369: Yesterday I thought…

Yesterday was a day of mourning. A part of me thought— some fish swimming in the shallow realm at the edge of the pond, un-catchable but entirely in view—that I would sprout wings and fly, become unattainable, invincible, and in a continuous state of profound awe.

Yesterday was a day of woe. A part of me thought—the missing part, the piece that floats above me just out of reach, the balloon with extended string that keeps pulling itself in jest higher and higher from the receiver— if I was to be filled with complete healing, I would, with necessity, have to shed the robe of Aspergers, the label that haunts me like the welcoming fun house complete with imaginary ghosts whom both tickle with delight and injects the approaching traveler with astonishment.

Yesterday was a day of limbo. A part of me thought—this dangling piece of thread, still attached, yet, unmoved, dragging on the ground with each footstep that cometh—in order to be successful, a miraculous door to the divine would open, and there I would linger indefinitely in a state of welcomed grace, my feet firmly planted in the place of no place, my roots free and heart aglow.

Yesterday was a day of contemplation. A part of me thought—less butterfly than cocooned fragility, inching herself into self, shielding out the prospect of metamorphosis and sleeping in the familiar dark—if I had reached as far as I could reach, and that in doing so, if I have only found myself back where I started, questioning all that is about me with an unfamiliar readiness of discovery and adventure.

Yesterday was a day of breath. A part of me thought—clutching like a creature to the womb, circumventing the prospect of action in hopes of merrily clinging to the underbelly of structure, earth, and rebirth. Narrowing my own self back into a place of molding, where I was fit and was made to bed in the shell of me—I can no longer divide myself here, amongst the broken beautiful remains of home before.

Yesterday was a day of calling. A part of me thought—isolated in my awareness, lost as the sunset without horizon or sea without moon, moving in a fashion without stage, setting, or instruction, flowing with barricade, blocked, binging on false hope, fastened to a part of self that no longer existed—where are the answers, where is the roadmap, where is my refuge?

Yesterday was a day of mirrors. A part of me thought—a villager looking past the village into the valley of where the crops grow, wanting to do nothing but harvest the bounty, and then layer myself in benefit and reprieve, wishing to stop the nonsense of happenings, the transformation of soul into soul, the victorious wings sprouting and splintering out of my back—who is this lost woman, with the eyes that drift back into a thousand hallways, the corners bent open to eternity?

Yesterday was a day of writing. A part of me thought—this damsel in distress still longing for her knight to miss her, to acknowledge his longing, to run to her rescue, to swoop her up in his strong arms and keep her at his side forever and a day. The ache in me growing for the companionship of the unreachable and untouchable one, who recognizes me as equally unwillingly as I recognize self—I still am empty, I still need, I still desire, and how does one stop this unquenchable quest?

Yesterday was a day of surrender. A part of me thought—a drifting feather of white floating through the subconscious realm, collecting up pieces of self and no self, and rebuilding what was invisible into something of form, someone substantial and worthy, yet humble and sweet. Someone more vessel than person, incapable of being nothing but human soaring through the potentiality of heaven—I am free or I am prison. I am love or I am fear. I am or I am not. All is up to me. To my very form, to my very thought, to what I chose to do not in yesterday but at this moment of everlasting hope.

And then, dove angel, I flew, far beyond the harboring of thoughts, the desert sand spilled out of me like hour-glass made still. Emptied I soared above the illusion of clouds and endless sky, into the place above and below space, into the nova of existence, into my heart and about my heart, dancing as bird rejoicing in the comfort of the abiding love of all.

368: Dream a Dream

Photo on 4-11-13 at 9.24 AM

I sometimes dream of the maroon Mazda GLC (Great Little Car) compact car I drove when I had just graduated high school—the very first vehicle I owned. Last night the car appeared, all dressed in his muted reddish-tones, still working, and still pulling me through my subconscious. We arrived in a mall parking lot, him looking auspicious, but me thinking he was running on empty, or at the very least stripped, undesirable, old, and worn out. He took no note of my emotions; like an unattached vessel he was used to getting me from here to there. I found a spot in the crowded parking lot at the side of the mall. It was mid-afternoon, with the sun in the air, but a sense of evening setting soon. I don’t remember saying goodbye to the car, or even where I parked; only that suddenly I was entering through the tall glass doors of the shopping center. I hadn’t given a second thought to the car or where’d I left it, or how long it would be there; I was too focused on my destination and some purpose that led me on like a star dancing just out of reach.

Inside the mall, I walked a short distance before turning left. My gait was at ease, my mind relaxed. There wasn’t need to rush or plan, or even focus. I approached a room and found myself inside a banquet hall full of graduates, mostly, perhaps fresh out of college or graduate school. I was part of the celebration, but entirely separate, not really seen or noticed, but included nonetheless. People were smiling, chatting, even planning. I was more of the observer: both invisible but present.

