I spoke: “I will scribe a million pages, every word a testimony to your beauty: an endless story. Beguiled and enchanted, my fingers will embrace the keys, and paint the all-encompassing passion that stirs my soul. Recklessly, I will hold your hands strong, hear your voice deep, and in pages’ dreams you shall live.”
He spoke: “I am not this flesh, nor these eyes. My beauty cannot be quantified or qualified or held in possession or estimation. Do not weigh, judge or evaluate. I have already been made prisoner of selfish eyes. Do not watch me as the others. Know beauty is immeasurable and does not rot with this flesh and break with this bone. Appearance will fade. Let loose this withering illusion you grasp. See where beauty truly rests. Behind the gaze. Come hither, come follow the depths of me. I shall take you through the corridors of my secrets, my dreams, my fantasy. Here I stand naked, exposed, and vulnerable. Here is risk. Here is truth. And fear unveiled. Here is beauty.”
I spoke: “To the depth of me your eyes speak. You are beauty from my dreams, every facet, every groove a memory, a recollection that inspires and pulls me through. You brighten me. You lighten me. You fill me with a glow I’ve never known. Every part, every line I have traced before. And yet, I am made not to touch, not to reach, not to know. How my heart aches. How my every day is filled with misery and dismay. Though I walk enlightened and free, with new hope and dreams, I am ever brought back to the pool of cool springs, the freezing knowing that you are not mine to have.”
He spoke: “Choose what bathes you. What bathes your spirit, a gentle charm, almost silent, almost invisible. You are inherently lovely. You calm me. You complete me with your kindness. A mirror to me, your logic is sliced through with innocence and curiosity. Justice is carried where you step. Secrets upheld. Your sweetness equal to your sincerity; both leave me thirsting for more brightness. You are my humble adobe, and my spirit rests in you. Your abiding grace coupled with loyalty, I cherish, moment by moment. I await you, as one awaits the sunrise. Can you not see that you are the sun to me, the one that feeds my very vine. How wonderful that I hold your inherent goodness, and not a shadow existence, a hope, a distraction. I hold on to truth, while you hold on to fantasy. Can you not see my love is pure, while you are still child sitting under tall tree, waiting for the shade to part, and love to find you, when you are already found? You stand filled, but yet you weep for this illusion of emptiness.”
I spoke: “But what of my story, my every wish around you, my waiting, my yearning, my constant wanting. Are you not what I need? Desire? Crave? My thankfulness inside your silhouette. I stand here, at center purged of games, intention, and manipulation. I stand naked, as you proposed. I am vulnerable to the core. I am all I can be. And yet you reject.”
He spoke (with laughter): “Precious one. I don’t know who taught you of love. Who taught you of heart. But what you wait for, what you crave, what you long for intensely with every bit of you, I cannot provide. That is your journey to walk. Your journey to lead. Remember I am this flesh still. Always this blood that runs out in time. The heart that tires. The brain that dissipates. Hold onto what is me alone, and you will wither. See that beyond the dream is the reality of spirit, this wanting man, who longs to be seen from the inside, where the light abides. Embrace the inner me, and in turn you embrace yourself. I am but a mirror, and shall always be my friend, a mirror of where you stand. What you make of me, you make into yourself. What you think you lack, you make me lack. What you think I am, you become. Build me up from the foundation, from the soul-level; so that when all about I fall apart, what remains is strength in character and spirit. Love me there. Love me at the center. Please. Please love me there.”
I spoke: “I love you there. I do. I love you there, and will love you there entirely, if that is what you wish. But how does one un-paint the pages I already scribed…how do I bleed this pain out of me. How does the yearning cease, the thoughts stop?”
He spoke: “You just decide. That is all. You just decide. Decide that you are in completion, that I am in completion, and any thought of a human fixing or repairing you is false. I can be with you, but cannot be you. I can be with you, but cannot be your all. I am not your answer, nor your question. I am a man. I am all that man is. And you are all that woman is. And together we are no more complete than apart. This is a game you play in your mind. A mystery that has no solution. So release. Decide and release. And turn your focus and energy to the core of you. Here is where the love is. Not outside.”
I spoke: “Then I decide. I decide. I am enough. You are enough. We are already complete. And I release you, lovely bird from your cage. I release you without expectation, dream, or intention. I release what I have made you into. I release the power I have granted you. I release everything, and in doing so, without this attachment, I will love you fully, for no other purpose but for your essence.”
Photographs of State Park in Washington (July 2012)
I am lost for words today. A woman in a forest of thoughts and mystery, both intrigued and frightened by her own mind.
I am between two rivers, two streams of thought, of how I am to be and what I want to be.
