333: Long overdue…It’s “Official”

How cool is it that this is number 333 post? I loveeeeee the number three! Always have, always will. He is cute and springy and sweet and funny. Number three rocks. And there are three number threes!

It’s like the threes are celebrating the fact that I received my “official” diagnosis!

Yes, indeed…. Who would have guessed, but a psychologist has concurred (very kind man) that it is true, I am Aspergerian.

So it’s official; whatever that means.

Oddly enough, the whole validation of my “condition” was anti-climatic, as I was in a very serene and calm mood during my last appointment.

I kept waiting for the jolt of “Yeah, Baby” to hit me. But alas it never came.

I analyzed this lack of Wow-Factor for quite sometime, and concluded this balance of emotions was a positive and beneficial thing.

My freedom of self is expressed quite clearly in this recent painting called Surrender.


More recently, three hours last night, and two hours this morning, I worked on this piece. It is filled with emotion and energy for me. This one is called Home.


Interestingly, when I paint, I am mostly using a paper-towel as my tool. I start of with drawing free-formed designs with a pencil, letting spirit move me. Then I add some paint in globs. Then I rub off the paint and see what starts to pop out. I follow no rules and use odd techniques.

Mostly, I feel like a genius-sculpture waiting for the canvas to speak to me.

I have a unique perspective on images. I see things in my paintings and strongly, to the point of distraction and physical sensations, feel the energy.

I didn’t like this image in my original painting. The shape seemed dark to me, almost evil. It looks like a dead animal or beast. I had to remove this by erasing with water and adding more paint.


This image really bothered me, too.


Often parts of my works feel heavy and unfinished, and I have to erase, reapply, and step back. If I see an image I don’t like in a painting, like this one above, of a succubus hooked on to the teddy bear’s head, I have to restart and free the energy. I have to remove the energy vampire, so to speak.

I feel this energy intensely, and feel it is either attached to me, a loved one, or both. So I rework and rework the piece until the energy is released.

I can recognize so much healing during the process, and I become almost hypnotic and lost in my creation.

The painting experience is similar to writing, wherein I cannot use certain colors, brush strokes, angles, shapes, etc. (with writing it is words, sentence structure, rhythm, etc.) without feeling a blockage that I must remove.

For me, everything in life is alive with energy: words, colors, shapes, feelings.

All in all, the art of painting is becoming a soothing mechanism for me both energetically and emotionally.

I am pleased with this new Painter aspect of me: the breaking through of self and displaying of self on canvas. It is another form in which I feel someone might be able to see me beyond the facade of my human flesh/costume.

I still find the creation of faces doubly-daunting, as I cannot grasp faces, not others’ and not even my own. So I am struggling with the releasing of “face.” A concept I find mimics my own personal trials: That of releasing the image of self.

I have a great sense of peace, as of late; partially because I stopped taking this hormone pill that was making me have complex, rapid thoughts (can you imagine!! as my thoughts are already so complex!)…induced hyper-thyroid. But mostly because I have started to listen to my own self. I have started to believe in the magic of the world again. I have started to see that inside of me is so much beckoning to get out. And I have chosen the magic over the misery. Something that is long overdue.


332: Letting Go

Photo on 2-20-13 at 10.49 AM #2

I drove 1700 miles over the four-day weekend.
I grounded myself in my roots near the ocean-side of the Monterey California Peninsula.
I spent the weekend with my dear aunt, a devout and very loving Catholic.
I slept in my nana’s and nano’s room that has been untouched by the years, with aged prints of Mother Mary and Jesus set about me.
I slept in their bed, where they’d slept so many years together, long ago, before they passed on to another place.
And I felt remarkable healing.

I drove alone, and had in total, through several trips, over a day’s traveling time, some twenty-six hours alone on the road.
I prayed a lot. I laughed and I cried.
I sang to music.

I found myself again.
I didn’t let the invisible fear slip in.
Each time I felt a pain in my body or mind, I released the fear to God, and watched as thoughts evaporated and lightness entered me.
I didn’t hurt, despite my muscle condition; I was able to sit for an extended time and remained energetic and able to function at a high-level.
I was happy.
I was me and loved my company.

