“Samantha Craft,” M.Ed. has served as an educator for adults and children, a spiritual counselor and an advocate for individuals with special needs. She holds a teaching credential and a Master’s Degree in Education, and has completed multiple postgraduate courseworks in the field of psychology and counseling. Currently, under the penname of Samantha Craft, she manages and authors the well-circulated blog Everyday Aspergers: Life through the eyes of a female with Aspergers. Her prolific writings depict the multifaceted daily life of an adult with Asperger’s Syndrome. Samantha maintains contact with people across the world touched by ASD and serves as the founder of an online support group for adult females on the autistic spectrum. She resides with her husband and three sons, (one with ASD), in the state of Washington.
This article may be duplicated for professional use in an educational setting and for family members in the home setting. Please keep contact information on the page. The works are copyright protected and not meant for duplication for groups or presentations. Copies of the edited and complete article can be found in the future publication of a peer reviewed journal.
Navigating the Female Aspergerian Mind
Chances are, because of the lack of available resources in regards to Females with Asperger’s Syndrome, an undiagnosed female with ASD has slipped under the radar of many professionals. With today’s growing rates of autistic syndromes, any professional established in the field of mental health therapy would benefit from careful examination of the complexities of Asperger’s Syndrome, as it pertains to the female experience. Until recently, little to nothing was known about the female with Asperger’s, as most, if not all, current diagnostic tools are geared toward and develop based on the male genders’ characteristics of ASD. The simplest of signs that might indicate the female representation of Asperger’s to a practitioner are often misunderstood, misdiagnosed, denied, diluted, or unnoticed.
As a result of under-diagnoses, a large majority of females on the autistic spectrum are reaching adulthood as survivors of multiple emotional and physical traumas. Because limited resources and tools are available for working with the female client with Asperger’s, professionals sometimes fall back on what has worked with clients who do not have ASD, regardless of the fact that Asperger’s is not a mental health condition, but a neurological syndrome. More often than not the practitioner treats the symptoms and not the condition, focusing on the obvious comorbid traits of Asperger’s, such as depression and anxiety, without full consideration dedicated to the whole of the person, in particular the fact that he is working with an individual who views the world somewhat different from the mainstream client. Though the professional has the client’s best interest in mind, in some cases the professional’s overall lack of education and limited know-how can be not only non-beneficial for the client with ASD, but detrimental to the psyche. Wherein the astute practitioner recognizes the challenges at hand in regards to the female with ASD, he seems to be a rare minority.
Considering the sensitive nature of the female with Asperger’s condition, an individual whom has likely often found herself a subject of alienation, ridicule, suspicion, doubt and abuse, it is vital for the professional to understand the power she holds to make or break her client; especially the client’s feasible outlook on seeking out further assistance as pertains to her emotional well-being. In example, females on the autistic spectrum develop both conscious and subconscious strategies in their attempt to function effectively in a world which often appears unpredictable and potentially volatile. Oftentimes, a female with Asperger’s is using all of her mental and emotional resources to merely survive and navigate the social world. In response she is fatigued and over-taxed. If a female is partaking in mental health therapy, and the therapist suggest to her that she change or adjust some of her coping mechanisms, for example seeking out strategies to decrease verbal processing, the suggestion itself has the potential to create increased anxiety and feasibly shutdown the client’s ability to remain focused and present. Aspects of the unexplored “Aspergerian” mind can present challenges and/or roadblocks that the practitioner does not necessarily encounter in therapeutic dialogue with ‘typical’ clients, e.g., those presenting with mental health illness without a neurological condition. (I avoid the word ‘disorder’ entirely, in regards to Asperger’s Syndrome, as it is my firm belief that just because one functions outside the perimeters of the current majorities’ collective agreement of norm does not by the process of negation establish a select group as abnormal or having a disorder.)
In understanding the female’s (with Aspergers) mindset is uniquely different from the majority of mainstream society, including her capacity for complexity of thoughts, intense mental connections/scaffolding, and advanced logical sequencing, and taking into account the potential effects of a lifetime of repeated humiliation and abuse, it is advisable for the professional to consider the (ASD) client’s trauma may reach far beyond what is considered the typical depths of post-traumatic stress. Add this to her tendencies for sensory-stimuli overload, and the female with Aspergers will likely exhibit an instinctual flight-or-flight response to any new situation; especially those pertaining to vulnerability and emotional intimacy. Other factors hindering the benefits of therapy include the client’s ability to recreate her self-presentation based on how she perceives the professional perceives her. Often a master actress, the female with Asperger’s has developed a toolbox of masks enabling her to move in the world undetectable to the naked, untrained eye. Here in the client-practitioner relationship, the client is likely to mold into the persona that she believes best fits the comfort-level of the professional, moving within the room of therapy just as she moves in the exterior symbolic rooms of her life. A professional, unstudied in the elements of the female condition of Asperger’s, is apt to miss the nuances of a given client’s chameleon qualities, overlooking the client’s subtle changes in representation of self or wrongfully assuming the client is resorting to trickery and sabotage.
The female with Asperger’s, while extremely witty and intelligent, exhibits continual emotional fragility. In some cases this is hidden behind emotionally-detached humor or within the guise of a persona she is currently exhibiting; e.g., she may imitate a character on television. Though she is emotionally vulnerable, she is capable of hiding herself from other people and is keen in her honed ability to detect social norms and acceptable behaviors of a given situation. Given her nature and character, one word or mannerism from the practitioner may be overanalyzed and/or perceived by the client as a threat or criticism. Misinterpretations, distrust, or a number of other variables, can lead the client to shutdown (emotional withdraw), meltdown (emotional outburst), retreat into imagination or fantasy, recreate the presentation of self, and/or switch from a state of emotional presence to logical analysis. When the client is triggered by the professional and responds accordingly, the quality of the therapeutic relationship is adversely affected. Unlike the mainstream client, a woman with Asperger’s may never trust a professional once she believes she has been misinterpreted and/or criticized.
As a professionally diagnosed female with Asperger’s, in reviewing my own experiences in therapy, which encompass a decade-long-span of individual, couple, small-group and large-group interaction, incorporating a cornucopia of therapeutic techniques and theories, my most damaging experiences occurred when the practitioner was neither vulnerable nor authentic, a perceived-lacking from my point of view, that affected my capacity to connect at a humanistic-level with the practitioner. The best scenarios, in my therapy experience as the client, occurred when the professional was free of dogma, restrictions, and rigid-habits, and able to see through my mirage of disguises. In truth, I don’t think this ever happened, the best scenario that is, and that I, in actuality, through the process of vigorous self-help and psychological self-studies and applications, became my own psychologist by trade, primarily implementing Transpersonal Psychotherapy and elements of Logotherapy.
Based on my own life experience, the deep-level of understanding of my own Asperger’s condition and the personal interactions with other females on the autisitc spectrum, I have developed a list of what I would have liked to have seen, given the means and opportunity to time travel back as a client or to time travel forward as a practitioner. In recognizing each therapist has his unique style, I offer this as a list of suggested ideas, my hope and intention being to provide others the opportunity for a beneficial client-practitioner relationship.
