Here’s to You (Blog #1095)

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Tonight’s blog is #1095 in a row and is my next to last. I’m smiling in tonight’s photo, but I’m not happy. Or at least if I am I’m a lot of other things too–sad, overwhelmed, confused, cranky. And tired. I’m tired. Of putting so much time and attention into this project. Of staying up way too late to work on it. Even when I’ve been sick. Of trying to find the right words. Of reading everything I’ve written at least four times a night in order to make sure it’s good enough, the whole time imagining it’s not. Most of all, I’m tired of doing it all alone. Of always being the strong one.

Granted, there’s a part of me that knows I’m not alone in all this. For the last six years I’ve been supported professionally by a kickass therapist, a woman who’s not only been my solid rock but has also taken my calls at all hours of the day and night. Likewise, a number of other professionals have been there for me throughout my healing process these last three years, giving me good information and even holding me while I’ve cried. Plus, I’ve had the support of my family and friends. The especially lovely part about this being that although most of them haven’t (I imagine) fully understood my journey or chosen to walk a similar path, they have nonetheless cheered me on.

My original thought for tonight’s blog was to address my readers, anyone who’s read this blog on a regular basis or has happened to peruse it even once. However, writing the entire blog “to you,” someone I can’t see right now, seems odd. Forced, I guess, because I’m so used to writing “to me.” Indeed, although over the last three years I’ve often said things like–dear reader, you, we, and us–I’ve primarily considered these ways to address myself. Not because I have multiple personalities, but because from the beginning this blog has been a form of self-therapy. Meaning that it’s been my way to work myself into a better place, so any advice I’ve given has been first and foremost for me. If it’s helped others, good. But what I know for certain is that it’s helped me.

More and more, this is enough.

No one else can save you.

Along these lines, anyone who sits down at a keyboard by themselves every day for three years could easily drive himself crazy–if he thinks he’s doing it for someone else, if he’s looking for a certain response or reception, or if he doesn’t find the work satisfying in and of itself. Thankfully, although in the beginning I imagined a different reception than the one I got, I’m satisfied now. Not because of what someone else has said or not said about this work, but because it’s been my salvation. Work out your own salvation with fear and trembling. Or with a keyboard and a box of Kleenex. Whatever it takes. But this is what I’ve discovered. Others can support you, but no one else can save you. That’s your job. Your hard work has your name on it for a reason.

This sucks, I know.

Getting back to addressing my readers, I’d be remiss if I weren’t absolutely clear. I deeply appreciate anyone and everyone who’s spent even five minutes of their time reading my work, my inner world. Because no one owes me their time or attention. No one. If I’ve received it, whether I knew about it or not, it’s been a gift. A gift that humbles me and, no matter how much I try, one I really can’t wrap my head around. Perhaps because I’m so often hard on myself and think nothing is ever good enough, I especially don’t understand, and therefore can’t fully appreciate, the gift I’ve been given by those of you who’ve read–oh my gosh–every single post. Truly, I’m dumbfounded and speechless. As someone who often thinks that others don’t notice him or that his work isn’t impactful, you strongly encourage me to think and believe otherwise.

Thank you.

As a words-of-affirmation person, I’m particularly grateful to those of you who’ve liked, shared, or commented on my posts, as well as those of you who’ve sent private messages or emails over the last few years to tell me specifically how you’ve been encouraged by my journey and/or my words. A few names and faces come to mind, and I can’t tell you what a heartening thing it’s been to receive your kindness at the most random times and places. Truly, you’ve lifted me up, and I’ve felt your love across the miles. So please know how powerful you are. Your voice–yes, your voice–can offer someone hope, give them strength to keep going, and turn their life around for the better.

My therapist says that when she was growing up she was constantly told by her family, “Everything you touch turns to shit.” Well, 1) I strongly disagree, and my life is proof to the contrary, and 2) clearly even the people who know us the best are often wrong about us. Growing up, I heard, “Marcus, if you had a brain you’d be dangerous.” And whereas that used to bother me, now as an adult, I know it was just someone else’s shit. Still, messages like these get engrained, and I’ve spent a lot of time over the years thinking I was a fuck up, not good enough. All this to say that just as positive messages can have an impact on someone’s life, so can negative ones. So, again, you’re powerful.

Use your power wisely.

And don’t let anyone else tell you you’re anything less than a walking miracle.

You’re more supported than you know.

