. Recently a friend posted that they’d spent their evenings last year re-reading books from their childhood, stating that it was a perfect way to recapture the magic we all too often lose as we grow older. Well, I got inspired. Yesterday I went to the juvenile section of the library and checked out six books. And whereas the ones I got weren’t ones I’d previously read, the fact that I walked out of the library with a lilt in my step convinced me that they were full of magic nonetheless.

As someone who’s hung up on completion, I can’t tell you how satisfying it is to read a kid’s book. Y’all, they’re so SHORT, and the words are SO BIG (the better to delight you with, my dear). You can finish them just like that. This afternoon I completed two whole novels. Well, a collection of short stories and a novel. And whereas the collection of short stories–The Devil’s Storybook by Natalie Babbitt–was both fun and creatively inspiring, the novel was nothing short of miraculous.

The miraculous book–The Invention of Hugo Cabaret by Brian Selznick–is about an orphaned boy who lives in a Paris train station and, unbeknownst to anyone else, works on and repairs the clocks in the station. Taught by his deceased father and his uncle who’s gone missing, Hugo’s a born engineer, a fixer. And, because he’s able to astound others with his slight of hand and disappearing acts, a magician. Although he’s not immediately aware of this last fact. Anyway, Hugo’s main objective is to fix one of his father’s broken projects, a robot of sorts that, when wound up (like a clock), can write with an ink pen. Convinced the robot’s message will change is life forever, Hugo wonders, What will it say?

Wonder. Magic. Mystery. These are the things that are becoming more and more important to me as I grow older. Not that I don’t enjoy a good fact or “cold, hard news.” But as a long-time cynic, I’m tired of things that make me bitter, that make me want to say, “I told you so” or “I already knew that.” Personally, I think we all are and imagine this is one of the reasons we’re so drawn to stories of wizards and unicorns. Despaired by the reality in our lives, we seek refuge in anything that connects us to our innocence and imagination, those parts of ourselves that are forever young and see the world with wide eyes. Those parts of us which require nothing more than a bendy straw to engage in a sword fight or a blanket to build a fort.

So here’s something weird. Less than a week ago I stayed up late surfing the internet and ended up buying two brooches from the same seller, some lady in Michigan. And whereas I’ve been buying brooches to sell, I bought these just for me. This is a horrible business strategy, I know. But, y’all, they’re just so fun. The first brooch is a wizard with a sword.

The second brooch is of the heavens and depicts the sun, moon, stars, and even a shooting star.

So get this shit.

Although several of the children’s books I checked out yesterday were recommended by an article I read online, The Invention of Hugo Cabaret wasn’t. I just stumbled across it in the “award winning” section and got enchanted (the illustrations are fabulous). Well, just as I got to the end of the book today, guess what I found? An illustration that included one of the main characters wearing–of all things!–a cape with the same design of the “heavens” brooch I bought on it. Complete with one shooting star.

Y’all, I actually put the book down and looked around my room. I thought, What’s going on? What are the CHANCES that I’d buy a brooch with a design on it that matches an illustration in a book I randomly picked up at the library? Am I in the Twilight Zone?

But wait, there’s more.

Remember that wizard brooch I bought? Well, the Hugo book mentions a real-life silent movie called A Trip to the Moon, so after I finished the book I watched the movie on YouTube. And, y’all–no kidding–in the final scene there’s a statue of–a wizard.

Now, I’ve experienced my fair share of strange occurrences and synchronicities. Indeed, the further I go the rabbit hole of self-growth and spirituality, the more they occur. And whereas I think they’re “fun,” I also believe synchronicities carry a message for us, something God, the universe, or our subconscious wants us to know. In one of the last paragraphs of the Hugo book, the character with the cape tells our main character, and these are my words not the author’s, “YOU are a magician, a wizard. YOU are an alchemist, someone who can turn anything into gold.” This is what I’m being reminded of more and more, that each of us has the power to decide what kind of world we want to live in–a world full of cold, hard facts, or a world full of miracles and wonder. Likewise, each of us has the power to go through any rotten circumstance and walk away with only the best of it. This is to say, each of us, like a shooting star, can leave the past behind.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Nothing is set in stone here.

