The Black Goo Part (Blog #886)

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Today, Labor Day, was fabulous. This morning I finished a house sitting/dog sitting gig. And whereas I had to pick up shit (off the carpet), I didn’t step in any (like I did the other day). I consider this a win. Funny how your standards change. Anyway, after packing up, I had lunch–barbecue chicken nachos and beer–with some friends. Then I came home and unpacked. Y’all, this took a while. Whenever I house sit, even if it’s only for a few days, I bring so much stuff–a bag full of clothes, my own water filter, my own cast iron frying pan (because cast iron is supposedly better for you than aluminum is).

Finally, I got everything put away. Everything back in its place.

This evening I taught a dance lesson, and afterwards washed my car, Tom Collins. Since acquiring Tom over two years ago, I’ve made an concerted effort to keep him clean, but alas, he’s nonetheless gotten quite filthy this summer. As I just said, I’ve been toting a lot of stuff around, as well as mowing a few lawns. Plus, it’s been raining a good deal. Consequently, Tom has been dirty, dirty, dirty inside and out. And whereas I’ve been telling myself I’m too busy to clean him up, today I decided the rest of the world could wait. I thought, It’s more important for me to feel good.

I mean, who doesn’t feel better driving a clean car?

I’ve heard some people say the secret to success is making your bed every day. I’m not sure that I believe it’s that simple, but I do think there’s something to it. That is, whenever my room is tidy or my car is clean, I feel calmer, like there’s order in the world. Conversely, whenever things are a mess, it’s like I wake up in chaos, drive to work in chaos, and–on some level–feel chaos everywhere I go. I’m always saying that the inside affects the outside, but there’s both truth and magic in the idea that the outside affects the inside. This is why how a space is organized and decorated influences your mood. This is why feng shui is a thing.

So go clean something. Feel better now.

This evening I helped some other friends run speaker wire in a store they’re helping to open. This involved two of us on a ladder attaching wire to metal trusses with zip ties and one of us down on the ground feeding the wire. Well, at one point I noticed that the dust on our hands was getting the recently painted trusses dirty, so I grabbed some rags from my car so we could wipe the trusses down. And get this shit–when I went to my car I noticed an absolutely beautiful yellow and brown moth (an Imperial Moth, I found out later) hanging out on the hood of Tom Collins.

Spoiler alert, it may have been dead. (It didn’t fly off when I drove home later, but rather got “swept away.”)

For the last few weeks while painting I’ve been listening to lectures by Stephan A. Hoeller, a gnostic mystic. In one of his talks he says that the point of life or one’s spiritual journey is not to change but rather to transform. This process of transformation, he says, is often compared to a caterpillar becoming a butterfly or moth–because the old must die in order to make way for the new. He further explains that when a caterpillar morphs into a butterfly or moth, it doesn’t simply sprout wings. Rather, during the pupa stage, it literally dissolves itself using its acidic stomach juices and becomes what Hoeller says is “a black goo” and what the internet says is a mass of imaginal or undifferentiated cells (or cells that can become anything–er–anything like a heart or liver, not anything like Liza Minelli.). It is from this black goo that the butterfly eventually emerges.

My point in sharing this example of transformation is twofold. First, if you really want to live up to your highest potential, know that it’s messy business. Between what you are and what you’ll become, there’s the black goo part. In alchemical terms, it’s called putrefaction–the dissolving of your old life (your old thoughts, viewpoints, habits, and patterns). As I’m always saying, it’s not fun. I wouldn’t recommend it. Better said, I wouldn’t recommend STAYING in this phase. How would one stay in the black goo phase? Easy–keep hanging on to your old life. Keep insisting you’re a caterpillar. Keep insisting you’ll never fly.