Coming full circle, at the beginning of tonight’s blog I said I was feeling all the feelings, especially tired. In today’s world, I imagine you’re tired too. In addition to the global pandemic (as if that weren’t enough), I know many of my dear friends and family are fighting their own health battles, watching their loved ones fight theirs, or both. Or just going through hell on a unicycle, slowly. (Please keep going.) And whereas one person can never know exactly what another is dealing with, as much as I can, I understand. I understand being exhausted, I understand wanting to give up, and I understand believing that you’ve tried everything but nothing works, damn it. Alas, as far as I can tell, The Path will always wear you out, kick your ass, and, at some point, make you cry uncle. Put your foot upon it anyway. Not only will you be better for it, but we need you on the other side of it. What’s more, you’re stronger than you think, are more supported than you know, and are deeply loved even when you don’t feel it.

So take heart. Many people, myself included, are cheering you on.

Here’s to you.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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You can’t play small forever.

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We March Forward (Blog #1089)

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This morning I woke up a full two hours before my alarm went off. Feeling crappy. And whereas I thought it was probably due to the fact that I was fasting and hadn’t eaten in over thirty-six hours, I convinced myself I had COVID-19. Oh my gosh, y’all, it was awful, just imagining going into the kitchen (and touching every doorknob along the way) to take my temperature, discovering I had a fever, then spending the whole day aching and hacking. And giving “the lung eater” to my elderly parents, of course. If they die, my sister will kill me, I thought. Anyway, not wanting to find out I’d won the coronavirus lottery, I just lay in bed for over an hour. In terror.

Finally, I convinced myself to get up and take my temperature. Y’all, it was 97.1. Not even close to a hundred.

So I celebrated (and broke my fast) with coffee and oatmeal and a banana, and shortly thereafter felt fine. Just like any other day. When I told my sister about how terribly this virus is affecting us hypochondriacs (not the mention the people that actually have it), she said, “Boo for paranoia.” This afternoon I saw my chiropractor who works with emotions, and when I told his wife about my scare this morning (I, along with the rest of the world, clearly don’t have much else to talk about these days), she said, “Isn’t the mind a powerful thing?”

“Yeah,” I said, “it can really scare the shit out of you.”

God knows I’ve scared the shit out of myself so many times it’s not even funny. (Okay, it’s a little funny.) What’s the Mark Twain saying? “I’ve lived through some terrible things in my life, some of which actually happened.” Amen. For all the physical illnesses I’ve dealt with over the years, no illness has been as bad as my fears about how long whatever it was would last, or if it would come back again. Well, okay, that stomach virus I had for ten days was pretty awful. But still, even at the worst of it, there was a part of me that was okay, that knew what to do. That’s the thing, we always have an inherent wisdom that knows how to survive in times of crisis. Cancel your appointments, it says. Drink lots of fluids. Get some rest and try not to shit the bed.

The good news is that as I’ve consciously worked to resolve and heal my past dramas and traumas, clean up my relationships, and cultivate peace, self-awareness, and self-acceptance, my tendency to awfulize has seriously decreased. Not that I can’t get worked up at times, especially during, I don’t know, a pandemic, but it’s not as often and doesn’t last as long as it used to. I’m just more calm.

Honestly, I imagine this is one of the reasons people don’t work on their interior more. (I’ll explain.) It’s jarring. What I mean is that when you’ve spent decades being nervous, anxious, worried, fearful, frightened, and distressed, you start thinking that’s who you actually are. Not that it’s particularly fun, but it’s familiar. Comfortable. If you do happen to catch a glimpse of peace while praying, meditating, receiving Reiki, or even skydiving (no kidding, it’s way peaceful), you pass it off as a fluke, never imagining that kind of stillness could be your new normal. But if it were to become your new normal, of course, you’d have to say goodbye to the old you, the false you, and that’s a tough thing to do.

Because we like our personas (a word that originally meant “mask”).

As far as I can tell, The Path, the personal growth path or the spiritual path, is largely about stripping away that which is not true, all the false layers we’ve added to ourselves over years in order to keep ourselves safe. The problem being, of course, that because many of the layers get put on by us, or even for us, at such an early age, we truly don’t know any different. We feel or act neurotic and think, This is just the way I was born. And yet it appears that this is another lie we tell ourselves, another fib we construct to keep from seeing whatever world we’ve constructed tumble and fall.

For me, a lot of growth and progress has come from the thought, Maybe I was wrong about that. In other words, maybe the world isn’t such a scary place, and maybe people, and God and the universe, are kinder than I ever imagined. Likewise, a lot of growth and progress has come from the thought, Maybe I was wrong about myself. Maybe I’m more talented, strong, courageous, beautiful, important, and necessary than I ever gave myself credit for. Maybe we all are. Granted, there are those whose egos are TOO inflated who might not benefit from this line of thinking, but even in these cases it seems that the real issue is the lack of awareness about one’s true and inherent value. (Thus all the posturing.) Accordingly, it’s my encouragement that if you have a judgment about yourself or the world that’s causing you pain, that you become ever more willing to be wrong about it.

What’s the saying? I’d rather be happy than right.

