374: Moments

“It is not that I am not present in the here and now; it is that I am so entirely present to the universe that I become intoxicated in possibilities and rapture, and self must retreat back to the echoes of my imagination in order to breathe.” ~ Sam, Everyday Aspergers

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Everyday Aspergers, Samantha Craft

The moment when you know you’ve spoken your complete truth, whether it was a word or thought, and you sift through what you said, wanting to make sure there isn’t a splinter of doubt, that you didn’t indicate anything other than truth. And you feel your stomach twist, because maybe, just maybe, somewhere inside of you, you were wrong.

The moment you speak your truth loudly and clearly, with extreme empathy and knowing, weighing the validity of your words with the interpretation of necessity, while fighting back the voices that analyze and dissect the coming unspoken that is surging its way out through your veins, as you question your need, your want, your intention, wondering if the silence will win out over the pulsating necessity to share.

The moment you risk for the higher good, knowing if you speak your mind that you shall be persecuted, ostracized, and judged, but also knowing, all the greater, that you shall in speaking your light have conquered the darkness, at least a splinter of the darkness that permeates your world.

The moment you lie, only to protect the feelings of another, and you replay the falsehood over and over in your mind; a broken record that hurts your ears and leaves you suffering; not for the sake of another, but for the sake of going against your own self and truth, as you wonder if a better course could have been detected, discovered, and executed; something beyond the distasteful torture of falsehood.

The moment you realize no one has the answers, no book, no preacher, no teacher, no guru. Absolutely no one. And that all of your efforts have led you back to self; only now you are carrying a giant book of something that resembles truth. But in actuality it is a drafted, desperately edited and marked up tablet stack of contrived and siphoned rules, many of which contradict, point fingers, and leave in the ring either victim or prideful one.

The moment you speak your truth and the others leave, except perhaps one that stays for analysis and judgment, or to set you straight. And you listen, trying your best to look like you are interested and are learning, as you bleed all over the sidewalk from the bitter and deceptive words; your heart only wanting love, acknowledgment, and acceptance, not to be told again how you don’t fit in, don’t have it right, or don’t understand.

The moment you realize you understand more about a topic than anyone in the entire room, but to say so would immediately set up barbwire fences of division; thusly, you keep quiet and nod, trying to ignore and not comprehend the analogies that go against the base foundations of truth, justice, and love; with your last hope being that someone, somewhere in the room is like you, sees the light in your eyes, and wishes to not push their belief system upon you, or prove to you their theory, or embrace you in their way of life, but only enters your space to welcome you unconditionally as another being of substance.

The moment you dial up a conversation, and with first word, the person on the other end begins the game, following the rules of conduct and behavior and asking you blank, empty questions, not caring, unattached, unwilling to connect or even listen; the shallowness of the encounter physically hurting your chest and making your heart weep, as you attempt to move through with your life-preservers of nodding and smiling, acting as if you are comfortable, while feeling the energy of the speaker pierce you like daggers: the tone of the voice, the inflection, the pauses, the drawn out non-silence that does not match who they are, what they are, and where they are going. You are merely a dancer in some line of communication, knowing not where to step or when to pause, trying not to step on toes, and staring at a blank empty face, whose only need is to check your name off of her list.

The moment the sun rises, and your breath is taken away, and you are dancing in the rays, your heart free, your child like nature set to the wind, spinning, leaping, abounding in spirit, without moving an inch; and wanting to share this experience, to share the opportunity of hope you see, and in the dawning of a new day, you giddily laugh and celebrate and raise the arms to the magenta skies; only to discover the persons surrounding you can’t sense what you sense; and you think somehow you are made wrong, too attached, too intuitive, too knowing. And so comes the feeling of separation, the sun’s hues shifted, the day begun, with you lost to self, trapped within thought of why your way is not their way, and why your way is left out of the equation.

The moment you kiss another and you wonder what the kiss means, because it has to mean something; and you question how two could connect without connecting, touch without touching, and how the game of romance is only a game, marked with pitfalls and dungeons and war. How you have instinctively set up camp upon another’s territory, and in so doing have been given a safe zone, in which you shall not tread outward; for in stepping out, you risk annihilation, alienation, and doom. You weren’t meant to spread across his land and place flags of declaration about your feelings or experience. You were built for silent torture as you sit spinning in your small space of reason, wanting to scream out the ecstasy and dynamic shift of being, but forced to crease your edges, sew your own self shut and hide out until the coast is clear, or the being you so loved, simply slips away.

