Pontius Pilate and the Haters (Blog #1057)

Tonight’s blog is #1057 in a row, the first of what I’m calling The Final Forty, since I only have forty more to go. And whereas a friend of mine told me last night that forty seemed like a lot to them, after nearly three years of this, it doesn’t seem like that much to me. Indeed, despite the fact that I’d rather be in bed right now, the thought of NOT blogging on a daily basis makes me a bit twitchy. I’ve gotten so much out of The Process that I think, What will I do when it’s over? How will I handle myself? My aunt, who thought I was going to quit at a thousand but over the holidays found out I had three more months to go, said, “You just can’t stop can you?” Well, yeah, I can–watch me, suckas–I’m just going to have to pray about it first.

In terms of The Process, more and more I’m learning to trust it. For example, for a while now I’ve had it in my mind that three years was the appropriate or “right” amount of time for me to blog. And whereas one of my original thoughts was that this blog would turn my life around on the outside (it hasn’t, by the way), it’s ended up turning my life around on the inside. So that’s good. Plus, just over the last few months, things have begun to turn around on the outside as well. For example, I’ve come across a couple healing things that have been extremely helpful. Consequently, I’m feeling better than I have in a long time. I hoping more, believing more.

This is no small thing.

Getting back to trusting The Process, I’ve learned that trusting The Process involves trusting–and following–your gut. Like, three years of blogging felt right, I’m doing it, and things are working out. Even my final blog number (I have this weird thing with numbers) is working out. Like, I thought it was going to be a 6 (365×3=1,095 / 1+9+5=15 / 1+5=6), but I realized recently it’s going to be a 7 because of leap year (1,095+1=1,096 / 1+9+6=16 / 1+6=7). And 7 is the number of completion. (But I thought your favorite number was 9, Marcus. Didn’t you want your final blog to be a 9?) Sure I did. And it is, in months. 3 years=36 months, and 3+6=9. Bam. And whereas I’ll never be able to prove to anybody that this “means” anything or that it’s confirmation I’m doing the right thing (for me), I don’t need to.

This is part of my message, if you want to call it that. Whatever path you’re on should make perfect sense to you. However illogical it may seem to someone else. What’s more, you should be absolutely convinced your path was sent to you by the gods. Like, I’m on a divine mission, get out of my way, bitches. Now, I’m not suggesting you think of yourself as Jesus Christ (they put people in institutions for that), but I am suggesting that, like Christ, you care more about your inner guidance than you do the wisdom of your friends, family, and the rest of the world. Ugh. That guy had it figured out. When Pontius Pilate and the Haters (sounds like a band name, I know) tried to get Jesus to defend himself, he refused. Rather, he stayed silent. Talk about inner strength and certainty, a man who didn’t need to explain himself to anyone other than heaven. Although I’m sure it was tough for him to keep his mouth shut. In this sense, Pilate was a tool for Christ’s transformation, an opportunity for him to take possession of his own spirit instead of giving it over to the day’s drama.

They didn’t call Jesus Master for nothing.

Hum. I didn’t mean to talk about Jesus, but here we are, and perhaps that’s okay. (It’s okay.) I mean, I started off talking about trusting The Process, and Jesus clearly trusted The Process. Granted, he told his dad, “I can think of other things I’d rather do on a Friday afternoon,” but still, he sacrificed: his will, his desires, his–um–life. Alas, this is what The Path often looks like. Sacrifice. Giving up.

Letting go, damn it.

In my experience, sacrifice and letting go aren’t the worst things. For example, this blog has been a sacrifice–a sacrifice of my time, my sleep, my health, my finances (websites don’t host themselves). And yet for all I’ve given up to make this thing happen, it’s given me so much more in return. From what others tell me, it’s given them so much more too. So if you had to sacrifice something, everything, in order to follow your heart’s desire and get more in return, wouldn’t it be worth it? If you had to let go of your old life in order to step into your new one (and you do), wouldn’t you gladly? I mean, here’s the deal. You HAVE to let go of everything when you die anyway. Why not get it over with now and spend the rest of your life free?

Caroline Myss says most of us don’t trust the divine because we think God’s going to take away our material possessions or–I don’t know–ask us to hang on a cross. And whereas these are valid concerns–God’s done it before–more and more I believe that heaven is on our side, rooting us on, just wanting us to see what’s important (what’s inside) instead of what’s not (what’s outside). Not that what’s outside is bad. Stuff’s absolutely not a problem, as long as you control it and not the other way around. Death isn’t a problem either. Jesus looked it square in the eye and said, “You have no power over me.” Not that death couldn’t take his body, it obviously could and did, but it couldn’t take his spirit. This is what The Path and The Process are all about, using both your inspirations and challenges (whatever your personal Pontius Pilate and the Haters look like) not as indicators that tell you how you’re doing (compared to others), but as tools for transformation.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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You can be weird here. You can be yourself.

