411: Money in the Meter

On my way to see the doctor this afternoon, I left a message on a complete stranger’s voicemail. Someone I have never seen before. Never have known, and likely will never encounter.

I held on to that stranger while I sat alone at the doctor’s office.

Aspergers was on my medical chart, listed under conditions.

I have this tongue thing, like a gag-reflex tongue I suppose, and a long tongue at that, and my tongue NEVER cooperates, especially with dental x-rays and the like. It truly has a mind of its own. No kidding. As it happened, the doctor lost his patience with me. He tried all ways to get a culture of the white patch at the back of my throat with this long Q-tip thing. But my tongue kept blocking the pokey stick like it was sparring. I was embarrassed, to say the least.

The doctor threw the stick away, and huffed. Quietly and professionally, but the frustration was obvious. Me, being my nervous giggly self, offered: “Are there any tricks? Something you can teach me to help?”

I think he was fed up with the tips he’d already offered throughout the procedure. He kind of snapped, “Tricks? No, I don’t have any tricks.” I felt all of twelve.

My demeanor makes me come across as a stupid-head sometimes: the posture, the anxious laughter, the inflection of my voice. And I fumble with words as my voice squeaks in all of its youngness. You’d think I had the IQ of a horsefly. My un-brushed hair and sloppy attire of the day, likely didn’t help to set the mood of ‘got-it-together-woman.’ I was wishing at this point I’d dressed up for the doctor, at least had my hair up and not all straggly in my face.

Still seeming a bit perturbed, the doc summed up I likely didn’t have strep anyhow. The chances were very unlikely: no fever, no swollen glands, etc. But I knew I was feeling super lousy; I knew when I’d flushed bright red earlier in the day, I’d had a fever, and I knew I couldn’t risk getting sicker. I had an important trip planned and my husband was out of town. I had to know. The anxiety grew.

He left the room without telling me anything except to explain it was basically a sore throat and to gargle. I opened the door and asked a nurse if I could go. I don’t think the doctor appreciated that. He seemed bothered when he explained the procedure of when I could exit.

At this point my resources of zen-being and lovey-dovey-ness, were all but empty. I had a lot on my plate and felt like crap. I don’t remember the particulars, but somehow the subject came up again of tricks. And the doctor said, very bluntly: “I know tricks for kids. I teach kids tricks. I don’t teach adults tricks. Adults should know.”

Man, that wasn’t nice. I swallowed and felt my little heart race. I retorted, “I have to disagree. I have autism and my son has autism. And sometimes adults need tricks too, because our bodies work differently.” He kind of gave me a glance, and that kind of made me feel worse.

He then said, in a demeaning tone, “Have you ever heard of the phrase: Where there’s a will there’s a way?”

He asked if I wanted to try again.

I said, “Yes,” already doubting myself, coaching myself with the silent you can do it, and feeling terribly inadequate. As the doctor prepared another culture, I offered kindly, “The reason I want to rule this out and take care of it right away is because I have to drive in a few days a long distance.”

The doctor approached with the long thing. This time after several more minutes of ‘ahhhhs’ and ‘look up at the corner’ and ‘no stick your tongue back in your mouth’ and much more, the doctor sighed saying he’d likely gotten something, hopefully.

Again the sense of not enough.

Somewhere in the time line after something or another, that I can’t recall now, I lost my equilibrium. I don’t know if it was one final shrug or sigh on his part, or my urge to speak my mind. But I kind of unraveled in a calm but definitely I’ve had enough of this way.

Exhausted, I asked: “Do you not know what Aspergers means and how it affects people?”

He responded, “No.”

I said, “I write for a psychology journal; would you like me to leave a copy at the desk, so you can learn?”

He kind of looked either perplexed or bothered or preoccupied—I couldn’t tell. He said something that indicated agreement.

I said, “You know you were kind of rude to me. You didn’t treat me well.”

His back was still mostly to me, as he stared down the culture. I was thinking this guy was definitely undiagnosed Aspie. I explained, “You sounded like you were belittling me.” I was on a roll then, like when you finally get the ketchup in the bottle unstuck, after that final hiccupping glob, and the rest of the red comes pouring out swiftly.

I continued, “When you talked about not having to teach adults tricks. And you asked me if I knew what Where there’s a will, there’s a way meant. You sounded like you were mocking. And who doesn’t know what that means? You insulted my intelligence. Did you have a bad day or something? I mean the way you were…oh I don’t know what you were. You just weren’t nice.”

