514: Aspergers: The Potency of Knowing

Today, I know more about myself and my makeup than any other time before. Today, I know more about my world and my place in it than I ever thought possible. I understand concepts at a deep intellectual and spiritual level. A grasping that even I gasp at from moment to moment. I see interconnections everywhere, and I reach conclusions at a constant and continual warp speed. I am and I am not, and I feel forgotten and fed at the same instant, spread out and dipped in a breaded-pudding for some type of monstrosity to munch and munch upon. I am twisted, and I am broken, and I am entirely undone into myself. And I am lonely…again.

I have twice-forgotten why I am here: my mission, my purpose, repeatedly dreading what is to be and what is to happen, and immersed in a fear-state regarding what has already transpired. I see now that I have lived in a constant state of reliving fear. Everything has been about anxiety, everything wrapped in misgivings and in the sap-trappings of my flight/fight mentality. I am inspired by mishap and mayhem. Miss-shaped by my potentiality to turn each and everything into imaginary illusion and puzzle. I don’t know how to live—say be—without deciphering and analyzing. I don’t know how to look upon my own world, without seeing the impending danger. I’d like to believe this isn’t true, and I’d like to believe further more—with enough belief, say faith—that if I believe enough I can make it so. And I’d like to believe that I can change. But now I stand at the crossroad of wondering if indeed my very nature, my very infrastructure, is not one of exact design predicated by the intense longing to solve. And if so, if I am mere machine set out for deciphering, if my mechanism be one of constant discovery, and if I am have stumbled or purposely fallen into hyper speed, then what is to become of me? And have I not, by simply being as I am, caused my own fate?

I am confused, but not entirely. And I am torn open, but not fully. There is a part of me strong, always strong, holding on, just as the child clenching to her mother’s drapery, the curtain the last plight, the last hope, the last saving grace. If I just hold on, no one can tear me out of the house I am in. I am that hero on the swinging high bridge, the last rope unraveled, the planks removed, flanked and flailing in the unforgiving air, thinking if I let go, even for moment, I tumble to the death of me. And then again, I am. Lost just as before.

I can think, and that is my burden. I can think into depths I don’t understand. So deep I can dwell that in seconds I unravel information that by all rationalization should be data that would take another decade to retrieve, if not eons to fathom. I say this not as pompous one or know-it-all; abundant am I in feelings of guilt and regret. I say it merely as fact. I think, and I fall into a deep abyss of what is. And I come out having reached conclusions and understandings that are beyond my own grasp, yet somehow sticking to me much the same. I am removed, and yet still dwelling in this place of knowing. And in this knowing, I know I know not. I know that each and every place assumed reached is still another empty finish line. I know that everywhere are rules that do not exist and answers that are mere ghosts whispering their bent truth—like the rays of light manifesting mirage. What I see is naught. What I know is naught. And still I dive, twisted into misgivings of self and universe, the same.

This is how I live, from day-to-day, from moment-to-moment, somehow lost in myself, and still alive and here. Still performing the medial and mediocre tasks, whilst deciphering all about me, and all that lines the walls of the interior self. I am a complexity so entirely complex that I segregate myself, dividing and re-dividing to the ultimate-power trying to manage what is layered and layered within. I am the worst enemy and the staunch supporter. I am the fuel that keeps my churning and the water that attempts to douse the rioting debtors’ quarrels. I am that which turns the key and that which wishes to stop the engine. All at once, I am made to be without wanting to be—and here in this state I wander about, alone.

You cannot reach me, because you cannot find me, and my mind is unknown to you. Unless, you too, are this sort of mechanism made to churn and to long. To understand you are the machine and the person all at once. To understand that you are made up of the essential elements that make whole, and to watch yourself transition instant upon instant, morphing with each choice, each thought, each word, each influential force. And everywhere and everything is about. To be sensitive to the cycle itself, to the give and take, the yin and yang, the light and dark, the here and there, the wait and see, the envy and love—to watch self as bystander and take note upon note upon note of what is. This is to be awakened. This is to be semi-exposed to the power of the now and the power of the singular demolished and whole eradicated. To watch as the power is seen in all. To watch as the demons, too, turn into angels and warriors. To see the universal connections both outside of self and inside self, and to know, beyond doubt that nothing is of this being named I. And to still shiver and shake, thinking the potency of knowing must somehow diminish with enough discovery

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20 thoughts on “514: Aspergers: The Potency of Knowing

  1. I hear you! Big hugs. I have been struggling with exactly these thoughts this past week, again. Should I have faith and keep trying to change, or will this just be another futile attempt to fight the inevitable?
    Just wanted to let you know finding your blog was a life line to me. Don’t know how I managed to miss it for so long with all of the research I have been doing. For the first time I feel I have found a true kindred spirit. Thank you so much!

  2. The thing I find about the concepts and interconnections is that they are impossible to relate. For a split second you hit a truth, and then off the brain goes searching or coming across another truth, on on an it goes. I sometimes wonder if we are receiving messages from some giant earth mother whose spirit is in constant contact with her children?

    Hope you are OK Sam. (Hugs)

  3. Great post. I ditto Carols’ comment. It’s like a voice out of nowhere hits you and in that second evening makes such sense….but then it drifts always making such non earthly connections with everything.

  4. I thoroughly and completely related to everything you shared in this. I have been going thru my own struggle….the same one you have been struggling with. I, too, feel alone. I try to let go of hope, because it seems so futile, yet I hold on for dear life….maybe something will work out or go right or ‘click’. Your words are a constant source of solace for me. Bless you, Samantha!!!

  5. They say truth lies at the bottom of a well. We catch tantalising glimpses of it, mere reflections, visual echoes that escape the view of neurotypicals. Brief flashes of rare insight have haunted me all my life. You speak of your ‘mission’; I now tend to see it as my vocation, my calling. I’m certain that it has a purpose, but I don’t know what that purpose is. Like you, I see my complex thinking processes as a burden – but also they are a blessing, for they help me make sense of the world and my place within it. This is a gift that NTs don’t seem to have. I feel that compared to us they have a long, long way to go, and are essentially wandering aimlessly – blind and lost – although they’re rarely able to realise this. The price I have to pay for this gift is existential angst, acedia, yearning for the unattainable… and alienation from the NT world.

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