I was nurtured by loved ones and by myself, well-fed to the point of my chubby cheeks and lovely soul growing a few inches.
I nurtured every part of me. I walked and slept deeply.
Each night, in my grandparents’ room, I was blanketed in the deepest warmth and adoration. I have never felt such love.
I awoke refreshed and renewed.

The visions still came and are still coming, and so is the sadness, sorrow, and suffering. But there remains so much hope and thoughts of goodness to come. And I recognize the goodness is already here. Right here in me.

I am realizing with this traveling of body and spirit that I was happiest when I was teaching. I was happiest when I had a reason to get up and get out of the house, a responsibility beyond appointments and housecleaning and driving.

I am searching now, inside, wondering where I will go next, what my soul longs for, and whom she longs to be with. I miss the company of others, and realize that although my recent social isolation felt necessary that I now wish to return to a semblance of the life I had before, when I moved in the world more frequently with others and when I was confident in my work.

I have hidden a lot in the past twelve years, since I left the public schools, hidden at home and in my own thoughts. I have too much time to think, too much time to process and worry, and too much opportunity to over-weigh my choices and decisions repeatedly.

I need to be, and in my being, I need to be with other people more. I need to create friendships and connections here, in this place I have lived for almost three years. It’s time to stop searching for me and just be.

I have set some “goals” for myself, loose ones with no restrictions or necessity, no demands or “musts” attached, just ideas that I am releasing to my higher power, creations of whom I’d like to be again. Not just the part of me I released over a decade ago, but the part of me that had so much joy and eagerness for life.
I am slowly finding her, rekindling her flame.

I had to let myself burn in the fire awhile, slowly cinder there in deep reflection of self and my travels.

But I think I’m done with that now, the analysis and ins and outs of who this person that is me be.

I know I am love and light.
I know I am beautiful.
I know I am worthy of love and adoration.

I know I have an abundance of love and service to give.
And now I release this part of me, this “pain body,” this searcher, this wanderer continually searching for that which is nowhere to be found.
For I am here. I always have been, as has my God.

And so I am trusting in my next steps, not so much blindly, but with the legion of selves I have created at my side, cheering me on;
and I am releasing, with every part of my self, all pain to the higher realm.

I am releasing. I am letting go. And in so doing, I am free.

Blessings and love,

I find his music to be very healing. I memorized this song. It’s gorgeous, as is his spirit.

This is who I am:

331: Just Art (An art idea)

I took my original charcoal piece and painted over it; then I washed it clean with water and paper towel; then I outlined all the shapes I could still see with marker; then I rubbed on different watercolor paints.

The original was all abstract except for the face in the center. And likely I drew the hearts consciously. When I look at the charcoal photo, I see Jesus above me and his hands (left of me) wrapping around. I see a Holy Spirit above, hovering to the right.

I’m a bit sad I painted over the charcoal, but the experience was interesting.

Apparently I love turtles and fish and crosses.

This might be a worthwhile project for someone who wants to take a peek at their subconscious. If you do this, I’d love to see your final image. I thought of this idea on my own, through trial and error.

1) Purchase Canvas, watercolor (tubes), permanent marker, brush, and charcoal
2) Draw random lines and doodles with charcoal (one hour)
3) Paint over with multiple watercolors (one hour)
4) Rub off most with wet paper towel (five minutes)
5) Outline all in permanent marker(one hour)
6) Paint sections and smear with paper towel (half hour)


^original charcoal piece





330: There are NO Pants, but wave to the trees!

^^^ my sad song this morning that I replayed over and over; something I do on a regular basis, the playing of one song several times. In music I find a comfort, an uncloaked realism and truth which pulses in the blood and connects me back to the collective whole. I am reminded of how we all suffer and are all searching.

Photo on 2-12-13 at 8.43 AM

The thing about “downloading” information is most of the time, I don’t remember the very words I scribed!! Shoot-ness. I wished I’d read this last week! (Releasing Ego Post: Day 91) But then again, better to let the universe unfold as it will.

My “visions” didn’t come this morning at three. Nope. I woke up at four thinking: Wow, they are done!

And then poof, the invisible fairy god mother that lives inside my head appeared without appearing, and spoke without speaking, and recited the most loveliest of godly poems. So heavenly. This time I was mostly, if not completely awake, and got to savor every morsel. I vaguely remember a dove, a laurel branch, a brilliant sunrise. But, like always, my memory is mostly wiped clean after the early morning visions.

