The X of My X Is My "Oh"

Early last week up here at Kripalu, I was having dinner with a group of women when one of them looked over my shoulder, waved at someone, then got up abruptly and headed towards the door of the dining hall. I turned around and saw the back of a guy hurriedly exiting said door. It was one of those moments where you know two events are somehow connected, but you don’t know how. The woman (I’ll call her “Phebee”) who had suddenly gotten up from the table soon returned and rejoined the conversation.

At the end of the meal, Phebee invited us all to go for a walk. I was the only one who took her up on the offer, and we headed towards the stairs together. Before heading down, she said to me, “I’m sorry, but I can’t go for a walk with you”. I replied, “Okay”, and looked at her, silently asking the question “Why?”. “Well I already told this guy that I would go for a walk with him. And that guy recognized you. You dated his ex-girlfriend.” In hindsight, it’s possible she said (or meant) “He’s dating your ex-girlfriend”. I really don’t know, because it never came up again. Phebee continued, “He doesn’t have anything against you, he just doesn’t want to hang with you”. 

I understood. And I was intrigued. I asked Phebee to find out who the mutual X was. Hell, I was curious. The next day, I found out who the common denominator mystery woman was. 

My first reaction was “Jesus. What are the fucking odds of that?”. I then wondered how this guy knew who the hell I was or what the hell I looked like. And, I also felt a bit of an ancient male energy kick in. I wanted to size this guy up. I wanted to check him out. That’s pretty natural. Especially since me and this X used to me madly in love.

Over the next few days, completely by happenstance, this guy and I passed each other in the hallways and in the dining hall what seemed like an inordinately large number of times. However, while I can’t speak for him, I was, as I said, curious about him. And when there is a curiosity about something, or someone, the universe often presents opportunities to answer that curiosity. 

We never said a word to each other. And let me stress that what I’m about to say is complete conjecture. I have no hard evidence for it. I do, however, have pretty slammin’ intuition, I am rather empathic, and I can sense the energy of other people. I sensed an uncomfortableness between us, and it wasn’t coming from me. I felt a palpable uneasiness from him whenever we were within a few feet of each other. Again, I’m spitballing here, but I had a powerful sense that this dude would have, if he could have, avoided me like the plague. 

After both Phebee and this dude left Kripalu (and, true to form, he walked right past me once again as he was exiting the facility, presumably on his way home), I hit a yoga class. That’s when things really got interesting.

As we started class, during the opening meditation, I felt a wave of emotion engulf me like a wet blanket. I felt myself start to profusely tear up. It got so intense that I had to leave class early, go to The Swami Kripalu Meditation Garden, and have a very long, hard cry.

There are probably multiple layers to this emotional outpouring, but the only one I was fully conscious of was rested in a missed opportunity. I had the chance to take a risk, approach this guy and say, “I just want you to know, I have absolutely nothing against you. I don’t know anything about you, but I sense that you are a kind man. I wish you nothing but love, peace, and happiness”. 

What also hit me was that it doesn’t matter if I was right or wrong about the guy’s experience. Even though I have good intuition and can sense energy, that doesn’t mean I knew what he was thinking or feeling. I could have just been projecting a whole story on him, maybe even projecting my own pain. But, as I’ve said, that doesn’t even matter, because it has nothing to do with the lesson I was reminded of.

So I had the opportunity to potentially ease the discomfort of another fellow being, and I missed it. I had the chance to maybe help someone else, and I didn’t. Granted, I thought of it after the fact, so I’m cutting myself some slack. It mildly haunts me to know that I possibly missed a chance to maybe assist somebody who was maybe having a hard time, who was maybe uncomfortable, who was possibly experiencing some unease, who was perhaps even in some pain. 

Throughout my recovery, indeed, my discovery, I have become acutely aware of my ability to impact people. I have become attuned to how profoundly I touch people; both painfully, through attitudes and behaviors that serve neither me nor anyone else; and lovingly, through attitudes and actions that bring forth my highest self. 

I have been told, by more than a few people, in more than a few contexts, that I cast a long shadow; that I’m a hard act to follow; that I have a big, powerful presence. I’m not assuming those attributes have anything to do with the aforementioned situation, although it wouldn’t shock me either. Quite frankly, I’ve had a lot of girlfriends, thus a lot of ex-girlfriends, and I wouldn’t know but one of their pre-Clint ex-boyfriends (or current boyfriends) if they sat next to me, looked me in the eye, and told me their name. 

