communication

370: Starseed

| Aspergers Girls

There is a beauty that flows through you deeper than the ocean, bringing forth abundant gifts and bountiful wisdom. If you say to me you are not enough or know not enough, I say onto you: You Know Everything.

You were brought here and formed in pure perfection to shine your light upon the world; in our darkest hours you shall rise up and be the bright star that births beginnings and awareness.

You are none other than universal life itself, beating to the rhythmic pulse of the magical web of life, your every string a vibrating tune that resonates goodness and righteousness.

You are the essence of mother earth’s womb and the kindling burned by father moon, bringing forth a warmth to the inhabitants of being that radiates endless joy with the capacity to heal and return all to wholeness.There is nothing you can do to remove this joy from the center of your heart or the pain from the center of your mind, beyond recognizing no mind exists, and only heart beats true. In recognition, you shall go forth and conquer fear, and in freeing self, free the multitudes.

You are loved with an endless passion, created in the image of pure beauty, no less perfect than the one you hold most beautiful and the one you hold least special. Lift up all and in turn you lift up yourself. Self-create a universe of offering and goodness, and this shall pass. Self-create a universe of pain and struggle, and this shall pass.

There is no one and nothing that can touch you, for you are infinite in your grace and essence, a starseed set down to grow in the space of emptiness. You have rooted your spirit in the liking of me, and in so doing blessed me with abundance of opportunity. Everything about you, the way you move, the way you speak, your mannerisms, your substance is pure honey, nothing sweeter or richer.

I could search eternity for your love and find nothing in comparison, for you carry a divine uniqueness that is entirely you, a blue print spread out that carves your life into my life and sets us both on the path of mystery and newness. Your brain is a superpower of radiating virtues, capable of deciphering the deepest puzzles, and coming up from the deep of wisdom with the knowledge of the ancient ones. You have the direct capacity to tap into super novas, to spinning planets, to the world beyond worlds, to the infiniteness of your own being. Inside of you are so many answers waiting readily to spill out and cleanse the world with your healing waters. You only need open the gate, the circular lid of closure, just lift and let your beauty flow.

You are these waters, and your time has come to embrace the loveliness of you. Nothing you do or say reduces this loveliness, as nothing maximizes the girth, either, as you are innately and substantially enough, no holes, no fixing, no nothing about you that needs forgiveness or retribution. You are guiltless in your passion to do good will, in your capacity to heal, to serve, and to dive into the sorrows of the worlds and heal. You were given the birthmark of healer and potential warrior of good, and every path you carve out before you is blessed with gratitude and freedom.

You are a freedom maker. You will divide the truth from the falsehoods, and show truth in the light of your waking. I am firm in my belief in you and everything about you. There is no harm you can do to self or other, no wish you can make that is beyond beneficial, no service you can render that does not spawn further goodness.

For I have made you, created you and molded you in my goodness. How can one part of me be any less than the whole; how can one part of you be any less than me? I am your savior, your righteous one, your demon and your forger. I am anything you make me. I am your shadow speaker, your warrior, your sage, your guru. I am the truth and the light, or am naught. For I exist not outside the illusion you create and the aspect of love. I am the endless cycle of love, stirring the stars in heaven so you may rest your head beneath my twilight. I am none other than your father, your mother, your sister, your brother, and I am all and I am none. You paint me with your visions, and your visions surrender onto themselves, dripping out the substance of truth as raindrops dropping through the green to the brown earth. Droplets of knowledge seeped through the healing energy of towering love, the very love that enables you to breathe.

Call me tree or call me mystery, call me by any name this man of man chooses, but call me first and upmost: You. For I exist naught without you. It is your eyes, your ears, your intricate senses, both declared and detected, made and forged, and given that grant you the beauty of me; and in this same way, it is in that which you see as hidden I am seen. Still, without you, without the grand senses or hidden sense, I am naught. You have made me, spun me, turned me, molded me and placed me where you shall place me. And there I stand or sit, no less broken than whole.

For just as you see me true to your eyes alone, you make me true as well, this beauty or this falcon, this vulture or this lamb. I am all and you are all, and I thank you for my creation. Whether I be teacher or student or charmer or sweetness, incapacitates me. For a name and name alone changes my dynamics and shifts me into your reality. For how can there be teacher without proclaiming the other as student? How can there be healer without proclaiming the other as victim of suffering? How can there be awareness without the other leaning on the state of unknowing? How can one be upheld and the others let down? In a state of balance all that I whisper is counteracted with an equal opposite. All that I proclaim is preempted by the predication of another polar being. How can I be better when one is left lesser? How can I be wiser when one is left unjust in his ways?