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On Who Sends You Over the Moon (Blog #1008)

Today I’ve been thinking about stuff. I’ll explain. This morning–well, this afternoon–I lay in bed, quite frankly, feeling like crap, trying to go back to sleep. Alas, I couldn’t and, after I could scroll through Facebook no longer, finally succumbed to looking around my room–at my lamps, my books, my pictures. Earlier this week I wrote about how everything is falling apart, so I started thinking about how imperfect everything I own is. This lamp has a chip in it, that book’s pages are stained, that frame’s held together with super glue, and so on. My conclusion being that everything in life is broken.

Think about that.

If you own something that isn’t broken, either you’re not looking close enough or enough time hasn’t passed. Meaning everything breaks (wears out, fades, dies) eventually. In the blog about everything falling apart I used the phrase “smoke and mirrors,” and this is what I meant. We can try to hide the fact that everything is dissolving before our eyes (per the second law of thermodynamics) by turning the crack in the vase so that no one can see it, but that won’t change the fact that it’s there.

Recently I had a friend tell me that their mother (God rest her soul) bought “only the best.” And whereas I have high standards when shopping and adore pretty things and aesthetically pleasing objects, it really hit me this morning that even the best objects come with an expiration date. Because someone’s going to drop it or accidentally put it in the clothes washer. Or–God forbid–a tornado will carry it away. Once I heard a spiritual story about a man who had a heart attack and stopped breathing but was resuscitated by a doctor. People told the doctor, “You saved him from dying!” But the doctor, a mystic of sorts, said, “No one can be saved from dying. All I did was postpone his death.” This is what I mean by all things–including us–having an expiration date.

Just a moment ago I picked up a coffee cup and am now thinking of it as a mirage, a phantasm, not because the cup’s not real or because it’s not there anymore, but because it soon enough won’t be. That’s the deal, we spend so much time shopping for and arranging things just so, and yet–in the twinkling of an eye–it can all be gone.

In the twinkling of an eye, it will be.

Now, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with shopping for and arranging things just so. My room is full of pretty things and aesthetically pleasing objects, and you’d better believe everything is in its proper place. But more and more having things just so is a PREFERENCE for me, not a HAVE TO. That’s when we start getting into trouble, when everything MUST be a certain way–perfect, only the best–in order for us to be happy or satisfied. (I’m thinking of some neat-freaks I knew who, whenever they left home, insisted on vacuuming themselves out the door.) That was something else I thought about this morning while looking around my room. I went object by object and asked myself WHY I liked it, what I thought it did for me. And whereas it would take too long to go through all the reasons and answers, suffice it to say that most the things I like 1) remind me of pleasant time, 2) inspire me in some say, or 3) make me feel important (smart, handsome, hip, nifty) for owning them.

Like, wasn’t I clever for buying this?

Along these lines, I concluded that more often than not our material possessions are SYMBOLS. Granted, sometimes a doorknob is just a doorknob, but when something–let’s say a fancy, gold-plated doorknob–exists for us not just for its intended function but also to convey meaning (I have so much money that even my doorknobs are rich), well, now we’re talking about MEANING. Meaning that we’ve given to something either individually (I’m currently over the moon about brooches but know most people don’t give a shit, although just tonight Vogue said brooches were the new men’s fashion trend) or as a society (conversely, most anyone would be over the moon about a nice house, a luxury car, or season tickets to see their favorite sports team).

Again, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with having ANY of this stuff. One the contrary, since everything is fading, enjoy the hell out of it while you can. This being said, I do think it’s worthwhile to examine how you use your stuff symbolically. For example, if a souvenir reminds you of a lovely vacation and gives you a warm, fuzzy feeling, super. That’s what it’s supposed to do. But if the thought of someone stealing your souvenir gives you anxiety, then you’ve given more POWER to the souvenir than any physical object is capable of containing. That is, you’ve convinced yourself that the THING is generating your warm, fuzzy feeling, when–in fact–it’s you that’s doing that. Think about it. If a brooch can send me over the moon and yet have NO EFFECT on you, then the brooch isn’t doing it, I am.

So this is what I’d suggest keeping in mind the next time you go shopping or start to get excited about any material do-dad. First, remember that you’re looking at a mirage, something that will eventually disappear. Either it will, or you will. Second, know that in addition to looking at a mirage, you’re looking at a symbol. Ask yourself, “What does this represent to me?” If the answer is, “This doorknob will impress my neighbors and make me feel better about myself,” consider that your value and self-worth come from the inside, not the outside. Lastly, remember that things only have the power we give them–and that nothing (no thing) can affect your mood, value, or worth without your permission. Think, Who sends me over the moon? I do.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Answers come built-in. There are no "just problems."

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