Slut

 About five years ago, I saw a bracelet that had the word "SLUT" cut out of a piece of pink metal, so that the word "SLUT" occupied the negative space of the bracelet itself. And I had to have it. 

Why? Well, immediately, the concept of a heterosexual man wearing a pink metal bracelet that said "SLUT" on it appealed to me. The humor and irony of it was so powerful that buying it was a no brainer. It wasn't compulsive. It wasn't impulsive. It wasn't repulsive. It just made so much absolute sense to me. Just like painting my house bright purple, a color I loved, made such absolute sense to me.

Since I was a boy, I have spent considerable time digging into the depths of myself. And I will continue doing that long as I live. As far back as say eight or nine years old, I spent time within, asking myself questions, trying to answer them, creating an active and probing dialogue inside that could carry itself without anybody else there but me. 

I did this out of necessity, because I was a lonely kid, even though I'm a twin, and because there was something ticking inside of me that encouraged that dialogue; like a voice from within that I couldn't ignore. I knew that. And I knew that early. Thus, I practiced self-awareness and introspection before I had any concept of what the terms meant, before I even knew what I was   doing. Out of the necessity of loneliness, of feeling that I was the only person on the planet going through this and having nobody to talk about it with, I heard the deafening roar of my inner voice.

It was clear to me I was already very different from kids my age. I wanted to have the kind of discussions with my ten year old friends that I routinely had with myself. But I couldn't. Because none of them had a fuckin' clue as to where I was at. And, because I couldn't articulate what was happening inside of me to anybody but me. 

The cultivation of this inner dialogue created its own pros and cons. One of the biggest and most destructive cons is that it put me in my head an awful lot. Even as a kid, I went upstairs all the time. I don't have to tell you the myriad of mental and emotional issues spending too much time in your own mind can create. I don't have to tell myself either, because I've spent the last two months climbing my way out of the dark canyons that too much mental masturbation can cause.

One of the biggest pros is that I got to know myself, got to know what made me tick, at a very young age. I knew I was different. I knew my inner machine worked differently than others. I knew what rocked my world, what set my heart on fire. I can't say I was comfortable with it, because no kid wants to feel so different that they have trouble relating to other kids (I did). In fact, I was so uncomfortable with it that I didn't let it shine until I hit my teens. And when I did, I didn't just come out of my shell, I exploded out of it and left a crater where the old me was. That happened when I was eighteen. 

What does all that have to do with the "SLUT" bracelet? Well, because I was aware that I was different, because I was familiar with this inner dynamic since I was a kid, when I finally embraced it, when I finally owned it, I knew it was real, I knew it was a part of me that I couldn't get rid of, and I really liked it about myself because I was so familiar with it. That gave me the boldness and the confidence I needed to show it to the world, and damn the torpedoes. It gave me the strength to be myself in a world that didn't encourage that. Because I knew I had no choice. I knew this was who I was, so I better get used to it, even if other people couldn't. 

Back then, it wasn't so much a conscious decision as an unconscious one. I've spent considerable effort and life resources embracing myself on a more conscious level, driving it deeper and deeper into myself. That's made it easier to be me, to be a non-conformist and one unconventional MoFo in a culture that really doesn't value that as much as it claims.

It's not lost on me that some people who see me wearing the "SLUT" bracelet, especially if I am shirtless, will draw conclusions about me that are completely inaccurate. I get that what I wear (or what I don't wear) may create certain perceptions about me that are not reflective of who I really am and what I am truly about. I run into this at times. What I have come to understand, especially in light of my recent work, is that, with all due respect to those who have known me and decided to throw me away like yesterday's salad, it's not my problem if you can't reconcile me. It's not my problem if you don't "get me". If someone can not come to terms with all of me, with the vastness of who I am, then that is not something I need to spend any time on. I'm not saying it's anything they need to spend any time on either. But I know it's not a concern I'm going to waste anymore of my precious seconds worrying about.

This is because I'm more OK with me; I've had to learn to be, because I've been aware of it since I was a kid. But anyone can learn to be more accepting, more loving, of themselves, regardless of age. But it takes some desire and some work. 

And when the white pages of my book come out, I'll tell you more about how to do that......

©2017 Clint Piatelli, MuscleHeart LLC, and Red F Publishing. All rights reserved.

No Longer A Choice

       Back in my mid twenties, I made the decision that, if I wanted to remain fit and healthy, resistance training, cardiovascular work, and eating right were mandatory. They were not optional. It was not only a conscious decision, but it required a very deep internal commitment. My heart and soul bought into it, as well as my mind. 