I left the gathering with a sensation inside of me that indicated I period of completion; I had attended the celebration not because I had to or had wanted to, but because I was drawn to. I hadn’t remembered being invited or previously being aware there was such a banquet. The crowd dissipated and I was neither left alone or isolated—I just was.

I walked on, inside this gigantic mall, the ceilings quite high and filled with shops and the airport above on the second-level. There was noise, people moving about, a few handsome men I can recall, and me thinking: If I bump into him on accident we can connect. Why didn’t I ever think to bump into people before? Why do I still feel the need to be noticed?

I continued on the main floor and glanced down at a watch, which was somewhere and nowhere, existing without existing; it was a little past four in the afternoon, and on reflecting on the time, I thought: Good, just enough time to get upstairs to the airport to fly to New York. And then, as soon as I’d thought that, an inner voice chimed in: Wow, that was cutting it close, maybe you should have allowed for more time, with your flight being at 4:45 and all.

I smiled and headed toward the airport terminal; until, after a few steps later, I realized I’d come empty-handed—I’d forgotten my suitcase. I turned then, searching the mall for the exit and walked swiftly towards the doors. My mind began to race, but I reassured myself, while calculating the time, that even with a quick stop outside to retrieve my luggage, I would make the flight.

Once outside I scanned the parking lot. I saw the line of trees that appeared to be the same line of trees near where I had originally parked. I scanned the rows, some five or six thick, with multiple rows in far-reaching directions leading out parallel and perpendicular. I knew my car was parked in a similar place, something like this at least, but I had no indication of where to walk. I knew to the right was too far, the place beyond the trees sparse, with the lot partially empty. I knew the place to my left to be too far the other direction, as I’d not walked that far to the mall door. I moved briskly down the five or six rows, not yet nervous, but with a burning gnawing sensation building up inside. Soon, the first element of doubt was born and my mind began the race, as if on seeing my own self lost the first shot had been fired. I worried now, the tension building, and the time seemingly building itself as a pressure upon my shoulders. How would I make my flight, if I couldn’t remember where I left my vehicle and retrieve my luggage?

Down the end of one row, on the left, was a car that matched mine almost exactly, only it shined more and appeared newer; I was almost certain I’d left my car facing the opposite direction. I approached, peered inside, and noted the interior was different, some papers, almost like a map sprawled out on one of the chairs, the inside cleaner and crisper. I opened the front passenger-side door anyway, hoping by some chance this car was my car, even though I knew this to be an impossibility. Upon swinging the door out, a bell chimed and a masculine computer voice spoke. The words indicated I didn’t belong to this car and to proceed onward. The voice made no indication of judgment, but even so there seemed to be an underlying, unspoken echo of laughter. Perhaps a chuckle of forbidden-knowing, like a parent watching a toddler open yet again the drawer he ought not touch.

I realized then, as I walked away from the car that I was in the wrong place. That I had no idea where my car was, and that it was a strong possibility I would miss my flight. I panicked some, and searched frantically for the place I’d last seen my car, and with no luck in finding what I was seeking, I hunched my shoulders and pattered back toward the mall, feeling both sorry for myself and angry at myself, and very much alone. A few older ladies, white-haired and plump, were entering their own car; as I approached the end of the aisle, most of the cars behind me, they asked: Why are you so upset? And I tried to explain. They instantly expressed no concern, and found my dilemma rather ridiculous. For here I was planning a trip and they had their own worries that were much more pertinent and important than some destination of flight. Why did my silly trip matter when so much was happening in their own lives?

I shrugged and carried myself onward, feeling heavy and burdened in thought. Entering the mall I approached a man and asked where to go to find the banquet room. I figured if I could find the banquet room where the mall journey first began, I could find the original exist I entered through, which would lead me back to the parking lot and my car. The gentleman pointed to the left, and so I turned, finding only more stores and no banquet room. I returned to the main part of the mall, knowing there was a good chance I would never make my flight, calculating the time, the cost, the potential outcomes of missing the trip. Another person gave me directions. This time I was told to: Turn right and then turn left and go down to the first floor. I looked at him bewildered: But this is the first floor, I thought. He took no notice of my concern and just guided me with his eyes and pointing hand. It’s to the right and then down to your left, I am certain, he offered. I followed his instructions and sure enough there was a room, but I knew instantly it was the wrong room. The space was marked “Theater”—it was a stage for performers, a place I had left long ago and had no desire to return to. I couldn’t see the stairs leading down, and so I assumed the stage itself must descend.

