The Final Say (Blog #811)

I’ve spent a large part of the day focusing on a literal pain in my neck that has bothered me for months and is sometimes worse than others. It’s this constant tension that often turns into a pounding headache. Thankfully, if I focus on it and breathe just so, it loosens up. Not completely and not permanently, but some.

Ugh. I wish it would just go away.

I keep hoping for a miracle with my neck, but it’s probably going to take several more days, weeks, months like today, moments when I slow down, breathe, and do my best to relax. That’s what this pain in my neck has been good for. It’s a reminder to be gentle with myself, a reminder that I’ve been through a lot. Most recently there was that car accident two years ago, but there were a few other car accidents before that. When I think of those, it makes sense that my neck is stiff, on high alert. It’s traumatized. I’m traumatized.

This is a sentence I’ve been getting comfortable with lately–I’m traumatized. Not as a badge of honor or like, oh, poor me, but as a simple fact. I’ve read a lot about trauma. Plus, having experienced it in many forms, I can say that often its result is freezing–a petrification, a stiffening of the body. As grandpa used to say, stiff in all the wrong places. Of course, it doesn’t take a car accident or even an emotional trauma to cause one’s body to lock up. It can happen if you spend years hunched over a desk or piano. All this being said, I truly believe that what can be frozen can be thawed out, to follow the metaphor. This is part of my frustration. I really believe that my body can heal, so I get all the more irritated when it doesn’t right this damn minute.

Another opportunity for patience.

One of the things my therapist and I often talk about is how life or the universe seems to test you when you say you want something. For example, after my declaring that I was tired of my ex’s immature bullshit, I was presented with a long string of inappropriate suitors. Because I was used to inappropriate behavior, I was deeply tempted to hang out–and more–with these fellas. Sometimes I actually did. Ultimately, I raised my standards not only in theory, but in practice. My point is that in a way life was saying, “Do you REALLY want something better, or are you going to settle?” Likewise, I’ve turned down a number of shit job opportunities because they either weren’t what I wanted to really do, or because the pay wasn’t enough. There have been times that people have asked me to lower my hourly dance rate. And sure, I could knock off 25 bucks instead of staying home and reading a book, but the truth is I’m worth my full rate–so that’s what it’s gonna take to get me off this couch.

My therapist says that even when she was first starting her practice, she refused to see certain potential clients. Even now she won’t work with couples, for example. Not that she doesn’t know how, but she doesn’t enjoy it. My point is that even though she could–in theory–be making more money, it’s more important for her to make money doing what she enjoys. And because she’s been purposeful about how she wants to spend her time–because she’s “followed her bliss”–she has as much business as she can handle. She says this is what abundance looks like–getting clear about what you want and sticking to your guns until the universe delivers.

Again, it seems the universe tests you when you want something–a better job, better health, better relationships. It puts you through “trials” because it has to know if you can handle that better thing you say you want, if you have integrity. In other words, are you going to compromise your standards?

My therapist says it’s been her observation that the people who are the least happy in their lives and jobs are the people who don’t stand up for themselves, speak their truth, and say what they want. Instead, they bite their tongue and accept whatever comes along. I understand this–I did it for a long time. But more and more it’s my goal to not settle in any area of my life. If this means sitting on my parents’ couch reading a book instead of suffering in some shit job working for some shit employer, then I’ll sit on my parents’ couch and turn pages until the day I die (sorry, Mom and Dad). I’d rather be poor than let my soul shrivel. If it means being alone instead of being with someone who refuses to treat me well, I’ll be alone. I like my own company just fine.

In the Bible there’s the story of a rich man whom Jesus told, “If you want to join me and my band of merry men, you’re first going to have to get yourself a pair of tights and then sell all your shit and give it to the poor.” (I’m paraphrasing and mixing fairy tales, of course.) One interpretation of this story is that it’s not so much about the man’s literal riches, but his mental riches. In other words, if you want what the Christ-mind offers, you’ve gotta divest your mind of all its previous notions and ideas about, well, everything. Because you can’t put new wine (new thoughts) in an old wineskin (old mind). In other words, if you want salvation, you’ve gotta start fresh.

Behold, all things are becoming new.

Along these lines (I think), Caroline Myss asks the question, “Is there anything you wouldn’t do to heal?” What if healing required leaving a toxic relationship, moving across the country, or quitting your job–would you do these things? Asked another way, is there anything you wouldn’t do for salvation? Because in my experience it’s not free. Indeed, when it comes to salvation (personal growth, individuation, peace of mind), life asks for everything you treasure–your lovers, your possessions, your friends. This is the story of Job. Give it up. Nothing belongs to you anyway. If it comes back to you, fine, but at least by that point–hopefully–you will have gotten clear about the fact that nothing external really matters. It’s what’s on the inside that counts. It’s always and forever, without exception, your soul that has the final say.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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We're allowed to relabel and remake ourselves.