I felt a bit like I was in ‘Gone with the Wind,’ in an important scene. Only I was in old blue jeans and wearing socks with my sandals.

He mumbled, “Well, I’ve never had an adult who could not do a culture.”

I said, with a rising voice, “Well do you think I was doing it on purpose?”

He probably wasn’t too keen on being in a room with me at this point. Poor man. I should have given him my husband’s number, so they could commiserate.

The doctor left.

I had some time to wiggle and squirm and text a friend of my experience.

When the doc returned, indeed it was strep throat. He handed me some stick and started to explain about the red line. I said, “It looks like a pregnancy stick.” Now he was nice. He was smiling. He was more relaxed. He was finally sitting and looking at me. He seemed like a different person. He actually seemed genuine and concerned. I could have sat with this person for hours. He was much changed. I sat there hunched with a blank stare contemplating the reasons for his demeanor.

I was thinking: 1) He realizes I wasn’t a moron because I told him I write for a magazine 2) He is feeling kind of wrong for assuming I wasn’t sick 3) He is realizing he was a boob 4) He has no idea what else to do but to give in 5) He thinks I am nuts 5) He is so happy I am about to leave.

As I was leaving I said, about my strep throat confirmation, “Yes, I thought so. I usually can tell stuff about myself and my health.” I imagined I would have talked more and more, if he wasn’t ushering me out the door. I was fine then. He was like my new found friend. I’d forgotten all about the rest—the stuff before he smiled. He’d been kind and that’s all I’d needed.

I reflected back to the stranger, to the voicemail message I’d left:

“I was out of sorts when you left the note because I’d just returned from the airport. I was dropping off my husband there; and now I am headed to the doctor’s because I think I have strep throat. Your random act of kindness kept me from feasibly having that ‘last straw.’ My mother-in-law died this morning. I thought you should know you made a difference.”

When I was parked downtown earlier, she had left a business card on my van’s windshield. I hadn’t seen the note until an hour later, as I was getting into the car for the drive to the urgent care center. She’d handwritten on the back of the card: I wanted to let you know, I saved you from an $18 parking ticket.

She’d put money in the meter.

410: Belly of a Star: New Blog

Hello lovely loves. I have done some soul-searching…big surprise, and with the help of some friends who listened and offered some ideas, (thank you, thank you),I gave myself some incubation time (new for me, as I used to make quick and rash decisions to end the limbo-state of angst), and have started a new blog.

As I explained to my husband today, I started feeling like a fraud here at Everyday. I know I am not, and I know I haven’t partook in trickery, but I was feeling a bit off balance. In reflection, I realized my focus is likely not returning to the unraveling of Aspergers and the finding of self, as I have pretty much found my self and understood Aspergers in-depth. I suppose I could teach about Aspergers and strategies, and techniques, and such, but that is not where my heart’s intention is at the current moment.

Now that I have ‘found’ myself again, (thanks to many of you), and learned to accept myself, I am finding this silly little-self has plunged deeply into wanting to lose herself, e.g., become mindful, fully present, compassionate, loving and kind with my mind on the benefit of all and not of self. Will I stay in this mindset? I don’t have a clue.

Some very interesting things are happening; if you have been privy to my journey, you know about my visions. Well this morning, I was taking my short drive home from dropping of my son and I had this image and ‘vision.’ I saw my dog in all her cuteness and all her pain-in-the-buttness (her nickname is spastic colon but it should be spastic bladder!) and I had this image of her having the Buddha in her or the light of God, or Jesus, or any of the number of love-filled sources. And I thought I ought to try to practice seeing her in compassion, too. This vision went on for some time: me seeing my dog in different ways, people seeing my dog in different ways. When I got home and read the new book I recently purchased, I turned to the next chapter and the prose was exactly about seeing the Buddha in your dog! Now this was just too much. Events like this continue to happen. Almost every post I write, if I go and read from a spiritual text after writing, the words are typically about what I have just written about. I find this very validating and confirming.

I continue to get a jolt in my heart when someone judges me or judges someone else. I don’t know what that is about. It hurts like a huge electric shock. I feel it. I see it. I accept it. And then it is gone. Before I would have held onto the judgment and taken the words in as my truth. I know I cannot please everyone. However, I still don’t understand why people need to take defense to what I write. It just seems like plain silliness. Sometimes I can see that they are very much upholding their truth as the truth—and I suppose that is their right. I just don’t choose to uphold my truth as having to be someone else’s truth or way, and think the world would be a much happier place if others stopped pushing their belief systems on people. Just my two-cents.

