His Call

The new theme for my life, I have decided, is breaking free. Breaking free of rigid restrictions I set upon myself. Breaking free of old tapes that replay messages that no longer serve a purpose in my growth. Breaking free of the box I put myself into in order to avoid living and feeling. Breaking free of fear. And breaking free of secrets.

Today I decided to break free of this idea that I can only post once a day. I notice that us poets sometimes need to post more. It’s our hearts, I gather, exploding with passion and angst, and this surging creativity that seemingly is rebirthed daily.

Sometimes I wait until the magic hour of midnight to post; just so I can post twice in a day, but I don’t really count that as posting twice. Turns out I’m about twelve days ahead of myself…my blog is living in the future.  And I kind of wonder how I will catch up. Wonder what Sam is doing ahead of me.

I’m quite tired of living by structure and rules, especially my own. Tired of routine, expectations, and people-pleasing. Realizing I want to please myself—to honor my desires, wants, and dreams. And thusly, I’m posting again. And breaking free.

His Call

Mountain morning dove

Set upon the pearly staircase

Wrapped within the valley blue

Draped in lace and contemplation

The white of one split two

Hears echoing

From peak

The nightingale’s beckon

Stronger than the cry of river falls

Lighter than the foe of painter’s black

The vibration of symphony devoured

Within the deepest depths

Phoenix-fire ignited

Rebirthed as starlit sky

Beyond the endless cage

Scooped longingly within engulfing embrace

Merging feathers

Churned milky-honey

 A blended sweetness

To soar within

© Everyday Aspergers, 2012. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited.

My ten-year-old son just handed me this sweet story he wrote.


Turtle loved to play with his buddy fish. But one day a stranger came up to them while they were playing splash. “Hi. My name is Bunny can I play, too?”

“Yea. You can play.”

They were all playing but when they started to play under the water hide-and-go-seek, Bunny couldn’t breathe. Bunny asked if he could play another game.

“Can we play a different game?” he asked.

“No. We can’t. We like to play this game.”

Bunny came home that day very sad. His mom asked what was the matter. “Well, I was playing with some kids and they were playing a game I can’t play. So I asked it we could play a different game and they said, ‘no.'”

“Well, that wasn’t the nice thing to do,” his mom said.

“What’s nice, Mommy?”

“Well nice is being kind and caring and being polite.”

“Oh. Okay, But what do I do about it?”

“Find new friends that are nice to you. Okay?”

The next morning the bunny was hopping around and found the squirrel. “Hi. Want to play?”

“Yes. Let’s play!”

And they did, all day long.

When bunny got home, he was so happy.

His mom asked him, “Where were you?”

“Playing with squirrel!”

“Great. You found a new friend.”

“Yes. And he’s cool. Thank you, Mom.”

~ Robert C 2012

Thanks for being my new friend and being so flippin cool ~ Sam 🙂

Day 136: I am Beauty. I am Beast.

Photo on 2012-05-31 at 09.30

I talk to my higher power a lot. All day really. I talk to my angels, Jesus, nature, God, my guardians of light, people who have passed on. And I continually examine my mind, my thoughts, my actions—all the time. I don’t know how to breathe without focusing on the light, on my journey, on my life’s calling.

But I am human. I falter. I stumble. I become fixated and obsessed. I worry. I forget. I forget my purpose and the gifts I carry.

Then the guilt comes. The analysis. The fret and worry. And I am engulfed in should and should nots. How I could be better, more perfect, less human. My mind spins in review of all the reasons I am not enough. All the sources I turn to instead of light—the things, the people. I make validation my idol. I make love of self my goal. I forget why I am here. I forget to release expectations. I forget I am love. I am perfection. I am pure light.

My gift is in my message. In my story. In my words. In my ability to share my truth from the depths of me.

But I forget.

Sometimes I realize that I am writing for my own interest.

Sometimes I write only to be heard or seen by one special person, a friend, a lover.

Sometimes I write in hopes of discovery.

Sometimes I write so someone, anyone, will take note.

Sometimes I write to count the number of like buttons hit on my blog.

Sometimes I write in hopes of the perfect comment from a reader.

Sometimes I write because if I do not I will absolutely explode.

I think of these reasons. And I weep.

I think these are wrong. I think I am wrong.

I cry and beg for forgiveness. For forgiveness for being human.

I plea to be led back to source. For release from my selfish ways.

I weep and weep.

I beat myself up.

My light dims.

Until spirit gently answers.

Like he always does.

In the kindest of ways.

In the form of a gift sent by a distant friend.

A box

that opens

To bubble wrap

Filled with

A mini-zoo of  plastic animals

Each animal with a small uplifting handwritten note attached

Like the rhino ~ stamina, solidity, a creature of substance and expansive power.

Each with a special message for my spirit

Like the Polar Bear ~ The embodiment of the spirit of the north–one who holds ancient wisdom and shamanic powers.

I hold each animal and weep

And then at the very bottom of the box

Find a Beauty and the Beast CD

And I cry harder

In the knowing

Spirit is with me

In knowing I am enough

That I am beauty despite the beast

And beast despite the beauty

That I am courageous

A source of light

Walking in divine timing

Blessed in grace

This Beauty

This Beast

Both equally powerful in message and truth

And I weep again

For I am

And will always be

Nothing Less

Than Perfect

Thank you my dear precious friend

Thank you dear precious spirit