       Over the years - my few episodes of self-destructive behavior notwithstanding - that mental, physical, and emotional commitment was behind the consistent work I did to maintain great health and a nice physique. I wanted to look, and feel, a certain way. So I had to do certain things to get that. 

       In the past, I dabbled with yoga and meditation. I practiced inconsistently, sporadically, and sometimes, not at all. There was some mental resistance regarding both, and I can't even put my finger on what that resistance was, except to say that I wasn't very good at either. Now, I know some of you Yogis and meditation practitioners are going to say "There is no being 'good' at it, there is just the doing of it", or something like that, and you're right. But I'm talking about how I framed my experience, not wether my framing made any sense or not. It made sense to me at the time. I thought I sucked at it, so I didn't do it. Period.

       Looking back, that's a pretty childish attitude. And when my kid is running the decision making in any part of my life, that part of my life needs examining. For whatever reasons, I didn't stick with either yoga or meditation with enough consistency for them to make lasting impacts on my life. Basically, I thought I had the option of not doing them, and still being able to live a healthy life. 

       Well, I don't have that option anymore.

       The gift of desperation got me into treatment for depression, and treatment included practicing meditation and yoga consistently over the past two months. During that time, something shifted. Actually, a shit load has shifted in me over the past 60 days. My attitude towards meditation and yoga is part of a larger, deeper, more comprehensive awakening. But it's an important part.

       I've realized that I don't really have the option anymore to not meditate or practice yoga if I want to be healthy. Or certainly not if I want to be as healthy as I feel right now, and trending sharply upwards. They have become, along with resistance training, cardio, and proper nutrition, staples of my physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual health. I've made an internal commitment towards yoga and meditation that was never there before. And that has made all the difference.

       What's really changed is my relationship to both practices. And when one's relationship, to anything, or anyone, changes, it can reverberate as a paradigm shift across one's life. Now, there's a certain "Something" that was never there before. Its kind of like when you find a special relationship with a special someone; there's a Je Ne Sais Quoi that's never been present before. That's how I feel about mediation and yoga now, versus how I felt about them say, a year ago.

       Maybe I had to get to the point where I no longer recognized my life so that I could save it. I certainly had ample opportunities in the past to develop practices. I've gone out with several women who were really into it. My last love is an accomplished instructor, and the most dedicated and passionate practitioner I ever met. When we were together, I did it more than I had in years (yoga and meditation, I mean.....and yes, the other thing too), but still not enough to make a big, lasting impact on my life.

       I remember telling her "I want more of what you have"; she was so grounded, so positive, quite present, and had more peace than I did (not to mention an absolutely beautiful, tight little body that was far more supple and flexible than mine). And she attributed a lot of that to her yoga and meditation practices. I really did want more of that, but, for whatever reasons, I wasn't ready to get it. Knowing what I know now, perhaps I just didn't believe I deserved it.

       My body was actually willing, because when we practiced together, she told me how receptive my body was to yoga. I couldn't feel that (to me it felt like I was fighting it the whole way) but she could. I realize now that my body was indeed willing, but my mind was not. My mind was in resistance mode. I'm grateful that I don't pay nearly as much attention to my mind as I used to. And, ironically, yoga and meditation have had a lot to do with that. 

       Now, I often actually look forward to both yoga and mediation, whereas before, I usually met both with a sense of obligatory dread - like taking castor oil; "I don't really like it, but I know it's good for me". For years, the gym, the earth under my feet when I ran, or the street under my wheels when I biked, were places - not only physical places, but places of the heart and mind - that fed me. Nourished me. Gave me something I couldn't get anyplace else. Lifting, running, and biking, gave me a rush of prolonged delight. Well now I can say that about the yoga studio, and about wherever I meditate, as well. 

       I still intend to be one jacked bad ass rocker. I'm just gonna be a more flexible, enlightened, grounded, and mindful jacked bad ass rocker.

 ©2017, Clint Piatelli, MuscleHeart LLC, and Red F Publishing. All rights reserved.

New Good Mornings

        Whilst in residential treatment in the Sonoran desert of Arizona, I developed a morning ritual that I would like to share.

        Ever since my first forays into the Mohave when I was 22, the desert has been a magical place for me; like the ocean, it has a palpable spiritual energy and power. My intention, from jump street, was to find a way to connect to that power first thing in the morning.

       There was a quarter mile loop of dirt track at the facility that wound its way into the desert, with a spectacular view of the Catalina mountains. Every morning, for 39 days, I would start my day by jumping up on a boulder, speckled with copper ore and many other colorful minerals. Rocks also hold magic for me, and standing atop this gorgeous geological specimen gave me the experience of being firmly grounded to the solidness of the earth. That sense of being rooted as I connected to the spiritual power of the desert was critical for me. Metaphysically, I have no problem flying into the stratosphere and beyond. Being grounded, however, has always remained a challenge.