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Does Someone Up There Have a Bet Going? (Blog #620)

For the last few days I’ve been struggling to use my blog editing software, which recently updated itself without asking me first. (How rude.) And whereas I was starting to understand it, it wasn’t playing nice with my “preview pictures,” the smaller-sized versions of each blog’s main photo that are used for the “related posts” section on my site. (Found at the bottom of each individual post, the “related posts” section recommends three–um–related posts). Anyway, when I noticed last night that a particular preview picture wasn’t being generated, it frustrated me to no end. So earlier I figured out a workaround, then later figured out how to get all my pictures, quotes, and everything else back to the way they’ve been for the last two years.

Up next: an explanation.

My blogging site’s new editing software is called Gutenberg, probably named after the man who invented the printing press. Regardless, I guess the people who invented Gutenberg saw this problem coming, curmudgeons like me getting frustrated by changes, so they created an option to blog using the “Classic Editor.” That’s the one I’m using now. Doesn’t that have a nice ring to it–classic? Almost makes me forget I’m a pissed off old fart with his arms folded across his chest who’s refusing to do things differently than he always has.

Classic: another word for set in your ways.

I’m telling myself it’s not that I absolutely won’t learn new things. I will. But these new things need to work at least as well as the old things did, or I’m out. (Done. Check please.) Ugh. I really didn’t intend to bitch for 250 words about this situation. The truth is I’m frustrated with my body. Earlier this year I battled a skin rash (where nobody wants a skin rash), but it’s been under control for months now. Then this morning–out of the not-so-clear blue sky, it showed back up. Maybe because since injuring my knee I’ve been showering in my parents’ bathroom and using a different soap. That’s the best theory my team of doctors came up with the first time, that it was an allergic reaction. “An inflammation whose cause is unknown” is what the lab report said. Anyway, it’s not pleasant. I feel like I have an entire extended family of mosquitoes living inside my pants.

I’m glad we can talk about these things.

As if that weren’t enough, this afternoon I got an MRI of my knee, my first MRI ever. Y’all, that machine was SO FRICKING LOUD. It sounded like a woodpecker using a jack hammer combined with that awful screeching noise used in Psycho when Anthony Perkins stabs Janet Leigh to death in the shower. Even with earplugs in, all I could hear was THUD-THUD-THUD-REEK-REEK-REEK for twenty minutes straight.

It was not relaxing.

That being said, the MRI itself went well. “We got really good pictures,” the technician told me. But lest this post start to sound too cherry, let’s get back to the bad news, which my doctor called me with this evening. In short, I tore my ACL and lateral meniscus, which explains why my leg currently has all the inner strength of a blob of apricot jelly. (That is to say, I can’t stand on the damn thing.) Anyway, my doctor said that ACL tears are pretty common in sports (like dancing), and that mine can be repaired (with surgery), but will require “harvesting” ligaments (I think that’s what he said) from my hamstring. Harvesting–can you believe that’s an actual medical term? Sounds like something you should be doing in September in Iowa–gathering in the corn. Except in this situation, they’ll be gathering in my body parts.

Talk about macabre.

In terms of my lateral meniscus, my doctor said they don’t repair well, so he’ll probably end up shaving off the damaged section. (Doesn’t that sound pleasant?) I can’t tell you how disheartening all this is. Not that I haven’t been assuming I’d need surgery, but there’s something about hearing your doctor say it, about being told you’ll be in a big, awkward brace for six weeks, will be in some sort of brace or another for an entire year (an entire year!), and won’t be able to dance for three months.

As of now, surgery hasn’t been scheduled, but my attitude is “let’s do this.” Not that I’m looking forward to it–I’m not–but the sooner we get this ball rolling, the sooner it’s all behind me. Shit. I’m really in a state of disbelief. My stomach’s upset (it has been for months), my skin’s irritated and inflamed, and now this nonsense with my leg (which, by the way, I use to make a living). What else can go wrong? Don’t answer that.

I know, things could always be worse. I’m not alone. Plenty of people have upset stomachs, irritated skin, and knee caps that function like Slinkys. But seriously–God, life, the universe–something needs to give. Yesterday I said the juice was worth the squeeze, but I didn’t mean squeeze harder. I’m up for learning through suffering and all–I get that’s a thing down here–but back off a little. (Pretty please?) I mean, if I accidentally signed up for the advanced course before incarnating, I apologize. That was a mistake. I take it back. From now on, if you don’t mind, I’d like my “tests” a bit more spread out. Just one exam a semester should work, thank you.

Life sucks until it’s finished sucking.