The moment you want to be present, but you can’t; and the guilt settles in as friend or child, spouse or son, he looks at you with wide open eyes ready to connect at his level, in a place of happiness and delight, without deep thoughts, without theories and strings of reason, without doubt, without prospect of future circumstances; and how you sit in this passing moment, longing to reach out and be this same way, to stop the clock of the own mind and silence the tick-tick-ticking; and so you pretend; you try; you harbor your very own secrets of misery; a false grin, a false laugh, an intense glance, all means in which you try to give back and let the other know he is loved and needed; even as your brain radiates outward, living in an imaginary land, pulling you back to a place so distant that all connection, all being, is lost in a blink of letting go. To speak and be present, like the other, is to balance on the plank, with the sharks below, knowing without fail, you shall fall with a splash, that your eyes shall dim, your mind blank out, and you shall undoubtedly sink into the dark and murky depths, embracing the emptiness and cold, where once the potentiality for sharing, an open beckoning space with dear one, existed.

The moment you know you are different and you celebrate the uniqueness, recognizing you have a purpose and a bright light and that you will make a change in the world for the betterment; perhaps you feel enlightened, like a teacher or creator of beauty, or . . . but to speak this to the world would be the death of you; for others would claim you are self-centered, grandiose in thought, or egotistical; but you know deep down you are meant for greatness, even as you walk in a world that seemingly does nothing but dilute your own fuel to your own fire. You are passion, you are insight, you are intuition, and you are connected to the grand scheme of life; but to say so leaves you breathless and unsure of yourself, dipped in the pool of humility time and time again. Only to be told you are wrong.

The moment you understand that you are only a perception, a glimmer of what people think of you, and that no matter what you say, or how you get your point across, that no one will see you other than how they choose to see you; that ultimately you are an island onto yourself, with tourists that caravan by and wave, but never set foot onto your sands. And so you stand, unmoving, shining your light, wishing upon the star, that feels more liken to friend than any other being you know, waiting for the day, when a brave one will enter, and join hands to the infinite beauty of you combined.

The moment you realize you are no one, but you are supposed to walk in the world as someone; a someone who acts a certain way, dresses a certain way, expects certain things; but you no longer expect anything and no longer know how to act, and stand on this endless stage watching the ones garbed in their costumes, refinery and fancy ways; and you wonder where you are to stand, how you are to observe, and what you are to take in, if not the bewildered stares of stagehands, whom keep pointing and glaring at your indecent and unpredictable ways. Where to walk. Where to move. Where to be—each become your questions, as the world moves onward to a beat you cannot hear and do not wish to hear.

The moment you realize you do not have a condition or a syndrome or a fault, but understand intensely people are trying to make you believe you do, trying so hard that they convince themselves they are this illusion of normal, and you are this jumbled mess of faults; only you see the truth. Your blinders have been removed. You march in the silence; the one not dictated and orchestrated by the misers controlling the masses. Your eyes have been made open. In essence you have been reprogrammed, the barrier of righteousness, to shine the light on falsehoods and bring out the truth; yet, no one knows this, but the few others that see in truth; and thusly, you move forward half-blinded in lies and half-open to truth, stuck in a place of limbo, with something beyond the beyond, urging you forward through the life that seems not life.

The moment your hands hurt, your feet hurt, your eyes hurt, your heart hurts, but you can’t stop, because there is a force inside of you that burns so deeply that if you do not open the crevice to creativity and let the flames burst out, as dragon releasing delicate-rage, then you shall perish in your own internal war. And so you move, in whatever way called to move; your own self bleeding in the efforts; your own self lost in the time without time, sinking into the separate land where no one can see you move with the freedom of angels, and you cannot see where this world was that you were made to walk in. And here you breathe, inside the escape of freedom, where the others cannot reach in and pull you out, cannot shape you and make you, and tell you lies of whom you be and whom you are not. A place of refuge where you can meet your own maker, whether self, universe, or God, and sit there in your trembling awe.

The moment you can no longer stand being you, as the music never stops, the thoughts never linger, but leap and bound across eternity, bringing up the genius of the world and making you into a spinning top of fury-making; when even the sound of the silence singes your ears and stops your heart, so that you want to scream at the annoyance of the drumming universe; though none around you can hear the pounding. And you cringe and cry and rant and plead, exploding inward as much as outward; for you have been placed in a merry-go-round of havoc with blind-seekers, each dumb and deaf, and wishing you were something other than your own self. And you have no way, no thread, no line of communication in which you can explain how you are the one displaced, removed from where you belong, and brought down to be tortured by the nonsense. How you have all the answers within, but are continually haunted and stopped in your making and doing; when the others, who know you not, shun and persecute your actions. Can they not see you are only trying to be, and that the more they stomp on your being-ness the more they push you back into the dungeon of no recourse but explosion? Why do they force their ways upon you, when they, in their infinite blindness, know not what they do.

The moment you recognize you are not alone, that there is at least one other person like you on the planet, and you recognize their heart, their purity, and their need to make a difference; and in seeing her fully, you fill her with hope, because she knows at last you believe her and you trust her; because, contrary to what she has been told, she is not pretending to be kind, she is not pretending to be generous, nor is she pretending to love. She does love you, with all of her being, with all of her heart. And like your lonely, forlorn and forsaken self, you long to scoop her up and paint her in your compassion and security, to blanket her in your own goodness, and let her know she is this thing called beauty; she is this joyous light.

