Meeting My Friend Lesley

“How did you get into spirituality?” my therapist asked me a few months ago. I don’t think anyone has asked me that or even sat with me long enough to realize how spiritual and attuned I am – at least nobody else besides my partner. I had to sit on the question for a while because I couldn’t remember. Maybe it started when I was a kid? My mom and dad were constantly fighting in their own world. So, sure, then I would dabble in spells, protective rituals, and even astral projection. The latter was more of a way to escape without ACTUALLY escaping, if you know what I mean.

I played a bit in spirituality when I was young, but I didn’t start to honestly believe in my connection to the universe, like truly grasp the power of thought and intention, until my parents divorced. I felt alone, isolated, and surrounded by chaos so I would pray a lot. I tried to pray to the one god but saw multiple figures around me whenever I closed my eyes. I felt an army of spirit guides protecting me, so I began praying to them when I was 16.

However, I didn’t truly understand the power I had within until I met my friend Lesley. It was around 2015 in Portland, ME. During this time, I worked at the Public Market House. The four-story brick building housed small food vendors on the first two floors. On the first floor, where I worked, there was a bake and sandwich shop called Big Sky Bread Co., a cheese shop, and my favorite niche wine shop – where you could talk to the staff for hours about tannins and notes.

I was finishing my shift at Big Sky when all this went down. The day seemed relatively dull; nothing was new in my routine—no new insights on what to expect. I was cleaning off the counter when Lesley appeared. She moved so quietly that it almost startled me when she started to speak. From what I remember, Lesley wasn’t talking to me at first; she was talking to a coworker. Then, mid-conversation, she looked at me. She seemed hesitant initially, but then she explained how she was intuitive and needed to talk to me. I immediately put up a wall. I have never liked people prying in my business and don’t trust easily.

I wasn’t rude, though. Something told me to listen. So, I listened. Then, out of nowhere, this random woman began to read my life. I mean, it seemed like she knew everything about me. And it was no cold read; it was descriptive. She could get a read on my dad, my mom, shit my whole life, and I didn’t tell her shit. I barely even confirmed besides a nod here and there. She just knew.

When she started talking about my apartment, the real reason she approached me, I had no choice but to believe. I was living with a family member going through it by this time, so she gave me a cleansing spell.

She told me to get multiple pieces of black tourmaline, kosher salt, distilled water, and a spray bottle for the spell. She suggested using kosher salt to cleanse my room by sprinkling it in each corner, mixing salt with distilled water, and spraying it on the walls while vocally removing any negative energy. I was then supposed to sweep up the salted corners and dump them in the garbage far away from my apartment building.

I wrote everything down and bought it the next day. As I returned home from getting it all, I went to grab a cup of tea at the market house. I sat in the corner in disbelief. I really followed this random woman’s advice. But as I was second-guessing myself, I kid you not; I looked over to my left, and this woman was talking to one of the baristas at the shop. She eventually saw me, came over, and asked me if I had everything. I said yes pointing to my bags.

She smiled in approval and sat next to me. I don't remember our whole conversation, but we eventually got on the subject of crystals and energy. She showed me how to connect with my energy by rubbing my hands together, closing my eyes, and feeling the energy build. The best way to explain it was tight air -- like this invisible ball in between my hands. It boosted my mood -- like a little giddy with a head high. The only other time I felt like that was by the water.

While meditating on this new feeling, she instructed me to hold the tourmaline. I was in disbelief. It was vibrating. When I bought it, it wasn't that strong. But, this time, the energy was new.

Honestly, I felt like I was going crazy. It was all surreal...odd. But it was happening right before my eyes. I saw and experienced it. It was real.

After I settled down, we exchanged numbers, and I went home to perform the spell. I wasn't sure what to expect, but I immediately had clarity. The air was brighter, and my mind seemed settled. From that point on, Lesley and I became friends.

24 Hours Of Wu-Tang

I’ve been watching everything Wu-Tang for the last 24 hours.

And, I’ve been enjoying the shit out of it. It's wild because I’ve never liked Wu-Tang. As a kid, white kids were the only people I knew who idolized Wu-Tang. They made them out to be these hardcore drug fiends, but these guys were goofy, nerds who had to survive in the hood. Raw? Yeah. Loud? no, shit. But, menaces to society? Not possible. They just loved rhyming together...and records.