Something I’d like to be wrong about, and indeed am in the process of trying to be wrong about, is the idea that my body isn’t capable of relaxing, feeling good, and healing. Said another way, I’m hoping to find out that the fear I have around something going wrong or catching a worldwide virus is unnecessary. Granted, I’ve made a lot of progress on this topic. I’m not nearly as high-strung as I used to be. But, as with all things, it’s a process. Ugh. We imagine that our futures HAVE to look like our PASTS. But this is ridiculous. Because what would be the point if we simply STAYED THE SAME from womb to tomb? That’s right, dear reader, there wouldn’t be a point. And so it seems we’re meant and intended to grow, evolve, change, and transform for the better. This is the way of it. However slowly, however reluctantly, we march forward.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Whatever needs to happen, happens.

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Leave the Raft Behind (Blog #1087)

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It’s 11:50 at night, and this is the beginning of the end. No, not of the world, although I guess that’s possible. Anything is possible these days. Rather, it’s the beginning of the end of this blog. I only have ten more posts including this one to go. And whereas I’m looking forward to having two hours (on average) of every day back to sleep, work on other projects, and do whatever the hell I want, I’m also anticipating a loss. That is, I’ve come to love my time here at this keyboard. Mostly, I suppose, because it’s been my safe haven, a place I’ve been able to run to for comfort time and time again, whenever anything–and everything–has gone wrong.

There’s a story in Buddhism, or one of those religions, that if your goal is to reach the other side of a river (enlightenment), then you’re going to have to use a raft (meditation, a guru) to get there. But once you’re on the other side you leave the raft behind. Because, well, why would you need it? You wouldn’t. Because for one thing it’s done its job already. For another, carrying around a raft for the rest of your life would be so terribly awkward.

And bad for your back

Along these lines, my original goal with this blog was to establish a daily writing practice. And whereas I don’t know if I’ll continue to write every day, every damn day, when this is over, I’ve clearly done that. What’s more, I’ve proven to myself that I have what it takes to commit to something I believe in. This writing project. What’s most important, however, is that, really without intending to when I came up with this idea three years ago, I’ve ended up committing to myself. And whereas I think this would have been the case had I–I don’t know–chosen to write a poem or a short story every day (because I would have been building self-esteem by keeping my word to myself), it’s certainly been the case given the fact that for over a thousand days now I’ve sat down and effectively been my own therapist, spiritual guide, healer, and cheerleader. There, there, Sweetheart, we’re going to get through this.

Not that I haven’t had tons of help along the way. And God knows I’ve talked ad nauseam about what that help has been. All my therapists, doctors, modalities, and such. All of which I’m extremely grateful for and have convinced me that there’s always willing help available. Ultimately, The Path is walked alone, but that doesn’t mean you don’t get plenty of support while walking it. Plenty of what Joseph Campbell called supernatural aide. And yet every day and always one finds themselves alone with their thoughts, emotions, dreams, terrors, situations, predicaments, and their past. Alas, although others can help you with these things, these things ultimately have your name written all over them. And so you must learn to deal with them.

And so you must learn to deal with yourself.

It’s weird the breadcrumbs my subconscious, or God or the universe, laid out before me when I (we?) first started this project. That is, my very first blog was titled “it’s time to soften up,” and it was about how I really wanted, needed to go easier on myself. Well, this has been an unintended and, apparently, much-cried-out-for theme these last few years. Sweetheart, chill the fuck out. Be gentle. And whereas I wish I could tell you that I’m “there,” I’m not. But I have made A LOT of progress. Still, recently I told my therapist that I have another project in mind to start after this one but that I wanted to wait a couple weeks before announcing it. “But I can still be planning and working on it,” I said.

“Or you could JUST REST,” she offered.

I mean, there’s an idea. The whole world is on pause right now thanks to COVID-19, so what better time to dramatically slow my roll? Seriously, it’s rough being stuck at home, but I may never be given this amount of free time again in my life. Time to read, time to watch Netflix, time to stretch. Time to get quiet and go inside. Time to heal. This morning I learned that my myofascial release wizard is closing her office for the time being, a fact that would normally upset me because we’ve been getting such good results lately. But more and more I’m trusting 1) divine timing and 2) that if a miracle can happen in a therapist’s office, it can happen in your bedroom.

Don’t I wish?

That was a sex joke, Mom.

Getting back to the idea of miracles (and not the “this is where the magic happens” kind), I’m learning that you have to do your part. Meaning that the chances that Jesus is going to knock on your door and strike you completely healthy are slim. But the chances that heaven is going to meet you more than halfway if you show them that you’re even remotely serious are pretty damn good. This has been my experience over and over again–with my therapist, with this blog, with my EMDR therapist, and with a whole bevy of doctors, practitioners, and helpful books. I cry out, “Help,” do what I know to do, and God (sometimes called Good) comes running.