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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) 🙂

363: Gluttony and Surrender

I am really struggling with gluttony. Not in the over-indulgence-of-substance modern-day view of gluttony, but in the John of the Cross way. Gluttony in the sense of being one who applies too much self-affliction, self-persecution, and self-punishment. I’ve had this “issue,” or decree of self-annihilation of self from self, since I can recollect, particularly surfacing about the time of puberty.

I get locked into this dance of enough and not enough, real and not real, opinion and not opinion, hanging myself on a loom of remorse of never finding the answers. I am stuck on this pendulum and all I can hear is the tick-tick-ticking of which way. Do I cling to the wall on the left or the wall on the right; or do I find a way to make the pendulum swing the direction opposite of east-west, and spring out ahead north or fall behind south. Or do I jump off of the pendulum and sink into the dark unknown abyss. I don’t know. But I know I am tired of my reasoning-brain, this spill of logic that dives into every thought I have.

The only time I feel at peace is when I am in a state of meditation (grace) and connection (to Holy Spirit), which I can now acquire for up to six hours straight. This time with source is beyond wonderful and the beauty is indescribable.

However there exists one major problem: I now feel like two people.

I feel like this higher-self, this ideal me, the one I have always wanted to reconnect with. But I also feel like this other person, this other me. The other me is where I am at right now. This other me is where I am having difficulty being.

This ideal me, she has it together, really does. She loves and serves unconditionally. She lives in the moment. She is pretty fabulous. She also, through all of this, manages to be humble and so very giving.

The problem occurs when she disappears, or slips back, or falls asleep, or goes somewhere, perhaps skydiving with the angels, and I am back, facing me in the mirror, a face I don’t recognize in a body I do not want. I am in essence lost, having had just been to a place beyond imagination of divine love and inherent goodness. It is this attachment to the higher power I long for and live for that continues to slip out of my grasp and leave me to wonder what happened, and if indeed I imagined everything.

At a logical level I know something is happening beyond myself. Too many dreams have come true, too many intuitive knowings, too many connections, “coincidences,” signs, recognitions, and premonitions materializing. I recognize this, but no proof seems enough when dealing with that which still remains unattainable and unimaginable, at least not in the state I am in this very moment, one of the fallen me, left abandoned waiting to reconnect with the infinite divine.

There is more happenings as well; beyond the empathic abilities, the visions, the ability to scribe deep philosophical prose from seemingly nowhere, there is my husband, whom is known to be a skeptic and prone to Mr. Spock Vulcan like tendencies. He sees the miraculous changes in me and is in awe of the visions and writings I share; so much so in fact that he has taken a liking to referring to himself as Mrs. Noah, like the Biblical Noah’s wife. Wherein I get all the glory and he works diligently in the background.

I can’t deny some dynamic shifts have taken place. My healing visions have materialized, people have contacted me I knew I would meet, and I have connected with such spectacular and marvelous people from all over the world, many whom have become friends and confidants. All is happening in a wonderful way. Joy-filled connections daily and heart-endearing messages. I am beyond thankful, but still remains this lingering doubt.

As much as I experience these visions and write these writings, I still question my own ability and worthiness. Primarily these are the same doubts I have had my entire life. I have the same record playing in the background.

Though I have much transitioned, and have gained tremendous peace, self-acceptance, serenity and love of myself and others, I still have this part of me whom wonders why. Could it be the decades of searching has finally materialized the part of me that was lost, and that in finding my own vocation and life’s purpose another part of me, the same part that held me back for so many years, is here trembling in the corner denying such a reality exists?

For in the corner I hear drenching thoughts of: I am no one special. I am just this flawed stumbling human being endowed with troubling thoughts I cannot purge, fear I cannot conquer, and tears that continually flow. I am ultimately imperfection, unworthy of the extreme goodness and joy I am afforded.

And all this surfaces, while the other me, the observer, she steps back in form and watches, her smile wide, her heart open, whispering surrender, sweet one, surrender.

361: Why I Am Smiling

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1. I embrace my positive attributes.
I am forever twelve. I have the passion, innocence, spirit, and love of a child. I always will. I love people and animals. I see the best in people. I often assume all people are kind, open, and sharing their whole self. I wouldn’t change a thing about my nature and my heart. I cannot imagine being any less of a person than who I am. I wouldn’t decrease or increase me in any way. I lack much capacity for denial or lies. I might lie, but when I do I feel terrible. Supposedly, many people lie throughout their day; falsehoods are just a part of life. This lying-way doesn’t make sense to me and I don’t think I want lies to make sense. I don’t want to understand lying and I don’t want to understand deceit. I don’t want to adjust who I am to live in a world that isn’t a world I would choose to create; I would much rather live in my world, hurt or no hurt, where I know I am true, real and genuine. There is a great grace and gentleness to my being and I am happy I was made this way. If I am called naïve, gullible, or even unaware, that is okay because I know who I am. I know that the person I present to the world is the same person deep inside of me. I don’t have to wade through layers, choose alternate personas for different events, and nor do I have to placate, please, or impress. I am just me. And I would rather be loved by one who loves me for my authentic self than by a hundred who admire a façade of who I am.