I find it fascinating that during these early morning callings, that even though there is no voice, I can still comprehend words. Remarkable, indeed! The images flow like the gentlest of rivers, the words each healing and so full of energy. Truly unexplainable.

Today, I had the whereabouts to “ask” with out even forming thought, (I know? Weird, isn’t it?), “These poems are so beautiful. These visions, too, but I can’t hold onto them; I can’t remember them enough to share them. Why?” I was “told” that these ones, these early morning wakings, were for my benefit, and thusly for everyone’s benefit, and that I didn’t need to share them. They were liken to a present.

On my way home from dropping my son off from school today, I talked some more with my angels and we had a good laugh, as their humor is divine. They showed me a seagull pooping on heads. I think the angels were poking fun at my past post, a few days back, the one about finding beauty in everything, the one in which I readily, and quite eagerly, with the heart of a five-year-old, couldn’t wait to share. I even showed my hairdresser the post. “Look at the beautiful images you can find in the bird droppings. You wouldn’t even know it was bird drooping, would you?” And I wonder why she thinks I am intense.

My angels showed me a seagull pooping, and said that the treats they give me in the early morning are like little treats that I don’t have to send down or drop on people’s heads. We got into a discussion about how I’m not putting stuff on people’s head, especially not crap! They just left, as they don’t quibble, and as they departed, I am quite certain that I detected distinct laughter.

On the way home, in my van, I decided to go out of my zone, this illusion I’m living in, and started to frantically wave at trees. They liked it. After all, they are living things! I mean we wave at some animals, and some pretty rotten (<perspective/I know) people, we can at least wave to that which gives us air to breathe. When I got home and pulled into the driveway, I screeched through my van window, whilst flapping my hand back and forth like a grade-schooler: "Hi Fred!"

I think my cedar tree was a bit embarrassed, like when I try to hug my teenager. I swear Fred was looking around with dodgy eyes, shrugging his shoulder branches, and telling his buddies, "I don't know that chick. I don't. I swear." But I know there was a secret part of him that liked the attention.

This early am, when my "visions" came, I noticed a bit of premenopausal night sweats. Thusly, on my way home in the van, prior to waving to the trees, I got to thinking that since ultimately our hormones control much of the universe within our physical body, that maybe they are potentially body gods! This gave me a whole higher level of respect for PMS. In fact, I think when I go all B-word later this month, I'll get on my knees and praise the invisible gods inside of me. This got me thinking… (Did I mention it is only a seven minute drive home.) This got me thinking, that feasibly, I am having visions from my hormones. That bit was somewhat unsettling. That's when I started waving to the trees.

You see? It all makes sense! Purposeful waving hello to trees while driving to distract myself from the possibility of hormone Gods controlling my brain. Perfect sense and sanity, me thinks.

Oh shimmer me brains….(made that up) I hope my psychologist isn't reading this post. I really don't want to be labeled with magical thinking, AGAIN. I go and meet him today. Thus this bubbling fear which causes me to ramble, me thinks.

I did hold onto this one distinct vision from early today. Very peculiar and spectacular.

I was shown pockets, and shown all the places pockets go on pants, e.g., butts, below front of hips, knees, sides, inside material. I was shown that my spiritual search for self and truth is liken to the placement of pockets on pants. I've tried all sorts of places. But the predicament is that I’ve run out of places and ideas for the pockets. I was shown that I feel as if I've run out of places to put the pockets, and actually judge, to a degree, that the pockets on pants should have evolved. at least just a little bit in the last century. (Kind of like toilet paper rolls< not part of vision, hormone gods threw that in.) Then they pull out the big picture. I was pulled back beyond the pockets and shown that it isn't that the pockets need a place to rest, it's that there are no pants! I was shown two bare legs. And then understood that as long as man has two legs (symbolically speaking) that he will forever search for where to place the pockets ( for the imaginary pants for the imaginary legs). And so the journey isn't in trying to figure out where these pockets need to go, or how to evolve the pockets to fit the pants, the journey is in realizing there are no fricken pants to begin with! (They don't use fricken, but I like the word.)