       Once atop this boulder, which also gave me a little elevation, so not only did I feel grounded, but I had the experience of floating a bit as well, I came up with a chant. I would hold my arms wide open, in a "T" position, and repeat my chant as I looked at the mountains. Then I would look to the sky, arms raised in a "Y", and repeat the chant again. I did this three times.

       After that, I would walk the track three times, during which I would either do a walking mediation, or recite a mantra or a prayer over and over again. The ritual helped prepare me for the long day of work, healing, growth, and unknown challenges.

       Today, I continue a form of this ritual, no matter where I am. I may not always have the desert to connect to, but I still connect to the power of whatever nature I'm surrounded by. Which is a little better than starting off my day with a blast of Jack Daniels and a line of crushed up pain killers.

"I open myself to Mother Earth

I open myself to The Divine

I open Myself to The Divine In Me

I open myself to Love

I open myself to Life

I open myself to Miracles

I open myself to The Miracle That Is Me

I open myself to Healing

I open myself to Growth

I open myself to Transformation

I open my Heart

I open my Mind

I open myself to Faith, Hope, and Trust

I pull the Light of The Universe into My Heart

Today is A Great Day"

 ©2017 Clint Piatelli, MuscleHeart LLC, and Red F Publishing. All rights reserved.

Tales From The Other Side

"The Brighter The Light, The Darker The Shadow"- Carl Jung

That was one of the first phrases I heard when I entered treatment for mood disorder nearly two months ago. It wasn't the first time I heard it, but......I heard it for the first time. All of a sudden, I Got It. The phrase became my first internal mantra, and also my first social mantra; something I would repeat to others when our discussion turned to why we were there. The quote now made so much sense to me. Many others in my new tribe related to it too, which is why they usually raised an eyebrow when they heard it, said "I like that", and asked me to repeat it, or even write it down.

I've been described by many who know me as a very bright light; that I have a huge, beautiful heart that radiates love. Others say that I shine a vibrant, engaging energy that they are drawn to and want to be part of. This was sometimes ironic to me, because I often felt so dark and empty on the inside. My overall perception of myself was that I was, fundamentally, a defective model. At times, I functioned very well, but I was, at my core, wired wrong. Built wrong. Made wrong. I had inherent design flaws. Lots of them. Too many to correct, and too incapacitating to ever be free of.

This gaping disparity between how others experienced me and how I experienced myself was part of my suffering. In fact, it's part of a lot of the suffering on this planet. When the insides don't match the outsides, we are in disharmony. We are splintered. Fragmented. Not whole.

What I never really got until recently was that my ability to shine so brightly and powerfully also means that I have the capacity for very deep darkness. This metaphor applies not only in the metaphysics of human self expression, in the metaphysics of human love, but in the physics of electromagnetism. Because light is an electromagnetic wave. 

Think of those giant spotlights, the kind they use at store openings, or when commissioner Gordon needs to signal Batman. Those fuckers shine like the sun, and the shadow they cast can be as black as night. The same is true for the light of the human heart, of the human being. Those of us who allow ourselves to feel the most intense joy, passion, and rapture, are also the ones who allow ourselves to feel the deepest and darkest of pain. Which is why, when, I completely shut myself down from feeling, I enter a condition called depression. Depression is the antithesis of vibrancy, of light, of feeling. It is the blackest of nights, the most empty of hearts, the darkest nights of my soul.

Not everybody who is a bright light makes it into depression, because depression is a condition, not a feeling. There are many other factors involved. Depression just happens to be my darkest place, and the darkest place of many bright lights. 

When I truly understood this, when I felt this knowing in my bones, I let myself off the fuckin' hook. I stopped beating myself up for suffering from depression. I didn't like that I could suffer from the condition of depression, but I finally accepted it. If I was that bright of a light, it finally made sense that my shadow would be one dark, motherfucking place. That was a truly "Aha!" Moment for me. It  changed my perspective. I stopped calling it "being fucked up", and started calling it "Part of My Yin and Yang". Big distinction. Huge. One of my most profound, ever.

Back in November, when The Love of My Life and I split up, I could sense that I was heading into a deep depression. I am in no way blaming her for that. The breakup literally broke both our hearts, and she's not responsible for how I handled, or mishandled, my behavior around it. There were other factors in my life that I was unhappy about and not effectively dealing with. None of them had anything to do with her. 