2. My life has a purpose.
I know my calling. I know why I am here. I want to serve, give, love, share, create, and make the world a better place. I conversely know why I am not here—I am not here to judge, hurt, put down, discourage, rage, blame, lie, steal, cheat, take, and destroy. I have clarity about my mission. And I feel my calling at a soul-level. There is no doubt. I understand the temporary and quickly fading sense of accomplishment. I understand the long-lasting sting of failure. And I choose to attach to neither accomplishment or failure. I choose to not classify by right and wrong, by good or bad, by beneficial or non-beneficial. What happens happens. Much like in nature, I have learned to bend with the circle of life and the ever-changing seasons. Nothing is stagnant—not my mind, not my body, not my world. I am filled with trillions of microorganism and my imagination is infinite. I am mostly water affected by the moon and I am mostly space affected by something I cannot explain or begin to explain. I am made of a molecular structure that moves in accordance to thought. I know these things, and I accept them. And at the same time, I accept I know nothing and that my mind may change at any moment. I listen to my body and to my intuition, and I question authority. I question the rules and the logic. And I especially question those who believe they have found the way, the truth, or the answers. I know enough to know there isn’t one way, one path, or one direction. We are each here searching for the same things: to be seen, to be nurtured, and to be loved. There isn’t anything else a person needs from me. And so I offer my fellow being those things, continually.

3. I am perfectly okay.
I know I am a good friend. I have confidence in myself, in my abilities, in my intelligence, in my loyalty, and in my kindness. I have confidence in my capacity to love and to lift up others. I know my character traits in all lights. I have done massive soul-searching and looked deeply at my self and my behaviors, thoughts, and actions. I understand that even my perceived “faults” are part of my uniqueness and enhance my capacity to connect with others. I understand I am being the best person I can be and do not judge or persecute myself. I accept me in all my phases and stages. Much like the moon, I might appear whole and enormous or at other times I might be just a sliver of a person. And that is okay. I know that I am like a flower that blooms and then loses her petals and then blooms again. I am the small frail seedling pushing up to grow and also the mighty ancient oak providing shelter. I am all. In accepting myself in fullness, I release and let go.

4. I am autistic.
I am comfortable with my autism. My brain is magnificent. I am in good company. I have no shame in being autistic, none at all. I have seen how magnificently brilliant my son with Aspergers is, and in watching him, I have at the same instance been able to embrace aspects of myself. Whatever I am called makes no difference. I can be called geek, nerd, odd, over-sharer, even stupid-head. I don’t care about the labels, the names, the words used to classify and quantify. If a word can bring me closer to people who understand me and want to know me, and if that same word can bring me closer to the uniqueness of others, then so be it. I would sometimes prefer elven-princess or child of the light, but I’ll take Aspergers or Autism or whatever helped me make more sense of my world. I know one word doesn’t define me and never will. I choose not to make any words my enemy, as I choose not to make any people my enemy. There is no use for me to forgive myself and to forgive others, if I am also going to start dicing and slicing words as good or bad. My son with ASD used to say, “Don’t ever call me any nicknames at all. Only call me by my real name. Except for pie-in-the-face. You can call me pie-in-the-face.” And so I did. For years my middle son was pie-in-the-face. The actual meaning of the words didn’t matter; what mattered was how my son chose to interpret the words. So call me Aspie, call me mother, call me friend, or call me foe. I choose to love myself and to love you regardless.

5. I am an awesome Mom.
You know what is awesome about me being a mother? I don’t put pressure on my children. They get to be who they want to be. I don’t make up rigid rules and create an environment of rigid structure. I don’t continually force them to do things they don’t want to do. I also don’t base my self-esteem on my children. They are not an extension of me. Their school grades and talents are not my accomplishments. I love them for who they are, not for what they can prove, do well, or show the world. My esteem does not fluctuate based on their behavior. I try my best not to criticize. I don’t hurt intentionally. I don’t manipulate. I don’t talk superficial talk. I ask my boys straight out: “How are you feeling today? Are you sad about anything? Anything I can do to make your life easier? Are you overall happy?” I admit my mistakes and explain why I acted a certain way. I hug them when they are mad and hold them in a space of love when they are frustrated. I don’t take their actions personally. I know their opinion of me is not me. I know my opinion of them is not them. They are unique. Each a beautiful gift. I don’t pretend. Never have and never will. I don’t depend on them for my emotional support, but I don’t hide my emotions. My world is open to them. I protect them from harm, as I am their mother, but I don’t protect them from truths. I don’t expect them to be a mini-me; I don’t expect them to believe in the same faith as me, the same truths as me, or to like the same things as me. I know that I can teach by example. That if they see I am at peace with self, they will naturally desire to understand this; if not today, then another day. I also know they are above all my teachers. They teach me more than any book or guru could. I simply watch how I respond and react to them. I watch how I feel when I am with them. I watch them with such curiosity and I embrace them with unconditional love. I tell them they can do anything with their life and I will love them the same. I don’t get nervous about them achieving or failing; I know they will figure life out in their own time and in their own way. Since I was a young child, I prayed to raise children that were happy, secure, and confident. I know these attributes are produced from love,honesty, predictability, stability, and acceptance. I told this to my eldest who is approaching sixteen. And he responded with “Yay, Mom. You did it.” And I said, “Yay, God!” And we both shared a giggle. I am the mom that is loyal, dependable, and speaks the truth. I am the mom I choose to be. Much like I am the person I choose to be. And that is why I smile.