The lesson I was poignantly reminded of is that, underneath whatever big, colorful, playful, powerful presence I have, there lies a very tender, very soft, very gentle, very sensitive, absolutely giant heart. That heart is in fact a huge reason I have a presence to begin with. I’m truly the sizzle and the bacon. I was reminded of my nature, which is to reach out and touch as many people as I possibly can in this life. Metaphysically, and/or physically, I want to wrap my body around people in a firm, secure, beautiful hug, and love them. What’s inside me is the heart of a man who really just wants to love you. Who wants to ease suffering. Who wants to make a difference in people’s lives. Regardless of whatever facts I’m either spot on or way off about here, I am reminded that, amongst other things, I am a healer. I am a lover. I am a man with a really big, beautiful heart. 

"Performing the duty prescribed by one's nature, one incurreth no sin"

                                            - The Bhagavad Gita

 ©2018 Clint Piatelli, MuscleHeart LLC, and Red F Publishing. All rights reserved.

The Lessons of Hedonism

Precious gems, minerals, and Mother Earth herself, are all formed by heat, fire, pressure, upheaval, and complex cataclysmic processes.

So, in many ways, are we.

My privileged and beautiful existence has been starkly punctuated by plenty of trauma. Trauma that has partially molded me, formed me, and shaped me, into who and what I am today.

It’s taken me a long time to wrap my arms around that; to fully embrace the traumatic events of my life, not under a veil of cynicism and anger, but as a process of transformation.

Strongly hedonistic by nature, my mercurial proclivity is fundamentally drawn to the indulgence of pleasure, sometimes regardless of consequence. Give it to me, give it all to me, and give it to me, right now. Fuck the torpedoes. 

The hard lesson remains that life is not all about that endless pursuit of pleasure. Although I never want to lose that wanderlust, it does not define me. It will not continue to be The Tarot of My Life. I’ve tried that. The journey is fun. Then it’s not. I know where it ultimately leads, if given full, unbridled reign. And it’s a dead end.

Pleasures of the flesh: oh baby, do I love those. Pleasures of the ego: well, those feel damn sweet. Pleasures of all of that which is outside of myself; you will hear no complaints from moi. But all of those have a shelf life. And a rather short one. Which means that, if unchecked, my life simply becomes about looking for the next buzz.

These days, my life is no longer just a vehicle through which I can satisfy my desires. My life is expanding into a vehicle through which I can take those experiences and teach others the lessons I’ve learned, the insights I’ve gathered, the wisdom I’ve gleaned, and the knowledge of self I’ve stepped into. 

I’m glad to have been there. I’m grateful that I know what it feels like to go way too far. I’m thrilled that it has taught me so much. I bask in the wisdom that, such precious lessons are meant to be shared.

We teach what we most need to learn.

Ay-fucking-men.

Many of us go through life never embracing such wanton desires. Many of us never know what it’s like to push the envelope so far that it no longer resembles an envelope. If I’ve been on the other side, it’s because I’m meant to share the joys and pitfalls and wisdom of such a traverse. My journey is thus not just a vein attempt at self-pleasure. It’s a also a tool to teach something to the world, so that I can contribute something to the lives of others. 

The message I keep getting, over and over again, through all my recent upheavals, is that Life is now asking me to Go Big. To share even more. To Step it Up. 

The last two years have been a barefoot walk though fire. Like gems, like precious stones, like the very bedrock under our feet, I am constantly being formed by fire, by turmoil, and by upheaval. By the embrace of mother earth and father sky. By the very heavens and by the very ground itself.

My metaphysical experiences of both crying aloud whilst burning through a volcano, and smiling hysterically as I careen down a smoothly paved road in a Ferrari whilst getting a hummer, have taught me more than I ever realized.

Rumi said that “The wound is where the light enters”. I would add that, once the light enters, it becomes our calling to beam that light back into the world. Only then, can we truly connect. Only then, do we create from our hearts. Only then do we love in the way of the divine. 

©2018 Clint Piatelli, MuscleHeart LLC, and Red F Publishing. All rights reserved.