. All is well that never ends. The flow of the passion is divine in its awareness of unity and wholeness. No two ever need be separate again. No two need fear. No two need want. The separation ceases.
. At the beginning the one, still seeking the whole, drifts above and about and feels the extreme isolation of souls. Here she feeds in the torment of recognizing the agony of separateness; this is truly her feeding ground. The rapture is so intense the visions explode, the voices come nonstop, the pulsating life force bleeds out of her creation. Nothing is ever enough to erase the agonizing pain of being one and only one, while almost touching the All. Here she cries out in the deepest ways for connection again. Not for self but for All; and she remains here until her cup runneth over to the degree of plentitude that in drowning and drowning in the blended equal measure of sorrow and love, she must escape. She must return.
. And there in her waking all is altered: the shape of the space before her, the faces of places, the beings about. Nothing remains of the illusion; and she, as if spaded out of the depths of darkness, is ripened and growing, spreading out the vines that bear the fruit of wealth collected in gratitude; until her very roots penetrate her traveling soul, and she becomes all of what was before the separation.
. Here she begins to balance, to remain in the outer layer and inner layer, both within herself, witness to the masses, and without herself, hearer of the divine. And here, in this state of grace she is the grandest weaver of the All, capable of collecting in her arms the All, and releasing it out to the All; so that she gives without giving, and receives without receiving; moving as naturally as the wind through the forest glen, her greenery the very hatchlings of her goodness.
. She does not have to know. She does not have to know anything. She does not have to think of the past, the future, or even the now. She can just be and experience without thought. She can view the surroundings and disrobe the illusion cast upon the masses. Stare at the tree until the separation is extinguished; no longer the trunk, the limbs, the leaves, the green, the tree; behold what is beneath not knowing, the treasure the newborn beholds before she is immersed in an imaginary land of separation.
. All thoughts stop, and the eternal flame of love springs forth. The angels whisper, the heart beats grander, and the gentle glide of sensation vibrates up and down the outer regions of the back; the head, when upright, radiates in tingling sensation, the end of limbs embrace with flowing, nurturing energy. The being radiates with a goodness so sublime, she would gladly shed the façade of “AM” for the truth of “All.”
. In a state of grace everyone is beautiful, everything about them the lost treasure sought out the whole of life; only in this divine rapture of serenity, in the blanketed cradle of goodness, the one united recognizes that all is here and was never gone. She sees the past and future mingled, and the memories faded. All together she is combined into self, until she is no more. Blended into the divine knowledge of perfection and love, able to reach out to the other she be; not the parts, as no parts exist, but into the effervescent flow of what she once thought was another.
. There is no need to be anything or anyone. The one doesn’t desire to know where she is headed, what she is creating, whom she is affecting. No longer at the wheel, as she never was; no longer burdened by thoughts of need and want; no longer believing love is a separate action of give and take, a game with a paddle in which one gives out and waits hungrily to receive.
. In having received abundance and overflowing in peace, she needs, if need be, only give out what is within; and even in thinking so, she knows it is not she whom gives; for the one has receded back as the tide of the ocean, resting in the bounty of father sea, and allowing the rest to move forward that is no less a part of self than the air all breathe. She need only release and be, and the love abounds within and without. The more given, the more she is embraced. Thusly, she lives within a never ending flow of nurturing love.
. Just as the waters of the world, she cannot be diminished but is continually transformed into a recognizable form, whether collected, flowing, or pouring down into the valleys, she remains substantiated and full, entire in her being.
. Without expectation and the thought of outcome, she is entirely free. In forming a union with the life force, the one is riveted to the One of All, and in so being made strong and mighty. All meekness demolished, all humility firmly fastened, all littleness undone; her ways marked by the passion to serve.
. There is no goal setting in serving and no sacrifice too great. As sacrifice itself diminishes in the Light of Love; in being One there is nothing Love asks or takes, nothing given or received. All is, and in being so, all is remarkably at ease.
. Gone is the give and take of the world; gone is the guilt, the martyrdom, the pride that calls out to the world: Look at what I do for you, my sister, gone with the jester greed that gobbles at the side of the weak and collects its bounty. Missing are the ribbons of recognition, the falsehood of empty-vessel longing to be filled by illusion of grandeur.
. Once filled, there is no more to collect and no less to remember. Stepping back from the self, a new oneness is formed; the one searched for eternity and a day, and then erased from time itself; until the eyes of naught see tis only a blink that passed, the time between the first opening of eyes.
. Judgment begins to be a distant mystery, and here anger joins the side of what was naught. The ego is spread out in its ailments; each toxin leaked out and drained for the glory of knowing.
. The shadow keepers no longer haunt that which is naught, an invisible ghost no less for the coming than the going; for they move in a fashion so irregular and circumvented by causation and reaction that their spindly fingers cannot point to where the one of movement moves; for she is the cyclic force now, the beating center of the earth, that flows as the rivers and the seas, dictated not by her own desires, but by the pull of the moon and the moons beyond moon. The deepening connection forgers her into the very mountains herself, her camouflage becomes the rock of the world, her heart the very place in which the center bursts forth the force of creation.
. Nothing can stop the outpour of love; the force is entirely fierce with the kindness of ages forged through the varying element. Each is an outburst of destiny recreated, each a coming of what is and what was.
. Every relationship is refined and undefined. The truth merges into the one. The One merges into the truth, until no two exist and one stands firmly on the rock of knowing.
. There is a grace that occurs that is indescribable in measure and equally astounding in fortitude. The witness steps back and remains as constant observer, becoming gatekeeper, where she was once the rams head. Where she once burst through, ramming herself into the other, she now sets back and lets the nothingness of self speak out for the world.
. In this place of naught, nestled by the angels, she glances down at the world she knows, watching her vessel move, no more a part of the game of wanting, and instead partaking in a game of no chance, no victory, and no venture. She just is, this perfect being moving where she is taken, by a force unmistakably pure, her own self-righteousness bled straight out of her and made fertilizer for the grounds.
. If want enters, in his mask of fear, or fear enters in his mask of want, the poison is felt as sure as the deepest needle; and she need only wish it away with simple thought, to displace the element with the element of pureness; and then, in seeing this so, all becomes illusion, and she is brought up upon high and bathed in the love of her master, where He is beset in His glory beside her.
. And though she be angel baptized in the waters of translucent awareness, she also be the rest: the valley, the mountains, the deepest caverns, the wondering souls about; she be the very brother she beholds, and the very breath he breathes; and in seeing her own being beaded on the strings of eternity, her every part speaking and shining from the All, she wants nothing more than to create for this All what is the All within; to paint upon the soul of the masses, the painting before her, the goodness she abounds in.
. For she is no more and no less than the cyclic force bringing her outward and inward, cleansing her with each encounter and each road in which she bares her burden down.
. Fear sleeps. Nothing seems important anymore. Urgency ceases to exist, and when he comes it spikes the soul in its heights and in its pressure. Urgency rises and falls, the spike of the chart that surges upward in splotched ink-red and the spike of the iron that grounds into the dirt announcing its coming. There is nothing of nothing, and so in the coming of “something “ the heart beats again, the blood pulses, and the being that was, she is reminded of the world of chance, the world that moves for the creation of not One but of one. The smallest element undefined and set out for the wolves.
