fear

322: The Observer

| Aspergers Girls

I am experiencing a great shift in consciousness as of late, and am stepping back and watching two characters of self emerge. One part of self is clinging to the label of spiritual awakened and one part of self is clinging to the label of Aspergers.

In a direct sense, both selves are neither right or wrong, they are merely playing out a game at an unconscious level inside of me.

What is interesting is to watch this other self I be: the observer.

Thusly, inside of my mind I am able to see 1) the two ego selves at battle for power, 2) the observer watching the ego’s game, and 3) one in lesser form watching the observer.

When I try to step out beyond the third level, the place in which one is watching the observer, there doesn’t seem to be a fourth level, and all I can see is black or even the absence of color.

I am beginning to see, or further seeing, the world and my mind at complex levels, and reacquainting myself with truths that seem more familiar to me than my very own self, or more recently selves.

Coincidence after coincidence is occurring, and dreams are revealing to me events. The walks I partake in through nature are coming too with images of the future. Some of this, actually most of this, is nothing new to me; what is new is the intensity, the frequency, and the verification from others of what I am experiencing.

I do not know what is happening, but I seem to be tapped into a higher –frequency of sorts, almost as if I be an old-fashioned television and someone has lifted and extended a long metal antenna from my very being.

What is new, as well, when compared to my childhood, is the darker side of this is no longer affecting me. There is a new found peace, and with this peace a knowing that brings me a sense of safety and protection, as if a legion of guardians, angels, and ancestors have formed lines and are marching to show their support and unyielding faith in me.

I feel overwhelmed with love for people and animals; and the observer part of self perceives others in a way I never thought possible. This observer does not seem to have any attachment to things, people, or even life. He is one that would willingly sacrifice self, even without calling it sacrifice, for sacrifice itself involves ego. He would simply release and be.

There is a calmness with the observer that very much resembles serenity. I have found an increasing amount of energy flowing through my body, both my hands and feet, but particularly with the whole of my body feeling much aglow.

As of late, I am having difficulty holding onto fear. Though, I recognize the emotion comes; however when fear appears it is liken to a small ripple of water; wherein before the fear was like a tsunami. I am able to stand inside the ripple and watch the effect of fear within and without. I am able to see where this fear is and where it is carried. I am able to feel this fear, understand fear’s source, and then release.

I am understanding that the clinging of labels is unnecessary in the higher sense; that Aspergers itself is only a means to an end, a way to connect like soul to like soul, to bring community together; perhaps to bring more observers to the light.

Through the observer, I can see clearly the complexity of the mind. Through my own complexity, I can understand others like me in their complexity. I can see clearly the reason I am here and how my calling is manifesting healing in self, and healing in others. I understand that this is nothing to do with me, and entirely to do with source.

This is what I saw in vision that I will try to explain, as it came in quick picture without explanation, almost as an injection of thought. I am not used to understandings coming so fast, but it seems that some of my recognitions are coming now without the use of words, and even beyond the use of images; how this is happening, I have no idea, and why this is happening, I have no idea either.

The understanding I have been given is this:

1) I have a complex mind.

2) Because I have a complex mind, I have complex thoughts.

3) Because I have complex thoughts, ego runs rampant with idea after idea, and connection after connection inside my mind (see the previous post for example).

4) Because I have so many thoughts running rampant, I cannot simply let go, silence my mind, or use common means to release.

5) Because I cannot utilize common means, I am forced to find escape; this escape comes in the form of verbally processing through speech and writing, this escape comes through extreme focus, fixations, fantasy, special interest, and creation.

6) Because I escape, I am able to produce phenomenal amounts of work in a short period of time; the downfall being that I am missing out on my own life, because I am spending endless hours in mode of escape, in an attempt to escape my own thoughts, brought on by my complex mind.

7) Because I can produce a lot in a limited amount of time, I can also analyze my mind in limited time at a deep level and study the very happenings inside self, through this emerging observer.

8) With observer as witness I am able to release a lot of self-doubt, fear, and non-beneficial emotion. With observer I am able to watch ego and study my own thought processes.

9) The observer was only able to come when I was willing to look closely at thought and thusly expose ego and self-driven wants and needs, such as: attention, fame, and acknowledgment.

10) I was able to release the self-driven needs through much observation and prayer, and by tapping into a part of self that only wanted to serve and love.

