On the Enchanted Life (Blog #1046)

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Yesterday I finished listening to the audio version of Pam Muñoz Ryan’s juvenile fiction novel Echo. My friend Sydnie recommended it (“The audiobook is awesome because it includes the music relevant to each character,” she said), and it’s nothing short of glorious, full of magic and heart. In short, it’s about an enchanted harmonica that mysteriously comes into the the lives of several different characters not only to change their lives for the better, but also to bring them together across time and space. Brimming with hope, the book encourages us that, “Your fate is not yet sealed. Even in the darkest night, a star will shine, a bell will chime, a path will be revealed.”

I’ve been thinking about this today, the way that all is never lost, the way that help always shows up when we most need it. I’ve also been thinking about how so often help doesn’t announce itself. In Echo, each of the main characters is intrigued by the enchanted harmonica but doesn’t realize what power it would bring into their life. Likewise, six years ago when I first arrived at my therapist’s office there wasn’t a sign on her door that said, “Your life is about to be turned upside down.” And yet it was.

I suppose there are two ways of viewing your life. One, as if it’s not enchanted. Two, as if it is. Seeing your life as not enchanted, each day is the same, random. A beautiful person or object comes into your life, and you think, Isn’t that nice? At best, you occasionally use the word coincidence. Seeing your life as enchanted, however, each day is unique, full of possibility and wonder. You think, Nothing or no one comes to me by accident. You use words like synchronicity, fate, destiny, and meant to be.

Of course, I advocate the enchanted life. Not that I can prove this is the way the universe works, but I can certainly prove that believing it works this way is more fun. Last night I rearranged some artwork on my walls and in the process realized that one of my paintings was originally framed this very week in 1968, twelve and a half years before I was even born. Several years ago I lived in a hundred year old house that was an absolute godsend for me, a quiet home after I’d left one of turbulence, a space space where I could heal my broken heart. I completely believe that like the harmonica in Echo, The Big House came to me because, at least for a time, I needed it. Maybe because we needed each other. My point being that how do I know my painting from 1968 hasn’t come to me for the same reason? A drawing of a weeping willow, it continues to remind me to cry, to flow with life rather than stiffen against it, and to remain rooted.

Along these lines, my framed print of Diogenes reminds me to continuously search for truth, Diogenes being famous for his quest to find “one honest man.” And whereas I could go on and on about the search for truth and honesty, here’s what I’ve come to believe, what I think this drawing from 1946 came to teach me. You can spend the rest of your life looking for one honest man, or you can spend the rest of your life trying to be one. That’s the deal. Diogenes wasn’t looking for someone else. He was looking for himself.

He was it.

Years ago my swing dancing friend Robin sent me a framed poster of Lindy Hop legend Frankie Manning that’s signed by several Lindy Hop “gods and goddesses.” Along with it, she included a note reminding me how important I am, both as a person and a member of the dance community. For me, the poster and the note have become one. Regardless of which I look at, I inevitably feel better. Because I think, If even for a moment, I made a difference. If even for a moment, someone noticed. This is the power that one kind act, one thoughtful note can have. Its effect can last for years, a lifetime.

Talk about magic. Talk about enchanting.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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No good story ever ends.

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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)

"You can't change your age, but you can change what your age means to you."

Nudged Down the Rabbit Hole (Blog #137)

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Today I’ve felt like Alice chasing the white rabbit down the rabbit hole. When I woke up at three this afternoon–as my friend Andy says, “We’re dancers. If it’s before four in the afternoon, it’s morning.”–the first thing I saw was a text from my friend Vicki. She said she was reading a book called Freedom Seeker by Beth Kempton and that I should check it out, that it was currently available on Kindle for two dollars. (Okay. You had me at two dollars.) So despite the fact that I’m currently in the middle of five or six books, I bought the book and started reading it after breakfast, or, as my grandpa would say, supper.

So far, the book discusses practical ways we can regain our sense or feeling of freedom, and it talks a lot about birds and bird cages, for what I hope are obvious reasons. And as if my life weren’t weird enough already (last week I got invited to eat by two total strangers–and said yes), the book says to be on the lookout for birds and bird feathers because the universe can communicate that way. (This is, in fact, something I believe and have blogged about, but I still roll my eyes a little whenever someone else says it. Like, oh yeah, sure–a bird feather is the new burning bush.)

Anyway, the book also said that one way to recover one’s sense of freedom is to be more adventurous. It said that if you have dreams of spending your time rock climbing, you can start small–go for a hike. If you dream of being more flexible, you don’t have to go crazy–stretch for five minutes. The idea is that we often fantasize about the lives we want and think they’ll “just happen,” but we don’t take steps toward them. I wish I could tell you more, but that’s as far as I got before moving on to other projects.

Now I’ll progress to something far more fascinating.

This evening I went to Walmart.