Really, the emphasis of records made me think back to working in a record shop. I was living in Portland, ME, when I started to appreciate records, cassettes and music, really. I mean, I grew up a theater kid performing throughout Detroit, but I was taught the art of singing. I was taught how to breathe. I was taught how to perform. I was never taught style. Style had to come from branching out, and unfortunately I didn’t do that until I was in my early 20s.

I used to frequent this one place called Bull Moose, a record store chain throughout New England. The one I went to was the original location -- It’s situated in the basement of this big ass brick building. When I first went, it was musty, dingy and filled with all types of people. The windows were cinder blocks, the walls looked like they were melting and there were bins on bins of records, cassettes and CDs sitting comfortably on the floor. Shit was GRITTY.

One day, I decided I wanted to start performing again, and for that to happen I had to immerse myself in music. So, I walked down the two flights, strolled up to the counter, and asked the white, grundy, punk manager at Bull Moose, “are you hiring?” Two weeks later, I was hired. The months following, I learned as much as I could about record upkeep, underground artists and how music is for real a universal language.

The Parties Ended

I had two childhood homes. The first was on Albion Street and the other was on Marseilles. The former was in the hood, no denying it. We only stayed there for a few years, but I had fun — got into a fight, lost the fight and drew on my dad's truck with a red rock. When my parents decided to move, we moved closer to Grosse Pointe — 5754 Marseilles — a few blocks down from St. John’s hospital where my mom worked night shifts.

For the first few years, It seemed like we had parties every weekend, with jugs, containers and bins filled with jungle juice. I remember my parents were happy. The backyard was always manicured, and the gardens flourished. During those times, my home was warm and energized. Really, there was a haze. Then, something cleared. All the buoyancy was weighed down. The parties stopped. In its place, my parents argued.

These weren’t small arguments hashed out in a room. There was always a scene, which led to my mom either packing up my dad’s clothes, or my dad leaving. Whichever it was, my siblings and I were just there in the background watching the whole thing unsure of our parents’ status. When those arguments started, the parties never came back.

The Mute Button

The other day, my therapist asked me, “why do you think you repressed your emotions?” I replied with, “I don't know...they were too much.”

This melody used to play in my head, whenever I wanted to disappear. It was subtle for the longest. Conversations continued on around me. People crossed my boundaries. Then, click, detached. It was automatic, really. It was so innate that it took me 27 years to understand what I was doing. Essentially, I blocked myself from the present, emotions and...life. I was in a void. It took me seeing this in another person to understand its repercussions.

I was talking to someone in their kitchen, then, bam, it happened. They were completely detached. Their energy left, interest in the conversation ceased and aura receded. I felt inconvenient -- Insignificant. Was it intentional? Probably not, but I still didn’t like the feeling. The person was still in the room, but emotionally they were gone. I was alone. At that moment, I knew that’s how others felt around me. Like I was emotionless. When in reality, I wasn’t. I was brimming with unprocessed emotions.

No Lines Were drawn

At home, there were no clear boundaries. In fact, I knew everything about my parents' relationship -- the good, bad and ugly. Believe me, they screamed loud enough for me and everyone in the house to hear. Even though their screaming matching were normal, there was one pivotal moment that made me completely lose my idea of boundaries.

About ten years ago, or maybe 12, I met my dad’s second family. Yes...second family. By the time I met my other siblings, my half-sister was ten -- the same age as my full brother. A group of us, which included me and my siblings, went to their house, and my mom talked, laughed and kiki’d-it-up with my dad’s mistress for hours.

I heared about my dad’s sex drive, how holidays worked and even about how they lived in one of my parents’ properties -- unknowingly to my mom. So many unfamiliar emotions came forward, but instead of acknowledging them, I pushed them down. I continued to do just that for years.

Allowing myself to have moments of emotional reflection never made sense to me. Instead, I suppressed anything that was similar to vulnerability, which allowed me to delude myself into thinking I didn’t need boundaries.

his destroyed my self-esteem. And, It gave others permission to treat me, however. The truth is: because I didn’t express my pain, hurt or joy, people, unintentionally and sometimes intentionally, pushed my boundaries. Years of trial and error, therapy and a friend calling me out on my bullshit taught me to feel my emotions -- to identify much needed boundaries.

For those reasons, I can proudly say, I’m still not completely healed, but I made progress today.