I always loved the complexity of this song, since I was a little girl. 🙂

356: Teaching the Teachers

I have been praying and asking for guidance regarding my future vocation and avenue of service, and the answers very much entered through slipstream full force this early morn.

At first, I was given the message (through my little knowing voice) that my husband would over-sleep his five a.m. wakeup call (alarm) and be late for work, unless I was awake to wake him up. Hmmm. That was troubling, as with my own dyspraxia/dyslexia, I had no idea how to reset my own alarm in order to wake him up, as he was sleeping in my son’s bedroom. (Long story why we were in separate rooms, but basically boils down to dinosaur snoring, if there was such a thing.) I could have retrieved my phone from upstairs I suppose, but I wasn’t awake enough to think of that. So I tossed and turned in a type of vision-state for a bit over an hour. Knowing enough I had to stay partially awake.

I was certain time stood still, as the leap between the time of four to five seemed to take the stretch of a day. During this time I was shown image upon image.

I revisited my time at the university, the place I chose to leave a little over a year ago, based on the way I was discriminated against for mentioning I had Aspergers Syndrome. I revisited it all, the whole of it—emotions, illness brought on by the stress, the mourning process, the wanting to prove my side of the event and expose the injustice, the sob-filled-telling to my therapist and her concurring I had been the victim of appalling behavior on said professor’s part, the anger stage of wanting to sue, the humiliation part of being set up in a mediation that wasn’t a mediation…and on and on.

How dare they, is what I thought, and I spun and circled in mind about pulling up the evidence—the emails from the witness who at the time of mediation froze up and remembered nothing, the notes from my therapist, even my therapist’s comment that this man had a reputation, hearsay or not, she knew of him well, the notes from the Dean’s meeting, the Dean of the department warning me not to ever bring up the word Aspergers in professional setting: “It’s not the appropriate place.”

I dug up so much old stuff: the confusion of being accepted into a Masters in Counseling program that didn’t even want to know who I was, who didn’t even want to know how my mind functioned. The confusion of being told I was creating my condition (Aspergers) and announcing to the world my son’s brain (who has Aspergers) is broken. The confusion of receiving lower marks on my papers after the mediation took place. The confusion of one professor offering unsolicited advice about me, once she found out I had Aspergers. The meltdown of my self-esteem, self-worth, and self-love that dissipated much like the wicked witch in The Wizard of Oz into a molten black. Why was it I who had to undergo such pain?

I thought back to the high marks I received as an educator. Always the highest marks. How my college classes previously, through undergraduate work to my Master’s in Education program had been a place of safety. How the professors appreciated my input and intelligence. At times how I became the exemplary “one” or the teacher’s pet. I remembered how with every endeavor I’d ever set out to do, I had excelled, even exceeded others’ expectation. And here, in the span of little over a semester, with the hearing of the word Aspergers, the others, a set whom were supposed to be my mentors, painted me with their own muted greys into something I was not and am not.

Suddenly, all of me became what they saw. Suddenly, I had lost all I had built. With one swipe they knocked the self out of me.

And as I processed through the events and corresponding pain, I began to wonder what to do with this surfacing anger. A damaging letter came to mind: “Look at what they did to me.” And I let those thoughts come readily and steadily and tear into me one by one. I bled in my bed. I bled and bled, the tears of my soul seeking vengeance.

And then, with the passing of deep ache and hollowed out chance, I let the feeling go. I let the anger purge through me and erase the fear. I let the anger dance and take flight. I let the scenarios play out. I let the other me who wished to be free escape. And this shadow side, she wept more. Her screams the own echoes of demise and lack of rescue. For she had tried so very hard at this University, where her dream of being a therapist was going to come true. She read all of the “extra” books, did all of the “extra” credit, spent countless hours, setting aside her dyslexia and dyspraxia, in hopes of impressing her professors, and hopes they would see her, see her brilliance, see her mind, see the gift she so readily wanted to share with the world. This part of her less-ego than giving spirit. See me, see me, see me! That is all she wanted. That was all she ever wanted.