I still have opinions and attachments, obviously. The day I pretend I don’t, call me on it. Because the day I don’t, I won’t be here. I will be floating and invisible. I promise not to haunt you, if you leave chocolate on your night stand. Dark, please.

I was thinking today (hehe) that at moments it appears to be easier walking in this world as a meanie rather than a kind person. People might not like you when you’re mean, but they trust you. They don’t think you are hiding anything and don’t think you have an agenda. Around these parts, in the world I mean, some people get very suspicious of optimistic, giving, authentic, and caring people. It’s like sometimes people are waiting for me to mess up, or be flawed, or say something mean, so they can shout: “Ah-ha! See! Caught Ya!” It’s a bit disconcerting, but definitely part of my journey. I don’t think I will ever truly comprehend loud, aggressive, and in-your-face types of people. I know it (whatever it is) takes all types, and surely if it was a loud, aggressive, in-your-face dog, I would still love the dog, and hope the dog would calm down long enough for me to get close and cuddle. I suppose I see angry people this way, too. I am waiting in the backdrop watching them in their own discomfort and defense, wondering if I can ever truly approach without risking a bite.

I am so not perfect in my humanness. So greatly flawed in my frailties. But in my spirit and in my connection to the all, I am a rockstar. And thusly I seek comfort in my being, accept my journey as is, even with the sudden bolts.

One last thing, a temporary truth, to me, does not imply no faith, or blind faith, or no God, or no source, it just implies, (for me, at least), that I recognize my perception of the world changes from moment to moment based on my emotions, mood, health, environment, exposure, learnings, stimuli, etcetera. Temporary truth can mean a truth I will hold onto until I die, as life is temporary. Or it could be a truth I let go of tomorrow. I find peace in the phrase temporary truth because I feel if others offered me their temporary truth instead of dogma, rigidness, and self-righteousness (at least what I perceive as such) I wouldn’t get those bolts of discomfort.

I am truly not the arguing and debating type. It’s not that I don’t have the wits for it, or the ammunition, or the guts, I just lack the desire to prove a point, when I am not attached to points. I am attached to not being attached… and that’s where I am at. And after four-decades of being stuck like Velcro to MY truths, it feels tremendously freeing to step away and release the heavy burden of what is and what is right.

I still have a personality of course—I just don’t need to prove I am any one to any one anymore.

In concerning this blog, I will continue to write a few posts a month, I think, but only related to ASD. As I was saying, I felt a bit like a fraud, as my blog is pulling a large audience in search of Aspergers, and my genre had quickly turned to mostly spiritual awakenings. By starting another blog, I am giving the reader the freedom to choose if he or she wants to listen to my spiritual thoughts, instead of being bombarded with them. I like this decision. And look forward to the new journey. I will see you here soon. I am sure something is bound to come up not related to the invisibleness of not being—like a barking boob of a person that immediately pulls me out of my state of Zen…. Hehehehe (see I can still fit in, nicely)

Until we meet again, much love and hugs.

Xo ~ Sam

My New Blog is Here:


I am super surprised pain-in-the-buttness isn’t a word! Silly spell check. Come on, this is earth!

409: Unconditional and Conditional Love

( I am writing more because a lot is going on with our extended family. I process to find relief. If you don’t see me around for a bit, I might take a break. Hugs and love ~ Sam)

I have had the opportunity to experience a variety of friendships. In so doing, I have learned a lot about myself and love. For the majority of my life I felt a false-love from others and gave out false-love. Even though I felt the false-love, I didn’t recognize the falsehood for what it was. I was an active participant in the illusion. Most of these friendships were based on need. This desire was masked as possible fulfillment and completion. I know now no one can complete me.

I still hold all of these people in love and light. All of my friends continue to be some of my greatest teachers. I don’t choose to see any wrong in where I have traveled, and hold no one in my life responsible, not even my self. I have forgiven me and all. I place no judgment on any of my past or current friends either. I see them as lovely lights and filled with goodness. I don’t see them based on their actions but based on their hearts.