. Here and only here, in the state of the smallest element undefined, the fear reenters, still as phantom-dressed as before. As no fear exists in the realm of realm; it is only in the bringing of the warrior returned that the fear comes. For no fear enters that which is naught.
. Knowing the fear knocks only when the feet are touched down on the soil of man, then the witness can harness her horse, the steed, and march forward as brave knight demolished once more, crumbling to the ground and vanquished in demise.
. For to let the fear enter and kill the illusion is optimal. To bring fear in, hold fear, eat fear and digest fear, proves two-fold: it eliminates the illusion of self and refortifies the want of naught. Here is where the lesson is relearned repeatedly in grace, in the digesting of fear for the sake of no fear, in the reexamining of illusion and in the refuge of the illusion of naught.
. The merrymaker learns with the return of self into self; in form she bleeds and is punctured, not by choice, but by servitude; not by sacrifice but by need molded by her very choice to serve; a need so pure the necessity is spiraled out and unstrung like the song of the distant cherub; so even want itself expires in the goodness of the light.
. Here in this state of return she finds both herself and her sister, dare say her brother, all sprawled out and broken; her job no less seamstress than builder, her case no less swollen than empty; as only the reality spins in the course of unreason and un-being. And in so seeing readily the pain, she recognizes all at once the falsehood, and need only breathe in the spirit of life back to the scene for all to vanish and be white-washed within the light of truth.
. All beings are of naught and all are beckoned by the Light. What is from the Light cannot and shall not ever be forsaken; and in this seeing, she is brought back upon the seat of her name, and sheltered in the arms of the angels, and witness less to the pain than the victorious One; until she falls again for the greatness of her glory unified with the angels of All.
. There is no mountain high enough. All in the world becomes manageable. All balanced out as if filed down to the same shapes and same sizes. The mark of one is the mark of all. None are set out above or beyond, none are made or deemed more likened for victory or more set to fall.
. The meek become clearer, their lights substantially strong; not so much brighter or lighter, but polished and unmarred, so the window from which they glow beckons the onlooker forward.
. The rest, beyond the clearer, still trapped in the conquest of illusion, become known to her; the light dismal, yet so radiant within, that their souls seemingly call out in rescue. The death of them found in the wrapping inside a dream that requires no key; as fish in the deepest sea, out of reach, they swim in schools of the unattainable. They move and serve; their service no more as teachers than pauper; as though they seem the richest they are the poorest indeed.
. Say ye, as angel of light, dive to the deepest depths of self, one can find them readily, see them proceeding in the dance they have made, both the music and the cause deafening. She will know them by their beauty; for their colors will shine out with the dampness of stench; what will at first peer out as enticing to the blinded masses is in actuality detrimental. As they look outward with the eyes gorged in righteousness, not from the Light but from illusion.
. In this way they, the blinded ones, are the children to be loved; in this way the one of Light moves in the murky waters of naught, in the waters most forgotten onto self, and recognizes the blinded ones know not what they do. For in illusion, they seem the swiftest fiercest of sharks, but brought into the Light they be the mightiest of the meek.
. Though they seem demons cast down as name-sayers slaying the masses, they indeed be the blindest of the All. The ones set down in the darkest caverns of illusion; the tiniest of fish fed upon by their own making and devoured again and again in the darkness of a path that seems limitless and endless in the want of perfection. For how can they demand perfection on their neighbor and not thusly see the darkness in their very heart?
. No they do not look upon the world through the eyes of evil beast; they look upon the world as the one so unfed and nurtured by the Light that all within is tarnished and broken; thusly, all about becomes justly so. Return them to the Light. Return them so by the gentleness of the unwavering being, no less daunted by their presence than if they be the grandest of all angels set upon thy feet. Bow down and great them there and kiss them on the place of absence, in their much carved out soul of need, and bring their asking upon My table.
. Here the Light Force shall drive them out of the waters and set them on high, so they too can see the very goodness of their being. Treat them not as the ones of entrapment or the ones meant for capture. Treat them as the angels they be, cast down in the thickest of drapery, to be a light upon the world, and inspire the grace of true grace. For they, like brother fear, are merely the illusion set upon the soul of masses.
My husband said, “God was telling you right away at the door to the building. At that point you could have said, ‘You know, this isn’t the place for me.’”
I think he was right.
Last night, I stood back observing myself in the mini-van, ironically right along the same place on the road I’d earlier been laughing in rapture, and watched myself reach the depths of sorrow. I wasn’t depressed in the slightest, I was hollowed out by pain and left aching from within: the place of emptiness which was once my beating heart. I’d been cleaned up, shook up, messed up, and restocked, all of me screaming for retreat. Sadness doesn’t give what I experience justice, not even close. It was a deep affliction in which I was sobbing uncontrollably, and felt entirely at the mercy of my God.
I stopped mostly by the time I got home; I tried to gather myself. I prayed and I asked for guidance; and just then, as I was about to leave the van and exit to the dark outdoors, I spied this oversized animal. Something very wide and very dark; he (or she) was approaching the van. Straight at me, like an arrow. I soon figured out it was a raccoon that we think has built a nest in our tree. It was the first time ever since we’ve lived here that I have spotted him on our property. He just happened to wobble along in plain sight, right as I asked for a sign. Just like my God to send me an over-sized raccoon. He came straight to my van, straight to my door, and then dove underneath. Chicken me, (raccoons eat chickens), I dialed my husband, whom was a mere hop and skip away, upstairs in the house. As who knew if the beast, as cute as he be, was lurking beneath the van waiting to attack.
Bob came down and sat in the van, and he watched and listened as I wept. My youngest, bless his empathetic heart, flashed a note from the upstairs window that read, “Are you Okay?” I gave him the thumbs up. My middle guy, with ASD, he flashed a flashlight, overly concerned about spying a nocturnal raccoon, and having no interest in me whatsoever.
Luckily, I had listened to my angels, because about twenty minutes into my weeping in the driveway to Bob, about the time my youngest held up a new sign, in the same read marker that read: “Hurry up, I’m bored,” I needed that roll of toilet paper to scrub-dry my tear-ridden face. Eariler in the morning, I’d heard distinctly at 7:30 a.m. (in my own interior voice) to take the roll of toilet paper to the van. You’ll need it later today, the voice had warned. I figured my angels were speaking about food spillage or bloody-nose incidents from the boys; little did I know that they knew I would be a blubbering mess. Indeed.
In concerns regarding the symbolism of the raccoon, I think it reflects my desire to accept what is and to adapt to what is happening in my life. Also, I think it is a direct reflection to the way I interpret people donning various masks of protection, and my inability to understand what they are protecting themselves from. I like how the raccoon came straight for me, right out of the dark, appearing in my line of exit; for I could not take another step, literally, until I confronted this masked creature. I think his arrival enabled me to have a private talk in the van that wouldn’t had occurred otherwise. And I think, too, he came to pull me out of the sorrow momentarily and re-center me back on the straight path.