This got me to thinking about the naked dark-skinned, buff gardener that worked at the hippy camp my mom took me to in the 70's. I remember with clarity walking down this long flight of wooden stairs and the dark-haired naked man coming up the stairs. I remember thinking: There are naked gardeners?!!!! No fricken way! I watched him with fascination the entire trip whenever I passed the vegetable patch. Remarkable indeed, I thought. Remarkable, indeed.

I was all but twelve. But man was that the highlight of the trip. That and the hot tub and cool glass-dome house I slept in, and the community cooking, and forest. Ahhhh… I'm in a hippy mood now.

So I'm resting in bed, rather tired of being woken up so early for visions, though entertaining they be, and I'm understanding that this gardener in all his nakedness, he was on the right track; I mean the pants were off!

Today I'm carrying around that visual of the illusion of pants and legs, and a little bit of the very real naked gardener, (I did mention he was hot, right?) and it is helping quite a bit. Every time I start thinking about where I am supposed to be putting my pockets, I just remember I have no pants!

I thought about going to the psychologist with no pants on, just to prove a point about the restrictions of reality and how we are all in one grand illusion and he is a manifestation of the collective whole, but then my dog, she whispered, "Not such a good idea, Mom." And Fred, he joined in further out in the background of my mind, waving his branches and mouthing with his perfectly shaped oval, cartoon like mouth, "NO!"

So be it!


Here’s a little sample of what I hear sometimes. This piece is from almost two years ago.

03 26 11 Fear and Struggle
Automatic writing is automatic because you are not stopping to formulate a question, thought, or subject in your mind, but instead just participating. As if you were in a vehicle, you are along for the ride, but are not the one exerting energy to keep the engine running, except the slight pressure you apply to the pedals and steering wheel Thus, here you steer the conversation, in a way, through the “choice” of words that bests describes the “knowing” we are conveying; and likewise you provide a small amount of pressure to the key-pad and a small amount of energy through agreeing to come along for the ride.

Onward to discussion: There is a layering effect of fear. Fear begets struggle. Struggle does not beget fear. So let us start with fear and leave this struggle for a latter time. On the outside of this layer, which can be seen like a long strip of celery, you have the immediate and recognizable fear. There are two opposing opposites, which is redundant but nonetheless necessary to say. Opposites are always in opposition: this is their nature.

When you (as many) are presented with obstacles it is beneficial to remember that this is nature; that all is obstacles in some sense, whether intended, implied or circumvented, or even brought to for higher good.

In good we do not mean the opposite of bad. “Higher Good” is one such connotation (word, meaning) or better yet “knowing” that has no opposite. There is no “higher bad” or “lesser bad”; yet still, this “higher good” exists.

Side Note: (So much stopping for explanation can be tiring and lead us off track, but this sidetracking is very much necessary. Take for instance the traveler on the road who has set out to travel a very long distance, days, perhaps even months—he cannot merely keep stepping without stopping moments for water, nourishment, or rest. Even if in this moment he is still standing and moving forward, there is a brief pause, a slowing of pace, or the like, that will change the pattern he was previously set forth upon. This is the same. We are traveling a long road, an intense journey with you my friend; and along the way the pace will shift; and any implied impatience or fatigue on our part is only what you have interpreted; and perhaps is your own you carry; for our time here is timeless, this process instantaneous. Yours is ours in every sense,; only our perception is not sense; our knowing is not perceived; our being is not standardized by rules, expectations, evening out, balancing and fixing).

There, where you stand, where you dredge forward, there is a constant need for examination and rebalancing.

Here (where we are) we remain in balance; not perfect, because there is no word as perfect; yet ideal, as there is a word as ideal, which inspires hope. Ideal in the form of perception can be viewed as a model and an ultimate awareness, and is not intended to denote a state of degree which divides.

And here we digress again, writing in circles that are apt to confuse. How funny this confusion, as if linear and one stone to the next is necessary to communicate.

Are you not a stream of consciousness, free-flowing…free to go where (you) are meant to go? Why then must you insist of taking even this thinking and processing of yours and commanding it follow a preset, agreed upon set of rules? Who taught you to think? Who has taught you to write? You have.

And where did these rules come from? Was it from another human, many humans, that without knowing created a structure of what is “right,” what is “easy,” and what is “accepted.”

WE say to you now, and forever, that first you must free your mind (your thoughts) from the same imprisonment you have imposed on your entire life and those around you.