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Where Your Treasure Lies (Blog #782)

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For the last two hours I’ve been procrastinating writing today’s blog. I’ve been busy, of course, doing the dishes, letting the dog in and out (make up your mind, honey!), cleaning up my hard drive (it’s too full for me to install an update), surfing Amazon for books (like I need another one). Sometimes I get so overwhelmed with this one simple task–sit down and write. Not because it’s THAT difficult to sit down and write, but because, honestly, I’ve built up a lot of mental aversion to sitting down and writing every day, every damn day. Like, it’s exhausting, and I’m kind of over it.

As I’ve said before, this is my choice. Nobody is holding a gun to my head and making me write this blog. Also, I don’t intend to quit, at least for a while. I’m committed to this process. (Before it’s over I may be committed to an institution.) All that being said, this blog is about my being honest, and I think it’s important to–occasionally–authentically acknowledge how much this project wears me out. I mean, it gives a lot, but it takes a lot. In this sense, I suppose it balances itself out.

This morning I saw my therapist, and we talked about what you and I are talking about now–procrastination, this project, and balance. In terms of procrastination (which my therapist insists “smart people” do), I said that I have several other projects I’d like to tackle, maybe before but at the very least when this one is over. “But,” I said, “it’s like I have this familial issue with essential tremors, and there’s a book about different ways to treat it that’s been on my reading list for over a year. The truth is I don’t want to read it because, what if it doesn’t do any good? As long as I DON’T read it, I can at least tell myself things could get better, and it’s the same with my other projects. As long as I HAVEN’T started them, I can tell myself that’s why I’m not currently succeeding.”

“So it’s fear,” my therapist said.

“UH, YEAH IT’S FEAR,” I said.

My therapist said that, really, we’re just as afraid of succeeding as we are failing. “Stepping into your power is terrifying,” she said. I agree. Just the thought of living a bigger, better life is enough to make me go running for the hills. Because it’s The Unknown, The Unfamiliar, THE UNCOMFORTABLE. I mean, let’s get real, I’ve already experienced the bottom of the barrel. For me, this is The Known, The Familiar, The Comfortable. I’ve already experienced being embarrassed by my station in life. Ugh. My therapist says embarrassment is one of the most difficult emotions to sit with. “But if you can do it,” she said, “you’ll eventually experience confidence–because life balances itself out.”

Recently I mentioned the principle of polarity, the idea that for every hot there’s also a cold. For every up, a down. This is what my therapist was referring to when she juxtaposed embarrassment with confidence. In other words, they are two ends of the same stick. As I understand it, this means that both emotions reside within each of us as potential lived realities, so even if you’ve been hanging out on the embarrassment side of the emotional see-saw, it’s possible to scoot your way over to the confidence side. It’s possible to pick up the other end of the stick.

The same stick you’re already holding, by the way.

Taking a thought or an emotion that’s a source of pain and turning it into a source of strength is what an alchemist would call mental transmutation or turning lead into gold. Joseph Campbell said it this way–“Where you stumble, there lies your treasure. The very cave you are afraid to enter turns out to be the source of what you are looking for. The damned thing in the cave, that was so dreaded, has become the center.” To me this means that ultimately those thoughts, emotions, and situations in my life that have been so difficult for me to experience, truly, have the most to offer me. They’re like–I don’t know–blessings in disguise.

No. That’s not right. Blessings are gifts that come to us uninvited, and I’m talking about something different. Turning lead into gold requires work, The Hard Work. There’s a concept in mythology that if you slay a dragon, you receive its power. If we look at dragons as our shadows, or those parts of ourselves we haven’t fully integrated and transformed (for example, fear or embarrassment), another way to say this would be that if we can tame our dragons, they will work FOR us and not AGAINST us. Imagine how your world would change if the emotional power that used to weigh you down were now lifting you up.

Imagine that.

