Author: TheDon McCoy

Looking back I have two distinctive moments when I spoke with God. The first was in the beautiful state of Maine. I had hit what was the lowest point in my life. my marriage had ended, to all fault of my own. I was between jobs and staying with friends. I think that’s called ‘couch surfing.’ I was miserable, lost and feeling completely alone.

One morning I drove to Schoodic Point, one of the most beautiful places in Maine or anywhere else for that matter. I got out of the car and spent the next several hours walking the rocky beach alone, weighing my options. Some were permanent if you know what I mean. At one point I stood at the edge of a cliff looking down at the crashing surf below. tears welled in my eyes and i began to sob uncontrollably.

Looking to the gray overcast sky I said aloud: ‘God, I am not asking you for help. I’m not asking you for a sign or a reprieve from this pain. I surrender my self to you. whatever you have in store for me I accept. I can no longer do this alone.’

A moment after I stopped speaking a wind came up from nowhere and pushed my back a few steps. I stepped forward and looked again at the surf below. ‘Not today’ I thought to myself. Weeks later I began my career in psychiatry and for almost 30 years I have helped children and adults overcome their fears, their pain and move on to a happier life.

After moving from Maine to my home state of Connecticut I found myself struggling at the career I had loved when living in Maine. Life was different here, less spiritual, more commercial and fast-paced. I began to become jaded to the work I was doing. At one point I realized I was again, standing at the edge. I needed to find myself again and make a hard decision on where I wanted to continue my life. Again I did not ask for help. I just allowed myself to become empty and accepting.

Today with my amazing and beautiful wife of 13 years, we have begun a mutual journey to help families become financially secure and happier in their lives. I will always have the need to help others, and in our new business we are able to effect a most positive and long lasting change that helps out them and their future generations.

Sometimes we find ourselves at the edge of change. Most just turn around and continue to accept what is the norm in their lives, as unhappy as it is. and for a few that stand to face the change and accept the new journey, life can become glorious!

There is a simplicity in making a pot of tea, there is ritual in the process of cleaning the pot, rinsing and washing the cups and heating the water. There is a ritual that spans thousands of years in the serving and drinking of tea. It is in this simplicity that finds room for contemplation, for thought or for choosing to be in the present and to be an aware witness to this simply beautiful process.

I spent a beautiful September day in a tea house in Beijing with my lovely wife searching for gifts for friends. It was like no other experience I have ever had. The delicate beauty of the tea pots and cups, the aroma of the teas and flowers filled the rooms and sparked my emotion and imagination.

We were offered to sit at a small table by a Chinese woman wearing a traditional dress, embroidered on deep red silk. She asked which tea we wanted to sample, we chose a red flower tea first. The woman in the red silk dress deftly poured a small amount of tea into a clear pot and added a small amount of water. She emptied the hot water into the three cups before us and then filled the pot with water which turned a radiant red color. perfume of flowers filled the room. She then emptied the cups and poured tea into each cup, just a small amount. We then sampled several teas, with the same ritual each time. Walking out of that tea house I realized that for the time we were in there I was in the moment, I was focused on her process of making and serving the tea. In her simple and delicate movements and her undeniable charm she kept my attention.

Like making tea, life is indeed simple, sometimes too simple for our often complicated minds. We have this one day, each day and all the opportunities filled in it. Yet, we spend our lives one day at a time either ruminating about our past of worrying about what hasn’t happened yet. all we have is the moment we are in, all we have is each breath. And within that breath we hold all the potential to change the world, either within ourselves or with others.

Make a pot of tea, take your time, witness the aroma and the warmth of the cup when you pour the tea. Be in this delicious moment when you take your first sip. The clarity of thought afterward will be equally delicious…

“this is my story, actually this is my life and the memories i have of it.”

his daughter sat inches away studying the lines and furrows that make up six decades of joy, heartache and journey. he looked down at the collection of books, journals and slips of paper with his handwriting on them. a tear welled in his eye. it indeed was a blink of the eye. one moment he was a young man holding his newborn daughter in his arms. her innocence and joy brought into the world mere months ago.

he thought about the thirty years that brought him and her to this moment. the sun played with  distinctive patterns through the lace curtains dancing in the light breeze of this lazy afternoon. thirty years. thirty years. it was a long time to have memories. to recollect them in this moment felt a bit overwhelming. as he looked at his daughter he remembered the weekend afternoons walking his daughters to the playground, the evenings cooking dinner while she and her sister played with their dolls i the living room. there were too many memories to recall in just one afternoon. and precisely why he wanted to sit with her today. it was time to pass on his memories, his dreams, ideas and experiences that he had collected in paper and pen.