I know life doesn’t work this way. Sure, you can ask the heavens to back off, but you see how well that worked for Job. In other words, sometimes life sucks, it sucks hard, and it sucks hard until it’s finished sucking. And good luck ever getting an explanation. It’s not like the deity ever bothered telling Job, “You see, I had this wager–.”  And even if he had told him, it’s not like that tidbit of information would have made Job feel any better about losing–um–everything he ever loved. It’s not like, after being told that he was the subject of a big cosmic crap game, he would have scraped a piece of broken pottery across his leprosy boils and said, “Makes sense to me, God; feel free to double down next time!” No, explanations don’t help us when we’re suffering. Nor do we get to boss the heavens about or decide when we’re “done.” What we can do, however, is pray for the grace to accept this moment for what it is. For in acceptance, it seems, there’s relief.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Our burdens are lighter when we share them.

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Between Job and Prometheus (Blog #344)

Feeling a bit better, I ventured out of the house today. Like, past the mailbox. Y’all, I actually got dressed, put on a nice pair of shoes, and went to Fort Smith to run errands. My original intention was to simply go to Kinko’s and make copies, but I ended up going to Kinko’s, the dermatologist’s office, the post office, the bank, and Walmart. I also stopped by the Department of Motor Vehicles and even went so far as to “take a number” and sit down. But as soon as I looked at the current number being serviced and realized that ninety-five people were in line ahead of me, I thought, I feel better, but not that much better, and left.

Some days you just can’t.

About the time I got to Walmart, I got a call from my friend Cameron. Cameron lives in New Mexico, and we met maybe ten years ago. Four years ago, when my life was a mess and I was just beginning therapy, Cameron came to Arkansas and helped me move. You know, he’s solid, one of those types who always insists on talking about you first. Anyway, after Warmart I headed home but took the scenic route so I could talk to Cam.

When I pulled in the driveway, it was five-thirty. And whereas I’d only been gone for two-and-a-half hours, I felt like I’d just gotten back from a sixteen-hour road trip. I came in, ate dinner, then lay down and promptly fell asleep. Now it’s just after nine, and I’m ready to go back to bed. At the same time, my body is stiff (in all the wrong places, as Grandpa used to say), and I have a headache. This is the damn thing about being sick. You spend most your time in bed because you have all the energy of a two-toed sloth, but you develop all these other problems because you’re not up moving around. Plus, you mouth-breathe when you’re congested, so not only do you wake up with a crick in your neck, but you also wake up with a tongue that has all the consistency of sandpaper.

It’s not pretty.

Dear Jesus, help.

Joseph Campbell often speaks about the Biblical story of Job. The way Campbell interprets it, God, having nothing better to do on a Friday night, makes a wager with Satan–do whatever you want to my servant Job over there (just don’t kill him), and I bet he won’t curse me. Of course, we all know how the story unfolds. Things got pretty bad for Job. Like he lost his fortune, all his children died, and he got leprosy. (Leprosy!) Talk about getting screwed. And oh yeah, his wife and friends said everything was his fault. Naturally bewildered, Job asks God, “Hey, man, what the hell?”

God’s answer? “Are you big? I am. Can you fill Leviathan’s nose with harpoons? I can. If you weren’t there when the world was created and if you didn’t create it (like I did), don’t tell me how to do things.”

In response to being served this cosmic piece of humble pie, Job backed off. He said, “I despise myself and relent in dust and ashes.” (Apparently both God and Job had a flare for the dramatic.)

Campbell compares this story to the Greek myth about Prometheus, the Titan who stole fire from the gods and gave it to man, thus thwarting Zeus’s plan to destroy the human race. Naturally, Zeus was pissed. He strapped Prometheus to a rock. (I’m sure some thunderbolts were involved.) Then every day an eagle came to Prometheus and ate his liver, which regenerated itself every night so the whole process could start all over again. Talk about getting screwed. Anyway, Hermes, the famous messenger god with those fabulous winged shoes, came to Prometheus and said, “You know, if you’d just apologize and tell Zeus how great he is, this could all be over.”

Prometheus’s reply?

“Go suck an egg.”

Campbell says these stories or myths represent two totally different and irreconcilable ways of being in the world. One–the story of Job–is mystical and mysterious. It’s spiritual. The other–the story of Prometheus–is human. Campbell never says that one is better or worse than the other, but does say that most of us are with Job on our lips and with Prometheus in our hearts. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, and Saturday, we think we know how to run the universe. Sunday, for a couple hours, we say that God knows best. The following Monday we’re on the shrink’s couch wondering why we have problems.

In the play of life, I’m an actor–not the writer, not the director.