Help is on the way, dear!

This evening I heard healer Charlie Goldsmith say that our emotions are meant to be felt and experienced but not held on to. “If someone told you a joke, you wouldn’t keep laughing for three weeks,” he said. And yet so many of us hold on to our anger, even when whatever it was that originally caused us to be angry was, like, fucking years ago. And not that you shouldn’t get angry when someone crosses a line or shit hits the fan. You’re just not supposed to hold on to that feeling. (Or, better said, let it hold on to you.) This is another way of saying leave the raft behind. Learn from the emotion and the experience, but don’t carry the teacher with you. Let the dead bury the dead. Let the past be over. Be right here, right now. Sweetheart, come to the other side of the river. Come home again.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Storms don’t define us, they refine us.

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Free (Blog #1086)

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Ugh. I’ve spent all day reading, first a book about energy medicine (weird even for me), then a book about quantum physics and healing (fascinating), then a book I’m editing for a client (lacking commas, but that’s why I’m here). All the while our world has been going to hell in a hand basket. Because of COVID-19, many of us are on self- or government-imposed quarantine. This is confining and, therefore, scary (nobody likes to be pinned down; well, some people do, but I digress), but perhaps it’s for the best. A friend of mine in Alabama who has the virus has had a fever for ten days (and plenty of people are dying), so this virus clearly doesn’t fuck around. Drastic times call for drastic measures. Still, it often scares the shit out of me.

Which is a problem because I only have so much toilet paper.

Earlier today a friend of mine who’s both a mom and a therapist posted on Instagram about how to talk your kids about their feelings about, well, let’s face it, the end of the world as we know it. Her suggestion was to use notecards with blanks on them and have your kids fill in the blanks. For example, I FEEL (BLANK), ABOUT (BLANK), BECAUSE (BLANK) could be filled in as: I feel SCARED, about COVID-19, because I THINK I’M GOING TO GET IT. Of course, we as adults can do this too, especially since so many of us have trouble identifying and/or talking about our feelings. Personally, I feel ANXIOUS, about COVID-19, because I DON’T WANT ME OR ANYONE I CARE ABOUT TO SUFFER OR DIE. And because I’M LOSING MY FREEDOM (to go wherever I want when I want, to eat out, to make money like I have been).

Alas, many of our fears are coming true. Businesses are closing. Cities and states are on lockdown. Most people with the virus are getting better, but no small number are dying. As one of my friends just messaged me, it’s like we’re living in The Twilight Zone. And yet, at the same time that so many things are falling apart, people are rising to the occasion, offering online courses for entertainment, education, and morale-boosting for cheap or free. Companies aren’t charging for their services for the next month or the foreseeable future. Churches are offering to bring food to shut-ins. To borrow and bastardize a famous line, it’s the worst of times, it’s the best of times.

I realize “best” may be a stretch.

Pandemics happen.

One thing about this whole pandemic business that’s got me fuzzed up is the fact that it’s happening just as this blog is coming to an end. Not to make a worldwide crisis about me and my little writing project, but I only have eleven more posts left (including this one), and I’d personally like to be talking about other things. And going out to eat after my last post to celebrate three full years of daily writing and introspection. But as my dad said earlier, “Looks like you’ll be celebrating with your family.” (They’re real partiers. Thank God we have peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.) Alas, this is the way of it. Shit happens. Pandemics happen. And as for the content on this blog, my goal from the beginning has been to sit down at the keyboard every day, meet myself, and share as honestly as possible about whatever happens to be on my heart and mind. Lately, it’s been the virus. And if it’s the virus for the next ten days, so be it. I’m not going to change my format now.

I’ve talked before about how healing is 1) a non-linear path and 2) messy, and so is a blog like this. What I mean is that although I’ve written every day, every damn day for a damn while now, there have been a lot of peaks and valleys, posts that I’ve considered glorious, posts I’ve considered not so glorious. As I begin to look back on the project as a whole, however, these labels mean less and less. That is, good days and bad days don’t really matter. What matters is this project as a whole and, more importantly, me as a whole, how I’ve grown as a result of sticking to this thing. What matters is the encouragement, support, and information others have taken away as a result of that sticking. The mystics would say it like this–what helps one, helps everyone.

This concept is difficult to understand from a human, mind-only perspective, but I think it’s something we all know intuitively in our hearts. Currently people are getting upset when their neighbors don’t quarantine because they know they’re not just exposing themselves. They’re exposing all of us. So we get that we’re connected. The good news being that we’re not just connected when someone acts foolishly, we’re also connected when someone acts wisely. Meaning that I truly believe that as you work to deal with your shit, heal your past, and connect with and act from your own good heart, somehow the entire world is changed for the better. Not to put any pressure on you (like, the entire world is affected by your actions), but just to remind you that you’re a powerful being. Call it The Butterfly Effect. Just remember that just as a virus can spread around the world, so can a good idea. So can love and healing.