But back to The Hard Work. Taming dragons isn’t easy. (If it were easy, everyone would do it.) Not because the work itself is that difficult, but because it’s painful (which makes it difficult). It’s painful to experience fear, and it’s painful to experience the death of your illusions. Said another way, it’s painful to experience the death of your identity. What I mean is that I’m embarrassed, I’m weak, and I’m afraid are all ways of labeling ourselves. And whereas they’re not the sexiest of labels, they’re still labels we hold on to. If you don’t believe me, the next time one of your friends says they’re fat or ugly, TRY to disagree with them. They won’t believe you. If they believed you, really, they’d have to change. This would mean going from The Known to The Unknown, scooting from the “I’m ugly” side of the see-saw to the “I’m beautiful” side. Yes, it’s not just that we fear to enter our caves, it’s that we also fear to walk out of them transformed–beautiful, confident, and radiant.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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The deepest waters are the only ones capable of carrying you home.

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On Levity and Gravity (Blog #510)

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Today and I went to therapy, and–for the first time in a long time–didn’t refer to “the list.” Rather, I let things unfold naturally and talked about whatever came to my mind. I’m frustrated about this. I’m worn out about that. I’m angry about this AND that. “Here,” my therapist said, “take these squeezie balls and squeeze the shit out of them.” (I took the squeezie balls, one in each hand.) “Or do you need to throw something? I have things you can throw if you want to throw things.”

As instructed, I squeezed the shit out of the balls.

“I think these will do,” I said, then continued to vent, mostly about the fact that my life isn’t working like I want it to work right now. “I just feel so–(squeeze, squeeze)–fucking stuck.”

“Maybe you need to get laid,” she said.

“Yes, that’d be great,” I agreed, squeezing some more. “I’ll get right on that.”

I swear. She makes getting laid sound so easy. Maybe it would be if I were. (That’s a sex joke, Mom.)

Okay, here’s something wonderful about seeing a therapist. Specifically, here’s something wonderful about seeing MY therapist. No matter what mood I’m in or what we’re talking about, I almost always end up laughing. Even today while I was venting my frustrations about life, I was actually laughing and having a good time. And whereas this kind of joking around happens with some of my friends–I don’t know–when I over-vent to my friends, things can get so–what’s the word?–heavy. I mean, no one knows what to say when someone you love dies or you lose your job and you don’t know what the hell you’re doing with your life.

Or whatever your problem is.

But that’s a therapist’s job–to first of all know how to listen and second of all know what to say. They went to school for that shit! Not that they get it right every time (my therapist says she thinks she hits the nail on the head about thirty percent of the time), but at least they’re–ideally–objective, as much as a person can be. Like, with a friend or family member, they’re invested, often tied to or affected by your issues. But a therapist–who hears the good, the bad, and the ugly day-in and day-out–can offer a different, more-detached perspective. I know mine can watch me yell or scream or cry and not take it personally. Instead, she can support me by offering compassion, making me laugh, or otherwise helping me to lighten up.

“Let it out,” she says. “This is normal. YOU are normal. You’re going to make it. You’re going to get laid.”

Or whatever.

But back to lightning up. I’m currently reading a book called On Becoming an Alchemist by Catherine MacCoun that’s right up my alley. Today I read that two terms alchemists (people who, by one definition, are concerned with transformation) often use are “levity” and “gravity.” Levity, of course, relates to being light-hearted, lightening up, and not taking yourself or life so seriously. Think–gold. Gravity, on the other hand, relates to being heavy-hearted, serious, or–well–grave. Think–lead. Also, think about how “grave” is actually a term that relates to death or that which is below rather than above the surface (of the earth, of your consciousness).

One of my takeaways from reading about all this is that one’s perspective and (consequently) their emotions change depending on whether they’re looking at a problem from “below” or “above.” Think about it. When you’re feeling “down” and taking both yourself seriously, the world looks worse than it does when you’re feeling “up.” And it’s not that your problems have moved; it’s that YOU have.

This, I think, has been the prized jewel I’ve discovered through my work with my therapist and this blog–movement. On the horizontal plane of matter, time, and space, my problems look much the same. If it’s not one damn thing, it’s another. I still get angry and frustrated about all of it. But on the vertical plane of spirituality, psychology, and my interior, my life looks much different than it did before. Not that I don’t have “down” days, but I’m more “up” than I ever have been. Consequently, I see both myself and life differently, better. My problems are fewer and farther between. Largely due to my perspective, they resolve faster.

Except, apparently, the getting laid thing.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Abundance is a lot like gravity--it's everywhere.

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