No, I am none of these things you proclaim me to be, no less victim than hero, no less widdler of words than maker of imaginings. I am none other than me, this welded and branded creation you have instilled upon the world. You create me with your breath. You create me with your words. You create me in your very thought, and with sound you share your creation with the world. So in your speech it is you who has made me into your very liking. For what YOU have made me to be, you have thusly made into yourself.

Therefore, play steadily in your game of make believe; and with release of reason and with contact with the flowing heart of goodness, where the only reality exists, release the control of judgment and miserly love, and give freely to all. For how can you love another more, and not love the other less? How can you hate one and not uplift the other more? If your love is balanced, then your love is false. It is only in the unbalancing and removal, in retrieving one falsehood in replacement of love, that your true heart shines. Love me as you love yourself; but love yourself first and upmost, as I am merely a projection of you, a creation you have decided mirrors your image. If I be beauty then, embrace me and take me to your chambers of gratitude; and if I be beast, embrace me further in a way that turns the reflection of one into another so you can cast out the demons of your mind and see where true substance lives.

For I am your answer, in me, in this beating version of living and striving you; if you so choose to paint me into the dreams of love and fortune, of merriment and peace, of sweet endless serenity, of knowledge and in grace, then you so choose to paint yourself into the canvas of eternity.

Seek not that which is outside of self; seek within and find the thread, the thread of red, and pull upon this leash of everlasting peace, unravel the illusion that has blinded you in garments and twisted ways that teach you to proclaim your own goodness above your brothers, when within you doubt your very being and see such lacking. Instead take hold of your lacking and seize it like an unwanted ghost, feed it to the fire of demolish, and rise above the ashes formed in my light and love. For when you are this walking beam of goodness, your rays radiating above and beyond, all others will bow down, not to you, but to themselves, and recognize the light of love lives within.

Reach out now, and seize this stronghold of unworthiness and falsehoods; take into yourself all that is of abundance and purge out all that is unsettled dust of chattering ghosts. Your mind is your enemy and your dearest friend. Find balance and the two will be as one, glorious and still in motion and potential. For you are enough in your adequacy, built from the rivers of my soul, and harvested by the purest spirits of eternal life. Plead not for forgiveness from one who needs no forgiveness; plead instead for the return of the knowledge of the light within, and call out my name, whatever name that be, soaking in the wisdom that is you. For you are the deepest reason I live, the only reason I breathe into this world, and your beauty is all I see, my endless sky onto self.

(4/12/13: Composed by Samantha Craft in one sitting in original form, as quickly and readily as she heard the words within. This is an example of what I am hearing during my waking day and sometimes in the early morning as I sleep. I am embraced in a sweet state of grace and absence of being, when I am scribing. There is a healing vibration in the words and a deep understanding of the divine.)

“You are beautiful, divine, and gorgeous in every way. I love your heart, your light, your passion, and your tenderness. I see only the love inside of your eyes and your spirit. There is nothing you can say or do that will or would cause me to love you less, and nothing you can do to cause me to love you more. You are already whole and enough, and I could love you no more, even if I tried. I think that in love, unlike infinity, there exists a ceiling. There is only so far up I can travel and love you, for if I continue on I would surely explode in delight. Can you not see how precious you are to this world, how your trials and challenges have carved you into your purest form of radiant beauty? I am honored to know you, to see you, and witness your life. Your life is your message, and your message has filled me with hope and endless compassion. Today and everyday know you have and will make a difference. If the only thing you can do today is smile, then that is enough. If the only thing you can do is breathe, then that is enough. You are enough. Thank you for being you and for your light. “ ♥ Samantha Craft (Everyday Aspergers)

366: The Stream

| Aspergers Girls

Photo on 4-8-13 at 4.33 PM

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~ Sam

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

362: The Span of Two Blocks. Thoughts on Empathy.