I was a player in the game of false-love, particularly in relation to men. Most of this telling is based on reflecting back to my behavior in pre-marriage years. I think if I had read what I have written below in my twenties, I never would have seen the ‘truth’ of it, and gone on living in denial. Maybe I even would have been spiteful and angry. I think if I had read this prose in my thirties, I would have thought I already loved unconditionally, and this was a waste of my time. I would have thought the person was preaching or trying to teach what I knew. If I read this last month, I would have thought, interesting, but I know this already. But it wasn’t clear to me until recently. Dynamically clear.

For now when someone claims to love me with a conditional type of love, I don’t feel love from them. I don’t know why, but all falsehoods affect me to a great degree. I don’t even know how I see this false-love, but I do. That’s not to say that people who proclaim to love me don’t love me. I believe they do. I believe a part of them does. But I believe a greater part is in constant battle with an unmasked, unnamed, and unforgiving fear. I believe this fear constantly transforms who I am when interpreted by another. I become what another projects from fear. In rare cases I become the light of love. This, and only this, is when fear is eradicated from its shell of illusion.

There is a struggle for people to find love and claim love, because they haven’t yet found the love inside themselves.

This false-love scares me momentarily, until I dismiss the fear.

It scares me because when another feels the illusion of fear, I feel the separation.

I have those in my life now that love me unconditionally. There is much freedom in this, to be me and be loved for me. I am not loved based on my outcomes or what I do or do not do. But even I, in my relationships with others, slip back into conditional love; this is very evident in my marriage and with my children. I continue to release judgment on self and others, and to learn. I am fortunate to have such experiences available.

When I am loved unconditionally I feel fed and nurtured. When I am loved by someone with conditions, I feel caged and judged. I am learning to not feel caged and judged, and to see this as illusion too, but it is taking some practice.

Lately, I am becoming more of a projection of what another choses to see in me. I can feel this in my depths. I become what another believes he or she sees. I become, in essence what they hold within. I have heard of this happening to other people, as well. So I am not alone in this experience. It is interesting to watch as I transform based on another’s deep level. I do not at this time think I am choosing to still see “fear.” I recognize the beauty and light in all, and see the fear only as illusion, nothing more. I can’t see beyond the beauty into fear, because there is no fear at the foundation.

I know I am still learning and growing.

I no longer choose to buy into another’s pain; especially when their pain is projected onto me, as if I did something or didn’t do something to cause the hurt. I do not have the power to knock down or to build up a person. Only source and a person’s own self can affect the spirit. I do have the power to love, and in this love to bring wholeness to self. Everyone has a choice to accept what he or she thinks I am saying or to reject it. To take in what he or she interprets as my truth or to decline. To say thank you and receive or say thank you, but no thanks. In this way, ultimately it is the receiver’s choice to determine what he or she takes in. I choose to take in all as truth and none as truth. I choose not to pick and choose. Unless someone is speaking from a place of fear, then I typically, when aware, politely decline. I prefer not to take on another’s fear-projection.

I believe there are only two roots: Love or Fear. All truth grows from there. Take a fruit off of the branch and examine it for what the fruit is. Rotten equals Fear. Ripe equals Love. One can tell much from the end product. Take the final outcome and drive backwards to the root. Where there is pain, there was fear to begin with manifested in false-love—illusion. Where there is mutual healing, there is love—the only existence.

Again this is my temporary truth.

My personal interpretation that assists me:

What true friendship is: Unconditional love.

What unconditional love is: Love without want, need, perimeters and/or expectations.

What want and needs are: Self-based, ego-centered desires that one thinks will make him or her happy. Also known as illusions and/or the path to suffering.

What perimeters are: Rigidness and separation; the judge emerging to decide if another has been deemed sufficient in their actions.

What unconditional loving friendship isn’t: All relations not based on unconditional love; in other words, all relations based on conditional, false-love, aka fear.

What unconditional love is not: False-love, also known as fear.

What fear is: An illusion often manifested in various actions and/or emotions that aren’t stemmed from love.

All false-love breeds fear and pain; all true love breeds more love. This true love can lead to spontaneous awakening and healing.

When one does not feel unconditional love, either the giver is loving with false-love or the receiver is misinterpreting the gift of genuine love.

This is not love: Expectations, martyrdom, fear-based desire, giving to receive, condition based giving, imagined selfless-giving, self-projection, owning, self-based desire, deeming one special or above the rest, caring more about self than other or caring more about other than self, blame, self-loathing in the name of love, fearing the future, needs based on outcome.

In love there is no hurt. All pain is self-inflicted.