I went to Walmart for the express purpose of buying a bottle of hemp lotion because I like the smell of it and one of my creativity assignments is to do something small to make myself feel special and luxurious. (Apparently using the little bottles of lotion you get from motels doesn’t qualify.) So I was just going to get one thing–lotion–oh, and a loaf of bread for Mom and Dad. Well, as I was walking in the front door, a couple was coming out, and I was thinking about that whole being more adventurous thing, how the book suggested one way to do that was to talk to strangers. So I smiled–and they smiled back. There, I thought, baby steps.

So get this. Immediately after my small adventure, I looked up and saw the word “adventure” on a display by the self-checkout section. Hum, that’s weird. Then I started thinking about another creativity assignment (there are A LOT of these damn things) I have to do in order to indulge my inner child–eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, finger paint, shit like that. So I thought, what the hell, and bought a box of Legos. I mean, I used to LOVE Legos. I collected Legos, had them ALL OVER MY ROOM. But I haven’t bought or built a set in probably twenty years. So that was it–I bought lotion, a loaf of white bread, and Legos. Because I’m thirty-six.

Notice the box says it’s recommended for ages 7 to 12. Also notice–I swear I didn’t see this when I picked out the set–it says, “Treehouse ADVENTURES.”

When I got home, a box of shoes a friend gave me several months ago caught my eye. The outside said, “Fit for adventure.” Okay, we’ve officially entered the Twilight Zone. Anyway, I stuck the Legos in the closet for later this week, and when I did, I saw a light switch cover another friend gave me last year when I was remodeling the house I used to live in. It’s basically a little machine–it has a lever up top with a knob you move from side to side that–through a series of mechanisms–makes the switch go up and down. It’s the coolest thing ever, and I’ve been telling myself, I’ll use it when I have my own place. But keeping with the theme of adventure, I thought, Why not now? It’s fun. It makes me happy. So I hung it up. (See the picture up top.)

Okay, two more weird things. While looking at Facebook, I saw an advertisement for some self-helpy stuff–an online course of sorts. Well, it’s not unusual to see that typle of thing in my news feed, but the website had a freaking bird on it–front and center. Okay, I’ll think about it. I’m not biting yet. Then I saw a posted article about the benefits of lying on your back with your legs up a wall. (It’s a yoga pose called–get ready–legs up a wall). Again, this sort of thing isn’t out of the ordinary, but most of the day I’ve been focused on a low-level pain in my leg that I don’t want to get worse–and I’ve been telling myself that God and the universe are smart enough to figure this damn problem out. So I tried it.

First I’d like to say that it ain’t easy to get and keep your butt up against a wall while lying on your back. I mean, maybe for you it is. But if you’ve never tried it and want to–just take your time. Also, look out for any doorstops on the baseboard. YOWZA. Anyway, while I had my legs up the wall, I discovered a muscle, tendon, or something attached to my right kneecap that DID NOT feel good. In fact, when I tried to stretch it, it hurt so bad that I nearly jumped out of my skin and immediately started doing Lamaze.

HEE–HEE–WHO (Fuck). HEE–HEE–WHO (Damn).

Part of me thinks that I’m crazy for even considering the idea that God speaks to me through shoe boxes and advertisements on Facebook. That being said, I don’t believe in accidents, and there are plenty of days when I DON’T notice the word adventure, when I DON’T stop scrolling long enough to see a bird, when I DON’T have time to try a new stretch that would make even John Wayne whimper.

Whereas I know that I can blow a lot of smoke up my own ass at times, I have been asking God a lot of questions lately, so I like to think that all of these “coincidences” all just God nudging me in the right direction. Caroline Myss says, “Prayers are answered immediately, but how they are answered is often a mystery that unfolds at the pace that I can handle.” So I’m trying to be open to the idea that answers to prayers–at least clues–can show up anywhere, even at Walmart, even in my Facebook feed. And maybe that makes me feel like Alice going down the rabbit hole, but honestly I’m ready to have my world turned up side because it wasn’t working the other way (when I was in charge). Yes, I’m ready for a little adventure, ready to play with Legos again, ready to see where the nudges of God take me.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Sometimes the best you can do is metaphorically sit you ego down, look it square in the eye, and say, “Would you shut the fuck up already?”

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Flexing the Right Muscles (Blog #124)

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It’s three in the morning. Bed sounds really good right about now. Last night I got home from Springfield at four in the morning, slept for four hours, and woke up early (for me) to get a massage and see the chiropractor. Then I came home, slept for a couple of hours, and went to physical therapy, since healing from the car accident is now my new hobby. This evening I ran around downtown Fort Smith, came home, and took a nap on the futon from midnight to one to try to recharge before writing. I’m not sure that it worked.

Now that we have that out of the way.