Following My Heart, Trusting My Gut, Using My Head, & Hearing My Angels

The options of where to go for recovery these days is mind boggling. When I first realized I needed serious help with depression back in January, I researched the crap out of what place would be best for me. I looked into about a dozen different facilities and spoke to as many people as I could who had experience with treatment. I did my due diligence. My intellect and tenacity served me well. I gathered and synthesized about as much information as I could handle. I didn't want to get into analysis paralysis (something I can be guilty of and something I can be really good at), but I wanted to make an informed decision.

 So after I had done all the research, this one place kept pulling me towards it. More precisely, this place was pulling my heart, and my gut was telling me "This is where you belong right now". So I followed my heart and my gut to a place called Sierra Tucson. Even though it meant I had to pay out of pocket, while there were plenty of other options that my insurance would have completely covered. I was fortunate and blessed to have the resources to go anyplace. And I knew that, because I had the means, when it came to saving my life, there could not be a price tag.

After my 5 weeks in residential treatment at Sierra Tucson, I had to choose where to go next for my Intensive Outpatient treatment, the next step in my recovery from depression. I once again did my research. As is the case in the wacky world of insurance coverage, I had choices that would have cost me next to nothing. But my heart and my gut, once again, were telling me where to go. And, just as importantly, I trusted my primary therapist at Sierra Tucson. She was the best therapist I ever had, and I love her dearly. So I chose The Camden Center in Los Angeles. Once again, it was the right place for me.

When I got back to Boston and relapsed into a sea of alcohol, I knew I needed more help. Some dear and precious friends came to my aid, and I am forever grateful. However, this time, in my compromised state, I made an impulsive decision and ended up going to a facility in California. It was a great place. Wonderful people, amazing group of recovering addicts, and I have nothing bad to say about it. But it just didn't feel like the right place for me at that time. I was in a really bad place. I cried a lot, got on my knees many times, asked my Spirit Guides and my Angels for help, and meditated on what to do. There was a reunion for Sierra Tucson alumni starting in just a few days that was yanking at my heart and hitting the hot spots in my gut, activating my instinct. So I left that place in California, against clinical advice, and went to the reunion. 

The reunion was the best place I could have been, the best thing I could have done, and the best move I had made for myself since I had left treatment in August. One again, my heart and my gut led me where I needed to be. And I listened to my Angels and to my Spirit Guides.

Continuing the broken record theme, when I relapsed once again when I went to Phoenix after the reunion, I knew I needed another detox facility to clean up. And once again, the options were many. I reached out to my sister Cheryl (I don't know where I'd be without her), and found a sponsor named Angel (coincidence? No fuckin' way). And once again, my insides were guiding me to a particular place. So that's where I went. That's where I am now. And it's exactly where I need to be.

I believe in higher planes, higher powers, and the spirit of the divine, My Spirit Guides made themselves known to me. I've realized that I've got Angels in my corner. I've always had Angels in my corner. I just never fully accepted that. My ego and my ignorance got in my way. My Angels have been silently, and not so silently, guiding me just as much as anything else.

I keep having to learn this lesson over and over again: My mind, my powerful intellect, is but a tool. And, potentially, a dangerous Weapon Of Mass Self Destruction. 

My mind, like any tool, when properly applied, is useful in getting the job done. But it isn't actually doing the work. I am doing the work. And I am not my mind. I am not my intellect. 

Using just my mind to make decisions is like this is like building a house by just researching what the best hammer is, buying that hammer, but not using it properly. You need so much more. You need your body to take action. You need your heart to fire your passion to create the house. You need your gut to guide you on the many decisions you have to make. You need your Angels, your Spirit Guides, to counsel you to make the whole process a divine experience. 

"The Great I Am", as they call it in 12 step programs, can not do this alone. I need a community. I need other people. I knew that when I was in treatment, but quickly forgot that once I got home. I've come to know that when I synthesize my head, my heart, my gut, and trust My Angels and my Spirit Guides, ask for help from the people I love and reach out to my tribe, that I find peace and clarity in the middle of a shit storm. I find that I move ahead in life. I find that I follow the path I was meant to travel.

This has been a hard lesson for me to learn. As I've said, I can be guilty of having one hard fuckin' head. I have a strong will, but I also have a strong won't. Those must be stringently tempered by higher, wiser, more enlightened, more ethereal elements that exist not only inside of me but outside of me, on a much higher plane. 

My will and my won't can't run the show on their own.

Been there. Done that. It don't work.