I thought to myself: how silly to have even parked in the mall parking lot, and to leave my vehicle unattended for so long. Would it not be abandoned and alone when the night came to pass and the rest drove home. Would it not just stick out then to be found by robbers and thieves?

I mourned over the loss of my car, as thoughts of failure and further isolation submerged, most of the iceberg of wounded self now surging upward through the icy-cold waters of forsaken.

I left now, completely beside myself, close to hysteria, and found myself sobbing on an outside stairwell. Someone approached and handed me a phone. On the other end of the line there was a guiding voice—albeit an unattached, very much removed guiding voice. I explained my predicament, my fear of missing my flight, my incapacity to find my luggage, the consequences of my circumstance. The voice on the other end listened. And he answered without much pretense or concern: Why not take the flight and purchase new garments when you arrive?

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In reviewing this dream, I know the car was the “old” me, the way I chose to move through the world. I recognize I mourn this part of me; even though the vehicle was older and perhaps sluggish, and lacking luster, it was still my mode of transportation. The car holds the luggage I carried with me, the necessities I think I need—my cloaks/costumes, my way of being, what is familiar and known. In searching for the car, I have lost the car, primarily because the car no longer exists and really never existed. I am worried of what will become of myself.

The gathering in the banquet room and the people in the mall are all symbolic of the other travelers in life that I see around me but feel disconnected with. I love them, I admire them, I even want to bump into them, if not for connection than for direction. I am searching for myself in others, searching for guidance, and understanding. And although no one shuns me or judges me, I am in essence invisible, there but not, moving through the world unnoticed.

The only moments I do connect are when I am in my state of sorrow and panic; here in my sadness about taking flight and finding my way out of being lost strangers will listen, but they will not understand or take interest. They are focused on their own life. No one feels what I am feeling, and whether outside the mall or inside the mall, I am lost. I am surrounded by everyone and no one. The stage is symbolic of where I used to be. The place I acted and performed. This is no longer my destination; neither is the banquet room of celebration. I have moved beyond celebration and pretending, and I am ready to journey onward. However, I think I must find the old me and follow the old ways to move forward. I am lost both inside the mall and outside the mall, in a place of limbo, searching everywhere and ending up nowhere; by entering a stairwell, I am at my last stop, not in the parking lot and not in the mall. Here in a place that doesn’t belong to either world, I realize that the answers are not found in the ways of the old or the ways of the new.

The only answers are to be found in letting go of my past ways and letting go of my search. By risking flight without the answers, I shall find the answers.

367: Touched By Grace

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(Touched by Grace ~ Watercolor by Samantha Craft)

Last night I asked Spirit how I could possibly display in creation how I am feeling.

I heard, “You will paint tomorrow to show grace.” I said, “No, I don’t want to paint,” the stubborn child I be.

But, as it happened, I could do nothing else but paint for two hours straight this morning.

I have this rush of passion that is filling up my entire being, and sometimes for most of the daylight hours I find myself in a state of pure serenity and peace.

When I am not in this ‘state,’ I feel isolated and alone, wanting to find comfort and peace in the simple things in life and nothing more.

Whatever this be, I have never felt moments of such complete love and acceptance of all.

The problem arises, if problem it be, when I am seemingly brought back to earth, left in this inadequate shell.

I am processing through this, as observer, stepping back and watching myself move through the motions.

In trying to make sense of my world, as I always have, I have been losing myself in research centering around various religions, spiritual belief systems, mysticism, gurus, and holy people. I am searching for answers, even as I hear my angels whisper I need not do so. I just feel so lost in this feeling, wondering where to go, where to turn, and where the person is, beyond self, with the answers.

I travel in waves, it seems, now, either in a state of pure grace, unmoved and lacking all suffering, or in a state of confusion about the state I had previously experienced. I am praying and holding tight, and knowing all will be for my higher good. But there is a part of me who wishes deeply for a teacher to be guidinging me and comforting in an audible “real” voice.

For my whole life I have sought out the “teacher,” the “seer,” “the sage,” and my whole life I have not found him (her). (Yes, I believe everyone in my life is a teacher to an extent, but by teacher in this instance I mean a guide for me through this spiritual journey.) During this period of spiritual transformation, I am left missing a knowing companion, more than ever.

I wrestled all day about whether or not I would share these current thoughts and experiences, and came to the conclusion that to stop now, when the healing in my life is truly taking shape, (emotionally, physically, and spiritually), would be symbolic of me running in fear of my truth. Though I still struggle with not wanting to share anymore, ever. To just keep everything to myself now—as that is what society dictates. But I know what happens when I do that. I know too well my silencing of self leads to sickness in all forms.