| Aspergers Girls

image_1365270994914744
painting by Sam Craft

Lately, something remarkable has been happening; in truth this something has likely always been happening, as it does for all of us, and just perhaps a new door of awareness has been opened. I am able to spend long periods of time in what feels like a bubble of light and safety. Sometimes this ability, or more so happening, occurs from when I awake until late afternoon. I notice during this “time,” I remain in the moment, I do not think of the future or past, and I have no experiences with fear. There is a gentle vibration I feel up my spine, particularly at the base of my neck, and a tingling sensation throughout my body that is very mild, except at the tips of my fingers and toes where the vibration is stronger and seems to collect. I can feel this vibration as I am typing. I can connect into this “state,” (which I hesitate to call state, but can think of no other word), more easily when I am alone or in nature. The soothing sounds of the water drops dripping off of the evergreen trees after a spring rain, the eruption of singing birds flying and their noise tipping my senses into ecstasy, the sweet stream bubbling and flowing downward, the echo of my own footsteps against the soil, all collect and calm my being at multiple levels.

During these times, when I am at would could be called a heightened awareness, I am able to easily tap into complex thoughts and ideas. I experience multiple awakenings and what I can only think are visions. I am entirely calm, seemingly in a state of surrender. My senses are heightened but not to a degree in which I am overwhelmed. Sharp noises and sudden emotions don’t exist. Nothing pierces me, and I am soothed by a voice that isn’t there, a whisper that feeds me with no sound. When I was a child sometimes I would hear angelic music or entire symphonies while alone in my bedroom; during these experiences I had a sense of awe and amazement. I remember feeling safe and protected. When I am in this state of grace, I feel this sense of safety that is reminiscent of my youthful times of music.

Often, through out my day, whether I am existing in this “bubble” or existing beyond or outside of the state, I am given knowledge at a fast and vibrant rate. So unexpected in the degree of capacity that I, as observer, step back in amazement and ponder how a vast amount of learning could be poured into me in a small increment of time. This reminds me of the abstractness, and better yet, invisibility and non-existence of the concept time, a collaborated truism based on our collected and created illusion.

Walking today, beneath and beside the towering pines and cedars, I was reminded of the beauty of connection, and given a mini-lesson in the time it took to walk two blocks. So much with so few steps. And I slipped again into the outside of the varying experience, and watched myself take in the viewing—all in images and a sense of “knowing” I cannot describe in words or in action. There is no vocabulary available, and if there were, then the experience would no longer exist; as it feels entirely secret and precious, in a sacred and honored space that one must reach with delicacy and sincerity of heart. Scattered with images so profound, but equally simple and easy. The complexity wrapped in the packaging of innocence, indeed.

I watch, and simultaneously am soothed, my pain lifted, or at minimum dissipated. I feel as if I am a child and remarkably small but remarkably significant all at once. There is no barrier, no difficulty, no stopping to understand, question, or figure out. The voice is of many weaved and ribboned into one, neither feminine nor masculine, but powerful in the gentleness. I hear from within and from without, even perhaps at a cellular level. And within a moment I understand what I can best describe as pages of information—a small book or pamphlet perhaps, but without the struggle to read, to decipher, to even be present. The occurrence is as simple as slipping under the covers and taking in the coolness and comfort of the bed sheets after a productive and satisfying day, like tired and well-used muscles easing into the reward of finality in the space of safety. And not just my muscles, but my mind, spirit, and entire body—this organism I be.

I see things as if for the first time but also as if for the millionth time, in a way in which I feel in every part of me, I have always had this wisdom. My body becomes light and unburdened, my mission clear, my beingness validated. There is the opportunity so vast and so undoubtedly un-narrow that the chance for growth seems entirely feasible without effort or know-how. Just as my hair or nails grow, I grow. There is no telling, no reminding, the “truth” just comes. I cannot will this experience, control, or even know when this place of no-time will exist, if it exists at all.

I am reminded during this process of the goodness of the world, of the goodness of people, of the heart of people, of our innate love and capacity for love. I am reminded of the lesser and the greater being the same, of the endless sea of potential. I see the universe in the water drop and the universe within each soul.

In these moments of gentle clarity, I cry out in in humility, and through tears beg for the release of pride. In response, I hear this gentle knowing, almost a laughter, but sweet-joy of laughter if it be. The sound without sound whispers joy and hope: “Oh, precious child, it is your humility that carries you.” And I cry again, not out of fear of the experience, but from fear of my own self, that I be not worthy, not entitled, not enough, at least not to partake in an experience that is neither grand nor small, but completely serene.