I explained to Bob in the privacy of the van that I was so completely confused by most of mankind’s behavior. And that I felt alone and isolated.
We continued the conversation the next day, which was this afternoon. I have combined the experience into one clump, (because it would bore me to go back and weed out the separate elements of the discussions at this point).
Basically, several things happened:
1. I was reminded of how frequently people judge and categorize other people
2. I was reminded of how differently I tend to think than the “average” person
3. I was reminded of how much I pick up on others’ energies and emotions
4. I was reminded of how much I still long to belong and be seen
5. I was reminded that most people seem more unaware of self than me
6. I was reminded that just because someone says they adhere to certain principles doesn’t mean he or she does
7. I was reminded that people lump collective thoughts into a theory and then generalize about a set of people
8. I was reminded of dogma
I felt a lot of things I’d rather not list, as to me it seems unkind.
My husband took some time (and more time…and some more time) to explain this NT behavior. (Neurotypical; aka, what I use and other people sometimes use instead of “normal,” as no one is normal. In other words “typical-brain” as is accepted by modern day standards; in other words: NOT MY BRAIN.)
He was quite good actually, in his description. (Ladies, shall we pause briefly, and clap at once, as I tell you that I trained my man well.) He gave this great analogy. I could see it all in my head. He said that he believes most NTs, himself included, walk around in these bubbled layers of walls. There are several, at least three. (News to me.) And that when they first meet their bubbles kind of touch each other, and that this is their ‘line of defense.’ They (some of the NTs) like to bump and met several times before letting down the first wall. Therefor they talk about things (boring, surface-level stuff) that isn’t personal or doesn’t seem risky at all (safe, boring, surface-level stuff). They do this to make sure the person is safe, not a threat, not someone to fear, or someone who is after them. Also to see if they share common interests and viewpoints.
By this point, I have interrupted my husband several times and drifted in and out of my imagination, as the bubbles were fun to picture, and my husband is very used to me “interjecting.” Here are some of the things I asked:
1. Why?
2. What do you talk about?
3. Isn’t it boring?
4. What is in the last bubble?
5. What are people hiding?
6. What are people afraid of?
Answers, from my bubble NT husband:
1. We have been trained not to trust. Think of all the messages you hear. For example: “You let him into your house? You told him what? You let him do what? You gave him money? He is just going to buy drugs with it…People basically don’t trust other people.
2. I don’t know. Basic stuff.
3. No; I think we enjoy it.
4. Probably our deepest self that we think is unworthy; fear. (Let’s pause and clap for the extreme inner awareness my husband expressed about himself, seeing he was formally living in a mostly NT world and acting like a Vulcan.)
5. Their deep dark secrets.
6. Being found out. Being hurt, basically fear.
I kept saying, for quite a long while: “But what are you afraid of? What is there to fear?” We went round and round for quite a bit, and it came down to that most humans have an innate distrust for other humans and most humans think at a core level they are inadequate, and some people do things they think are terrible and could never share, or have had things done to them that they feel ashamed about. And there was some discussion about the “dark side” that people hide.
I couldn’t understand what the dark side was, and what people were hiding, and why they were hiding it. I tried. I asked, “What is my dark side?” My husband said, “I haven’t found one yet, and I hope I never do.”
That seemed silly to me; really. I don’t hide anything and have no places of hiding and no bubbles, so there isn’t any place the dark side can live.
But the other stuff, it started to make sense. Soon I asked: “Well then, if there are two different types of people, some that are honest, don’t manipulate, don’t hold back, don’t have these bubbles, but are trusting and loving and completely open, and try to see the best in others, and there is another group who lies, manipulates and plays games to protect an inner fear that stems from someplace about something they are unsure about, then it makes more sense to me that the group that lie and are in fear try to adapt and be more like the ones that trust and are open, instead of reverse, don’t you think?”
This is when we can really cheer for my husband, for having lived with the sincere challenges I sometimes offer out in a relationship, he had the honesty and sweetness to say: “That’s why I think at times that ASD is a new race of people come to help the world.” Then he chuckled, and added he’d been watching too much sci-fi. I took this as an NT immediately putting up a bubble, and I understood.
During the conversation today, I was able to process some of the events that had me gasping for breath as I cried in the van the night before. I asked Bob, “Then why when I am authentic and true and real, and entirely me, do I scare people?”
Bob responded, with several well-fitting answers, all of which made sense, but still baffled me.
1. People don’t trust people; so when you are honest, kind, and sweet, they question your interior motive, your genuineness, and your truthfulness. (aka FEAR)
2. People don’t feel comfortable having someone spill out their whole self all at once; it is too much and overwhelming. They don’t know how to respond, what to say, or why you are that way. (aka FEAR)
3. People are confronted with their own inability to not be authentic and real, and this reminds them of their own secrets and feelings of unworthiness and lack of confidence at the center. (aka FEAR)
4. People are thinking you are in your first bubble, the one on the farthest outside layer; and if you are, then they wonder what you are hiding; for surely there must be all these layers you are hiding; and if you are hiding then why are you faking authenticity. (aka FEAR)
This saddened me and intrigued me, all at once. So, I said, “Some Aspies love the company of other Aspies as we are real, and some NTs like the company of other NTs because they are “pretending” instead of being completely real, at first.”
Bob explained that many NTs like to spend a lot of time together until they trust; they build trust; and he noted that I don’t need to do that, I love instantly, share instantly, and trust instantly. I didn’t understand the need to build up trust.
This brought me back to where I was last night, at a local church event, and explained one thing for certain. One of the speakers, a well-spoken women of faith, who was trying hard to do her best, she explained that intimacy with God takes time, just like our everyday relationships; that we share are deepest secrets with people we’ve known a long time, not just a few days; and that in this way one must spend a long time with God to build intimacy. I found this entirely wrong for me; and stopped myself from saying so, as I stopped myself most of the night from speaking up; because me and my higher power don’t need time to build a relationship. I trust Him; I always have. And I don’t need time with my friends to build trust; I trust in reverse to the NT way, I suppose. I give the benefit of the doubt ahead of time. God gets that, too, from me. And He is good with that.
At this point, as I am reflecting, I am thinking there really needs to be a church for Aspies. Seriously. Because so much of what the lady said didn’t ring true for me. I wanted to add a few things to her speech that she forgot to mention. In regards to intimacy with God she suggested we need to trust, to feel worthy and slow down. First of all, many people feel unworthy in the light of God and that is okay, it keeps one humble. (My little opinion at this moment that I am not attached to.) In addition, there is a lot more to having a close relationship with God (or a person’s higher power). For instance, somethings that might help, include:
1. Humility. Above all humility. This requires the release of self-righteousness, pride, and piety…all things that people who cling to a dogma have.
2. The ability to bring up all of the stuff to someone other than God. My greatest freedom has been in risking and being all of who I am. I have nothing in my closet. Giving it to God and whispering secrets is not enough, in my opinion. Because there are still secrets. There is still fear.
3. Releasing fear (Including fear of other people)
4. Release of judgment. (Walk the talk…that’s all I’m saying.)
These are my truths. They make sense to me under the umbrella of what this church holds as Truth. Under another umbrella there exists other variables. They might not be my truths in an hour or in a week.