Touched By Grace

I am lost in the confusion of my mind, torn between your beckoning and my illusions of soul desire. How I want to embrace you, my being wrapped within your rapture, pulsating with disbelief and grandeur. My angles merged with yours, two made one in form and thought.

When you come, joined, my spirit, hung upon the highest line, sails in the wind of fantasy lifted and lingers momentarily at the shell emptied below.

Up above, we spin; the opportunity poured out of me, the chance for future cleansed, the past forgotten, with only the sound of fluttering light filling my chambers.

Here, I am the infinite, empowered by divine, a vessel for your making, poured through with your sweet honey, bitterness removed, heart grown as the ancient oak of worship.

I tower, my insignificant vessel a mere shadow of existence peering out in silenced awe. My spine in flight, tingling with sensation, the entire body pulsating with universal rhythm.

I am enough and not enough. Found and left. Forgotten and seen. The two of me split, while one dances and gleams and the other watches quiet in her observation.

Here I choose, and dive deeper into the sky, your queen, your princess, your moment, moving on the cascading groves of your robe, splashing in the wave of glory. In and out you move, bringing forth the bounty of the sea, in whispered words unspoken, in desert sunsets drippings –artist’s paints through my soul.

I am made, torn through with lucid-colors, spun and turned upright, eyes set to the highest peak.

I bend, I break, I beg, and taste your glory, lifted to a place beyond reason and given the taste of peace, merged and at long last unbroken.

And here the trembling comes, the seeing of the times, the movement of your making, the expectation of betterment surging through my veins. For how can I be anything? How can I, this shadow creature living in falsehood be worthy of your wanting? Yet, all about you beckon me, filtering me with your pureness, taking my very edges apart and sewing me in completion in your golden bounty. Threaded, I am mended, brought through to the start of me, when all was whole, and whole was all.

366: The Stream

Photo on 4-8-13 at 4.33 PM

Yesterday a dear woman called me. She is a well-known healer in our community. She called to let me know that the (first and only) email I sent her resonated with healing energy; that my words were at a healing, soothing vibration. I have been told by others who are viewing my words that various experiences are induced. For me this is cause for celebration, not because of my ability or outcome, as I do not believe this is from this ‘me;’ this is cause for celebration because I was told through various seers and through repeated visions that indeed the words I scribe would carry a healing vibration, that in actuality the energy attached and resonated by the words was the pure substance of healing.

Though the words are not empty, they were not meant and created to be digested and deduced; they exist more as the carrier of the underlying message which is infinite and currently unattainable through the deciphering of symbolic letters alone. Underlying the words is a resource of rivers and streams, and outmost pouring of diverse and integrated messages, less tangled and superimposed than drawn out of deep souls and splattered across canvas of other.

The seeker will see this, and the rest will feel this, I am told.

And so in hearing from this adored healer, whom called me yesterday, I was somewhat validated in my journey and in the promises of my angels. As the more people that come forward and recognize the healing energy in the words I scribe, the more I am recognizing and able to acknowledge the truth of my angels’ promise.

It is not that I doubted them in a deep sense, but that I am human in form, and being so readily told messages since my youth, I had reason to doubt, if only to be able to function and exist in this world that I have been told is non-functioning in the domain of angels.

Though I believe in my angels and listen to my angels, I still carry the measure of doubt equivalent to the splintered-paw that keeps whispering in nonsensical demise: Your angels are not real.

And here is where I falter and fall, tumble down the path of piety and self-serving, and become miserable onto myself, lost, isolated and alone. For when I dismiss the divine within and without, the pain comes in all forms.

For awhile I walked the path of reason I’d been told, and continually haulted the sensations from divine, whether this be the dreams, the visions, the constant knowings, or the vibrations moving throughout and within my very being. However, when I gave pause to the illusion of creation, and attempted to grasp on to this false belief that I (am) was nothing more than the flesh and beating heart of man, then I was made victim to my own imaging, an imaging far worse than the persecution inflamed upon me by my fellow man. The deleting of the world beyond self and welcoming of the one and the only one I be, in essence wiped out the all of me.

In accepting, or more so struggling to accept I was but one, and none other existed, I stifled and suffocated my very soul. In so doing I became the fire of confusion, isolation and woe, and the pains surfaced on all levels, from dynamic psychological consequences to physical manifestations of torture.

I understand now that to allow the spirt to flow through me is to allow for the ultimate of healings of whole; in other words, healing what is already healed and returning to the wholeness granted to me by eternity and thoughts there of, even beyond thought.

In recognizing this “un-self,” I chose much courage in the start, or first step, whenever that be, as each step led to another, and multiple paths were driven forward at once. In journeying, I forged through self and illusion of self, to accept what was once perceived illusion of spirit. In accepting spirit instantaneously and without purposeful intention, I was to delete self. This in truth was never a scary process but often confusing and mixed with the absence of seeing the outcome, which will not and does not exist.