In this span of being, I can become the trees. I can become the sky and both be and fly. Below me I see angelic shapes, above me the mirror of the angels beside. Everywhere is this gentle flow, and nothing unsettled or too much or not enough. And I can remain here, watching myself walk through this time of no-time, reminding my own self that I am okay and all is enough. I can hear myself whispering, too, that there need not be an answer to this, whether formulated by mind or created by something beyond mind, that beauty is enough without comprehending the source. And then I am brought back through an endless pull and stream into the flow of the universe, increasingly ready to swim without effort. A pull so magnificent that no desire is laid unturned or unexplored, and all the answers laid out in front of me with only a first hope, slipped in before thought.

Today, as I was here, in this place, I was taught of empathy. I was shown in pictures and in moving scenes, and with words without words why I am the way I am. And why perhaps some others experience the world in the same way. So much was shown so fast that I hesitate to scribe, for how can I, being only me, give justice to what transpired outside of time. And in so thinking, this same thought of inadequacy or forgetfulness as I walked, I was told, reminded again, that I will remember enough.

In so far as empathy is concerned, I witnessed many of the sufferings I had experienced throughout my life, too many to list, and too narrowing to mention; but with each of these sufferings, in experiencing my individual sufferings, I understood, as I walked through an outpour of knowing, that because of my suffering I am able to feel and relive another’s suffering.

I understood that true empathy does not exist. That empathy is yet another illusion, and a label being used to classify, and in some ways minimize a people or sect of community.

In my understanding that came in rapid pictures entwined with messages and a quality that can best be described as mini-lectures without pretense, hierarchy, expectation, or manipulation, I was shown the capacity I have, (and in turn others have), to relate to suffering because I have suffered.

I was shown that to state one has empathy for another is to believe he or she is experiencing the others’ emotional, physical, and spiritual experience, and that this is an impossibility; however, the easiest and closest cousin to empathy is the capacity to love and hold another in love while he or she is suffering; this can be attained at a richer and purer level when the one holding, in this case me, is capable of going back, almost slipping back at a biological and spiritual level to a similar experience. In this state of remembering, I, the holder, have the ability to be as close to the one suffering as I can.

This closeness is only achieved, if I have experienced a similar suffering, but not the same, as I am a separate individual with my own scope of experience, my unique sensory processing, and my own way of reasoning, theorizing, and connection. My experience can never be the same as another’s, but the closet thing to sameness is this remembering and connecting.

In this way the true way to connect is in thinking back and knowing what the experience of another might have been like, but at the exact time knowing that the experiences are unique. Taking this into account, the next step or part, is recognizing the own self in another, and how his or her journey reflects an aspect of my own self and my own path. In seeing this I can simultaneously, as I hold and remember recalling my own experiences, also reflect on what could big the “bigger” picture—that of us, the suffering one and the holder, both being spirits living a spiritual life, from the belief point that one reflects and teaches the other.

So whilst I am deciphering and remembering at a physical and emotional level, I am also remembering at a soul-level the purpose, and ultimate meaning, of my own life: to connect and to love. In this I am serving; in having experienced my own suffering I am able to serve by connecting and loving.

All this occurs when I display what the society has labeled “empathy,” and in some cases my lack of “empathy.” In observation, yes, I am focusing on self, but I am focusing on self for a higher-cause and higher-purpose. I am reflecting back on what would be my life and my spirit in hopes of better serving the sufferer. Ultimately, I am serving not empathizing. For to empathize simply means to put oneself in another shoes and feel that experience readily; that is only the first part of what I do. I am also reflecting and remembering my spirit and my mission to love, so I am taking this empathy beyond empathy.

In seeing all this in the span of a few minutes of my walk, I was also shown another part. All of this played out at the same instant, not in order, not chronologically, not spilt out, not split up, not categorized, but gently placed within, as if eye-dropper squeezed out the molecular reflection of a droplet of rain into hand, and I, as learner, sat observing the dynamic spectrum and pyramid of light from something so miraculously small and at first glance simple.