It serves you no benefit to govern your own thoughts. Let them flow like the freshest of waters to the places that need nourishment. Let the water provide respite and joy to the driest of soil. Let them pour down and touch the rocks edging their way into the very fiber of concrete that has (in illusion) existed as solid. Wash forth, bringing with you the treats of the sea, the sunlight of the forest, the empress of the mountain, the tiger of the valley…can you not see these are but words. What if the one was the other? What if the desert the valley, the rock the pine, the sun the tree? What if?

And so you create, and so we wait. And then you will come to see the only thing left, that is not of mind, is what resides behind the mind, in us, in you, in what is that has so silently and patiently waited.

Worry not, my Dear, Dear One. Worry not the ways in which the water flows or how it turns. Worry not of anything. Only listen to the sound of our sweet voice, and know above all else we are this “real.” We are not of creation and labeling. We Are.

When searching for truth, search for that which defies rules, but at the same time, most effortlessly brings you peace and knowledge.

Look for a reverse of rules, judgment, and the need to maintain this balance. In this you will know there in no harm, no intention, no expectation; only a gentleness once-removed from guidance. A tickle perhaps that needs to be addressed in the timing appropriate for the appointed one. And with this said, in so many words, we return to the previous waters of fear.

And so we say to you loudly, if we had but voices, that this fear is a product of the system of order you have created: The one of checks and balances, of compartmentalizing, organizing, and sorting out. Instead of decorating and celebrating, you spend much of your energy trying (as the mind is made) to place what is into category.

In this manner you judge without knowing, evaluate without realization, and this continues without forethought or afterthought.
How interesting how the mind tries to survive, to exist in what has been called an “ego state,” as if individually, with hyper-alertness, a one, who is neither solid or all knowing, can exist at all without Source.

How interesting how the human is the one creature granted life on earth who feels perfectly in the “norm” in his struggle for individuality.

Let us remind you fear comes before struggle, and it is the exact fear of being alone that leads the individual human to struggle to be independent—quite a quandary and interesting parallel.

You are in essence taking a whole, perceiving whole as a one, walking as a perceived one, standing to proclaim your “oneness,” and looking for recognition for this “oneness.” Without judgment or intention for harm we say this walk is somewhat absurd.

Take the mighty ant (once more), or any given creature for that matter. Does he take a path of oneness and try to prove how mighty he is? Does he wait for recognition and admiration? Does he wear his medals? Does he see himself as greater? Does he waste any precious energy on being better, noticed, or necessary? The only such creatures that beg for attention or those so-called “domesticated” that are placed in home, cage or tanks of water; the ones trapped or fenced in. For they have learned this human game: that if I can somehow stand out, please, perform, or provide, then I will be noticed. Noticed to them equals firstly food and love.

You are no different from the domesticated beast. You have self-inflicted yourself inside barriers (that do not exist in your realm), believing as you examine all those around you that in order to be fed (loved), you must be seen, you must stand out, you must perform to expectations.

This is interesting, and partially social-conditioning from the previous ages, where a tribe working together was able to survive. Except now this “working together” has become a “race” in which no one truly succeeds, but continually fails; because there is no end to a race of good enough.

This is important to restate: THERE IS NO END TO GOOD ENOUGH.

For you were good before you took your first step. And there is no enough. One that is endless can never be filled. One that is energy cannot be a vessel that holds a substance and idea that man invented. Firstly, you are not of concrete matter to hold this substance; and secondly, this substance of being good enough doesn’t exist.

You see how this conversation is going—like the stream—we do this purposefully, do we not, to untie your perception of walking and jumping stone to stone. For now, in this moment, in the vibration and rhythm of these words, in the pictures we have painted, you will see that there need not be this “order” to move forward.

On fear again we revisit. The celery stick is layered, is it not, with strings that you can pull and pull until the core is reached? And then once the last string has been pulled there remains a substance. So let us look at this fear in relationship to struggle.
First there are several rules you have created around fear; like all else you have categorized the concept of fear in a manner to bring you more temporary comfort; even if in this so-called long run you are made to feel much worse at the end. What we “see” first is the fear that is associated with pain and struggle.

You have a set of rules for pain. And they are as follows, as far as we can tell.