Indicators of false-love:

Look at what a giving, loving, caring person I am, why can’t you love me like I love you?

I sacrifice for you, why can’t you sacrifice for me?

I am not good enough to be your friend.

You aren’t enough.

You should do this…

You disappointed me.

You won’t/don’t love me.

If you loved me, you would….

If you do this it will all be better.

You are the best person in the world.

You are hurting me.

People can have a mutual loving relationship based on unconditional love with moments of neediness and pain; unconditional love can fluctuate just like the seasons. No one is expected to be a perfect anything. Especially not a perfect lover or perfect friend. To suggest so, would be automatic judgment and separation. However healing happens when one starts to recognize his or her actions based on fear. Then self-healing can begin to take place in the one. After the one self has begun the healing process, the other in the friendship, noting the changes in his/her friend, will either continue in a state of fear, fight the change before also seeking self-understanding, or naturally seek out the friendship to heal in a way reflected in the healed or healing friend. In this way conditional love can bring both parties to pure love based on unconditional love.

If both partners are not ready, strong, and compassionate about growth and self-awareness, blame and jealousy quickly arises and the friendship may end. Yet, being this was a friendship based on false-love the illusion is what ends, not the friendship. This enables both to be free. One to go on to further unconditional love and the other to decide to remain in denial, suffering, and repeated pain or to seek out self-love. No one is right or wrong, better or worse; they are where they are.

In some cases someone who has learned self-love will be in a friendship with someone with conditional-based love. In this instant the person who continues to love unconditionally, despite the other’s projections, demands, and needs, can reflect back the ideal form of love and in this way transform the other trapped in a pain cycle.

True love heals when one capable of unconditional love simply is.

Again my temporary truth.

Strong indicators of conditional false-love:

No desire to celebrate a friend’s successes.

Not wanting to share the friendship with anyone else.

Thinking you are the best and/or only person for that person.

Changing actions or making decisions in an attempt to gain attention.

Obsessing about the person.

Thinking you are responsible for a friend’s growth, success, triumph, or accomplishments.

Thinking you are a person’s savior, teacher, protector, or safety.

Giving self-credit for another’s joy.

Thinking you have the answers another seeks and needs.

Thinking you were used, abused, or mistreated.

Jealousy of other people in the friend’s life.

Judging and putting down a friend’s friends.

Evaluating a friend’s choices, behaviors, mannerisms, and way of being.

Feeling the need to set a friend straight, so he can see your way.

Secretly or overtly harboring feelings of hurt and a sense of abandonment about the relationship.

Talking to someone about a friendship using harmful words about the friend.

How friendship appears:

A reflection of the love a person holds about his or her inner self.

What unconditional love-based friendship feels like:
Coming Home

Day 408: Love, Judge, and Invisible Need


I judge when I think another does not ‘see’ me. I am learning to replace my judgment by thinking: “She did understand me; she did see me; she saw exactly what she chose to see.”

When someone says: “Don’t judge me,” they are being contradictory, almost hypocritical, if the negative aspects are removed from the word. For in order to claim someone is judging another, the accuser must first have judged.

To evaluate and categorize another is to judge. To decide another’s behavior is to judge. To place one’s truths on another is to judge. To say my god is the right God is to judge. To say I know a truth is to judge. Whenever a mark is made, a claim, a stake put into the earth, one becomes judger and the other judged. There is no way around this. The judger of the judging is equal to the one accused.

I am releasing my need to judge anything and anyone, and any event. I find only discomfort now in judging. And even more displeasure in defending or clarifying a feasible ‘truth.’ Clarification, unless sought after by a seeker, to me, now feels like a fear-based approach. As if I am saying, “Wait, that’s not what I mean. Please see me so you are not angry and so you will not misinterpret me.”

Now I see. I see this and I laugh.

It’s silliness in the making.

I find myself stumbling from time to time—a toddler learning to walk in all her sweetness.

Whenever I feel discomfort in my body and mind, the pain is non-explicit in its coming. Meaning there isn’t one thing or one someone who brings the pain. It is me. I am the source. Always the source. I see this clearly, and can laugh now at my own accuser: SELF.

I can accept the gift of another’s words or I can say thank you, but no thanks: Keep your gift for yourself. Not needed here.

Prior to this spring, I wanted to be understood because I longed to be seen and loved. Now that I know I am love, I am loved, and I love, the need-base has shifted.