My second point is that any true transformation is whole and complete. Now, this doesn’t mean that if you’re on The Path you’re guaranteed to lose a hundred pounds or go from rags to riches. The transformation I’m promoting involves more than just working on the outside. It involves more than making your bed every day, although, granted, these activities might jumpstart or support in internal transformation. But back to true transformation being whole and complete. This means that it touches every area of you life. It means every area of your life will–most likely–be turned upside down (the black goo part) IN ORDER TO BE put back together in a better fashion. Jesus said, “Behold, ALL THINGS are become new” and “Except a man be BORN AGAIN, he cannot see the kingdom of God.” This means you–the old you, the caterpillar you–has to die first.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"Things that shine do better when they're scattered about."

On Transformation and the Dark Night (Blog #870)

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This afternoon I continued painting the bathroom I started painting yesterday. It’s coming along. Today I rolled on a second coat, and the walls went from being one-coat-blah to there-we-go-that’s-nice. The more I paint, the more I’m reminded of the lessons it teaches. For one thing, nothing happens all at once. There’s always a process. One coat, two coats, sometimes three (all these coats get paint on me). For another, every process involves waiting. I always want to get projects done in one day, but painting goes better when you don’t–because the paint needs time to dry. Plus, whenever you walk away from something, you can come back to it later with a new perspective.

For as many rooms as I’ve painted over the years, I’m continually amazed by The Process. Both before the first brushstroke and after the last one, I stare at a room in amazement. Before I think, This is such a mess. How am I going to do this? After I think, Wow! I did it. This is SO MUCH better. Suddenly all the hard work and long hours become worth it.

Hard work and long hours are the only way I’ve found to turn a room around, by the way. You’ve simply got to put in the time and you’ve got to break a sweat (or pay someone else to) if you want solid results. Knowing this, I still get overwhelmed. Just today I thought, I’m never going to get this bathroom done. But then I reminded myself that in that moment it wasn’t my job to paint the entire bathroom. Rather, in that moment it was my job to paint the square foot of wall in front of me. Just that one square foot. So that’s what I did. Over and over again, I concentrated on the section of wall in front of me, and–eventually–I covered the whole room. This is how I’ve written 870 consecutive blogs (including tonight’s)–one blog at a time.

As I was painting today I thought a lot about change (for obvious reasons). Stephan Hoeller points out that there are three types of change–cyclical change (as in the seasons), linear change (as in growing older or trading in one vehicle or outfit for another), and transformational change (as in a caterpillar becoming a butterfly). Transformational change involves the death of an old life (the caterpillar) and the birth of a new one (the butterfly). Sticking with the house metaphor, transformational change would involve knocking down old walls and putting up new ones. (At the very least painting a wall and rearranging, or better yet, buying all new furniture–preferably nothing cheap from IKEA unless, of course, you’re in college). Hoeller says this is really why we’re down here on planet earth–not to learn something, but to transform–though few of us are willing to put in the hard work and time required to do so.

Jesus said, “Behold, all things are become new,” and I would say this is the test as to whether the process of transformation (not just linear change) has begun in your life. Is EVERYTHING at least starting to look different than it used to? Robert Ohotto explains it this way. When you have a pattern of behavior (let’s say you’re a perfectionist or a people pleaser), that pattern touches every relationship in your life. Because that pattern CREATED every relationship in your life. Well, let’s say you wake up one day and have the little thought, I’d like to stop being such a hard ass about everything, or I’d like to stop giving a shit what everyone else thinks of me. If you’re serious–whoops! This means that everything your perfectionist or people pleaser created–every relationship–now has to shift, perhaps crumble, in order to make room for more productive patterns and their subsequent creations to step in.

So look out.

This shift in relationships (to other people, to money, to yourself) is what has traditionally been referred to as The Dark Night of the Soul and what Ohotto calls The Dark Night of the Ego (because what’s dark for your soul?). Quite frankly, it’s the process I’ve been going through these last five plus years, and, although it’s a necessary part of transformation, it’s not fun. It’s why I say the truth will set you free (sort of) and why I say I don’t recommend this path. In truth, I do recommend it, but transformation is an ugly and uncomfortable business, and I’d like to be ever clear about that. In the Bible, Jonah was three days in the belly of the whale, and Christ was three days in the grave. Before the Phoenix rose anew from the ashes, it dis-integrated into ashes. Hoeller says before a caterpillar becomes a butterfly, it becomes “a black goo.” Ohotto says before you can become SOMEBODY, you must first become NOBODY. So the point has been made time and time again–death precedes life.