Mother Teresa, Gandhi, and Martin Luther King, Jr. understood this. We think of them as extraordinary humans, but in fact they weren’t. Rather, they were simply souls living up to their full potential, souls acting out of the conviction in their hearts rather than out of fear. This is the benefit to going inside and knowing thyself, the benefit to becoming familiar with and expressing yourself, the benefit of The Path. For one thing, you know what’s in your heart. You learn what power it contains. For another, having met even the scariest parts of yourself and your life with compassion, you’ve learned that there isn’t anything to fear. Or at least that there isn’t anything you can’t face and handle. This is what true freedom is about, not whether or not you’re stuck at home under quarantine, but whether or not you’re free in your spirit. Wherever you are. Whatever your circumstances.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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The clearer you see what's going on inside of you, the clearer you see what's going on outside of you. It's that simple.

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Together (Blog #1080)

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Doing my small part to #flattenthecurve and slow the spread of COVID-19, I stayed home today, as I plan to do tomorrow and for the foreseeable future, with a few exceptions (therapy appointments, etc.). This morning I slept in then gradually got going with some do-it-yourself myofascial release exercises. Then I ate breakfast and spent the entire afternoon reading. First I finished a book about continuous bilateral stimulation (The Art of BART: Bilateral Affective Reprocessing of Thoughts as a Dynamic Model for Psychotherapy by Arthur G. O’Malley), the technique my EMDR therapist uses during my EMDR (Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing) treatments, although he uses a different protocol than the author of the book does. (There’s more than one way to skin a cat.) Then I read a book (God-Man: The Word Made Flesh by George W. Carey) about how, at least according to the author, the stories in the Bible are actually allegories meant to explain the inner workings of the human body and, among other things, its endocrine and nervous systems.

Then my eyeballs fell out of my head.

This evening I finally finished a 1,000-piece puzzle I’ve been now-and-then working on for months. I can’t tell you how good this feels. Especially since the last puzzle I finished was missing a piece. (We can’t all be perfect.) Anyway, I plan to bask in the glory of this finished project before jumping right into another. Hell, maybe I’ll even have this one framed, you know, once I feel comfortable letting someone else touch my things with their bare hands.

Along these lines, in a lecture I listened to while working on the puzzle, Caroline Myss says that although it’s the physical nature of viruses to spread organically, it’s the energetic nature of epidemic viruses to spread among those who are most tribally, rather than individually, oriented. “There’s a physical weakness, and there’s a vibrational weakness,” she says. “Both are true.” What I personally find interesting about this statement, and about COVID-19 in general, is that an epidemic forces us to become more individually oriented because it strongly encourages us to set boundaries (as in, don’t shake my hand, or, as Sting said, don’t stand so close to me) and take care of ourselves (hands off, that’s MY toilet paper).

Alas, this is often the case, that we have to either get scared, sick, cheated on, or walked all over before we stand up for ourselves. All too often, we need an excuse (or we think we do), something others will understand, in order for us to set a boundary. I used to have a student that liked to hug people without their permission. And whereas I didn’t always mind being hugged by this person, there were plenty of times I did mind and let them do it anyway. If the old me were here today, he would say, “I would, but, you know, Corona,” the whole time thinking, Thank God. I can finally be left alone. Thankfully, now I don’t need an excuse. If I really don’t want to touch someone or let them touch me, I don’t. It’s that simple. Explanations be damned.

Although sometimes I do say, “I’d rather not.”

And whereas for years I thought it would be terrible–the worst thing ever–to stand up for myself and set boundaries with people, it hasn’t been. Granted, at times it’s taken a lot of courage and therapeutic support, but the world has yet to stop spinning. Granted, people have gotten upset and even cried (what can I say, I’m a heartbreaker), but, for the most part, the boundaries I’ve set have been–accepted. Once I quit a job and thought the person was going to get ever so mad, but they said, “Okay.” Now, did it sort of suck to find out that I was that-fast replaceable? Sure. But it felt even better to walk away from shit-paying work and have all kinds of time back to myself.