I began to see that the discomfort I felt at this place was so multi-faceted. It was a combination of my isolation based on:
1. My high-intelligence and capacity to study and analyze things, like the gospels that were hidden and buried by the church, the way truths are altered and suppressed to make persons of authority gain power, and so on.
2. My high-capacity to interpret the outcome of attachment; for example it is impossible not to judge if one is adhering to one narrow viewpoint, aka dogma.
3. My ability to see past the bubbles to the core, to not judge, but to discern what is there. For example, I don’t judge Fred my cedar tree, I observe him. I might say he is very tall, one branch needs trimming, and there is a small amount of ivy growing at the base of his trunk—better pluck that soon. This is not judging Fred, and that is kind of how I see people.
4. My ability to be bubble-free and completely me. This really rubs people the wrong way. I become like a bubble popper, and people just don’t like me for that.
5. My capacity to speak my truth from a heart of love without need, want or intention. A lot of people don’t get this.
6. My ability to have a very close connection to my higher power. Many people, if not all, at this gathering I was attending were struggling to reach and talk to God. I am struggling to find a way to turn the channel off or at least adjust the volume down.
I sat through an entire talk about how to get close to God, when I already am, using techniques for an NT, which I already ain’t, from a woman whom I discerned needed a few branches trimmed. I wanted to see Jesus on the stage. I wanted to see.
1. Extreme Vulnerability
2. Exposure expressed in humility
3. Unconditional Love
4. No judgment
5. No assumptions
6. Acceptance
I wanted to see outside of the bubbles. I wanted to be taught by a bubble-free person. I wanted to be surrounded by people who got me and saw me and wanted to see me; people who weren’t scared of me because I choose to not live in fear.
I am not trying to draw lines. Some of my best friends are NTs, (sounds silly, but is the truth), and they have many wonderful qualities and are very authentic and real and loving. It just seems like a large majority of people aren’t so real and I am living in a world with people who are pretending. I don’t think it bothered me to an extreme until last night. Until I went to a “House of God” and thought I would find the unconditional Love of the Light. Why? Because I am trusting. Why? Because I choose to look for the good. Why? Because A House Of God ought be a House of Love.
I don’t think I am disappointed. I think I feel poisoned and confused, and downtrodden. My angels have told me that like the gnostic gospels say, that the Light is within, and the temple of God can be found within. I get this. But man has told me to go to church for companionship, connection, and to be in the family of the Lord. Only they don’t feel like companions to me. I feel more at home in a petting farm or on a nature trail: animals and trees don’t lie, don’t pretend, and don’t judge me. Where am I supposed to go for God companionship, beyond self, when the community at large that gathers doesn’t want to see me or hear what I have to offer?
I scare people. That’s all there is to it.
My light is scary. And that’s why I cried. Not so much from the first sign, from the woman at the door who greeted me by looking me over and saying, “Oh, you must not be from here.” (I was dressed too nicely, for the locals I suppose.) I had answered, politely with humor, “What do you base that judgment on?” and she in return blushed and apologized. I might have known I was entering a house of judgment. What got me wasn’t the first sign, but the last sting of the night. When I approached a woman I was drawn to, because she was an authority of the church. When I confided in her she did none of what I would consider comforting.
As I was talking, with tears streaming down my face, of the great love I had for God and how I walked in peace and did not want to do anything but serve: She judged me. She warned me. She told me I was hearing the dark. She told me not to study the saints. She told me the best thing I could do was to meet with other women of faith and make connections. She was defensive. Did not trust me, and kept countering my experiences. She warped what I said and twisted my truth.
I had been searching for a woman of strong faith to guide me through this huge connection to God I have been feeling. I was asking her for guidance, for love, for comfort. I was asking to be seen, to be held, to be known. And instead I was treated like the bubble popper I am: Too real, too much, too me.
*****
I am not meaning to lump all people into NT or non-Nt…. I don’t even think these lables exist..Just trying to make sense of my world and how I walk in it. No one created sect. is better or worse than another. 🙂 I know this.
“I am having a hard time connecting at a personal level with people who claim to love and embrace a certain spiritual practice but judge, act pious, fear, and accuse. I get very confused and start to weep. I do not understand how people can be blinded to their own ways of separation and I feel saddened for all the souls that are affected by their accusations and what seems to be suffocated hearts. I don’t know how to respond, and so I step back in observation, and wish that they could see their true beauty, and therefor open their arms to my authenticity and love. I feel a stranger walking into a room, entirely unraveled and undone by another, before I’ve spoken, and then in speaking, entirely judged, jarred, and classified, put on a shelf with a label before they have tasted my sweetness. I thought this would change as I grew older, and others around me did too, that others would “see” me and “understand” me, and possibly accept me. The aftermath, for me, is this intense yearning for interpersonal connection, intimacy, and belonging. The worst of it being the doubt of my own being, and the knowing that I have the capacity to judge and categorize those around me. And then I wonder if what I am feeling is indeed their suffering and singled-out isolation so evident in their withdrawing from authenticity, or if I truly be the wickedest, cruelest judge of all; and so I weep again; unburdening myself from my own miserly thoughts, and waiting and waiting to be seen.” ~ Sam (Everyday Aspergers)
My son just told me he is only wearing his retainer (for his teeth) at night! He is supposed to wear it all day and night for a year!!! Oh, noooo; he is breaking a rule! I watched myself in the mini-van spin into a semi-state of hysteria. Just when I thought I had this “rule thing” all figured out, I lost it. However, I was able to step back enough to watch, as the observer, as I “scolded” my son. “Do you know how much we invested in your teeth? What do you mean you are not wearing it all day? How could you do that?” By the tone of my voice, and the racing of my heart, I’d have thought, in reflection, I’d just found out that my eldest son robbed the mini-market down the road. Oh, my gosh! Freak out. Total freak out. This is so wonderfully awesome, to be a witness to my humanness.
I just apologized. “You kind of over reacted,” my teenage son responded. “I know I did. I know I did,” I said, the words floating inward to my core.
Something shook me; I don’t know what, but something. I am thinking my reaction is two-fold, this mini-freak out. Part one is my close adherence to manmade rules, the second is my immediate embracing of fear (in this case the loss of all the time and money in fixing his teeth). The fear part, I think I am getting a huge grasp of. I can talk myself through, and as observer sit back and take a sip through a straw of cool iced-tea and watch the other me spin. I know she’ll come back; it’s just so weird to watch.
I recognize this is part of my learning and growth. Right when I think I’ve got this “me” under control, something comes out of the woodwork to remind me that first of all I do not have control of anything, and second of all, I don’t need to focus on this “control.” I am me. This is me. This is how I currently walk in the world, and that is okay.
Had you asked me two hours ago, how I was, I’d tell you Aspergers, at least the fear and anxiety part, was behind me; this is troubling, as I now walk half of my day in extreme peace and solitude, and a large portion of the rest smack back down in the earth zone. I feel like a gladiator that retreats to pray in the chapel each morning and then is thrown into the arena with the beasts. Truth is, I am a champion; I continually destroy the beasts; problem is I’ve gotten all these bites on me now, like giant-mosquito-wasp-mutant-beaver-teethed-ghosts keep buzzing about and chomping. Flesh is literally at my feet!