11) By tapping into the part that only wants to serve and love, I was able to not remove ego, but to step outside and watch ego further, acknowledging that whenever an emotion of fear, want, need, defense, or upset of any type emerged that in fact it was ego taking over.

12) By being able to recognize ego readily, I was further able to refine my want to serve and love, and to begin to save the excess energy that was used before in ego’s attempt to acquire acceptance and validation.

13) I was able to recognize ego enough to start to remove intention, want or need from my writings; in turn my writings reflected the inner me and honesty, which enabled me to reach out more fully and freely to find other like souls; which in turn gained me the acceptance and validation ego was originally seeking.

14) This acceptance and validation was temporarily pleasing, until I realized that to accept validation also meant to accept insult and injury.

15) With this understanding of the double-nature of others perception of my self, I was able to release the want and need for any type of acknowledgment of “right” or “wrong” based on an outside perception and opinion.

16) With this release I delve deeper into my own self and ego, and gorged out the lies and untruths that surfaced there. One upon the next I wiped out the fears that were mere phantoms. I did this quite unexpectedly and oftentimes unwillingly, as events presented themselves to challenge me and my new found truth.

17) I began to see that everything related to fear was an illusion and that only love existed, once I stepped out of the need to be lifted by others, and once I stepped back into faith.

18) Ultimately it was my faith in something higher than self that I bleed my soul into, through prayer and through walking in high-awareness every minute of the day.

19) In this walking and prayer I was granted a serenity unknown to me before.

20) In this way, I can walk into the world, walk into an environment with other people, and step outside of the ego self and live as observer. In the state of observer all the fears are gone. My only thought is of listening to another and loving another and helping another.

21) In the state of observer I do not worry about conversation. I do not worry about anything. Instead I feel filled with light and peace, and simply exist as a reflection of another. In this state of observer, I can listen to each word with a gentle calmness, thinking nothing about what I want to say or contribute, and only thinking of the other person.

22) There is no fakeness, no effort, no ingeniousness involved as the observer, and seems to be a place of no ego; though in stating there is no ego, ego simply slips back in; so to say so without saying so becomes predicament.

23) I have concluded through this process of my own self that there are key elements I needed in order to find peace of mind. One is connecting to some source greater than self that need not be a religion or specific spiritual practice, but need be a source. A second is humbly submitting to said source repeatedly and walking in awareness of this goal and effort. Thirdly a sacrifice through self-examination and release of fear. Wherein the fear is held up to the light and all frailties of self exposed. Fourth, once exposed, ego must temporarily step in and seek support and connection of some kind while rebuilding and regrounding. Lastly, a disconnection of ego is necessary through trials and challenges brought on through higher-self.

24) This is my experience. I do not think it is the right way or only way, but simply the experience I was brought through.

25) I am not complete in awakening, and know that when I think I am, I am not, an only when I am no longer attached to awakening will I truly be awakened; which is a dynamic paradox I cannot venture to grasp. But I know that I walk in a light and love. I know, too, that now I see a great sadness in many people, and a huge heaviness; the energy I used to feel and collect at a subconscious level is now at a conscious level. As is my own pain. I can now pinpoint my pain and often know from whom or from what thoughts the pain has come through. I can also often release this pain.

26) I am not in a state of awe or grandiose thinking; I am not manic; I am not giddy and joy-filled; but I am very much at peace. There is not a façade of healing surrounding me, in which I want to be a healer so I live and act like a healer. The healing is radiating from within without instruction or want. This is new to me, this being without effort. Yesterday, I did experience my first moments of overwhelming joy in which I saw signs/omens in nature; I was overcome with extreme understanding and love, and literally was laughing hysterically for ten minutes like a mad woman. Interestingly enough at that very moment I had flashes and images of all the ones that have come before me laughing hysterically, and I felt extremely connected and whole in my journey. I have never heard such effortless and joyous sound in my life.

27) My main struggle now is one of humility; a struggle that God is continuing to answer for me. He has shown me that my fear of pride is also ego-based and an attachment to a goal and ownership of accomplishment; that accomplishment being the achievement of humility. He has shown me that because I continually ask for humility and am against pride that these natural thoughts and wishes, in and of themselves, display my heart and want for humility. I cannot go into detail with my humility journey, as to me this seems prideful and self-serving in and of itself; but I say this for those that are also struggling with this part of their journey; because as was scribed in the Wounded Warrior, humility is one of the markers of the healer.