Where I longed to be understood (loved) before. Now I long to be seen as love. But in longing to be seen as love, I recognize a desire. For there is no purpose in wanting, except to try to erase the illusion of loneliness.

I have moved beyond the need for validation, praise, and being ‘enough’ in someone else’s eyes. Usually–that is. In my harder moments of pain, I want nothing but to be held and comforted, reminded of my beauty.

However, it is in my pain now that I celebrate my ability to be human. My ability to transition into deeper wisdom. I see all as a gift. No goods and no bads. The world doesn’t hurt once the bad is removed. Even through the times of extreme anguish, an observer steps back and applauds the journey, the courage, the ever-full heart of love and praise of love.

What I still desire is for another to say: “I see you in your fullness and beauty and light. That is all I see.”

I want to be seen through eyes of love.

Which ultimately means I wish others to heal to a level where they love themselves unconditionally, and in doing so, love others the same. I have grown tired of assumptions, and guesses, and conclusions others reach about me. It’s really a waste of energy.

But I see the confusion of some—how they think they love me or another unconditionally, when in fact there are huge needs attached. (Outcome based needs. Wanting someone to be a certain way. Loving because of qualities or features, instead of loving for no reason but to love.)

I only want to be loved because I am a reflection of the good in another. That’s the only love that feels real. The only love I can feel.

In seeing this, the fact that attachment to outcome or desire implies a degree of false love and the absence of unconditional love, then I realize my very own need to be seen through the eyes of another as love is conditional, and in that way false-love. And so I practice release of even the desire to be seen as love.

I know the more I release the more I feel the love of the ALL and in this I am free.

Still the joy of being seen beyond judgment, deciphering, classifying, guesses, fingering, figuring, and dissecting is pure brilliance. And when I cross paths with a friend or another who loves this way, who loves purely, the healing is phenomenal.

I recognize the light in you, so many say, but do they really?

I want my voice to be a healing vibration of love and nothing else. Yet, when I open my mouth, or type on a screen, I am faced with the reality of others’ interpretation. The only remedy is not to speak. And here I am thinking might be where I am headed.

The more I speak or write, the more I hurt. MY soul knows no one can hear me unless he or she wants to hear me; and those that don’t hear, will turn me into any fantasy they choose. And thusly, I am writing for the few that will see me; the ones able to move beyond the judgment and analysis and pondering. The rest who don’t love unconditionally, will judge me.

And to me, this is my sacrifice for love: To be judged over and over, and made into someone I am not.

Someday I will give up this sacrifice and give up the thought of sacrifice, and just be at peace. I will be that person who barely speaks unless approached by genuine seeker. For I no longer desire to speak a truth to people who are not hearing my truth. And it seems entirely silly to profess an ever-changing truth to an ever-shifting audience. I am wondering too, as I write, if that my main suffering is of the separation, the falselove, the falsehood, the fear.

It is the separation that hurts.

I grow weary of being placed into another’s expectations. Of being made to fit another’s comfort zone. I am comfort; I am love; I am freedom; and if another cannot see that, they do not see me.

I see them. I see them as love. Beyond the fear, I see only love.

I have absolutely no desire to prove a point or to debate or to establish a truth. And the strongest desire, I cannot disrobe, is the want of others to do the same. To enter with me in the space of no doubt, no fear, no cause.

I don’t even forgive anymore, because I don’t ever get to the point of anger or resentment in which I need to forgive. The anger can’t slip in long enough for me to make up lies about another. If anger comes again another day, I shall dismiss it. And if I let it linger, then I shall forgive all readily. I also don’t judge myself. If I did, I would naturally judge others. If one judges self, he undoubtedly applies this to all.

I don’t even give the benefit of the doubt to people, because I don’t doubt people. To doubt is to judge and to deem unworthy or not enough to some degree. And that is all based on the past and interpretations.

Still, as of late, I get this awful sensation from many people that I am being probed and needled, hooked upon and latched onto with their microscopic lenses to find my potential fault or meaning or wrongdoings. I get the feeling sometimes that others are searching for the ugliness in me to justify that they are better or to justify their own ugliness that they believe exists.

This makes me wonder why.

If I write with no intention but to share my truth and to love (without want of fame, recognition, love, attention, debate, profit, etc.) and only with the ‘want’ of understanding self fuller, so I can be a more loving and giving being, then what about my truth is there to dissect?

And isn’t it the most fearful who would fear my love and proclaim their truth as only truth?