As this daily writing project is getting close to “the end,” one thing I’d like to make clear is exactly what I’ve done to grow as a person, improve my relationships, and heal. Not that I consider myself or any these things “complete,” but I do consider that I’ve come a long way over the last several years. And sometimes when I look at people who have improved their lives, I get the feeling that they’re leaving something out. Or at least making a long, difficult journey sound easy. Like, you can do it too in 8 easy steps! Hell, in an afternoon. This is why I’ve said repeatedly that The Path takes time and patience. It takes commitment. YOU take commitment (and you’re are worth it, by golly). This is also why I’ve done my best to share the specific titles of books I read, the teachers I listen to, and the therapies I try (the ones I both fail and succeed with). Not because I think the formula I’ve used will work for everyone, but because I want everyone to understand that 1) you have to work things out for yourself and 2) sometimes you’ve gotta kiss a lot frogs before you find a prince.

And then again, sometimes you don’t.

This being said, I will always and forever promote 1) remaining curious and hopeful, 2) educating yourself, 3) setting boundaries and being your own best advocate, 4) having both a personal and professional support network, 4) learning to trust yourself and your intuition, 5) having a spiritual practice, and 6) working with body-based practices and therapies (as opposed to cognitive-only ones) in order to heal. Having tried a hundred things, lately I’ve gotten a lot of mileage out of upper cervical care, myofascial release, and EMDR. (I could talk your ear off about any of these things if you’d let me.) I DID NOT get a lot of mileage out of iridology, although that post is consistently one of my most read. But I do believe there’s more than one way to skin a cat, and if another approach or combination of approaches works for you, fabulous. Truly, I’d love to hear about what you’ve tried and what’s worked and what hasn’t. (Drop me a line.) THIS is one of the benefits to breaking away from the tribe and individuating. Afterwards, you can COME BACK to the tribe and share what you’ve learned. Then we can all grow and be stronger, together.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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It’s never too late to be your own friend.

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Pontius Pilate and the Haters (Blog #1057)

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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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Our world is magical, a mysterious place where everything somehow works together, where nothing and no one is without influence, where all things great and small make a difference.

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On the Mysteries of Life (Blog #1017)

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Several years ago I bought a piece of jewelry at a flea market–“I’ll sell it to you half off,” the guy said–and, despite the fact that I need to have part of it repaired, it continues to fascinate me. I could go on about all the reasons why, but the main thing is that front and center, made out of lapis lazuli (my favorite stone), are seven circles in a circle. Y’all, this is a simple design–you can recreate by setting down a single penny then placing six other pennies around it–but I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve Googled this shape, flipped through books about symbols to find it, all in hopes of learning what it has to teach me.

Naturally, the usual things about sevens come up. The are seven days in a week, seven “planets” in ancient astronomy, seven base metals in alchemy, seven major chakras. Beyond that, the design implies the Star of David, one triangle with its base in heaven reaching downward that intersects with one triangle with its base on earth reaching up. Of course, there are many other meanings to The Star, like balance, yin and yang.

Suffice it to say that I haven’t been able to get enough of seven circles inside an eighth. Why, just two days ago I realized that one of my framed brooches included this very layout. I hadn’t even noticed when I bought it or framed it, but now that I see it, it rivets me.

I knew I picked it out for a reason.

Amazed by this “coincidence,” last night I once again took to Google to learn about the seven circles (of jewelry design, not of hell, although that’s ANOTHER seven connection). Well, I stumbled across a book I hadn’t seen before, The Seventh Circle in Bible Prophesy by Wayne L. Atchison (link to PDF file). And whereas I haven’t finished it, I stayed up until four last night reading it. In short, Atchison proposes that although most of the world counts in tens, God counts in sevens. God made the world in six days and rested on the seventh, Joshua marched around the walls of Jericho one time for six days and seven times on the seventh, and so on. Atchison also points out that just like seven is associated worldwide with completion or perfection, eight (or any number after a multiple of seven) is associated with new beginnings. This is why, he says, many feast days in The Bible are on the 15th (after the 14th) or 22nd (after the 21st). Or why Jubilee is in the 50th year (after the 49th, which, incidentally, is seven sets of seven years).

Now, that’s about as far as I’ve gotten. Well, wait. This afternoon I Googled “counting by 7s” and came up with the title of a juvenile fiction book by Holly Goldberg Sloan. So I checked it out from the library. And whereas I don’t know what it will reveal to me, I’m eager to find out. One of my points here being that I don’t think any of this–the flea-market cuff, the half-off guy that sold it to me, the brooch, the books–is coincidental. Rather, I believe there’s a rabbit hole the universe wants me to go down (who knows why?), and this is how it’s leading me there. Can I prove this? Of course not. You can never prove your mysteries. But Joseph Campbell said, “Follow your fascinations,” and that’s what I’m doing.

Who knows where they will take me or what I shall learn along the way?