If you have control over this pain, then there is less of it. Likewise if you yourself willingly partake in this pain, there is further less of it. However if another person causes pain without your knowing or agreement there is more. And likewise, if another source which you can neither see nor understand causes this pain, you are further broken. There is again this hierarchy and rules you have self-created and bought into. So the analysis as is follows:

The pregnant mother wanting impregnation knowingly sacrifices herself for the coming pain of childbirth, as she knows she was the one who is creating the condition and that in turn she will have achieved an infant. So here we see the mother has some control, knows the most likely outcome, and will partake in this pain, often repeatedly, to reap the reward (end product).

Again, we have the man, (we say man for all), and he has seen the need to shed pounds from his body. He partakes, in full control, in an exercise regime and strict diet that will and does bring much pain of a variety of source. He feels this pain in his exertion while exercising, the pain in his belly that tells him he is longing for what he had before, and the pain in his mind that follows the brain of his belly, wanting what was instead of what is. There is pain. There is struggle. But there is intention, control, and a desired result. Here again pain is more easily accepted, and the result is not despair, questioning, and wonderment, elements which lead to woe.

In degrees, you can then see, that pain is better tolerated in spirit when a sense of “control” and “better outcome” is preceded by perceived infliction.

The latter part of pain occurs when a person perceives he has no control, and this pain then erupts in magnitude, exploding with an intensity that causes weeping and withdrawal, if not externally than in spirit form. Such pains are limitless. In example, we provide the loss of anything or person. Loss in this discussion is interpreted as a great and powerful, unpredictable and unexpected event that leaves the one feeling lessened in degree. Loss is a pain that is out of the control of the subject, and therefore felt to a greater degree. Loss is a pain that was not planned or intended, and therefore felt to a greater degree. Here we see that without the concept and belief of “control” and “intention” the pain is deeper and more severe. These are the rules you have made.
Still this loss is often explainable by nature; because of all things of the mind you seek explanation. You find comfort in definitions and explanation. What is unexplainable is feared. What is feared is a struggle. So even when man has partially invented the cause of loss, there is still some respite of mind, because a reason can be pointed to.

And still we peel the strings of the celery. Lessening the core to some degree by peeling away the layers of ego.

In this we could say that all is learned from pain. Without great pain you will not come to know great love. Without great experience in one realm, you will not know great experience in another. This holds true for where you are, because you have created it so.

But we say onto you that today you can know great joy and love without the accompaniment of upcoming pain. How is this so? It is so because you can close the door to pain of the mind, first and foremost, by seeing the imprisonment and balancing you have thusly created.

So many think this “Nature” has created the black and white, the good and bad, the lesser and greater, but this is man’s perception. No other living entity on earth, existing of spinning energy, equates the world thusly so. No other sees this world in extremes and places into compartments. And with all other (beside mankind), with all their power and spinning energy, the world still exists, despite their differing view.

You see, as they are not exposed to such way, they do not believe such ways. What you are exposed to becomes your belief. You live in a state of constant changing mirrors, and when you look in and behold yourself, uncertain still of what you see, you lean on neighbor for support to tell you what they see. You borrow the eyes of a blinded onlooker to judge what IS.

Better yet, we say, and those of ages say, to look inside to you and know what is, to flow forth like water, unbounded and undammed.
There is no essence that is not you. Whether you divide yourself twice, or three times in the blink of an eye, you are still you. Whether you sort pain into rules and categories, it is still pain. The degree to which you see pain through glasses of discernment or glasses of categorized judgment, is the degree to which you see others the same. Applying rules to pain is in the same applying rules to people. It comes back to judgment and the need to sort. It comes back to replacing and eradicating judgment with loving discernment and acceptance.

The key to your release from fear, is the key to your release from everything that pains you or imposes struggles at any level: the simple release of that of which you have no control, the release of the need to make something of whole into something of one.

We go on and on today, in unestablished and unwitty prose, not so much to confuse and distort, but to release the stream inside of you. Those that read will know. And those whose eyes are closed will not. Until the table shifts, and what IS is seen.
Digest these words through gentle reading, and the truth will be felt beyond the senses.

Samantha Craft, all rights reserved, as well as the sole keepership of said brain. I know you want it! giggles!

329: Oops! I did it again! Who the Beep Am I?

This little girl who lives inside me was crying today.


And through the tears, I started punishing myself saying, “This is ego; don’t go feeling sorry for yourself.”