In stepping out, I was made to, by no choice of self or another, but by circumstance and perception of onlooker alone, to be someone that will not be recognized to some. This is a variable odd place to be, without this self and living somewhat as observer of a walking vessel that reflects the personality of the onlooker outside of self, whilst taking bites of visions, trascribing them thusly, and watching from a place beneath and beyond and above vessel all at once, and accepting the potential silliness of said actions, while knowing the truth heals not one but many.

Invariably I waver to speak, if to speak at all, to breathe, if to breathe at all, as so much moves through me, I become fisherman wondering which species to net, and which to bring up to the light of day from the depths below. For the only sediment of worry now exists in releasing thought into word and wondering if word enough be. For what of the rest left shifting and drifting merrily in the stream of consciousness?

Here is my dilemma, in having moved beyond the pretense of intention of what another thinks of me and views my actions readily with, this self they so frequently perceive as one, then thusly what do I bring forward that is fish enough? How can I the climber of no mountain, the fisher of no game, in seeing this endless cycle of illusion bring forth anything beyond the building blocks beyond pure form. How can I bring up the fish I see that stretch out as rainbows to eternity, when once out of water the breathing stops? How can I as fool made aware, preach as man made whole?

I am stuck here in the flowing rivers of no-time breathing in wonderment in the waters of goodness and envisioning a thousand upon a thousand streams, yet know not where I stand or whom views. And it is in this unknowing I am divided between you and me, longing without longing, recognizing without recognizing, that where we stand is one in the same, sister upon sister, brother upon brother, moving forth to a destination non-existing, in a stream of imaginings.

And so I write, not to form the words of illusion upon illusion, but to bring up the streams itself, the first stream, the second, and the endless circle of more, pouring the waters through. And the fish remain behind in the waters abundant, as the fish cannot breathe here. For invisible cannot breathe in the substance of illusional form.

~ Sam

Below is what I scribed in the winter of 2011. I received this in vision, a combination of images, and what feels like whispers, just as I received most of the prose above on this page.

Balance
Balance is foremost a way of perceiving. Each person will perceive a balanced life differently than the other. In examining the aspects of “balance,” it is important to keep in mind that we are not in the position to judge or evaluate who is balanced and who is not balanced. Every one is balanced to the degree necessary to fulfill their life’s intention. Each person will continually rebalance and reacquaint him or herself with what they deem necessary and required in their lives.

Balance is perceived by the society one lives in. The timeline affects balance, as does environmental climate and universal climate. In looking at balance for an individual, first and foremost determine where there is a hole, or missing piece. They, the person, will seem heavy and hearty, literally “heart-filled” in many areas surrounding them; however, with close examination, and focused attention, there will be apparent gaps or holes. This is where the person is “off balance.”

Before pointing out a discrepancy in balance, the person must grant permission to be evaluated, and question or ask for assistance. To simply approach someone and say: “You are off balance” or the like, is dutifully shameful, and will harm more than do good. There must first be a period of comfort and trust built, and the seeker must be seeking. This is worth noting.

The holes can be felt in many different ways by many different people. There is no right or wrong way in detecting what we will call “weakness” in the balance of a person. For we are truly discussing the person and not the person’s life—there is no life without the person.

In seeing the holes, there will be an obvious lack. A person can turn him or herself in enough to see this lacking. It will resemble a pain in the body, a pain in the mind, a pain in emotion, or pain elsewhere. This hole will be evident in relationships especially, and is most easily detected out in the open in interacting with others. Often, individuals “lacking” much balance will spend less and less time out in the open or develop a way of masking their authentic or true self.

In order to determine these holes, time in the open, out of isolation is necessary. Here they will be noticeable. With the exception of very few humans, each person that walks the earth plane has holes and is “lacking.” The word “lacking” is not to say there is something wrong or incorrect. There isn’t even something missing. The hole of lacking is what is waiting to be filled. This can be perceived as a crystal bowl, clean, unbreakable, and eternally new—the hole created by the crystal bowl is this “lacking” or space to be filled. To say that something is missing would be incorrect. This would be like saying the wooden hole that waits for the peg is missing something, or that the baby bird in the nest with its beak open for food is missing something. True, the baby is hungry, but nothing was lost, misplaced, forgotten, or overlooked—the bird is waiting to be filled. In this way you can see the “lacking” or the need for complete balance, as an innocent being waiting to be filled. What good would it do to point to the bird and say: “Birdie, you are missing food?” This would prove nothing. This would help nothing. Better to look at the bird and say: “Birdie you look as if you are hungry. Would you like some food?” If we point, the bird doesn’t understand and only becomes more hungry. This is how the process works for people. We are each lacking; thus, we are each missing. We have holes to be filled, and we point to the holes and say: “Your hole is this; your hole is that.” Instead we must see the lacking and ask to fill the lacking.