This afternoon and evening I cleaned house for a client of mine. While dusting and scrubbing I began listening to a book on audio–The Way of the Rose: The Radical Path of the Divine Feminine Hidden in the Rosary by Clark Strand and Perdita Finn. Now, I’m not Catholic and I’m not pushing anything, but, y’all, this book, this story, is beautiful. In short, Strand was a Buddhist monk and spiritual seeker, and then–out of nowhere–he had an encounter with the Virgin Mary. It’s a long story, but she told him, like she apparently tells many of those to whom she appears: “Pray. Pray the rosary.”

Again, I’m not done with this book, but it’s been on my mind, so I’d be disingenuous if I didn’t talk about it, if I at least didn’t mention it. Because I’ve been thinking about it a lot. Like the seven circles, I don’t think it’s an accident that this book was brought to my attention (on a podcast), especially after a friend of mine gave me a print of the Madonna a year ago and got me a bit obsessed with her statues ever since. And get this shit. Just today as I was one hour into listening to The Way of the Rose, a stranger messaged me and asked if I could frame one of her family heirlooms/brooches. And whereas they had eleven different options, three of them were–roses.

The big thing that caught me about the book today–indeed, it brought me to tears–was the way the authors describe The Love of The Mother, the way she cradles us as we come into this world, the way she holds us as we go out. “I will always be with you,” she says. “You are my child. You will never be alone.” Admittedly, as someone who’s been raised by a patriarchal society and religion, praying to the feminine is foreign. Like, it sounds iffy at best, and I hope it doesn’t make the masculine mad. And yet perhaps this is the point, that all too often we’ve been taught to fear the divine, rather than approaching All That Is as a tender, compassionate, welcoming, and caring force. A motherly force and not just a fatherly one. A force so full of love for us that it would gladly listen to our concerns. That it would gently lead us down The Path into our own mysteries.

Which are, of course, the mysteries of life itself.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"Why should anyone be embarrassed about the truth?"

Walk Through Your Doorway (Blog #1006)

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It’s New Year’s Eve, an hour before midnight. And whereas I’ve had more energy today than I did yesterday, I’m ringing in 2020 sick with a sinus infection. Currently I’m in my pajamas, curled up in my parents’ living room drinking hot tea. Mom’s in her chair in her nightgown on Facebook, and Dad’s on the couch watching the ball drop in New York City with a toothpick in his mouth. Our family dog is passed out on the floor. Every now and then, she farts.

It’s an enviable situation, I know.

This afternoon while running errands I stopped by the library to check out a book called As: A Surfeit of Similes by Norton Juster (the man who wrote The Phantom Tollbooth). Then, after I dropped off a late Christmas gift to and visited with my friends Justin and Ashley, I came home and read it. Talk about delightful. Y’all, it’s a children’s book, but if you like words and rhymes, it’s for you. I walked away from it both smiling and inspired.

As happy as a pig in shit. (That’s a simile, Mom, a comparison using like or as. But, to be clear, not one that’s used in the book.)

One simile that IS used in the book is “as rough as a gale,” a gale being (I found out thanks to Google) a very strong wind. (A very strong wind as in weather, mind you, not as in what happens when our dog’s sleeping.) Anyway, this made me think of Dorothy Gale, the main character in The Wonderful Wizard of Oz. And whereas I don’t know if L. Frank Baum intended to give Dorothy a surname that correlates perfectly to her life being turned upside down (ultimately for the better) by a tornado, it certainly was and is fitting. What stands out to me even more, however, is the fact that Dorothy means “gift of God,” the implication of Dorothy Gale being that the tornados, the storms in our lives, are sent to us from heaven not for our destruction, but rather for our betterment.

This sucks to think about, I know.

This afternoon Justin and Ashley and I discussed our New Year’s Resolutions. And whereas all of us agreed that if you want to change something in your life you can do it any day of the year–you don’t have to wait until January 1–we all had things we’d like to see happen in 2020. In addition to the usual suspects like getting in better shape, I’d like to 1) finish this blog on March 30th, 2) start turning it into a book, and 3) buckle down on two other (young adult fiction) books I’ve begun but have neglected because–quite frankly–they terrify me. Why do they terrify me? Because, for one thing, I’m afraid they won’t be good enough. For another, I’m afraid they’ll be too good. Like, I avoid them because I believe they have the power to change both me and my life.

I think this is why most of our resolutions “fail,” why we don’t follow through. Because deep down we know that if we really stick to something–anything–it will transform us. It will turn our world upside down. Earlier tonight I looked up WHY we celebrate New Year’s when we do and found out that there’s no ASTRONOMICAL reason for it. Granted, January 1 falls nicely between the Winter Solstice (on December 21/22) and the earth’s perihelion (on January 5, when we’re closest to the sun), but that’s not it. Rather, we celebrate New Year’s in the month of JAN-uary as an homage to the Roman god Janus, the god of doorways and beginnings. Janus being the two-faced god with one face looking toward the past and one face looking toward the future. Anyway, that’s the deal. Whenever you walk through a doorway into a new world, you MUST leave your old world behind. Dorothy couldn’t take Kansas (or her loved ones in it) to Oz.