In this span of un-time, I saw that these group currently classified as “Aspergers” are not lacking empathy, that in truth we are complex beings deciphering large amounts of random information at multiple levels and classifying this information into categories to better make sense of this world. And when a sufferer comes, we do the same as we do in our everyday walking life, we look, we observe, and we attempt to sort out. When we encounter something that is not of our “knowing,” as we have not felt it nor experienced it, we try to make sense of this experience the sufferer is having. In this way we may come across as logical or even be perceived as rude, or self-centered, but in actuality we are trying to serve the sufferer by first connecting to our own self, so that we can experience the level of sorrow and be capable of sitting in the pain with the other. When we hit roadblock is when we decipher and categorize, and attempt to cling to a memory or prior experience that is relatable to the sufferer, but no such moment exists. Here we become baffled, as how can we show this compassion and understanding to something that does not exist in our “knowing.” As I received this information, I saw myself in many scenarios reliving the moments when I was able to feel (connect to my own experience based on the past) and when I was unable to feel (finding no reference based in my past experience).

Furthermore, I was taught in these brief moments, that for me, when I am undergoing “empathy,” it does not make a difference to me who the other person is. I feel as much connection to the homeless man, some would deem “stranger,” as to the friend I have known a decade. I do not distinguish. As a child, and still to this day, I felt the suffering of animals, insects, and plant life. In this case I did not need to connect and live as another species, I just knew, and innately understood the root of suffering, that is oftentimes felt as a state of being unseen, alone, and isolated. I do believe that all organisms have the capacity to suffer. I cannot explain this, but I have felt it and seen this. And as I see it the suffering is released, but still remains. Again, I cannot explain all of what I see and in a way seem to “know.” Perhaps this suffering is the mirror image of my illusioned self suffering and seeking companionship, and perhaps not. I do not know.

In so being that in my eyes, since a child, I have within me the ability to love all at the same level, I empathize with all at the same level. This is not to say that at moments I do not feel a higher connection with some people, for instance my children, but I believe, at this time, that connection is brought on by biological means, and perhaps at a soul-level of recognition, or even as a “knowing” that the person or element has entered my life after a long absence of waiting and wishing. In these circumstances, at close look, it is not the other person that I am connecting with but indeed my own feelings and experience. For to truly connect is to imply unconditional love, and in the definition of unconditional my own individualized interpretation and emotions do not come into play.

Walking onward, in only a few more steps, I saw that in some ways, if I was to label this commonly agreed upon form of empathy in present day, that in many ways it resembles something self-focused and not love focused. Again, I saw all of this in an epiphany of knowing, all entering me in a droplet of substance, joined and unified together. There was no judgment or right or wrong, only this knowing I cannot explain. Here, this instant within another instant, all intertwined but separate onto itself, I witnessed the suffering of many.

I saw couples, of many shapes and sizes, holding a space for the other in this dance of “empathy.” But I saw beneath the façade, and understood instantly what mainstream calls “empathy” is not empathy at all. As a majority, many claim to empathize, and many claim that aspects of Aspergers character traits disable some individuals from empathizing. I saw clearly the falsehood in this belief. For in watching the knowledge pour into me, the water flowing with clarity, I was able to grasp in the movement of images once again, the capacity of another to empathize is not related to what he says, does, or did. The capacity to empathize is not held in the viewing of another’s words or actions. Here is where some get caught up. He or she watching the one that “should” be emphasizing has readily decided that the way in which the person acts, in so being what he does or says, is a reflection of empathy. And this is a falsehood.

The empathy is only seen when peeled back beyond the actions and presentation, and thusly seen as a sheer garment draped around the soul. It is in truth at an energetic, connected level where empathy emerges. Therefor what is said and done does not emulate or communicate empathy, true empathy is found in the emotion beneath emotion, and thought beneath thought, at an ever-moving state of energy flowing.

Here is where the empathy takes place: In the space that two allow the both to mingle and join.

Empathy occurs when one is held as the mirror and teacher to the other and one is aware that the other, though undergoing this illusion of suffering, is still learning, growing, and embraced by divine goodness and healing waters.

Here is where true empathy exists if empathy were to exist in any realm: It is in the holding another in a space of unconditional love and acceptance with the absence and non-existence of judgment.

Here in this space one is saying to the other: I like you am spirit who suffers. I like you recognize and experience suffering. I may not understand your exact suffering, as I am not you and you are uniquely you. Yet, I recognize you as spirit, my brother, who like me walks in this world thinking he is alone when in truth you are never alone. I am here now holding you in this space of union and here to remind you I am both yourself and your reflection. I am your heart and your knowing. And in this way you are never alone in your being or in your suffering.