A person with no friends—become his friend. A person with no healthy food—give him healthy food. A person with no time for movement of body—walk beside him. A person with no time for prayer and meditation—meditate beside him. In this way, in the seeing the lacking and then feeding the lacking we will grow. In this way of pointing to the lacking, perceiving it as missing, and then doing nothing—in this way we remain stagnant. Many, many words have been written about humans’ deficits, behavioral wrongs, intellectual debates, defeatism, work ethic, and more. Little, little words have been written about feeding one another. Yet, if you look at all the great works of the world, each considered Holy by the masses, the theme of “giving” remains steadfast. This is what must be done. This is what will be done.

So little one, when you ask: “How do I balance the life?” I say to you that first you must ask another question: “How do I feed the world?” In feeding the world, in feeding the lacking, you consequently balance your life. Two for one. One for two. So say to me next time that when you are lacking, when you are less centered, look not down into your holes, into your perceived lacking, look unto others, and feed them. In this you will remain balanced.

365: What’s Working for this Aspie Super Hero!

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“In respect to anger, he is only a visitor in fleeting moments, like a painter’s brush that passes through my soul and leaves behind a wonderous view of causation; his visit absent of judgment or need, the open door left ajar to futher awareness.” ~ Sam

Look! It’s post 365…..well, I actually forgot one post somewhere in the 100 range, and deleted another post… so it’s really post 363, and that means I can keep writing forever and ever. I have no idea when I will stop this blog, but number 365 was always a big goal-number for me, as it represents a year and all; even though the year I began blogging was a leap year—this my son with Aspergers was sure to point out when I began my daily writings.

I cannot believe how much self-growth I have encountered in the last “year” of posts. Truly amazing it is; and except for my nasty bout with the long term, miserable bronchitis (6 weeks of being couch-bound), I kept up my writings fairly well. I started in February and here it is only early April of the following year. Wow…over a year of writing. And all-in-all likely some 450 pages plus. (Some posts were “long.” Euphemism for went on and on and on and on.)

What I really like about blogging is meeting such a fine community of people. So much kindness and sincerity of heart; putting myself out there wasn’t easy, but the people I came in contact with offered such support and love. I am truly grateful. What I learned the most, thus far, is that I am not normal, and that no one else is, and that I am perfectly fine with that. I also learned I can write, I am a poet, I can paint, I can ramble, I can joke, I can be very serious and melancholic, and that I am consistently a kind and gentle person. I learned too that many of my followers/readers have many awesome abilities and talents.
Now for the other stuff…..

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What’s working for this Aspie Superhero!

1) I know myself. I know myself inside and out. I spent three years writing out my life story. The first draft led me to much pain and sadness. The second draft caused me anger and rage. By the third draft I was able to forgive and let go. This was a long, gruesome process in which I not only learned how to write, but also learned how to spell! Dyslexia take that…slash, slash, slash. I underwent years of psychotherapy, small group therapy, individual counseling, couple counseling…basically the works. You name it, I likely tried it… within limits of course. I read every self-help book and spiritual book I could get my hands on. Once during an obsessive fixation phase in my early twenties, and again during another phase about two years ago. I be ready to break free, I tells ya!

2) I let go of myself. After all the intense studying of said-self and after undergoing years, albeit decades of self-discovery, I was pretty attached the concept of ME. I still disliked me. Shoot, I despised me, most of the time. I knew a lot about myself though! It wasn’t until I started shedding off everything I’d learned about myself and focusing (and praying ) about releasing myself from myself (letting go of ego attachment) that I was able to start liking myself. It was a weird scenario. First dig deep into emotions, feel emotions, recognize self, acknowledge self, and then stare at self and think: “Hmmm, now what?” So at that time I surrendered. I have my own faith, my own feelings of whom my maker is, so I surrendered to this source I choose to call God. Something I learned from the numerous 12-step programs I used to partake in. Upon release I began to see change. It was slow going at first, but it surfaced readily and things started shifting in me.