I don’t like this any more than you do.

[One last thing. In terms of tonight’s photo, which features me holding a sign that says, “Be awesome today,” I feel like I need to add–like, no pressure.]

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"I believe we're all courageous, and I believe that no one is alone."

That Cold-Shower Feeling (Blog #798)

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Like yesterday, today has been go, go, go. Mostly, I’ve been cleaning my friend’s house, which I’m taking care of this week. If I see one more dust bunny I’m going to scream. Thankfully, I’m almost done. I just have the kitchen left. Well, and the floors. The floors are dirty. But the vacuum cleaner will take care of that. Plus, the vacuum cleaner is fun to use. It’s like a magic wand, really. Now you see it, now you don’t. I always feel like Harry Potter when I vacuum. Dusty Potter.

If it hair-lips the king, I’m gonna finish cleaning tonight. It’s nine-thirty now, and I’d rather stay up late, finish cleaning, and wake up to a sparkling house than go to bed early, wake up, and set my bare feet down in all the dust I’ve wiped off the higher surfaces. Besides, I’ve got stuff to do tomorrow–errands to run and such. A couple just booked a dance lesson. And whereas I imagine I could TRY to squeeze everything in, I’d rather breathe. So again, I intend to stay up late and get-er-done.

Clearly, I’m trying to get the blog done too. I wish I had something more to talk about than cleaning house. I know it must be terribly exciting to read about, dear reader. Alas, this is my life. This and walking my friend’s dog, which amounts to watching him hike his back leg and pee on every tree stump, fire hydrant, and fence post in a three-block radius. It’s awesome. Still, it affords me my glamorous lifestyle–sleeping in til noon, reading and writing when other people are working “real jobs.” Every up has a down, and vice versa.

Okay, here’s a story.

After cleaning all day, I decided to take a shower before teaching dance this evening. I’d cleaned the shower this morning, so I thought, This is gonna be fun. Well, I was wrong. The hot water was broken. The pilot light on the water heater had gone out–I found out later. After I took A COLD SHOWER, this is. Talk about–what’s the word?–shocking. I think I stopped breathing for a moment. At first I couldn’t even get enough air to cuss. But then I kept soaping up, kept washing off.

After a minute, that cold water wasn’t so bad. Not that it was so good or even comfortable–it wasn’t–but it was bearable. When it was all said and done, I was actually invigorated, more awake. And not that I’m wanting to do it again–indeed, I marched my little butt down into the basement and relit the pilot light on the hot water heater (after I put some clothes on)–but there was this sense of I’m alive.

While cleaning yesterday, I listened to a lecture by Stephan Hoeller in which he pointed out how fundamentally unsatisfying life can be at times. Like, you fall in love, make some money, buy some nice things, go out with friends and still find yourself asking, Is this all there is? Hoeller’s push was for the spiritual life, a deeper connection to life itself. I know that word–spiritual–means a lot of different things to a lot of different people. In terms of where the word spirit comes from, it’s related to animation or movement. What is it that animates you? What is it that moves you? For me, it’s that thing that makes me want to read and write and create, that mysterious quality that invigorates, that cold-shower feeling of I’m alive.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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The symbols that fascinate us are meant to transform us.

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A World Where You Belong (Blog #787)

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For the last two days I’ve been cleaning antique hardware for my friends Todd and Bonnie. This is turning out to be a chore. (I’m scrubbing my brass off.) Not because the work is difficult, but because there’s a lot involved, like running back and forth to the hardware store for supplies. Today I discovered that all the door hinges are not, in fact, solid brass. Rather, they’re brass plated. Or were, since my cleaning them really did scrub their brass off. Now they’re just ugly metal hinges. But never fear, we decided to spray paint them (satin brass). Some of them are drying now. Others are still in a crock pot being heated up–so I can remove the old (white) paint on them then put the new paint on.