I question my every need, my every desire, my unyielding passion. And yet I know I am pure. I know I am enough. But I wonder where to turn in my mind. Where to stop. Where the boundaries are…when thoughts are exhausted and nothing else exists.
I only want to be loved. I only long to give love. But why do I long? Where does the longing rise from? Where is the switch? This knowing? This intensity? Where is this me that calls from beneath the shadows?
I measure everything. I place abstractness on scales. My actions are spared, as my thoughts have been filtered through and through, weighed out, analyzed, scrutinized…my actions don’t have a chance…they are absent…missing…vapors evaporating before they breathe.
Where do I travel? Where do I go? Why am I a lone wanderer on a planet that does not feel familiar and in a body and form I do not recognize? Why can I see others more clearly than my own self? And where do I stand? If I do not follow and do not lead, then where is my place in line?
Where is my reflection? Where do I find me. I cannot see me except through the eyes of another, and still this perception is so broken and shattered. And in my own mirror, I do not know this me. Everything in physical is not me. Every angle different and obscure. If I am not what I see and not what another sees, then what am I?
Am I my words? These symbols? These sounds? Am I energy? Am I flesh? Am I this still beating heart? Or am I more so this ache, this deep and unreachable ache. Yes, I am this ache. I am in totality this intense ache.
So where to put me, this angst, this invisible pull that spins me into unwanted need and unneeded want. Where to put me?
Perhaps to the moon. Fly me to the moon, so I may be made whole. So that I may exist as an unmistakable mass dancing in empty space. My purpose only to move and stir. Paste me there. My image melted into one form. This searching ended. Paste me to the moon, so that I may watch from above and you may watch from below; and then we can both, from where we exist, imagine the world of the image before us.
1. I get concerned about what I write, how I come across, and if I am expressing myself accurately. I mean do people really truly understand how quirky I am? Or do I need to prove it more?
2. I worry that I am exposing my inner most secrets to an unknown alien race or zombie civilization…or worse…my mother-in-law.
3. I stress that I will reach day 366 (leap year) two weeks early, on account that I posted a few times too many in one week; and that in actuality I will be ending my year of blogging short, and thusly lying, and making my whole blog, Everyday Aspergers, one giant scam!!!
4. I laugh when my sons inquire when I am going to add advertisements to my posts to start rolling in the cash.
5. I miss commenters, wonder what they are like in person, and wish I could visit each and every single person who visits my blog. I think about how long this would take, how much money, and which places in the world have the very best chocolate.
6. I make super good friends that I talk to every single day (AlienHippy) and share intimate details of my life with, and get to act like I’m twelve, and giggle, and joke, and talk about my wood elf fantasy life, and count the months (36) until I can fly to England and meet her!!!
7. I get obsessed about photography. Every moment is an opportunity to share my world with people! A hailstorm. A party. A stream. A tree. Heck, even a sock nailed to a post. Everything is more exciting and worthy of sharing!!!
8. I wake up in the middle of the night with the best poem in all the universes, and scribe the words in detail, only to awake in the morning thinking who wrote this poop? Then I spend two hours re-crafting my words, and feel like a genius, when my sea sister , blog brother , Sweet Angel, or long time supporter, George, compliment me. If they only could see the original draft…we’d all get a good laugh then.
9. I wait nervously staring at the computer, waiting for that first comment to validate that I actually communicated and sent my thoughts out into cyberspace to be tracked and received by a real person.
10. I want to stop! I want to quit! I want to say enough. Until I get a message from a female with Aspergers saying how much my words mean to her. Then I tear up, and my heart swells big, and I know I am on the right path, or I am the Grinch…or something like the Grinch, with an over-sized heart who wants to join hands and sing around a tree.
11. I get obsessed with stat numbers that catch my attention. Like today 66,600 visits was the total around mid-afternoon, and I just couldn’t settle my mind until the three sixes disappeared all together. Or the 513 subscriber. I love 13, and was so giddy at the 13; that subscriber 514 was a wee bit of a letdown. And at one point today, my post 116 Reasons I Know I Have Aspergers had exactly 116 views! Now that was coolness to the max. Did I mention the quirky aspect?
12. I meet another blogger in real life!!! Someone I didn’t know at all 4.5 months ago, that now is a part of my waking, walking, breathing, flesh world! We live 11 hours away from each other. And turns out our parents live about one mile from one another, and we both lived in WA and CA at different parts of our lives. And we both have a great “drunk” look, without a drop of alcohol. By the way K, my husband said he thinks you’re hot. (My biggest worry in meeting K was that she would finally discover how my I-Mac computer is god-like in its ability to hide my wrinkles and shrink my nose in up close photo shots.)