I am never going to be perfect! Never, ever, ever, ever. And that kind of sucks; but it’s good, too; because I don’t think there are many people who want to hang out with a floating semi-saint. I mean, I would totally miss sipping a hard pear cider and drowning myself in garlic-cheese fries, (with freshly grated parmesan.) Can you sort of tell that I am having some trouble navigating life? I love, love, love the floaty, ethereal part of being connected with my higher source; I seriously glow. But all that floating, it has a price. Coming out of that state makes me hit bottom hard. I imagine the process of drifting down is much like coming off a high of a shroom or some drug, like LSD.
As case and point, semi-saint speaks below:
“I am walking through a tunnel, the tunnel of attachment to enlightenment. I am attached to the enlightenment. But soon this tunnel shall be lifted, and I shall see a million tunnels before me, all the levels of attachment lifted. And then I shall be in that space above the tunnels and blessing the tunnels one by one; my life an endless bliss of thanking every single thing that brought me suffering. Soon I will see beyond the tunnels into the space of nothing. Then I will be filled with the divine laughter at the seat of my soul; then the imaginary tunnels as they float in front of me will bring me nothing but joy as they explode and burst into butterflies.”
***
I mean who in their fricken mind talks like that? Well, supposedly I do! Surprise. All the sudden all these aspects of me are emerging full force, like this confidence I have reclaimed has in and of itself called out all the parts of me and declared: “Share who you are with the world. We are free!!!” I can hear the trumpets. I can see the dancing. I can see the naked guru fluttering down the street: I am butterfly. I am butterfly. I am butterfly.
What if that is my next state? What if I am morphing into a street streaker? That is possible you know! I could manifest it, or some person out there might be manifesting it right now!
Of course, this would draw an increasing number of people to my blog. So there is that.
I was contemplating, the other night, after my husband’s classic quote: “I keep thinking to myself, how do you do that? I mean who’s got that much shit to say,” that perhaps the book title I have been searching for is truly: Shit, my wife says. I mean that would draw the other half of the population in that isn’t in it for the streaking.
What do you think? We (you and me—as you are automatically my best friend by reading this)..we could insert “aspie” right before the word “wife,” so the search engine could find it better, or I suppose “Asperger’s.” We could indeed insert several adjectives of interest there. Hmmm. Let us change the subject.
Here is some more of myself this morning. There has to be a middle ground, between this shaking-her-head-at-sad-little-wanna-be-guru-half-me (who is typing now) and the sad-little-wanna-be-guru-peon (who is writing below.) There just has gotta be!
***
“I find myself slipping back into self, into a place I cannot see; it is as if I am there and watching, experiencing the whole thing, but then when I try to look back, it appears I wasn’t there to begin with; as I cannot remember walking through life, or breathing, or even thinking. The process is similar to when I write my spiritual prose, in which I hear this delicate woven oneness throughout my being, and from somewhere deep that isn’t deep at all; this lovely-joy emerges without emerging. There seems to be no door opened or closed, just a stream within a stream within a stream. And I am swept up into the images of where I am not, but am; perhaps this is grace or being touched by the divine. Whether this is manifested, an embrace from beyond self, or an embrace by myself alone, makes no matter, for in the “teachings” which are more akin to remembering, I know without boundary and outside the numerical representation of percentages, that there is no right or wrong, or any answers.”
I inserted the photo so you would think the post was over. hehehehehe
Sounds like she is drugged, yes? Come on, come on, be truthful. If you are an Aspie, I can count on your for that.
And I go on, and on, and on….like my experience is the make or break of me. Like if I don’t share this insight, I shall have died inside for not fulfilling my destiny. Please. Cut out the crap, princess-semi-saint!
She continues:
“As I have mentioned before, I recognize this is my experience; I don’t expect anyone to get “me,” or understand “me,” or even want anyone to accept “me.” There is an inner peace I have come to find and any moment I experience attachment, the serenity seemingly vanishes. Thusly, it is far more freeing to release what I want than to release the serenity. It is simple to me. Really. I am on this other side of nowhere, in this space, and I have no desire to slip back to the other space, even though I know all is space. Isn’t that a silly thing? Yes, indeed this all is. That is why I laughed so deeply this morning, uncontrollable spiritual laughing. I chuckled so deeply that the only thing I can compare the intensity to is the extreme polar opposite beyond opposite of weeping deeply. The experience was reminiscent of the moments I have sobbed on my knees or in the fetal position inside my closet begging for rescue from my own self; except, and in this joy-filled weeping of love…”
***
Pausing to sigh, and laugh, and remind you that I (the fun-loving gal) am still here. Hold on, it gets better:
“….I felt so deeply and fully that it far surpasses the deepest I have ever wept. For once the measure of my pain did not equally match my joy. My joy reached tremendous glorious heights. And there in a moment, all of it, all of my life made so much sense. I saw everything, like I had died, but what was flashing before me was instant knowing of the comical joke of being lost for so long. And there wasn’t any sadness or remorse or regret; nothing that didn’t fit into the ring of sublime love and joy. I was a giddy guru celebrating the entire journey of me. All of time stopped and I slipped through my own mind, outside of somewhere of nowhere. I just was. And in this intense being and what felt to be connection, I felt nowhere and everywhere at once. I understood so much so fast, as if a person had lifted open a box to find me and He or She or It was peering down at me with glorious kind eyes and laughing.”
***
YES, it’s me SAM CRAFT…and I have come with a club to smack you on the head!
And she goes on more:
“The remarkable part of the divine laughter was I found myself unable to be afraid of the experience. I was able to ask questions and have answers before the questions were entirely formed. I knew what was happening was from the divine and I knew all was well. I laughed harder, as I thought: “What if I never stop?!” I now understand clearly that I don’t have to endure suffering to connect with my higher power.”
***
You see? Come on, who would you rather sit with at a pub? This me writing, or that me above, who literally is above, floating two-feet off of her stool. I think you would enjoy the other emerging (barging out me), but she gets boring, and stiff, and old so fast. You’d be begging me to stop, like if I have a switch or something. I don’t. Of course you’d likely learn a lot because I have grand flashes of knowing! You’d learn that it hurts when you yawn so much; you’d learn that my face has a freakish way of not being able to stop smiling. You’d learn that it is indeed not an act and that I am either in some trance, taken over by aliens, or, filled with something or another. (Port wine?)
Then I would drone on more. Here, stick some fries in your ears.
“Last night I noticed, as I was playing catch up with responding to lovely souls who leave words for me to delight in,”
***
lol…. I am sorry… but can’t she just say “people”? Okay, carry on….
“I didn’t feel what I used to feel when people responded to me. There wasn’t any evaluation of them or me, of their words, of their intended meaning, of their intention. I just saw beauty. That is it. Just lovely beauty. And I thought how kind of them to reach out and connect; how very kind.”
***
Someone tell SAM she doesn’t have to share EVERYTHING. I already deleted like 30% of her ramble. And still she babbles on and on and on. I bow down to you, oh enlightened all-mighty one.