A project like this is clearly a damn process. Take the hardware off. Put it in a crock pot. Scrub the paint off. Then either shine it or spray paint it. Put the hardware back on. This evening I bought three different types of screws for putting the hardware back, then got back to the house and realized two of them were the wrong size. Screws too short–story of my life. (That’s a sex joke, Mom.) Anyway, tomorrow I’ll go back to the hardware store and try again. That’s the deal when things are a process–you just keep taking one step at a time until everything is done.

Or until you are.

While working today I listened to a lecture by Stephan Hoeller that said projection is a function of perception. That is, first you perceive or understand something, then you project that perception out into the world. For example, I first understood (mentally) that I needed to spray paint the hinges, then I talked to Todd and Bonnie, then I bought the paint, then I sprayed the hinges. Perception preceded projection. Over the last several years I’ve perceived a number of things in therapy–like, that I needed to set a boundary or have a conversation with someone–then proceeded to project those cognitions into my life and relationships, even on to this blog.

In a lot of New Age and even spiritual material, the world is referred to as a mirror. This isn’t to say that if you witness something horrific on the ten o’clock news that you’re horrific, but it is to say that the way you respond (mentally, emotionally, physically) has a lot to do with you and very little to do with any specific horrific thing you may see. When Donald Trump was elected, I wasn’t thrilled but I wasn’t emotional. Conversely, I had friends who cried. As the fact of the matter was the same for everyone (Donald Trump was elected), and yet there were so many varied responses, I can only logically conclude that those varied responses were due to each individual’s PERCEPTION of what had taken place and what they thought that meant or didn’t mean. My point is that we’re never just responding to what’s “out there,” but rather what’s “in here.”

Another way of saying this is that you don’t see the world as IT IS, but rather AS YOU ARE. Again, if you think the world is a terrible place, that doesn’t mean you’re a terrible person. Scared, frightened, or angry, maybe. My therapist says that if you have unresolved trauma and don’t deal with it consciously, you’ll deal with it unconsciously. “You’ll externalize it,” she said. “You’ll get involved in a bad relationship, become paranoid, or develop a neurosis.” Um, guilty–I’ve done all of the above. When I was a teenager and my dad was in prison, I became a HUGE conspiracy theorist. I despised the government. Looking back, I can see that I was simply overwhelmed and terrified, fearful that what happened to my dad would one day happen to me. But since I either didn’t know how or was unable to experience and give voice to my emotions (my perceptions), they got pushed out on to “the bad guys.” In other words, I wasn’t a scary place, the world was.

Now I think the reverse was true. (I was a scary place. The world was –the world.) Not that ugly things don’t happen in the world (and we all know the government killed JFK), but I know that how I respond to those things absolutely belongs to me. I own my emotions. If I see something horrific and get sad or angry, it’s not because that horrific thing put those emotions into me. No, they were already there. Wayne Dyer used to say that when you squeeze an orange, orange juice comes out, and–likewise–when you’re squeezed, what’s inside YOU comes out.

What goes down must come up.

Hoeller says that we project our perceptions (my therapist’s word for projection is externalize) in order that we can interact with them. That is, for decades I believed and felt that the world was an unsafe place to live. This, I’m sure, had to do with our house burning down when I was a child, and then, later, Dad’s going to prison. Or maybe it was my being in a car accident. Pick a trauma. The point is that my mind, body, and emotions had definite reactions to those events, but I did everything I could to shove those reactions down and shut them off. This is impossible to do, of course, at least for very long. What goes down must come up. Again, this can happen consciously or unconsciously, but either way–you must interact with what’s inside you.

Like cleaning antique hardware, this is a damn process.