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

In Good Company

Hubris. Ego. Machismo. Combine all that with a lot of success, and it can make you feel invincible. It certainly did that for me.

When I returned to Boston from treatment, I felt like a rock star. Hell, in treatment, I was a rock star. Because I rocked it. I got it. I attacked the work; tenaciously; tirelessly, passionately, energetically; honestly; with integrity and courage and a smile on my face. Others looked to me for help, for support, and I was always there for them. I was told that I was an inspiration, a role model, a one of a kind character amongst characters. 

I loved the people I shared my experience, our experience with, in treatment. I loved them with everything I had. And I felt their powerful love for me. I felt a sense of community, of family, of love and support that I had never experienced. I felt powerfully connected to my Spirit Guides, and spoke to them; and heard them speak back. 

On top of all that, I was doing Yoga. Meditation. Working out. Writing. More of all that than I ever had.

I felt the best I ever had in my life. 

As soon as I got back to Boston in early August, it all crashed and burned. I felt like "Hey, I Got This!", and that's when my ego and my hubris and my bullshit lead me to believe I could coast for a while. So I stopped doing all those things that had made me so healthy. I had a clear aftercare plan in place, but I didn't execute it. I was like a Ferrari with no gas.  

I got triggered by some old shit, temporarily forgot everything I had learned, everything I had absorbed, all that I had embodied, and started hitting the bottle. I didn't tell anybody I was having a hard time (there's my male macho "I can do this myself" bullshit), and I soon developed a bad case of the "Fuck Its": so I quit my anti-depresent meds cold turkey (an absolute unquantifiable No-No) and practically had a psychotic break down. 

Put all of that together, and it doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out why I went through a full blown relapse.  

Despite all the work I had done, there were a few pieces missing. The biggest piece was that I was in denial about my addiction to alcohol. I admitted that to myself about a month ago, but even after that, it's been a struggle to stay off the juice.

So hello from detox, my third stint in six weeks, my fourth overall (first one was in February). I have no plans on ever being here again. Ever.

I'm going to attack my sobriety as tenaciously, as seriously, with as much energy, passion, and excitement, as I did the work I did on my depression; as I did with my my work on my racing negative thoughts; as I did with my work on my often elusive sense of self love; as I did when I dealt with the traumas of my past. 

When I accepted that I suffered from depression and stopped beating the crap out of myself for having it, I embraced the process of getting better. When I approach my addiction that way, I can not fail. I will not fail. 

My shame around my addiction is gone. My hubris, my ego, my male macho bullshit around this shit, has been shattered. When that happened regarding my depression and my anxiety and my trauma, I hit the ground running and started to heal, immediately. I'm using that as my blue print for recovery from addiction.

I've realized that most of the people who have made the greatest impact on my life, who have touched me the most, have (or had) addiction issues. For example, most of the therapists I had in residential and outpatient treatment are recovering addicts. Those people changed my life. Then there are the artists who have profoundly moved me, who have also changed my life: Steven Tyler. Tommy Lee. Eddie Van Halen. Robert Downey Junior. Stevie Nicks. Tchaikovsky. Ben Affleck. Elton John. James Bond. 

I'm in good fuckin' company.

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

Hard Head Huge Heart

When I boxed in college, I never got knocked down. In one fight, my nose got broken so badly I looked like a cartoon character. I incurred black eyes, bloody lips, and gashes on my face. I could take a punch. Because, literally, I have a hard fuckin' head.

That's an asset in fighting. Not so much anywhere else. In the figurative sense, I'm capable of having a hard head when I do life. I can be one resistant, stubborn mofo. Not proud of that, but at last coming to terms with it. Particularly around my struggles with substances. 

At the same time, I have a huge heart. When I love you, I love you with all I have. When I love you, I'll take a bullet for you. 

Sometimes, my hard head and huge heart are at odds with one another. My stone headedness comes from a place of fear, whilst my big heart comes from a place of love. The two don't mix well. They don't play well together. 

I'm working on softening both. And strengthening both. At times, I don't have a clue how to do that. Really, my ultimate objective is to change the paradigm. To change the game. To raise my whole life to another level. To approach the whole challenge from someplace else. From a wiser, more enlightened place.

I know I have that in me. I proved it to myself in treatment. I'm proving it to myself every day.

I don't want it to feel like a war, anymore.

I'm doing that one day, one hour, sometimes, one moment, at a time.

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