Our split was just my last straw. I knew where I was headed, and it scared the crap out of me, because I had been there before. At that time, I was invested in the belief that when depression hit me, it was like a flu of the heart; a virus that I couldn't kill, that I had no control over, and that I just had to ride it out and let it run its course. And, I could tell that this was going to be one bad ass bout. I knew that it meant weeks, or even months, of isolation, inactivity, and a unique combination of numbness and pain so crippling that I would basically become inert. I refused to go there again. So I made the best bad decision I could, given my toolbox at the time. I started using substances, a lot, to stave off depression and at least have some sort of a life. 

And it worked. Until it didn't. I actually had some fun between early November and the end of February. Granted, it was fun that was usually artificially induced, but at least I wasn't holed up in my condo, every day, completely miserable for the next four months. 

Until I hit The Wall. On my birthday. That's when it started tuning around. By the grace of god, I caught myself before I got too far down the rabbit hole. 

©2017 Clint Piatelli, MuscleHeart LLC, and Red F Publishing. All rights reserved. 

Two Seventeen Seventeen

        Alone on the night of my birthday this past February, I cried so hard that my throat and lungs ached. My eyes were having the dry heaves as they drained my tear ducts faster than they could produce lubrication. Yes, this was the worst birthday of my life. I was in a self imposed prison. Solitary confinement of the heart, body, mind, and soul. It wasn't that I didn't have options; I chose to be by myself. Because I didn't feel worthy of human company.

       The day had started off more promising. In the morning, my former angel of love texted me. Just ninety days prior, we had planned to spend our lives together. She sweetly wrote me a quick happy birthday wish. I loved hearing from her - I always did - and, it brought up a storm of emotions. I wasn't doing so hot with dealing with emotions at that point. Anything that threatened me to feel was like heavy artillery on my heart. She was the atomic bomb. 

       Later that night, alone in the darkness of my condo, a fine place, but a place I no longer wanted to live in, everything I had been running from for the past few months crashed on me like a tsunami. I recalled celebrating birthdays in much grander fashion than my present state; alone, in my underwear, sweating from withdrawal, unkempt because I didn't care enough about my hygiene to shower or get dressed, crying myself dry. I recalled the many birthday parties my twin brother and I threw, with a live band, surrounded by people we loved, truly celebrating our lives together. My current experience could not be a more stark contrast. 

       I knew I had to make some changes. I had known that for a while. But I was dragging my ass on that. How the fuck did I get here? A few months ago, my life looked so different, I hardly recognized it as mine. 

       The lowest moment of my lowest birthday, the Marianna's Trench of My Soul, came when, in a fit of despair, I sprang up from the couch, screaming a sob from deep within, and practically ran to my closet. Moving quickly and hastily, as if I were trying to do something before I changed my mind, I opened my toolbox and grabbed a straight razor. I paused for a moment and looked at my left wrist, noting where my blue vein that lead into my hand was. Then I made a little cut, just to the right of that vein.

       I really don't know what the fuck I was thinking. It wasn't an attempt at suicide. I consciously didn't cut that hard or that deep. It didn't even qualify as a half-assed cry for help, because no one saw it, or even knows about it, until, well, right now as I write about it and share it. Maybe I just wanted to see how it felt. Maybe I just wanted to hurt myself even more; why not? At that moment in my life, hurting myself was the only thing I knew I was any good at, and I had been perfecting that skill for months. I watched the cut bleed for about a minute, then used some liquid bandaid and a piece of surgical tape to patch myself up. Then I went back to enjoying my misery.

       I can now look at that as a true turning point in my life. I didn't realize it in the moment, or even six days later, when I checked myself into detox at Saint Elizabeth's Hospital. 

       By the way, Saint Elizabeth's Hospital was where I was born, on February 17, 1963. 

       Well, Saint Elizabeth's Hospital was also where I was reborn. Detoxing there was the best decision I had made in months. And it was the beginning of a series of "divine convergences" (some people call them "amazing coincidence's") that continue to occur for me, even now, two months later.

       The cut on my wrist has left a scar. Hopefully, a scar that never goes away. Because I never want to forget that moment, that night, as long as I live. It is a physical imprint on my body and on my heart of where I have come from, and of where I will never, ever, go again. Moving forward, whenever I get down on myself, whenever there is a vast disparity between where I am at and where I want to be, I will look at that scar and remember how far I've come. And how grateful I am for the gift of desperation. 

       Please come with me again as I continue the story of my virtual rebirth in the following weeks here on my blog.

 ©2017 Clint Piatelli, MuscleHeart LLC, and Red F Puplishing. All Rights Reserved.