3) Forgiveness Stage…. Blahh. Hardest year of my life. Well two and a half years, honestly. Reading a dozen Buddhist books helped. So did books on cds about forgiveness. I had to grieve and grieve and grieve, and I had to spill out to strangers. That would be you, the blog followers. Strangers in the “thank you so fricken much” sense. I had to spill out the sewage and retardant that was still seeping and sticking to me. Not fun. Not easy. But so very much worth the angst and effort.
I remember thinking I’d never be able to forgive one particular person. I practiced active visualization, sound therapy, meditation, yoga, anything and practically everything to push them mean old thoughts out of my head. Yuck; it was like throwing up at times. Sometimes, it was painstakingly heartbreaking. But the more I forgave, the more miracles happened in my life. Unexpected gifts, wonderful “coincidences,” and more and more friendships. The more I let go and released, the more came back to me, gifts wrapped in beneficial love and goodness. No more icky stuff. I can honestly say today there is not one person I dislike, hold a grudge against, or haven’t forgiven…including me!

4) Analyzing Pride. Oh my. What a huge stepping stone, like the most biggest gigantic step imaginable. I always considered myself decently humble and lacking much pride until the vultures came and attacked…or at least did what I perceived as an attack. Up until a couple months ago, I had the hardest time with put downs, criticism, or anyone not agreeing with me. Hmmm, seems ego plays a big part in that. That ego-release is an ongoing journey; one which fortunately gets easier with practice. I thought I was just a sweet sensitive thing. But in truth I was too wrapped up in myself to see that what people thought of me or said about me, first of all was none of my business. and second of all didn’t change whom I was one bit. I never wanted to be one of those people who say: I don’t care what people think of me. And I am not. I do care. I care that others find the capacity to love unconditionally and see the good in all, because that makes this world a better place for everyone. But now, today, and all my tomorrows I pray, I can say: How people perceive me does not change me, make me, or define me. I am who I am. And I choose to see myself as a beneficial loving being. I really digged what my angels showed me. They taught me that if I choose to build myself up by other people’s praises of me, then at the same instant I am choosing to knock myself down when people criticize me. And I was able to release. Now I remain fairly balanced and equal. Along with this letting go of what other people think of me came a bonus super-size-me package. Yes, a bonus! Now that I wasn’t letting myself be affected by the ups and downs of what others said about me, I also wasn’t able to get angry or mad anymore… Basically, I lost my ability to get defensive and reactive around others! Even my husband! Yes, ladies, even my spouse! Now if I am angry at all it is for one minute, and then a flash of knowledge comes and teaches me in minutes all of the reasons why I am angry. And then I can’t be angry anymore. The anger just vanishes.

5) Begging for Humility (on bended knee, no less). I sometimes slip into the opposite zone of selflessness and become overly concerned about humility, and worried what the big party in the sky thinks of me. It’s like my spirit has an ego, too! Now that I think about it, maybe I need to get my soul into ego-begone-rehab. I pray all the time for humility. Actually I found a couple things that work well for me. Number one is: I know, accept, and acknowledge my gifts and abilities do not come from me, and that I am a vessel; what I create pours through me from source. This I believe with all of my heart and this frees me from feeling bad about feeling good—a strange dichotomy that I think many a people can relate to. Number two is: I kneel in the shower sobbing for forgiveness and my angels laugh at me. Yes, they do. They didn’t used to, but now they see my actions as redundant and a bit hysterical, leaning towards ridiculous. But I still cry and kneel anyhow. Seems to keep me humble enough, even with their chuckles. They love me, too, and remind me that the whole worrying about being humble and “good” enough is okay; and not to dwell on the process or I just will sink deeper into the quick sand of self.

6) Analyzing my fear. I became acutely aware of my thoughts associated with fear, and realized I was living a life (lie) based on fear. Anyone who says you need a little fear, it’s good for you, or healthy for you, I say nonsense. (Actually in a Zen way I nod and smile and say nothing.) I have come to terms with the fact that the only thing that is “good” for me is love. That’s it. Nothing else. No fear has ever helped me in any way. I can logically prepare myself for events or happenings without fear. And yes, my adrenaline might rev up when I am in danger and my biological body may enter a state of fear for protection from possible threat, but my mind doesn’t have to follow. I can step out, be the observer, breathe and calm my own being. It is amazing and so entirely freeing. I can watch the loops, the cycles, the anxiety spin, and simply whisper: Hello fear. Hello fear. Hello fear. By acknowledging fear, I learn from fear. And he becomes my teacher and friend. Soon I love fear so much, he has enough confidence to leave me and find a new friend! I like to build fear up through analytical discussions, dissection, and gentle release. Lately, I can feel a slight tingle in my body and recognize fear instantly. And as soon as I recognize him, within seconds he dissipates. He just doesn’t have so much fun with me anymore now that I don’t partake in long games of hide-and-seek. And I don’t lie or hold things back either. And fear, he likes when his friends withhold and tell falsehoods—he thrives on that. Also, I don’t believe in him, really. I think he is an illusion; and that belief kind of makes him vanish. Overall, fear comes for a visit every once and awhile, but the door is always open for his quick exist; and he gets tired of me sharing about him with the rest of the world, too. He likes to be kept in secret; that’s where he strives. Me, and my aspie brain and fever for writing—well he figures his days are numbered anyhow. (My thoughts on fear.)