13. Oh….and I sometimes forget what I was going to do. Here’s the sock photo.
14. I spend up to three hours looking for the perfect song to match my mood.
15. I say WHAT THE HECK!!! LIVE a LITTLE, GIRLFRIEND! No one, absolutely no one, will care if you publish at 11:53 pm, instead of midnight, and count the post as the next day’s post. It’s okay. Really. It’s all going to be Okay!
I was having a really good hair day in this photo. Don’t you think?
Speak not of angels
Or masters or teachers
Speak not of mind
Or virtue, or sin
Speak only of heart
Of divine power
Gracing your presence
As the world is seeded
By thoughts and perception
Thusly are you rooted
To this world
Take caution in what is drawn up
From the soils made
Neither of whole, nor truth
Instead choose sky
In its emptiness
As the embers of the all-embracing
Transform your vision
Be gone all doubt, destitute, and destruction
In place, welcome warmth
Healing rays of gratitude
Know what is
And what will be are naught
For all is
And nothing more
To look beyond
Is to be the sailor searching
For willows and porcupines
Whilst at open sea
To be searching for no-otters
No creatures of sea
While immersed in water
This is how you seek
For the existence of not
When All is about you
by Samantha Craft
My brain is so quirky….This is the song I can’t get out of my head tonight. lol
“Do you think the title ‘shag-o-rama’ would pull in a lot of blog readers?” I asked my husband
I know just the thing to say in the morning to make him laugh. I’m gifted that way, in my off-the-wall-goofiness. And I’m starting to really like that about myself. I see the world through the eyes of a child: somewhat innocent, a bit naïve, and at times downright clueless. Before, when I was younger, people sometimes perceived me as the ‘dumb blonde’ or as fake–assuming it was impossible for someone to be that goofy and hope-filled, naturally.
I don’t buy into people’s judgment of me anymore. I understand now, that like everyone, I have an amazing spirit. I know I am a spirit who never gives up and often tries to see the best in people and situations. And that my spirit just happens to be giddy, joy-filled, surprisingly forthright, and sometimes bold. I embrace my worthiness and I am pleased to do so. And the more I do, the more beauty I recognize in other people.
However, in embracing me, I cannot help but notice that many people are not embracing their own worthiness.
Instead of embracing self, there exists this talking down of self and others. There remains this inability to take in a compliment or kind word, this constant criticism of self or others, an all-encompassing blame, and a narrow scope of focusing on the “negative” aspect of someone else’s life. There often exists a lack of effort and follow through to forgive others. There is often a lack of responsibility for personal choice and action, and an overwhelming sense of ease and comfort to focus on materialism, collection, and possession. To move ahead, to succeed, to surpass and win. Life appears to be a race filled with fear and blame.
For many, day-to-day life has become a routine. The creative spirit has been sucked out of the masses through consumerism, fear-based messages, and dogma that indoctrinates lack of hope and an infections drive for success and materialism. There is an ongoing separation from neighbors, friends, and family. As a collective, some people have forgotten how to appreciate nature and people, and instead are consumed by avoiding failure or disapproval.
This lack of self-worth is evident in the way people focus life around food. How as a society many have chosen food as a way to stuff the empty holes inside. Inner holes and empty space, this sense of lacking and emptiness, is best filled through creativity, self-expression, and an unyielding urge to share and connect, and of course through love. Instead we are stuffing ourselves with food, to the point of fatigue, disease, and depression.
Food has become our center light. More thought is spent on food than anything else. And in second place is death, dying and disease. Everywhere in word and picture and form, we are reminded of pending cancer. We are bombarded from a fear-based society by the ever pending potential threat of illness, danger and doom. And then we are offered the remedy of poisonous foods as appeasement.
Someone has it all backwards. The collective buys into this fear and food stuffing, and more and more fear is spun.
Recently, I was saddened and stirred by the site of a squirrel. Just one squirrel. He was so very fat and sickly, swollen in spirit, sitting there at Lover’s Point in Pacific Grove California on a stone wall. So engorged that he could not budge. I literally stuck my camera right into his face, and he didn’t flinch. I sighed and whispered to him: “You really need to stop eating so much, Mr. Squirrel.”
Problem is the tourists feed him the leftovers from the beachside hamburger joint: french-fries, hamburger bun, ice-cream cones. Poor little critter doesn’t have a chance—constantly bombarded, he is.
And here we are, feeding our people the same. Junk and poison. Fear-based propaganda and polluted thoughts, as well as food lacking nutrients and value.
And so many are sitting on the wall now, unable to move, to walk toward their soul’s purpose, to give and inspire, to create and connect, to live and love, because they are so overstuffed with poison and misery.
I feel for the overfed and tired squirrel. I was once one myself. Watching from the sidelines and wondering how to move. But I found my legs, and now I wonder over and over, how to pull all the squirrels of the wall. One by one, to free people from society’s bondage.