This morning my massage therapist, Gena, and I were talking about how tight my scalenes are. Scalenes are the muscles that run from your ear to your shoulder on both sides. She said one of the reasons mine were tight is because my head juts forward rather than sitting back directly over my shoulders. She suggested one way I could “gently coax” my body into the right position would be to purposefully jut my head and neck forward, and then pull them back–like a turtle–and that I could do this in the car whenever I stop at a stop light or stop sign. (Thank God for tinted windows.) “Whenever you engage or flex one set of muscles,” she said, “BY LAW the opposing muscles have to relax.”

So every time I’ve stopped at a stop sign today and tried the exercise, I’ve thought, This has to work–it’s a law.

This afternoon I did something I rarely do. I voiced my opinion on Facebook. (Hell, everyone else is doing it.) One of my friends whom I respect posted an article about being punctual and asked (SHE ASKED) what everyone thought about “being late.” Well, all the other comments were basically “I hate that shit,” “Late people are rude,” “Late people are arrogant,” or–slightly kinder but not really–“Being late is arrogant behavior.”

Okay. Maybe I’m sensitive because I’m usually right on time (which apparently is the new late) or five to ten minutes late (which apparently is “unacceptable”). I admit–this is something I could improve on. Maybe we’d all be happier if I did. I definitely think being on time is professional and courteous. That being said, I take issue with the idea that the fact that I was slightly late to physical therapy today (because I left the house with just enough time to get there and then got stuck in traffic and saw a friend in the parking lot) makes me arrogant. (Feel free to disagree.) A mediocre time manager and horrible psychic, maybe.

My therapist says that online communication is froth with misunderstandings, so I don’t want to read more into those comments than were intended. Still, I’ve been thinking tonight even if the whole world agreed that being late is arrogant or rude or “something Jesus would never do” (although Martha did say, “Lord, if only had been here [on time], my brother would not have died”), that still wouldn’t change the reality that people are late, that traffic jams do happen, that–well–shit happens.

Shit happens.

One of my creative homework assignments this week is to initiate a conversation with one of my friends about synchronicity. I’m not sure if blogging counts as a way to do that, but it’s worth a shot, so here I go. (If you have experiences you’d like share, please message me or post in the comments so this conversation won’t be one-sided.) This afternoon in the middle of my finding my fifth chakra (which is at your throat and represents confession and speaking your truth) on Facebook, I kept thinking that I needed to message my friend Vicki to see if she was going to hear her husband Donny play Irish music at Core Brewing Company tonight. Well–guess what? Synchronistically, she messaged me first (and said she was).

So later I met Vicki to hear Donny play, had a great time, and lived happily ever after.

When I started blogging tonight, I noticed that the last time I wrote about Donny, I spelled his name wrong. (Sorry, Donny. I fixed it.) But get this. Tonight when I saw Donny, he didn’t say anything about it. I mean, there wasn’t a single comment about my being arrogant or rude or a bad friend because I spelled his name incorrectly. Go figure. Maybe it didn’t bother him at all, but if it did, he chose to be gracious about it. (Thank you.)

I guess a person can always choose to be gracious.

During the course of conversation tonight, Vicki said, “The more forgiving you are of yourself, the more forgiving you are of others.” My therapist says, “You don’t treat anyone better than you treat yourself.” In other words, if you’re a hard ass with yourself–about being on time, about having good grammar and correct spelling, about being “perfect”–you’re going to be a hard ass with everyone else. (So if someone is rude, unkind, or judgmental to you–have compassion–that’s how they treat themselves on the regular.) But if you extend grace to yourself, if you give understanding to yourself, you’ll naturally extend those things to others.

I’ll say it again. You don’t treat anyone better than you treat yourself.

I’m thinking now that our judgments–of ourselves and each other–are like muscles. If we “flex” our impatience, BY LAW, our patience must relax. However, if we “flex” our patience, BY LAW, our impatience must relax. (It has to work, it’s a law.) Ultimately, we’ll never be able to control what someone else does. Sadly, at least as long as I’m in it, we’ll never be able to make the whole world be punctual. But the good news is that we have plenty–PLENTY–of opportunities to practice patience, to extend grace, to treat ourselves and those around us better.

[Here’s a picture of one of the downtown murals at night, just because I checked it out this evening and wanted to put another picture on the blog.]

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"Obviously, God's capable of a lot. Just look around."

The Universe Communicates (Blog #115)

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Okay, so I’m addicted to Facebook just like the rest of the world is. There, I said it. Phew, I feel better. Anyway, this afternoon after Bonnie and I went shopping, we came back to the Airbnb, and I took a serious nap while Bonnie took a semi-serious nap and then went for a walk or whatever she did that I don’t know because–again–I was seriously napping. I mean, the sun was down when I finally opened my eyes. I think it was eleven. But the first thing I did when I woke up was–you guessed it–Facebook. Scroll, scroll, scroll–Bette Midler interview–stop.