Earlier today my friend Marla and I were texting about all the illness that is up in my family household, and she said, “What Jumanji god did you piss off?” I said, “Seriously, I feel like Zeus has strapped me to a rock.” As I’ve said before, I’m worn out by all this. I’m over it. Honestly, there are moments when I want to tell the universe to suck an egg. Like, what did I do to deserve this? What did any of us do to deserve this? In other moments, I recognize my small stature in the universe. Just as I don’t get to decide the weather each day, I also don’t get to decide which challenges show up in my life. I hate that, but that’s the way it is. In the play of life, I’m an actor–not the writer, not the director. This is the part I’ve been given for now, and my choice is how I’m going to play it. But this is the struggle I think we all deal with daily, deciding whose team we’re on, deciding between Job and Prometheus.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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You can rise above. You can walk on water.

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One Day at a Time (Blog #235)

As Little Orphan Annie would say, “Yesterday was plain awful.” By yesterday, of course, I mean yesterday, today, and now. The good news is that I slept for over thirteen hours last night and napped this evening for two or three, so my body has gotten some rest. The bad news is that I was sweating all through the night, my body aches, and I’ve been coughing up junk all day. Physically and emotionally, I’m worn out. Even now I’m close to tears because the last thing I want to do is stay up to write an inspirational blog.

Seriously, whose idea was this–to sit down each and every day and find something positive to say about the world, to let life kick you in the nuts repeatedly then turn around and say thank you? I know, it was my idea, but couldn’t I have just started a cooking blog like everybody else? I mean, I could have worn an a cute, little apron and said things like, Look at all the wonderful things you can do with coriander! Surely that would have been easier than this project. At least I would have had a recipe to follow. But now I don’t know what step to take next. On every level–in both life and online–I’m frustrated and don’t know what to do.

Personally, I think it really sucks that I dragged my ass to a doctor last week and am now feeling worse than I have since this whole mess started five weeks ago. And yes–I know my attitude is terrible. Things could be worse–things could always be worse. Just last night my mom (who has freaking cancer) threw up twice because her headache was that painful. Today my dad had to stop midway from his car to Mom’s doctor’s office because his knees hurt so bad. So you don’t have to tell me–I realize I could have it worse and am not looking on the bright side over here. Rather, I’ve spent the day being irritated by the smallest of things, like the young adult fiction novel I’m reading that, like my illness, refuses to get better as it goes along.

That’s how I know I’m really not doing well, when I find myself losing perspective and being hypercritical of the world around me. Everything that was fine the day before is suddenly a major crime. The television’s too loud, my hair is wrong in every way, the book I’m reading is stupid (but I keep reading it). Objectively I can say that my attitude is bad because my resources are low, that eventually I’ll be back on my feet and will see things differently. But it certainly doesn’t feel that way. Rather, it feels as if no matter what I do or try, nothing will ever improve.

I guess that’s a difficult idea for me to get away from, the idea that there’s something I can do about this, that if I just ate better, knew the right doctor, or were my spiritual, I wouldn’t have this chronic problem. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with those things, of course, but if you do everything you know to do believing it will make a difference and the difference doesn’t show up, then you’re left feeling like you’re somehow inadequate or have been weighed in the scales and found wanting. In my case, as if getting sick weren’t enough, getting sick always feels like it’s my fault for not knowing enough.

This is something I’d really like to get away from. Obviously there are a lot of factors that go into health and wellness and there’s plenty more I could learn, but even God told Job it wasn’t for him to understand the mystery he was living. Honestly, this is a tough pill for me to swallow, I guess because it requires me to surrender. I’m so used to go-go-going and do-do-doing, I have a difficult admitting that something as personal as my health and well-being are ultimately beyond my control. I imagine most westerners feel this way–we hate thinking of ourselves as vulnerable. Maybe that’s why we have a hard time showing compassion when people suffer. Someone our age dies in a car accident, and we say, “Well, he wasn’t wearing is seatbelt,” as if seat belts grant immortality. I mean, you can do everything right, and something bad can still happen to you.

As they say, no one gets out of here alive.

I guess when I don’t feel well, it’s really easy to take things personally, to forget that we all have bodies that struggle and don’t do what we want them to. We all try things that don’t work and have days or weeks (or years) we feel like quitting. We all wrestle to find the difference between the things we can change and those that lie beyond our control. Some days, most days, we have more questions than answers. Perhaps days like today weren’t meant to be inspirational, just as bodies weren’t meant to be invincible. Perhaps it’s okay to be sick and vulnerable and not know what to do next–simply because that’s honest. Perhaps the best we can ever do is live our mysteries one day at a time.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Whereas I've always pictured patience as a sweet, smiling, long-haired lady in a white dress, I'm coming to see her as a frumpy, worn-out old broad with three chins. You know--sturdy--someone who's been through the ringer and lived to tell about it.

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