28) I work now towards no longer working towards anything, and just being. I accept I do not know what this transition will look like, but I know that with my trust in my higher power and true wish to heal, serve and love others that I am walking in the light.

29) I will continue to strive towards being the best I can be while continually detaching from ego, though even this gives ego spotlight; and so I will fumble like many others, as I try to find the meeting point between submission and honor of self.

30) This concludes my thoughts, and I hope to continue to walk with a clear mind and in a state of peace.

289: Sleepless Near Seattle

| Aspergers Girls

motel me

I didn’t sleep well last night.

Tonight, I said to my husband: “Honestly, I’m not exaggerating; I woke up at least forty to fifty times last night.”

Then I replayed the sleepless night in my head, to make sure I wasn’t exaggerating about the amount of times I woke up.

I hate to lie. And to me, any stretch of the truth seems a lie. I almost self-corrected, as I calculated that to wake up forty times in an eight-hour period, I’d have had to have opened my eyes about five times an hour. In actuality, I probably woke up four times an hour …so it was likely thirty-two times. But I stopped myself from speaking all these thoughts aloud, and just stared at my husband with squinted eyes and furrowed brow, like I always do when I am processing in my head.

Then, knowing I’d paused too long when considering typical conversational protocol, I sputtered: “I couldn’t sleep because you snored.” Only that statement instantly didn’t feel right, and I knew I’d soon be speaking my whole truth, whether I wanted to or not.

I processed more. I have no clue what my husband was doing, even though I was practically on top of his lap on the couch. I was in a distant land thinking that I ought not to have provided such a large gap of time as the space between forty and fifty times—that’s a ten point spread.

Confused in general, I tried to recover and offered, “It wasn’t just you snoring.” I was sounding weepy and whimpy, by now.

Soon, the complete truth began to leak out.  I confessed, “And there was something else.”

Of course my husband asked, “What?”

I responded slowly, with a full-blushed face.

Within seconds my husband was laughing so hard that I expected snot to shoot out of his nose.

You see, last night, we had, at the last moment, decided to stay at a motel off of the interstate, while traveling up north-east for a snow-sledding adventure. The plan was to drive up in the evening and sled in the morning the next day. I  accidentally booked a hotel (with swimming pool, continental breakfast, two televisions, etc.) that was too far away from our destination; so last-minute-searching led us to a small, what I would call “cheap” motel.

snow

I took this on our way up to the snow

I guess I was keen on the fact that we were likely staying in what could be termed a “dive,” when my husband informed me that we had scored a large room with three beds, in one of only two motels in the entire town, near a popular ski resort, for only $99. That, and the fact that the small, twenty-year old television only got one channel.

Oh, and yes, my son with Aspergers did say straight away, “I don’t like the smell of this place.”

Upon entering the spacious room, about six-feet away from where our mini-van was parked, I tried to get into my place of Zen; I do that quite frequently, set about to have a Zen-like mindset. I think to myself, what would a saint do, or Buddha or Jesus, if in a similar situation. How would he or she respond? And the answer is typically the same: act with gratitude and grace. And then I push down those thoughts of how much easier it would be to be Zen-like without my type of mind.

In considering the motel, I contemplated my good fortune. We had fresh water, shelter, blankets, warmth, electricity, and more. I snapped myself out of the “disappointment” zone swiftly, without calling myself names like “spoiled” and “unappreciative,” as I’m working on that whole positive-thinking thing, too. Which depending upon my mood, sometimes makes me want to gag.

But staying true to my state of positive-Zenniness, I began to list in my head everything the motel had to offer, right about the time my husband came out of the oddly-angled bathroom (toilet juts out and causes one to bruise knee when passing by said toilet) and announced, “Don’t forget to add that the floor slopes down at an odd angle to your list of why this place is cheap.” He knows me so very well.

So, I’m listing the positives to myself: (and occasionally out loud with a snicker to my husband)

Internet connection

Oldest son has own bed.

Even though I can’t use my bath salts as there is no bathtub, there is a quaint stand up shower.

Mold is only on the outside of the shower door.