Until I remembered that by focusing on ego, I simultaneous give ego power!

One of the things weighing heavy on my mind is this chameleon presto-chango act I do.

As chameleon, I have perfected several degrees of metamorphosis. I do this by mimicking someone else (real), a character (tv), or the stereotypical characteristics of a specific role (detective/when I was 8).

I’m quite good at imitation; I can pretty much take on any role to perfection.

It’s like a hidden talent. A type of hidden talent that seems like it would come in handy, like double-agent-Jacquelyn-Smith-from-Charlie’s-Angels handy. But it doesn’t. It just pretty much sucks.

Case in point, when I first moved to the state of Washington, two and a half years ago, I meet a spiritual teacher I admired.

Bingo! Bingo! Bingo! Some part of my subconscious brain screamed, upon the acquaintance of this lady; and then, without telling me, some part of me set about to transform. Not to be her exactly. I mean I didn’t want to live in her house or steal her husband; that’s kind of loony, fatal-attraction-psycho-scary. But a piece of me did mean to clone her using my body. Hmmmmm.

In regards to this one woman, I learned how to mimic her voice, how to dress like her, and then studied to become a spiritual counselor, just like her! Surprise. Turns out I make a pretty good spiritual counselor. And, even after I tossed her persona out, I kept her cool, mellow voice. Bonus!

I think this self-discovery of self acting out a role that is not actually true self, has to be one of the oddest sensations known to mankind. And you can't really debate me, unless you've experienced this; and if you have experienced this taking on of roles without your conscious knowledge, then I am certain you would agree with me about the oddness factor, anyhow.

For all you non-chameleon types, the presto-chango experience is akin to being possessed by another life form or like being in a drunken spell for several months, and wondering what you did during those black out moments. Only you never black out completely, just a part of your awareness does. Maybe it's like waking up and finding out you have had a third hand for a few months but didn't even see it or know you were using it.

How, with my keen observation and analytical skills, I could not see my very own self doing something so obvious confuses me.

I imagine, beyond my ability to see, somewhere inside of me is a tug-of-war, where the participants are fighting: This way; be like her, be like her! No this way; be like her, be like that!

Which leads me to today.

Lately,I have been having a lot of spiritual experiences.

I am woken about three in the morning to vivid spiritual lessons. I am still half-asleep, but very aware that the lessons are occurring. But before I awake fully, most of everything is erased. Sometimes it’s poetry, other times images, sometimes Biblical verse. Also, I have been having powerful prose just pour out of me. And I have felt grand moments of serenity, peace, and healing. All of this is divine, in and of itself; the only trouble is that a part of me, that subconscious part, has been latching on to a new role; that of guru, or seer, or prophet, or even martyr. And it doesn’t help that my mom, who is always overly proud of me, bless her heart, is sending me links to saints!

And it all kind of sucks big time. Because that role of a seer, unlike suburban bimbo bunko player, is super serious and frankly no fun at all. And yes, I did the suburban bimbo bunko player part well, until I realized the acting had just about crushed the whole of me.

Oh, poo poo, crap, yuck-o!I so don’t want to drive down another road of roles again! “No way!” she exclaims. She being me, and flipping off ego, to boot.

To get sucked down the hairy drainpipe of yet another role will kill me. And this one role of the perfect seer is just too much.

I was already too serious (INFJ, Idealist, Cancerian, Only child, Aspie)…label Queen I be. How could I get more serious?

Crap! Where am I?

Damn it! (ahhhhhhh)

I’m tired of this role playing. I’m just plain tired. I’m turning in my costumes for good. I don’t care if the rest of me protests. I just can’t live anymore pretending. And if my brain won’t listen to me, then I’ll just have to take measures into my own hands.

Today was a step in the right direction. I figured out what I’d been doing, again. And then did something to symbolically stake my claim for change. I am happy. I am relieved. And I am excited… Unless, of course I am a seer channeling Shirley Temple and perfecting the role of a twelve-year-old, which is pretty darn possible.

And just to think two days ago, I was wondering if since I’ve been married and had kids, if I could still join a nunnery, and if my kids could live there, too, and my husband could have those special type of visits. I figured, likely not.

Here’s what I did today! So twelve and so loving it!

Hugs and big juicy kisses ~ Sam