7) Being in my body. I spent so much time outside of my body. With the sensory overload, the tension around strangers, the past humiliations and traumas, and with my wicked imagination and fantasy life, it was far easier for me to exist outside of my body than inside. I was almost entirely absent for many of my adult years. I couldn’t readily identify how I felt emotionally or physically beyond scared, tired, and anxious. Now I practice grounding myself, feeling my body, checking in with my physical-being and with my emotional-being. I let myself be present. I practice returning to self fully. I am still working on recognizing my breathing, but this too will come. It is nice to be home again, back in my body where I belong. I still allow myself to drift, especially when I need escape from emotional stress. But I give myself permission: I might daydream, paint, write, or partake in a task, and let myself float out momentarily. However I am aware of the freedom I am granting myself and in full control of my actions. I like being in me again. I like feeling again. And emotions, after I looked at them long enough, they aren’t that scary after all. (related poem)

8) Asking to be filled with spirit and have the capacity for unconditional love. This one was an easy one. Likely because I have a direct line to my (sometimes obnoxious) angels now, and because I’d done so many years of groundwork purging out toxic emotions. I was taught, through visions and meditation, that I first had to love myself and see the light in myself in order to love others. I can call this learning to love the self or I can call this learning to love the light. Actually the names and order of loving don’t matter, as I don’t believe I could have learned to love myself without loving the whole of the universe first. Once I was able to see the miracles of the world, to connect with nature, and with life in general, I was able to see beauty everywhere. I don’t know how this happened or transpired. I know there was a lot of trust involved on my part, a lot of prayer, and a lot of hope and faith. Also, a big part of my healing happened because I followed my heart and desire to serve others. That’s all I have ever wanted to do: to love and serve; and so when this blog indirectly led to an opportunity to give back, I was amazed and embraced the opportunity. There is something very healing and powerful about finding one’s soul print, discovering that way to walk in the world that honors your gifts and truly allows you to be happy in your authenticity. I guess in the beginning, I would have had to have made a deal to be entirely forthcoming and real, and to be authentic, in order for the vocation to come to me, instead of me to it. So that too, is part of this, the being real, not being afraid to be who I was meant to be.

9) Giving back without intention. My angels taught me months and months ago not to make my writing about self-intention. I was not to write for anyone. I was to write for one purpose: to heal myself and others. I was to make this my healing journey and in return others would be healed. I saw this clearly in vision after vision, starting fourteen years ago. I didn’t know at the time this was the venue they were referring to, but as I started connecting I was reminded by spirit to be nothing but authentic, honest, and real. I was not to try to win anyone over, try to impress, or try to get “published.” I was taught that if I attached my own self-interest to my writings the energy would change and that I wouldn’t heal and others wouldn’t be afforded the opportunity to heal. So I released and trusted. I took away my selfish desires, and along with that I practiced releasing envy, jealousy, want, and need in relation to my works. It was crucial for me to be able to release fear and be in my body. Because once connected to my emotions, I could release the want to be special, noticed, or succeed. One of the best feelings for me ever was when I reached the point where I no longer cared about outcomes. That was huge. I am no longer outcome centered or focused, and now, for most areas of my life I can sit back and enjoy without worrying about the end goal. I recognize the present is the present, the journey is the gift, and the end is illusion.

10) Finding a place to be me. Throughout this journey it was essential for me to establish safe places where I could say and do anything and others would love me unconditionally. Having online friends has been important. I have turned time and time again to people with Aspergers and people without Aspergers for advice, comfort, or simply to process and talk. Without these people I would not have gained the confidence and trust in self to continue on my journey. This includes the people who commented on my blog and in other social networks. Their words kept me going and kept me moving. In addition, I found that the more I let myself be me that others were granted the freedom to be themselves. This was a double-bonus which brought and continues to bring me feelings of joy and peace. I am at a stage in my life where I am entirely comfortable with my humanness and my world. I understand I will experience ups and downs, that I will still have moments of doubts, that I will still cry and sometimes allow fear to be my imagined teacher, but I carry with me the strength of a thousand other people, who have stood with me in this journey and proven to me time and time again the beauty and magnificence of the human spirit. It was in being in the companty of many, I learned to trust again. Today I am a super hero only because you are one, endowed with your super capacity to love. Thank you.

Love and Light,
Sam

https://soundcloud.com/#ramdass/8-how-to-deal-with-fear (to release fear) 🙂