The smell of cigarette smoke and what seems to be wet-dog-scent is not too strong.

There are other cars in the parking lot; which means other people stay here, too.

No hair that I can see: dog or human.

The sparkles glow that are set in the cottage-cheese-like ceiling; I don’t think I can get asbestos poisoning unless someone jams a fork or something up there.

The aged lamps painted poop-brown from the inside out, are all cracked and broken which makes an interesting type of abstract art; I wasn’t electrocuted when I turned on the lamp.

The boys won’t be fighting over television channels.

The door lock sticks and we can’t use it, but that chain should hold up for one night.

The light from the parking lot will serve as a giant night-light.

We don’t have rooms below us or above us, and on either side of our room are storage garages. The boys can be loud and no one will hear.

We don’t need to use the noisy heater that heats up the room too fast, especially since the curtains (that remind me of my childhood home) hang right over the heater, because if it gets cold, we can pretend we are camping.

This would be a cool setting for a Fargo-type movie or for the series Breaking Bad.

If anyone died in here, it was likely a long time ago.

I haven’t slept in a full-size lumpy bed for years.

The lacquered wall art of trees reminds me of the 1970’s.

I have both thick socks and slippers on, so I’ll be good to walk on the carpet.

~

I’m working on my list of gratitude when my husband chimes in, “And these walls remind me of my mother’s family room.” He’s pointing to the fake-wood paneling and laughing.

I fake a smile, and then whisper to him, “I probably shouldn’t tell the boys to stop rolling in the bedspread because the bedding is likely not laundered, and adults could have done any a number of things on those covers, right?”

“Yes, Hon. Not a good idea,” he answers with his trademark, I-married-a-loon-that-I-adore, shake of the head.

Right about then, my son who has Aspergers pipes in: “Have you seen what they can find with those special blue-lights in hotels?” My husband and I politely ignore him.

In the bathroom, after bumping my knee again, I notice that there is no shampoo, no blow dryer, and no supplies beyond toilet paper, Kleenex, four wrapped plastic cups, and a stack of some ten miniature soaps. Ten tiny soaps wrapped in brown paper? I think to myself.

I come out of the narrow bathroom, and soon my zen-attitude is promptly invaded by a case of the sillies…and everything spills out of my head in the form of a verbal-tag game of why this would be considered a dive hotel, with my husband.

Of course, I won, when I pointed out that there was no coffee or coffee maker.

Still, the little voice in my head circulated and percolated, reminding me to be ever-so-grateful. After all, there was a Starbucks nearby.

This brings us to tonight, and me explaining to my husband why I couldn’t sleep while in the motel.

This is how the conversation went:

“Well. It wasn’t really your snoring that kept me up. That was just a small part of it.” I paused, not so much for effect, but because I knew I was going to bust up laughing, even though I was entirely serious.

My husband Bob waited patiently.

I continued. “I couldn’t sleep because…..” I paused.

“I couldn’t sleep because I was afraid I might touch the sheets,” I said.

Bob smiled and held back his chuckles. “But you had your sleeping bag, pillow, and blanket from home and you weren’t touching the sheets.”

“I know,” I said. “But I was still afraid…I was afraid I would accidentally touch the sheets in the night.”

Bob busted up fully.

“Ha,ha, ha, ha. So you were like lying there asleep, and then you’d wake up with a jolt, look to your side and think the sheets, like they were some monster?” He stiffened his body and imitated me in a fear state on the bed at the motel, terrified to move an inch. “But you were in a sleeping bag,” he added.

“I know,” I said, “but I was afraid if I feel asleep my arm might flop out and…”

“And you’d accidentally braze the sheetttttttttttttttt!”

“Yes,” I answered, by now laughing hysterically. “I couldn’t move or relax because I was afraid I would touch the sheets”

“I love you, Honey,” Bob said, implying he knew how hard it was for me to be me, right before he did another mini-scene of me being attacked by the sheets.

Here is my bed: (See how close the sheets are???)

motel

I guess Bob wasn’t too surprised by my sheet confession, because this morning in the motel I made another of my phobias known. I had whispered to him, “Okay, I’m just going to tell you now, so when you find the wet clothes in the laundry you’ll know why.”

“Oh, no,” he responded, shaking his head. “What?”