This fact that truly committing to change not only changes us but also our world and requires that we like Dorothy go alone is, again, why I think we tend to 1) keep our resolutions rather surface and 2) soon end up dropping them. (Statistics show that eighty percent of people give up on their resolutions within six weeks.) It’s also why I think the divine so often has to send storms into our our lives. Most of us need to be “strongly encouraged” to change. Recently I wrote about how we need our challenges, and this is what I meant. We need a good swift kick in pants to get us going down our own personal Yellow Brick Roads. Because given the option to steal a witch’s broomstick (that is, do something that terrifies us) or stay at home and watch Netflix, most of us choose Netflix. It’s like life sees potential in us we’re not using.

So it sends us a tornado to set us on The Path.

For all these reasons (and not that anyone asked), my advice is terms of resolutions and life in general is–don’t let yourself off easy. Don’t say, “I want to lose five pounds” or “I want to eat better.” If you do, fine. These are noble causes that, if taken seriously, will change your life for the better. Still and instead, I recommend doing something that terrifies you, something that really has the potential to draw out your potential and turn your life upside down for the better. I think about my decisions to really commit to therapy and this blog and how, although for the rest of my life my weight is sure to fluctuate, these two choices have helped me find a space within myself that’s unmovable. A space that can weather any storm. I think about the power that one perspective truly embodied–like “my storms are a gift from God”–has to transform a person, the peace it can offer, and I think, What are you waiting for? I know it’s scary, but walk through your doorway. Leave your old world behind.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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If you're not living a fully authentic life, a part of you will never be satisfied.

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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)

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You absolutely have to be vulnerable and state what you want.

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The Experience of Living (Blog #884)

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What a fabulous day. I spent this morning getting a slow start where I’m house sitting, doing some things online. Then I painted for a few hours, and–for whatever reason–was in the best mood. I guess my body felt decent, I was making good progress, and I had my tunes turned up. I didn’t finish the room I’m working on, but hey, it’ll get done soon enough. What’s the saying? All things in good time.

This evening I went to dinner with my parents and an extended relative we’ve recently reconnected with (my second cousin). And whereas you might think, Gosh, Saturday night with your family–that’s hot–it actually was. I had the best time. I guess there’s something about being around family, people who have known you forever.

Of course, the margaritas may have helped.

After we finished eating, my second cousin invited me to go bowling with him and a couple of his friends. My first thought was to call it a night, to come back to where I’m staying and–I don’t know–watch Netflix. But then I thought, Hell, Marcus, live a little. Get to know your family. So after I ran back to the house to let the dogs out (again, who let the dogs out? I did) I hauled my happy ass over to Midland Bowl and joined the party on lane 31.

Y’all, I can’t tell you what a trip this was. When I was in junior high, I used to spend every Wednesday afternoon at Midland Bowl. My sister and I were part of a league–The Wednesday Juniors. For years I partnered with my friend Jeff. First we were Double Trouble, then The Terrible Twosome. Intimidating, right? Anyway, bowling was my social life–my sports life (sexy, I know). I had my own ball and bag. I used to go out of town to tournaments. I had patches–and trophies! I still have: so–many–memories.

Alas, that was decades ago, and any time I’ve tried to bowl since it’s just been a disappointment. Like, I have all this knowledge in my head about what should happen–the mechanics and physics of throwing a ball down a lane–but I’m sorely out of practice. In the last twenty years, I’ve been lucky to break a hundred maybe twice. However, tonight–for whatever reason–I did. My second cousin, his friends, and I bowled two games, and my first score was 124. Then–get this shit–my second score was 151. Granted, the second game I was given a free strike because the pin setter screwed up, but still. There were several throws when I was able to relax and everything just came back–get your alignment, breathe, settle in, take four steps, swing back, follow through.

Right in the pocket.

What I loved about tonight more than getting a decent score (there’s a sex joke there somewhere) was the fact that–for whatever reason–I didn’t give a shit. What I mean is that when I’ve bowled in the past my perfectionist has shown up in full force and taken the fuck over. Like, You should be better than this. You used to be on a league. Geez, you’re screwing this up. You’re a total failure. But tonight there was VERY LITTLE of that. Rather, it was about having fun spending time with new people. Several times when I got up to throw the ball I thought, It doesn’t matter WHAT the hell happens–I’m still worthy. This is one way I know The Hard Work is, well, working. Situations that used to trigger me don’t now (as much). Things that used to bother me don’t anymore (as much).

This is what you want as you proceed down The Path. Progress, not perfection. The experience of living, not the final score.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Who’s to say that one experience is better than another?

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