The next thing I knew, I was caught up in this story about Bette’s rise to fame that started with her singing in The Continental Baths, which I guess was a place in New York City that homosexuals could get naked, take baths together–um, whatever–and listen to the likes of Bette Midler and Barry Manilow–live. So basically it was soap, sex, and a song. I mean, we all need entertainment. Well, Bette said that she and Barry had a falling out, but she hoped they could patch it up. And sorry, said the interview guy, but to find out more, you’ll have to go to our website.

Fine. You have my attention.

I mean, I really didn’t wake up today itching to find out more about Bette Midler and Barry Manilow, but that’s what I did. So now–without meaning to–I’m even gayer than I was before.

I guess some things you can’t avoid.

This evening while Bonnie went to her final Kizomba dance, I went for a jog. One of my closest friends from high school, Neil, messaged me this weekend and suggested that I meet him in Seattle for a half-marathon. “I think it’d be really good for both of us,” he said. “And it will also guarantee me a spot on the blog.” (We all have dreams.) Anyway, I’m lately in the mood of saying yes to life (as well as beer, donuts, and cigarettes), so I told Neil I thought that would be a great idea, both for our friendship and for my waistline. That’s as far as we’ve gotten with the plan, but now it’s in print, so maybe it’s more likely to happen. Either way, I figured now was as good a night as any to start training.

I’m not sure how far I jogged tonight, but I’m confident it was the farthest I’ve gone this year, maybe ever. All I know is I was gone for two or two-and-a-half hours, and I jogged the majority of the time. But I also tried to take in the city and dream about living here one day, so I stopped to look around, explore. I saw a shirt with a kid hugging a unicorn that said, “Hold your horses.” I found out hotels are a great place to use the restroom and grab a drink of water–just walk in and look like you belong.

Here’s a picture of a gay bar that I thought had a great name–Cheer Up Charlies (like the song from Willy Wonka).

My jog took me to South Congress, which if you’re going south to north and cross the Colorado River, becomes just regular Congress and runs smack dab into the capitol building. Anyway, first I went south (away from the capitol), and then I turned around and went north (toward it). I can’t tell you how much I’ve fallen in love with this view and this city while being here this week.

There’s a quote by Chris Prentiss that says, “Not only is the Universe aware of us, but it also communicates with us. We, in turn, are constantly in communication with the Universe through our words, thoughts, and actions. The Universe responds with events. Events are the language of the Universe. The most obvious of those events are what we call coincidence.”

I thought a lot about this idea while I was running, the idea that the universe communicates. Honestly, I used to think that the universe–or God–didn’t notice me, wasn’t interested. But I’ve been coming around to the idea that it does, not just saying it but actually believing it. And I guess you could make a meaning out of anything, but sometimes when I see particular road signs or hear certain songs, I like to think that God is talking me.

Tonight on South Congress, I found the sign above that says, “I love you so much.” After that, there was another sign on a hotel that said, “Let love in.” Neither message was earth shattering, but both were subtle reminders that there’s a lot more good in the world than I’ve previously believed. I can’t prove to you that I was “meant” to see those messages tonight, but I could have ended up on any other road tonight, run by any number of other signs. And of all the signs I did pass, those are the ones that caught by attention. So whatever you call it, I think there’s something “out there,” or more likely “in here” that’s nudging me in the direction of “life ain’t so bad.”

Cheer up, Charlie.

When I got home from the run, I was drenched, breathing heavily. And I guess I can only stand so much healthy living for one day, since I drank a soda and smoked a cigarette (and then threw the rest of the pack away). Then I took a shower, made some toast, and sat down with a to-go container of peanut butter and a miniature jar of strawberry preserves that someone had left in the refrigerator.

And get this shit.

The lid on the jar said, “Straw Berry Manilow.” Barry Manilow! How great is that? I actually laughed out loud. I mean, it’s clever marketing to start with, but I love that I was learning about Bette and Barry earlier this evening, and then there’s this funny little reminder that not only is the universe capable of lining up some pretty amazing messages if we’re willing to see them (how much work would it take YOU to put Barry Manilow in someone’s Facebook feed AND Berry Manilow in their Airbnb refrigerator on the same day?), but that also God has a delightful sense of humor.

Barry, berry delightful indeed.

The quote earlier referred to events like these as coincidences. Carl Jung called them synchronicities, and he believed they stemmed from the fact that all of life is connected. He called that connection Unus Mundus, which is Latin for “one world.” Sometimes I just imagine that God is like a child playing hide-and-seek. After a while, it’s no fun to stay hidden, so you have to start dropping hints. Hey, I’m over here. Look at this sign. Now I’m over here–in the Straw Berry Manilow preserves. That’s right, I’m talking to you.

Oh hey, God. Fine. You have my attention.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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No one dances completely alone.

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