Again…..
“This morning when I read a few new comments, I found myself at a distinct crossroad. I stepped back and watched myself process. At first I thought, “Well that doesn’t fit what I was feeling when I wrote it.” And then I played out all these ways in which I would have responded to self in the past and to another in the past. I would have wanted to plead or prove my point, or explain, or re-explain, or justify or point out. I would have wanted to prove who I was and how I was. But then with a flash, and a great relief of both physical and spiritual pressure, I realized, yet again, there is NOTHING to prove to me or anyone! I am who I am and that is all. I am a reflection of the person viewing my words and the being I weave within these words. What a person chooses to see is how he or she sees the path before him or her. Not me. It’s not about ME! It’s about everyone else.
(Not me! What a relief.) << that's non-semi-saint talking.
I could then just reflect back to the self inside self or outside self or no self at all…(you see the confusion, and how I still blunder within-hahaha)…that what is written for me, carries NO message at all in the words beyond the emotions and experience I choose to have when I read the message. Each word is my teacher. And then all is reversed. It is me reading their words and choosing what I see to be the path in front of me. They become my teacher. In releasing the judgment, the discernment, the questions, I simply let them teach me. And so I take in the vibration of their words now quite differently, or what seems differently than before. I smile, with this smile that just never seems to fade, and think: “Ah, so that is how you see yourself? And, ah, so this is how you teach me, with your blessings of being.
When I am out in the world, something else has “transitioned.” I had finally received another person fully. There are no questions, only a gentle acceptance. Thoughts of: What a kind person. What a beautiful light. What a dream. What a love.
I have also released attachment to words. I see how every word, no matter the word, can be loved for the word itself and nothing more. Words have no implications on me or the world or anyone. I have the only implication upon self. If a word doesn’t resonate with me, I just sit with the word and what it carries, and I listen to the experience, opening as I am taught. That is all. This is no trick of the mind or game, it just is; like the salmon in the stream, I just move as I am called, up or down or around, with no fear of my destination, but still following the course that either drives me or moves me.
I have been spending quiet time daily, studying different spiritual texts, my favorite at the moment being the gnostic Christian gospels, the Catholic Saints, and Buddhist texts. I also have been listening to my angels throughout the day. I am practicing being in the moment without effort or strain. I am learning more and more about where I am and where I have been without asking or yearning. I have let go of the thoughts of attachments, to need, to anything that is not matched exactly to the serene peace my higher power brings."
***
(not over yet…she ain’t! I think I just did a mini-barf! Tastes like garlic)
“I understand fully that my path is my path, and that anyone and everyone chooses their own path. I have no judgment in how one walks, in how they choose to see me, how they choose to see the choices I am making. I know I am not leading the way. I know each person is his or her own leader. There is no judgment I place on my own journey. I know without doubt that I am a living example of the LIGHT, and in this way, I am the key, just as everyone else is a key. I now view this word Aspergers as a symbolic representation of the cycle of everything. I see the connections within the connections.
I had to latch on and attach to Aspergers. I just had to. Any attempt to pull me out the immersion of Aspergers was met in fierce defense. I am wondering if Aspergers is not indeed a state of limbo. A state of being half-awakened, the beginning of recognizing the illusion of conversation, the illusions of the games people play, the illusion of rules, the illusion of everything. And if perhaps this Aspergers, with this sometimes intense anguish it brings, is not the hugest blessing of all; at least to me, because it thrust me into so much confusion and discomfort that I had the choice to live in fear and pain or to find the answer.
I found the answer in attachment. I was giving the ability to fixate and attach to things. And so I attached to me and my mind and my pain. And I went through it all. I sifted through it. I made a pledge to come out on the other side a transformed person; I did this through attachment. Much like I attached to the word Aspergers. I had to attach to self. I couldn’t bypass this step. I sank into the depth of self, and while doing this took my greatest risks. I risked being exposed, being judged, being wrong, being not liked. I risked all the things in which Aspergers had “made” me fear. I faced my fear.”
*****
Intermission…. in case you need to pee.
*****
Continue:
“This journey has been two-fold, one of embracing Aspergers and of diving into self. I was brave and I conquered the dark night of the soul. The trick is, I didn’t know what I was doing. The entire time I just did. I just let go and did. I allowed myself to be authentic and whole, no matter what state I was in….”
(so true….look at her go)
“… no matter how the other person might perceive me. In this there was torturous hell, repeated doubts, and endless fear. But in this there was freedom, for having faced my demons, they no longer exist. Whether gifts are found in living with the Holy Spirit, walking the path of the Buddhist, connecting to the divine being, or in other elements from the variety of paths to the Light, I see that in Aspergers, or more so specifically, in the traits that make up the manmade concept of Aspergers, I have:
A heart like a child
A longing for the truth
A longing to be gentle and kind
A desire to be the best person I can
The ability to see through games
The ability to step back and be observer of self
The huge capacity for intense studies of any subject of interest
The want to be the best person I can be
The lack of wanting to hurt anyone, to manipulate, or to lie
Compassion for all living things (some objects, too)
An ability to love easily and forgive easily
Indeed, I believe that Aspergers is and was my path to freedom. I also understand fully that attachment and non-attachment are twins. I see a doorway for each and everything I have attached my energy to. I see millions of doors. I see how I had to attach to many things, like “love” interests, and fear, and food, and so on, in order to reach non-attachment, just as I had to attach to Aspergers and myself to un-attach from both. There is a door of attachment. I open the door. I experience actions, emotions, or waking trials/challenges and walk through the tunnel of this specific fear. The tunnel is dark and scary. And as I am walking through this tunnel I face the demons. But I keep walking, keep trudging forward. I do reach the end. I open the closed-door and I am back in the light on non-attachment.
In this way attachment is my tunnel. In this way attachment is my greatest teacher. All along I thought that I had to first release and let go to heal, but what I had to do was let go enough only to face my fear. Now I go through the tunnel in an instant; the dark comes and then the huge light. In taking in the dark and holding the fear, I am simultaneously embraced by the light. Soon the dark is such a small sliver that the light just keeps coming and coming. But My hope now is nothing. I realize I don’t have to keep forcing myself to not attach; instead I allow myself the freedom to attach to anything and everything and watch as I pull my own tentacles off of what I am embracing. It has become so evident that feeding off of a desire is painful and standing in the light is intensely freeing. I can no longer rest as a giant octopus sucking upon the dark side of an underwater rock. I just can’t. It doesn’t resonate. I see myself instantly and think, “No, thanks. Been there, done that. Give me the light.” ”
*****
I forgot to mention, I just paid a fortune for my new retainer, as my teeth shifted back, because I never got a retainer as a teenager and didn’t have an Aspie mom.
SEEEEEEEE I told you, she’s a talker. She is so virtuous and good and loving and kind. Oh, NO!! Am I experiencing split personality??? Stopping myself from looking up characteristics of such a condition.