In receiving her diagnosis the world made sense to her finally. She wanted to celebrate. Four-decades of not knowing made sense in a split-second. Four-decades of intense suffering realized and ended with the blink of an eye. In the mention of a word. This gem of Aspergers had saved her, had brought her home onto herself.

And in knowing this, she wanted to share. She had to share. She had to let others know. “Look, I found the key. Look!”…….

And instead I was made to think I was broken. I was wrong. I was made to be pushed back into a hole and remain uncovered. Not one professor wanted to hear, wanted to know about Aspergers. Even in the beginning of the second-semester of my group-therapy class I was warned, we as class warned: Don’t share the diagnosis stuff here.

Really? I was so beside myself, how could I share in group therapy without sharing the essential element of who I thought myself to be and how I thought myself to function.

Could they not see I wasn’t broken? Could they not see that Aspergers was not a disease, not an illness, not anything beyond the way I saw the world?

And the questions came bubbling: Why would I be hushed, unless indeed I was entirely flawed? Why would I be told I created this, unless I was entirely unaware of my own self?

So much damage done, in so little time.

Today, before the sun rose, I wept in bed, the whole of my body sweating and seeping out the poison. And I turned and turned, half in sleep and half in agony. Lessons, lessons, and more lessons.

And then the peace finally came. Right when it was time to awaken my husband, I was awoken.

The clarity seeped through me. I saw that I had detoxed the emotions. I finally released the torturous anguish. I finally set my self free and their falsehood to rest.

I awoke fully with a knowing. I knew what I was supposed to do.

I was to teach others, teach the teachers of the teachers, the educators of future counselors and psychologist, the parents, the caretakers, the women of tender-heart and soul like me. Teach them that Aspergers is nothing to be ashamed of and nothing to hide away. Teach the beauty of who we are to erase the darkness that once pushed me into hiding.

351: My Next Step

I have been spending the past few days going through my first 70 posts. You can find the links under Helpful Pages to the left, in the sidebar menu. I will be doing the same for all of the posts. About 300 left to sort through.

I am organizing my writings for several reasons:

1) To view where I was in comparison to where I am now.
2) To sort the posts in a fashion that will be user-friendly for readers.
3) To reflect upon what my next step will be.

This process of sorting is similar to stacking toy blocks or sorting toy cars. The process allows me to forget my own mind for a bit and to momentarily escape.

I find myself at a fork in the road. I have been in contact with the editor of the journal I write for; she is a wonderful person currently assisting me as I process through my next step regarding creating a book. I would like to collect these works into hardcopy book form. Something people can hold in their hands. And something I can hold in mine.

I made the committment to self to write 365 posts, because that number symbolizes a year and a full-circle journey. That end-date is swiftly approaching. In seeing this endpoint, I recognize an ending represents a beginning as well. Not a new start, as new starts are available every moment, but a new beginning: a leaping point that will take me in a new direction.

I have some anxiety associated with newness and the unknown. A part of me would like to be fearless and entirely optimistic about the future, but a part of me recognizes this fear is part of my journey at the moment.

I don’t know what to do, or where to go, in regards to my writing and my vocation. I do know I want to serve and I serve well through words and creating safe places. I do know I need to consider my physical challenges and my own Aspergers, as I am quickly depleted if I am out of the house too much or around large crowds.

I have worries. I worry that if I attempt to put my works into a book I shall become ego-attached. I worry about who will want to read what I have written and wonder if this endeavor to make a book all be for naught. I don’t know if I should seek out an agent, publisher, or self-publish. I wonder what will happen when I open this new door. I wonder about rejection and allowing myself to feel wounded and “not enough.”

This blog has become a very safe place for me. A haven. I risk, but I don’t usually feel fear associated with risking. I feel at home. Like a sibling free to be herself amongst her brothers and sisters. I feel sheltered. I thank you for this.

Outside of this blog, I felt unsafe.

I am trying to visualize my next place. I am wanting answers. I am wanting to see the future. So much is a blur. I see myself utilizing my masters degree in education and speaking to others. But I don’t know about what. My heart is at home when I am connecting to my poetry and spiritual writings. I feel the healing there. But at the same time I know my work with Aspergers is vital, at least at this moment.

I have a lot of works here, a couple hundred pages of auto-biographical stories alone. There are also many poems, automatic writing and precognitive spiritual experiences, silly life experiences, examples of the inner-workings of my mind, and more.

I am not sure where to begin. I am not sure how to sort and organize this. I am uncertain what is important and what is not. And the anxiousness that comes with wanting to piece together a puzzle, and the need to dissect and sort, is here.

I want to magically awaken and have someone come and say: Here, here is the answer. Or better yet: I will do it for you!

I want to be surrounded in compassionate support, deep understanding, and unconditional love.

I want my angels to show me the exact steps and the exact outcome.

Here are some questions I need answers to:

1) What do you think would be beneficial for me to do with these works?

2) What works on this blog are you most drawn to?

3) What works on this blog have helped you the most and in what way?