Having walked this trying-to-be-conscious road for a while a now, I’m just gonna say it’s not fun and it’s not easy. That being said, I’d highly suggest dealing with what’s inside you consciously rather than projecting or externalizing it, since that’s even worse. After all, when you’re problem is projected (over there), what can you do about it–other than become a social justice warrior? But if your problem is inside you, now we’re talking. And yet, this is why the work is hard. Looking at what’s inside you requires owning every action and reaction you’ve ever had. It means sitting with thoughts like, I was terrified. I am terrified. I’m oh-so-very scared. But once you do, I promise, the world that used to appear unsafe and frightening will change. It has to–because you did. Because your perceptions, and thus your projections, did. This is The Good News, that if you can perceive and project an unsafe world, you can perceive and project a safe one, a world where you belong.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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

On Books and Abundance (Blog #785)

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It’s 7:45 in the evening, I just got back from dinner, and sometime soon my friend Justin is coming over to hang out and catch up. Because our chats often go on for hours, I’m hoping to be done blogging by the time he gets here. I simply can’t imagine that my brain will feel like waking up and rising to the occasion at two in the morning. Not that I haven’t blogged late at night a hundred times before. God knows. Last night I started at midnight. And whereas I technically finished writing in an hour, I dragged the editing process out until three because I kept “tabbing over” to an online library I discovered. No kidding, they have millions of digitalized books that you can either download or borrow for free. I spent hours comparing my Amazon wish list to the site’s catalog and found over thirty-five books I’ve been wanting!

Lately I’ve been spending more time “collecting” books or searching for them online than I have actually reading them. Not that I haven’t been reading. It just takes so much time. Conversely, downloading a book, or flagging it on a library site, only takes a moment. Anyway, I’ve amassed quite the reading list. And whereas this used to overwhelm me, like, How will I ever read all these?, I’ve realized I don’t have to. There’s not a cosmic librarian or test administrator who’s going to quiz me on what’s in my head. Rather, all these books are here for my pleasure. And the fact that there are SO MANY BOOKS TO POTENTIALLY READ?

That’s just a sign of abundance.

Recently I heard that God is not a miser. That is, you can’t look at life, with it’s thousands of varieties of animals and plants on the earth and millions of stars in the sky and say that it’s cheap or anything but extravagant. This is my point about books. The world is full of information, knowledge, and stories. It always has been and always will be. This is why it’s becoming more and more ridiculous to me when I hear people say that things will never change or that THEIR problem can’t be solved. You’re telling me you live in a universe that can hang a moon in the sky but can’t fix your situation?

I know that my problem for the longest time has been that although I could see the abundance of the universe, I felt disconnected from it. Having been told by religion that I’m a worm and a sinner, a stranger in a strange land, I haven’t exactly felt like I belonged here or was otherwise worthy of experiencing and receiving life’s abundance. But that’s changing for me. Now I believe that, just like the trees and stars, I have a right to be here. Indeed, I am part of life and have a purpose in being here. And just like everyone else, I’m allowed to experience the very best (and worst) that life has to offer.

My therapist says that almost every client she has deals with “poverty mentality” in one way or another. Today I listened to a lecture by Stephan Hoeller that said although poverty mentality can feel good (because we get to feel sorry for ourselves), the truth is that we’re anything but poor. (I’m not talking about money.) Rather, we come into life vastly supported, set up to succeed. Our souls and psyches offer us endless resources. This morning I watched a video about human living fascia, what most people call CONNECTIVE tissue, but what one researcher says is actually CONSTRUCTIVE tissue. Oh my gosh, y’all, fascia is glorious, genius. No kidding, you’re made of a gossamer web of light. My point being that our physical bodies are marvelously made, abundant in their wisdom.

For me, this is where abundance begins–recognizing where I’m already rich beyond measure. Sure, it’d be easy to focus on money, or lack thereof. Everything is about money in the world. But I could have ten times–a hundred times!–the money I have now and still feel poor. Still wake up every day and be totally ignorant of the endless beauty around me, the endless resources in my mind, body, and soul, and the endless potential answers that exist to all my challenges and problems. To anyone’s. So more and more I’m grateful for hundreds of books and millions of stars, for they remind me not only of the abundance of that I am connected to, but also of which I am constructed.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Life proceeds at its own pace.

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