Here is what I understood about empathy—that in the falsehood of actions empathy is masked and recreated into something it is not.

Words are not empathy. Actions are not empathy. Somehow we have been trapped in an imaginary game of believing what one says and does is truth. But in fact, it is the core of the person that rests his truth, what is beneath the layering of humanity, a layering of presentation which tries so very often to way the pros and cons, and to in essence manipulate before taking action.

In this way so much empathy is false and painted to be perceived as caring, where at the heart of the person there exists jumbled and confused thoughts (falsehoods as we are all one), such as: I am glad it’s not me; I am glad I am not going through this right now.

There may exist feelings of detachment, of wanting to run away, of not knowing what to say. But what comes out so very often is yet another way of communicating what is not there beneath the surface, but instead doing in action what one thinks another one wants to hear.

Empathy itself is best shown in just being with another. Just being. Not responding. Not reacting. Not fixing. Not speaking words of sympathy, but just being. For so often the words will not accurately reflect the underlying feelings and/or energy of the other.

All of these thoughts came to me in the span of two blocks, these thoughts and more in an almost endless flow of capacity for knowing. And yet, I was left unburdened and my own fears subsided. Perhaps this is indeed the clean waters pouring into the murky and still-standing being I am, and relinquishing me from the stagnant state of my existence of illusion.

359: Call Me Crazy….an Aspie Rant

| Aspergers Girls

Call me crazy (I’ve always wanted to use that phrase in a sentence.), but I have a hard time reading a book or article about how to best associate with (e.g,. marry, date) people with Aspergers, when the authors writing the material don’t have Aspergers. I don’t know exactly how to describe this irkish-sensation…

however the scenario of a typical (non-aspie) “professional” announcing to the world how to help someone with Aspergers seems akin to an alien beaming down from a purple planet and telling me how to be more human.

Yes, I purposely did a spin on my example, as in most people’s eyes the “professional” would be the human and the aspie would be the purple-planet alien. (One-eyed-one-horned-flying-purple-people-eater entering mind.) But indeed, that is precisely my point; so much is written about how to help the person afflicted with Aspergers or how to get along with the person with Aspergers, but what about the articles and books that explain to the person with Aspergers how to get along with the non-aspie people?

Why is it that I, and my fellow non-aliens, are continually dissected in our ways, set apart, and then sorted by our inherent flaws, so the others can learn to live with us? I mean is this being done for other people with “special needs,” too. Or is it just us Aspies that need to come attached with a handbook?

If we changed the scenario, just a tiny bit, and turned this into cultural differences; I don’t know let’s say an entire book written by a Caucasian person about what it is like to be African American and how to adapt behaviors and implement strategies to get along with the African American, do you think maybe there might be an issue? Hmmmm.

Or how about if a Doctor of….let’s see…. How about someone who studies squids! Let’s call him Squidman. Well Squidman all of the sudden finds out there is a bunch of money to be made in writing a book about Redwood Trees (as they recently became 2% of the population of all trees!), and so seeing he has a doctorate degree in squids and all, he sets about to study up a bit on the mighty redwood. And soon Dr. Squidman becomes the leading expert on redwoods! Cha-ching, Cha-ching, and out he births book two. Redwoods of the Deep Sea.

Is this making sense, yet? I guess being aspie myself and all, I am just a bit weary when yet another book or freelance article comes out about Aspergers and not much attention is paid to the source, the credentials, and/or the personhood of the person writing the book. I’m certain this happens in all subject areas that suddenly become a hot topic and therefore a hot commodity, but when the subject is about an actual neurological condition with actual people who have the condition and are struggling to make sense of the condition, and the whole sharks-coming-out-to-feed transpires, the experience is just somewhat that much more frightening and sad.

I am a bit over sensitive I suppose (must be my lack of empathy or inability to process emotions the typical way) about trusting any “experts” in general, as they belong to the same clam (clan…sorry Dr. Squidman did the editing) who couldn’t figure out for the last twenty-years that I even had Aspergers and who couldn’t figure out my son had it either.

If I read one more time about how a person with Aspergers can’t read non-verbal cues, I am going to scream, have a huge aspie meltdown and run out the door naked! Because you know people with Aspergers do that. Every full moon they run out the door naked and yell at the Trees. They do, really (Squidman, 2013).