a few years before he had lost his mother to cancer. they had several conversations in the months and week before. conversations that he wished he had before the sorrow. the days after she left for her immortal journey he walked through her apartment to collect her belongings. here was her life. here was a physical accumulation of her thoughts, dreams and memories. an old record player with a Johnny Mathis record o it. pictures of all her children, grand and great grand children covered one wall. notes scribbled on an old electric bill, reminders for doctor appointments and a shopping list. he was immediately overwhelmed as he could still hear her voice and for a moment, a brief second he could smell her perfume like she had just walked into the room.

he didn’t want to wait to the end to have these conversations with his daughters. he didn’t want them to search through his belongings, his decades of memories and dreams without first having the conversations that would give final definition to their relationship. that afternoon, while the sun played its shapes and dances with the lace curtains in the room, there were tears, there was laughter and most importantly there was a bonding of generations. the fluidity from one generation to another took place as it only can, through words, emotions and love.

i had been to this place before. actually, many, many times before.

one unremarkable wednesday evening during my childhood, i sat at my desk in my bedroom with a single-edge razor in hand. i watched as small droplets of fresh red blood seep to the surface of a thin cut I had just created on my left wrist. a knock at my door and my mom’s voice stopped any more progress (strange word to use?)

tears running down my eyes, i told her through the closed door i was okay and was doing homework. a few days later she found a suicide note i had written that night. it was in that time i found out psychotropic medications did not work well with me. (aggression and desire for violence, for which i gratefully did not engage in). i had learned about the darkness and how lonely and comfortable it could become. but i also learned that once there, i knew the path and could find myself walking there whenever i needed to escape the life i faced in my childhood and adolescence.

most recently i had been facing a physical illness that has been entirely debilitating. diagnosed with chronic fatigue syndrome, i spent much of my time for over two months in bed. with little to no energy, aching body and impending depression. each day i began to find that path again. being an artist, drummer and overall creative sole, i was lost in a void that felt like i was slowly dying. i lost a lot during those two months, precious time being the most. the darkness became consuming. it felt like a deep and dark fog had taken up residence in my mind and my heart. i prayed for an answer, doctors had little to none. i prayed for an ending as i found the darkness again, but the straight-edge remained in the drawer.

what kept me from being entirely consumed by the darkness was my years of learning and practicing mindfulness that brought me though and out of the darkness. sitting in the darkness (sometimes literally), i practiced awareness of my environment, of my body and of the immediate living moment (thank you Tich Nhat Han!) i began reading my Tarot, practicing bell meditation and taking short walks with my wife. The darkness and fog slowly began to lift. today i am turning a new page and my awareness is in tune and watching for the omens of future adventures. the darkness will always be there, down some darkly lit path only now it is a mindful choice to begin down that path or look forward with a content smile, knowing the darkness is but a journey to self-awareness.

we cannot move past or inner darkness without first accepting it is there. we cannot develop self awareness without first realize that we are needing it and that the path will sometimes be dark. when learning the Tarot i realized that the most powerful card in the deck is the Tower. when i or another person i was reading for got the Tower in their spread, i knew that change was impending. change that would not  be pleasant. the Tower represents an immediate need for change in one’s life, that we have put it off for far too long and the change will happen whether we want it or not. many times when the Tower is fond, the person is i a dark place. but with learning mindfulness and being curious about the events (omens) we are presented daily, we can begin to understand our journey and how beautiful it truly is if we step out of the box we had created for ourselves.

Martin stood in the line waiting for his turn to get his morning medications before heading off to work. he had come a long way to be at this point of beginning to gain clarity in his thoughts and a renewed sense of purpose in his life. But this morning he was a bit anxious. His new boss was a stickler for punctuality. He had been late once this week. Martin shuffled his feet and asked the staff person how long it would be.

Janice had a difficult morning. Her alarm didn’t go off, making her fifteen minutes late getting up. She rushed through her morning routine and was standing in the kitchen taking her first sip of coffee. her phone rang at that precise moment causing her to spill her coffee on her blouse. Swearing under her breath Janice rushes to her bedroom, changes and heads out the door. Sitting inside her car Janice feels the frustration building and takes a deep breath. She turns the key, NOTHING!

At this point the straw had fractured the camel’s back, Janice yells and bangs the steering wheel. She turns the key once more, again nothing. After a call to triple A, and an hour wait for a service man to start her car (dead battery because she didn’t close her door the night before) she was on her way to work.

Janice walked into the building frustrated. She just wanted to go to her office make a cup of coffee and sit for a moment. Janice heard her name called. A man was standing in line for his medication appearing nervous. He asked her how long it would be before he could get his meds and leave. Before he could utter another word as to why he was asking, Janice barked at him; “as long as it takes, you come here every day, you should know how long it takes!”

Martin took a step back and in his own frustration began yelling at Janice, trying to explain his urgency. But Janice wasn’t listening. They were yelling at each other, but not communicating. Marshall, who was sitting and talking with one of the other clients witnessed all this. He excuses himself and walks up the his co-worker. “Janice, what is the problem?” Janice looks at Marshall and says that Martin didn’t want to wait and was making a commotion in the line. Marshall could see Janice’s frustration and anger.