4) Do you have a viewpoint about self-publishing verses searching for a literary agent?

5) Where do you see these works having an effect? (e.g., college university, females with aspergers)

6) What are your own thoughts or hunches about this blog?

Thank you very much for listening. I welcome all ideas and thoughts with love.

In Love and Light,

Sam

344: Proof I am Alien… and Other Theories

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Alien Rod
In the x-ray image of me, there is a rod the aliens inserted; it starts in my brain and jets down to my mouth (see front tooth area for proof); it is my communication device where I glimpse elements of the future and am able to deem what avenues to take to protect myself and society. I receive messages at three in the morning in the form of complex and unearthly prose, telepathically received with beautiful images and divine sensation of wholeness and completion. The aliens look like angels and drive spaceships resembling the sun and/or the clouds. They are not scary. The rod doesn’t hurt, but makes for a cool zombie-like image. By examining this photo, note the size of my eye sockets and ears. I am alien for certain. I even have the alien-shape-face-thing going on. And yes, this is really me!

Audacious Spirit
Before I was shot down to earth by the spiritual beings, whom guard the hall of records in another realm, I met before a board of angel guides; they had agreed to help me in this life. I jumped up and down and was so excited about my list of goals I wanted to accomplish here on earth. Being headstrong and determined, I did not heed the warnings of the master experts, the ones with a thousand more lifetimes under their belts than me. I am one of those ambitious youngsters who thinks she is all that—the type the elders laugh at so loud the skies of heaven thunder. Of course, I was clueless to my hubris and audacity, and thought myself brilliant. I recited a long list. Essentially I wanted to learn all the life lessons possible in 88 years. At half-life I would metamorphosis and all my prophetic and empathic senses would kick in. I wanted to see in all ways: to know through all senses, e.g., feeling, experiencing, hearing, smelling, and seeing. I originally insisted on the sense of taste too, to know things through taste, but the angels demanded I throw at least one thing out. I wanted to experience extreme agony, displacement, heartache, rejection, abandonment, physical pain, and on and on. Just bring it on, was my attitude. I had no clue how long earth lives were, as I had never been a human before. I was a dolphin. Now I am stuck down here with this master plan, and I can’t change it. I dream of water all the time, and get uncanny cravings for fish. The good news is half of my life is over.

Dropped Down

I come from a planet where chocolate is the staple nutrient for life forms and no one eats animals or animal products. Actually no one eats anything beyond air, energy, and chocolate. There are twice as many trees. And the trees talk and sing. They are the only ones that talk. The rest of us speak telepathically, so there is no need to shift through the multiple variables of words to express the multiple variables of thought. Thought just arises in images and picture form and through emotion. Beings are conscious about their intentions; and there is little fear, as nothing is hidden. Nothing can be hidden. Faces change based on experience and emotion, and one’s energy. There is nothing that is stagnant. We see the energy of the world spinning, and multiple worlds within everything. Beings have soulmates, intense soul connections, kinship, and a knowing of peace and serenity. I was dropped down here on earth by accident. And it sucks.

The Woman’s Wisdom
I was a sage in my past life, something akin to a Buddha, but not quite. I was considered enlightened by all who encountered me and all whom heard my name; but then, this scrawny two-faced hermit lady, who lived in the deep caves of some forgotten unmentionable place, she came to me, and she cursed me with her wisdom.
She said: “You are a man in form in this lifetime. You are not truly enlightened in the complete sense, unless you come back to this realm as a woman, and as a woman in form you live through the following: the extreme emotional and physical confusion of hormonal cycling (for peak experience, live in the years beyond 2000, where the environmental toxins that mimic female hormones are abundant; PMS is a blast), the pain of giving birth, (and most of the complications that can arise while pregnant, including the agony of inducement), the challenges of marrying and living with a man, (as a woman you will see the male gender in an entirely new light), raising children, (and lets add children who never nap, don’t sleep through the night, have chronic health conditions in early child years, fight for the first ten years… non-stop), the experience of Aspergers, (your son and you will have this, but you will not recognize it in yourself until half of your life is over; that’s okay because with this condition you’ll have the capacity to fixate and obsess so much that you’ll figure yourself out in no time), the pressures society places on women to look beautiful, (you can rock that whole half-front tooth that turns dead thing), the cattiness of women turning against you and stabbing you in the back, the pain as a result of predators seeking you out, a chronic pain condition that has no explanation and no cure, and that people originally target as an imagined female condition. Hmmmm. (She smiled her toothless smile and raised a boney crocked finger.) And let’s add that whole mother-in-law dynamic bit. Of course female or not, you can still be endowed with all the gifts from this world: prophecy, precognition, seeing, sensing, knowing, feeling, empathy, revelations, energetic healing, etc. You can take all you need with you that you’ve gained from this life of a man, but I am telling you now, it shall not be enough! Do all this and come back to me at the end of the lifetime, and then you will be ready to teach me.” I concurred and naively agreed. After my nod, she quickly inserted, “And, just for fun, let’s give you voluptuous curves which you are entirely uncomfortable with, and the mind of a prudish, but lustful nun!” And with that, I was born.