Why do people want to make me into something?

I desire to be more invisible than visible now. I long to just hold you from where I am, speechless, the words all erased. And if I am selfish, it is in my desire to have someone do the same—to just love for the love we are.


407: The Echo

“Don’t tell me to smile. Don’t tell me to be happy. Don’t tell me what thoughts I should have and what thoughts I should not have. Don’t give me a list of ten ways to be better, to know better, to live better. Don’t point me to the right or left. To the star or to the saint. Just love me. Better yet, love yourself. All I need is a heart, eyes that are awake, and a place to rest the ways of the world that are not me. I am not taken in by who I am supposed to be in someone else’s eyes. I am taken in by the beauty that is me. I am already everything and All. If everyone could see they are too, there would be nothing of truths to tell.” ~ Everyday Aspergers

The Echo

A me that slips behind the scene knew this would be…

He watches with calm interest as I make my way down the river, less driftwood than pioneer on a raft with beating paddle.

I can see him, this undone one of none, the way he stands back and lets me be, watches as this illusioned I meanders from this truth to another; his kindly grin in the bleakest moments of darkness; his hands strong.

A cradle awaits.

Still this determination that bleeds out righteousness.

This will momentarily unbearable in its strength and stellar.

A hankering, this lingering, this potent folly of not being able to shake self from self.

To describe would do injustice, and to not describe would cause further agonizing despair.

For how to tell what I am, through I am, seems to produce jeopardy—two battled two, then four, and then more.

Swordsmen swift, many in count, each timber for the maker, each wood to be chopped, each, once tree, now distant edges merging into their own shadow.

A labyrinth of the huntsman, the hunter and the hunted same;

Each a mirror staring down a mirror, and each unnerved and brought up for game.

I is sliced and rendered empty.

Slaughtered and sacrificed.

And still this ever present, ever changing presence remains.

The one cannot help but think I am illusion.

How could I be anything else?

And even illusion, being something, is transformed into the thought of nothing, by the floating mind that reasons further in invisible plundering.

To move in such a distinct rhythm of naught.

Being here, then being gone, then being here much changed.

Tinkering toys of this world, and smile, the child’s smile— teeth wide and unburdened, stomach growing, fed upon canary two-fold.

To eat away at this place I thinks I is.

To eat away at what I think be sight.

To make morsel out of fantasy.

To understand the doctrines inside the explicit words of absence.

And bite into the existence of others’ thoughts, when their thoughts are built upon the ponds of nothing.

How and where to find the start of truth is ceasing to appear explicitly lost before found.

The maker dead before rendering wholeness.

The absoluteness evaporated before finalized.

All these trumpeting warriors blended into the background of reclaiming selves before first step is made on a path where footsteps are not held.

A witness to the soldiers before these carved eyes, in their bleakness and plight, screaming out for the way that never comes, through shadows of soul-bled sorrow.

How can so many exist and still further emerge, and where do they walk if not upon some very beating spirit?

I know not what I do or who I am, and this is insignificant compared to the ghosts I watch, to the empty places I thought were one, to the solidness dissipating, and to the rules clinging to the mass of nothing, as choking vine.

Only to be dismissed by the thousand witnesses birthed.

Still she comes, this form, this lost victimless one of none.

For no victim remains when foe is banished.

Yet, she cries holding the thousands of deaths in full arms, the one after the other burdened and unquenchable.

The captain in charge of the mourning, of the dissipation of one phantom begotten onto another.

Goodbye, she whispers, her hand gauntly and appetite diminished, her mind wavering between a place of no thought and every thought.

Her emptiness dismissed by her want and need for explanation, in a land that whispers without voice and forethought: there exists no need.

But if all that she is be need, then what is she?

Again she dies upon self, self-inflicted no more, pierced by the echo of evergreen.

How can she be this ghost of unraveling;

Her death made known to no one and no thing?

Her heart pierced by what ifs and circumstance that never need rise, since all is fallen.

She walks in the forest, a demon twisted into raven, a plastered wall onto herself, lost between the space leading from one room to another.

Until all rooms explode and the house is hovering in the existence of space.

And still the house crumbles and woman bled dry remains, withered and emptied of soul.

And here she wavers, a distant shell.

The only passerby another illusioned being that hears the self’s whisper of ocean wave gone.

A distant calling centered at the dolphin’s heart—he too swimming in a pool of imaginings.

He too wondering where the trees have gone.