Marshall pulled Janice aside and asked her if she knew why Martin was in such a rush. “No, I didn’t ask, but that’s not the point. He should know how long it takes.” Martin could see Janice’s day had not started well. Marshall put his finger up to his lips. Janice stopped and looked at Marshall. A few seconds passed before Marshall asked her to take a deep breath. She looked at him for a second then did so, then repeated it twice more.

Janice looked over at Martin, still appearing anxious and still shuffling his feet. She went over to him and Marshall watched she talk to Martin. She apologized for her shortness and helped Martin with getting out on time. The last interaction Marshall witnessed of Janice and Martin was then smiling and talking as Martin left.

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This story is about being mindful and how we often come into situations with a full and often disturbing agenda already swimming freely in out heads and hearts. When we are unable to be in the present moment, if we are ruminating on problems of our past (even problems only hours ago), and/or problems we are projecting into or future, then we cannot be fully present in the moment.

Janice brought her morning problems right into work with her. The coffee, the battery and any other ruminations she was mentally engaged with came into the building with her like a heavy suitcase. Her ability to be present and mindful of her self and her environment was not there. Her engagement with Martin was the culmination of all her frustrations and anger of just a few hours ago (and probably other frustrations she had been carrying). That interaction with Martin was not entirely about him, and probably not about him at all. Janice did not realize she was not in the moment. All she needed to do was what Marshall helped her to do. She needed to re-center. She needed to breathe. Remain still, even for a few seconds to bring her focus to the present moment.

Remember to breathe, refocus and bring yourself to the present moment. It is a unique and precious space.

Sitting here on my couch mindful of my environment, the ticking of the pipes as the boiler runs to warm the house on this overcast chilly spring morning. My wife talking on the phone in another room. Construction sounds outside as a house is being finished up the street. And the distant din of cars and trucks fill in the background.

Turning my mindfulness inward, I am aware of the restlessness churning within. As a previous pattern of illness leaves my body, I can feel the slow steady feeling of strength and vitality make their welcomed return. Again things have changed. Again the curve ball of life has thrown me far afield of exploring my creativity and expression. It has been quite some months since I pulled out pen and Bristol board, or my brushes have touched paint. and for my Tama drum set, well, I recently set it back up, but nary a beat have the neighbors heard.

My intention is to teach and continue to learn the subtle art of mindfulness. To move past my ego and remaining narrowness to a distant horizon. I had read a book (three times so far!) titled: Leadership and Self-Deception by The Arbinger Institute. I knew after reading it that I wanted to find a similar environment to be creative in, to hopefully effect some change with, both internally and externally. It is worth a read.

Later I plan to pull out my favorite Tarot deck, look for more omens, send out intentions and exercise my creativity and maybe some Yoga. My heart is open, my mind equally so. In the distance a dog is barking and a small bird chirps. I remain mindful.

A Short Story

His image stood there for a moment in the mirror that was leaning against the wall in the mostly cluttered basement. Paintings he had created in his youth hung on the dusty concrete walls. He looked around at the accumulation of belongings and things that needed to be thrown away years ago. His image lingered for a moment longer then was gone.

Rain had begun to fall outside as the first car pulled up in front of the house, its lights turn off as the occupants, dressed in black and muted colors got out with their heads down. Other cars pulled up to the house with lights burning before being diminished. Black umbrellas silently danced in the darkening air as rain began to fall in earnest.

It was quiet inside the house. People gathered in small groups and spoke in whispers and low tones. A woman cried out and began sobbing. Others found tears growing and falling to the wooden floor. Without being noticed she walked to the basement door and looked down into the darkness before turning on the light. The steps creaked as she made her way down. She looked across the basement and saw father’s artwork on the walls. A tear fell from her eye. She then saw the mirror leaning against the wall and saw her image. A small sigh escaped her breath. She looked so much like him…

on my easel is a blank canvas. 2′ by 4′ and covered for the third time with gesso. this painting from feeling and emotion is very elusive. I see emotions in colors, not just color but colors. I dream in technicolor and awake with a mind full of intention and invention. grey, black and blue swirl in my head over this canvas with the subtle face of a woman with a piercing eye of multi-color gleaming like a jewel at the viewer.

to begin this work, to get it from my mind to the canvas requires a conducive environment. music is of great importance. the music creates the emotions to paint. hard rock brings bold strokes and bright colors. classical emotes subtlety and refined colors.

often i begin with rock and roll and finish the painting with classical or for a powerful ending, opera! so now the canvas waits for the music of my heart and mind to compose my brushes. it may end up with more gesso covering another attempt, but the painting that is meant for this canvas will find itself through me. maybe some enigma on the stereo will begin a journey… time and brush will tell…

…On one sunny morning several months later I saw her in the swirls of yellows, reds and oranges. A vision of lovely memories and dreams that sat in the recesses of my passions.