You know what totally sucks about semi-saint is the fact that she will never ever say one bad thing about me. She won’t even use the word “bad” without something in parenthesis editing her own dull verbiage. Crap! Fricken Crap. I am always going to be the bad guy, without her ever pointing it out! Until she crushes me, or I crush her. And I won’t see her coming, she’ll be so charming and loving and truth-filled and radiating love that I will be wooed by her, just like my husband. I will wag my imaginary tail, shaking my bootie back and forth and just give in. I’ll just slip away.
Is this enlightenment? Because it royally sucks!
This is ALL my teacher’s fault: The Buddhist monk, or nun, or mountain man who lives in the cave, (he is hot and in a flannel shirt; hot as in sexy hot), or whomever was supposed to beam down and help me through this process.
I give up. My hands are in the air. This off-her-rocker-elven-princess who morphs into semi-saint-wannabe needs a proxy-teacher. Anyone up for the job? Anyone? Anyone?
(thank you to the person who shared this song, today!)
I love you, is that not enough; to touch your hand, if it be; I would but dance upon the light of your beckoning soul, above the dream of dreams, above the sleeping angels’ deepest slumber, surrendering the chalice of righteousness to the world, if only you could see your beauty.
Yet, lost would be you upon self, if cast out of the darkness and into the everlasting flame; gone would be your virtues and righteous indignation; for in seeing self beyond self, the meaning of the journey shall wither in the ashes of vast discovery. Thusly hold tight, as your vision unfolds without knowing, your mountain is climbed without reaching, and your body is cleansed without injury; for in this undiscovered region of latitude, uncharted and unfounded, shall be the molding of your true form; turned mighty in the not knowing as much as knowing, and turned round by the beauty undiscovered. For how can one, such as thou know the place of the walking one, the self-knowing-self, casting out the goodness despite the telling. Such secrets must remain, if must there be; for pure rapture in your state would turn you lost to me.
And thusly, I push you forward, with blindfold on thou face, captured in your own mask of who you know not to be; but still this creature unburdened by the weight of the wanting, and kept in our gentle presence, for the purpose of soul guidance. For how can we set you not-free without the instructions from wisdom, and teach the caterpillar to fly, when she doubts her very wings?
So in this way, we teach you without teaching; we charm you without charm; we enter without entrance rising up from what would be the depths, if depths there be; listening to the soul at our doorstep and treating her as the babe to our flesh; tender sunrise kisses, the check of our check broken for the love of thee.
Can you not see this, this unsung harmony of knowing without knowing, the destined twist of reason, where we are here, but not here, where we are given but ungiven, where we are told but untold? For how can we beset ourselves upon one, and not the all? How can we be to you, what we are not to the masses? How can we, the place in which we harbor still, come out and sing upon the soul of angel so bright and not be caught as firefly to lantern light?
No, burn we may, as righteous ones hung dry, as turnips plucked for stew, as rivers set aflame, the oils on the waters fed for our destruction; yet, still we breathe in this glory, our every breath a coming of your name; think not on this softness we have bedded, this place of sheltered retreat; for your chamber is no less dressed in passion than the other; no more singled out than the next; for how could we punish our sister so; set her upon high and let her sit in her ways more damaged than hemmed.
No, darling we pierce you; we sting you with the needle, the pincushion swollen, so in forming you true, our heart beats out of you. Pain speaketh of you naught, till the morning comes forward and greets you with her very name; a heaven’s breech broken, the secrets reformed into truths unknown as before, and you, my angel ripe, ascending in your passion.
Fear not the troubled times, for they are here nor there, no less before you as they were behind; come up like the fountain they will, and fall down just the same, bursting with the waters recycled in time. For in turning back, to face what was once unsightly, only pureness abounds, and even the demon spawn become fish for the hungry and grounds for the keeping. Lay tender your heart upon my gentle chest of refuge, your blanket my blanket, your watershed my very goodness; and bleed not out the pain in the darkness, even as the darkness comes; for I have not forsaken one of my children, and nor shall I leave you hidden in the flames of your own purity.
Trust, and in the trusting carry your burdens to my threshold, rest your secrets at my feet, and teach me of the ways of innocence, for I am no more your teacher than you are mine, and no less rabbit to the snare, than snake to the field. Follow me rapidly, or slither through the grasses; seek me as you wish, in guise of white or garment of victim; rather chased or chosen, rather chance or reason, lift me, and I shall lift you equal, the two merging as one, like the edges of satin gown baptized bleeding the dye of red into the healing waters. Here we shall blend; with the drapery donned naught, the masks turned asunder, the dance surrendered, and the nakedness of truth sacrificed for the demise of wanting.
I say onto you to shine in your own blindness, the humility comforting in your time of woes, more so than the deepest gardens of sorrow rejoiced; as you are the spirit of reckoning, tucked between the pages of today and tomorrow and silently slipped into the memory of now.
I cannot see you, tis true, but I can touch you with mere word, with mere shadowed inkling of my desert soul; I can see in this way of blindness, with the sense of naught dimmed in the coming of your grace.
True, I can view you upon the highest peak shining out your glory, a beacon of His coming and rejoice. For you are this one of the dreams of the dreams, of the chariots in their cradles, the fierce hushed to sleep with the silenced lullaby.
For you are not this one you thought to be, so left in the darkness and hung out for the dogs as brethren; no not this one, my fine maiden, turned up in your ways of gratitude and mercy. Can you not view this, the sunshine pouring through your windows, less draped, than open to the waves of His word.
Take in what is yours to take, and tantalize me with your ways; woven of such scripture pure that the angels upon high dance in delight of your name; though it be naught, it came; though it be hidden, it marched upon the soul of souls, declaring with trumpet in tune the open chambers within.
And here in the desolate valleys of your reckoning, rinsed by the terrain of reign, purged by the piracy of latitude, you called out to desert one, caressing Her in your goodness, until all reached sung out the same.
Your name, your way, your unified path of no unification; your treasure keeper of no treasure; your instigation of no plan; your river of no valley’s mouth; only the sounds of hither of what is left to be and already come.
For in the finding, the unraveling of the very soul’s door have flung open and chattered above the forest tops, as rambling butter-flies, their liquid substance, angels to the many. Can you not see these wings, soaring above the reaches, beyond what is within and without, yet caressed just the same, in the space of no space, the answer of no answer, in the in-between in where We stand.
Touch me now, this bitter-hearted one no more, released from the prison of blindness, cloth unfolded by the increments of hands, each finger reaching into the place of substance, to bring out the honey of sweetness; no longer the bees’ bounty, no longer hidden in the capturing of insects, tucked within the region of ancient territories, but burst out into the riches of grandness, a feast upon my very chest, lapped up from the freshness of you.
For here rests my sweet heart, the one cherished in the dreamland from afar, and taken to the stars from beyond, and still witness to the knowing of naught; how I watch you with such delight, ours combined; the smile of a demon gone and the haunting of a feast complete. For in you I see the beauty of demise undone, the vision of temptation cast to the desert trail, the dust eaten by the diamonds, so thusly the remnants shine in recognition.
Come now my sister, my darling one, formed in the starlight of many and spread out as frosting in the dimming light, let us rest upon you, as candles to the flame, burning in our waning, wax to the cake, our testimony the very bleeding of our being.
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In this prose “righteous indignation” is a spiritual gift
Everyday Asperger's 