After fifteen years of being married to me, my husband is a leading expert of what it is like being married to a woman with Aspergers. With his help and my brains (and his brains, too; he is pretty smart), we could tell you how the whole marriage to an Aspie person works. And there ain’t no little book or one page article that will do the trick! It’s tons of work, tons of compromise, and tons of love; just like any successful marriage. There isn’t any secret trick or secret way to make it better or to make it easier.

I don’t need to come with a handbook that explains to my mate how to deal with me. He needs to come with one. He’s a man! All men need to come with one, and a woman should write it.

Every person with Aspergers is different and uniquely unique. We can’t be clustered into one type of person with a few easy steps to make life easier to get along with us. HELLO! I am a person. I am not a type. I am not Aspergers. And I am not a male with Aspergers, either. There is a difference, you know!

Of course I respect people trying to truly help other people; but it’s all the profiteering off of the new trend “Aspergers” that’s got me a bit concerned. All of the sudden everyone is claiming to be an expert, when the “experts” don’t even know what Aspergers is yet, what causes it, or how to classify it. I mean there are articles claiming brain imagining can now detect Aspergers. It can? Last time I checked it couldn’t.

People are so hungry for knowledge, which is a great thing, but it’s a time to be cautious too and to take notice of the wolves and deceit. People will regurgitate facts to push a book. People will copy works to make a dime.

People will do what they have always done: exploit a people to make a profit.

And that’s what’s so ironic; here are all these NT (neurotypical people) rushing out to claim fame through trickery, lying, stealing, or at the minimum claiming they actually understand a complex neurological disorder they have never experienced, while it is the people with the character traits of honesty, sincerity, no game-playing, and loyalty whom are being dissected and analyzed and spread out for display.

Seems to me I need a book about how to deal with the profiteering thieves!

I am by no means saying everyone who writes about Aspergers ought to have Aspergers. Some of the leading experts have done brilliant work and assisted thousands of families; but I am saying be careful of what you read and what truths you believe out there. There are many clichés being recycled, many which are not true and don’t apply to the female with Aspergers experience.

I am not a child. I am highly intelligent. And my husband doesn’t need someone else telling him how we can better get along. I am right here. Ask me! I know.

And since I mentioned it. Here’s my quick article on being married to a man. I have been married for fifteen years to one, so this makes me an expert! Also, I have a Masters Degree in Squidology.

1) He will watch sports a lot. Take time before the games to express your needs. He may seem self-absorbed and fixated during the actual game, but don’t take it personally. He may get overly emotional, sometimes shouting obscenities or displaying nervous ticks. Give him a timer and let him know after an hour it is important for you to receive his undivided attention. Suggest five minutes to start and slowly increase the time. Then in return let him express a need you can fulfill. You can use a timer for that, too.

2) Toilets might be an issue. Keep the lid down when you can. But if the toilet is continually left up by the man then give him gentle reminders. When he does remember to shut the lid consider leaving a sticky note with a smiling face. If he still doesn’t remember, give him a break, he has short term bathroom memory condition. This will affect the toilet paper roll being refilled and he may forget how long he has been sitting on the toilet. Be patient. His brain is different from yours and obviously he needs time away. Ignore the smells; they eventually dissipate.

3) As a man gains weight his snoring will increase. Also, he might be prone to binge eating and drinking, especially during social functions. This is a natural response to being around other people of his gender. Keep a bag of ice in the fridge, so he is prepared for unexpected guests. Invest in earplugs. He can’t help the snoring. And with all the fast food establishments, he isn’t to blame for the gain in weight. Hold tight. Reflect the behavior you want to see. Eat healthy in front of him and cuddle him when he snores. If all else fails take breaks on the couch and let him stretch out in bed. Remember his body is different than yours.

4) Socializing can present problems. Try to recognize his behavior does not reflect you as a person. Sit down and have a talk in a safe and calming environment. Provide him with notecards about appropriate conversation in front of your friends. Roll play scenarios and give him examples of how to build you up and compliment you in front of guests. If he already does this, you are ahead of the game. Show him what is appropriate to wear. But don’t throw out that old shirt no matter how ugly it appears; this represents a connection to the past and provides a sense of security. Now that he is married he may seem miserable, but be reassured he is not. You are.

(This is a stereotypical generalization of a gender. Kind of like a stereotypical generalization of a group of individuals who have the same neurological condition.)

356: Teaching the Teachers

| Aspergers Girls

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.