Photo on 3-21-13 at 9.41 AM #2

337: I Am What I Choose to Create

Photo on 3-6-13 at 2.49 PM

Here is a painting I shared earlier on this blog. I changed the bear a couple of times, as I didn’t like the “energy” of the bear. I could see images inside the fur that were dark and gloomy, e.g., a person eating at the heart, a boy screaming, a heart breaking. I tried to improve the bear to my liking, but I could not. The energy remained.

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Finally, I took the canvas off the wall and had at it. I erased the bear in totality, (with water and paper towel), and for two hours let the canvas speak.

In the end, the girl’s face, which I adore, remained, and she gained some wings!

I can now rest my eyes on this painting and feel at peace.

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But I missed my bear. I love my bear.

And so I brought him back to life. Not intentionally or on purpose; in the way the process transformed, the bear kind of just showed up!

I painted, (and processed), for five hours last night. So much so that I had zombie blue fingers. (I paint mostly with paper towels and my fingers.) The canvas transformed a dozen times. I erased and erased, painted and painted, and erased again.

Each time I thought I might be done, I knew I wasn’t, because I felt stagnant energy.

I know when my creation is done by the “feeling” I have in my heart and in my gut. Together the heart and gut tell me. I “feel” this freeing of energy, a release, and a recognition of completion.

I experience the same gut-and-heart-level feelings with people, places, events, words, and even the rhythm of words. I get a knowing, and just know.

At first the painting I created last night was a princess in a dress; then a woman dancing; then the image became a woman and two spirits at the river, and then, after several transitions, this lovely bear reappeared. And he was here to stay.

I went through several states of emotion as I painted, too, including envy, jealously, feelings of being caged in, disappointment, and agony. When an emotion surfaced I would paint the pain and then go over the pain with words like “love.” I would then recreate through adding more paint, designs, or through erasing with water.

In my painting I completed of the girl and bear last night, I can only find peaceful and tranquil images in the paint.

Before, with the first bear painting, I could find several dozen images. In this new painting there are only a few images I can detect. Here is one image that I found soothing. I see a lady resting on the bear’s head.

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All of this “energy” and “images” inside of my paintings got me thinking about the water crystal images, and how the crystals transform shapes based on a slip of paper with a written word. I was reminded once again how thoughts and the emotions we hold on to affect our world.

Today I said the word “love” to myself a lot. I kept filling the empty spaces in my mind with the word “love.”

I remembered, that like my painting, my intention, the energy of the person I am holding in thought, my thoughts themselves, the motion I choose, the drafts I recreate, all of these seemingly random things work together to produce my experience and perception.

The new painting with the bear.

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Today I am practicing letting myself observe my self without judgment.
I am letting myself be.
I am letting myself come forward from beneath the chaos of the canvas.
I am transforming and materializing through the swirls of multi-color and seemingly misplaced and random scatterings of occurrence.
I am letting myself become whole and present, free of emotional chains.
In many ways I am much this bear.
And I am this painting.
I am what I choose moment-by-moment to create.

336: I LOVE this man: Tony Attwood

Okay, this is unbelievable. I have had TWO good hair days in a row. Seriously, something is up with the stars! And just now, after thinking about Tony Attwood, I opened my email to find his message! Good hair and Attwood…. life is so good!

I have attended Mr. Attwood’s conference and met him briefly in person. Also, his books and audios were immensely helpful when my son was first diagnosed. This is his recent response to me. Yay!

Please hold Mr. Tony Attwood in healing light and love.

I thank him for the great works he does to bring a voice to Asperger’s Syndrome.

Part of today’s email:

“Your webpage is absolutely fascinating and I certainly enjoyed reading the information that you sent me. In your email you refer to my thoughts on whether you have indeed the characteristics of Asperger’s syndrome. I would say that, from what I have read, that that seems very likely as you have an insight into Asperger’s syndrome but especially the way that Asperger’s syndrome is expressed in girls. You certainly have an ability to communicate your thoughts in such an effective way…..

…you may be interested in the audio recordings of my radio interviews describing the characteristics of Asperger’s syndrome in girls. My own webpage is currently being updated and the links should be back on my webpage in the next week or so. You may be interested in listening to a radio interview I did for Brisbane 612 ABC Radio with Richard Fidler, http://www.abc.net.au/local/stories/2012/02/02/3421377.htm?site=brisbane.

Please do continue your work helping those with Asperger’s syndrome and those who love and support them and I look forward to reading more about your very important contribution to the understanding of Asperger’s syndrome in girls and women.”

I know, total coolness. :)))

http://www.tonyattwood.com.au
http://www.amazon.com/Tony-Attwood/e/B000APW3XM

Photo on 3-5-13 at 12.22 PM