“I’m showering in my socks!”

blue skyOn the way home

I wanted to call this post: Attack of the Killer Sheets, but I didn’t want to give the ending away.

Post 242: Still, I Walk On

| Aspergers Girls

Dear Angels,

I don’t think I was meant for this earth. My heart is too big and aches too much.

I try to pull myself out of sadness but my efforts are to no avail.

I let go.

I let God.

I try and try.

I sit in emptiness and silence.

I sit in prayer.

I hope and wish and dream.

I try once more.

While I am not tough, I recognize I am brave.

I stand acutely aware of the dangers of life and the inevitability of dying. Change terrifies me, yet my very existence is encompassed by constant change. Still I walk on.

I am bombarded by my mind’s connections, the branching out of complex thoughts in order to make some sense of concepts and happenings. My thoughts, a web, upon a web, upon a web, spinning out exponentially and infinitely with no end, exhaust me. Still I walk on.

The only way to stop the thoughts is to distract. And while the thoughts are endless, the distractions are finite, and have a built-in ability to expire. Expiration leaves me weary and more fearful. The expiration of distraction, too, becomes a fear. Still I walk on.

My empathy depletes my energy sources. With the onset of pain or tragedy, I am left spinning in emotions, uncertain of how to assist, and where to start in the process of uncovering all the information buried beneath layer upon layer of soul-tears. One event turns and quickly bleeds into another—a river of sorts surging and bursting at the bed’s seams and pounding upon terrain after terrain, forging new ground and new thought. Still I walk on.

I see the eyes of the victims of life, hollow, afraid, alone. I understand isolation is a disease of our time, as well as a lingering disconnection. Still I walk on.

Everywhere is poison: food, medicines, waters, earth, animals, man, filled with poison.  Poison as substance and poison as thought. Still I walk on.

I long to sprout wings and hover above, to glide and bless the suffering. I long to weave magic, to soothe and comfort. I long to place a salve of love and salvation across humanity. Still I walk on.

I don’t know where to place my angst, my fear, my pain. And I refuse to pretend life is easy and happy. I question and question: Can I be light and be sad? Can I be light and be confused? Can I be light crying from within the darkness? Still I walk on.

I beg in confusion, and in my absence of vigor and vitality, depleted and drained, I weep. “Give them hope and strength. Show this world, so long emptied of hope a vision, a sign, a destiny. Point us to the path of light.”

And though my feet our weary and my head heavy, still I walk on

With lantern in hand, with angels at my side, I stand motionless, a light to the path, as still, I walk on.

Day 224: The Screaming World

| Aspergers Girls

The Screaming World

The lady with the neckbrace, a result of some accident I’m guessing, stood at the corner of the sidewalk, screaming. Her partner, joined in, only more light-heartedly.

“Oh, good for you! Just drive through! Did you not see my brace? What the fu** is wrong with you?” the lady shouted. She looked like an Italian in the middle of a full-blown rage, the way her arms were tackling the sky and her body enveloped in emotion, only she was very white and freckle-covered, and likely not European at all.

Yes, I noticed a lot in a few seconds. I tend to—to take in a whole movie in a matter of no time at all. That’s me. And I guess that’s what made the occurrence that much more troubling.

I’ve been processing this scene of the outraged, neck-braced caucasian in my mind for three days now, and have come to the conclusion of why the situation bothered me so. It comes down to fear, and how, as a result of fear, humans often assume the worst about other people.

In terms of fearing others, most people with Aspergers are over-trusting, at least for the start of their life; until they are more than likely hurt by not one but a multitude of people; primarily because others exhibit actions and behaviors the person on the ASD spectrum did not count on, and perhaps wasn’t able to understand. However, for the most part, individuals with Aspergers start out very trusting; and even after continual “let downs” and hurts, they tend to remain trusting, despite their best efforts to emulate the anti-trust phenomenon all around them.

I used to think I lacked an ability to adjust and adapt to the surrounding societal roles and values of fearing others. Now I believe the attribute to over-trust is a spirit-born gift and an ability to transform our world.

Throughout my life, I’ve been warned by various people not to over trust, not to be naive, not to expect that another will be there for me. And especially not to expose myself. I was taught through experience, and from others, that if I was myself I would be rejected, shunned, compartmentalized and ostracized. I am still warned, that if I over-share, people will have more ammunition to use against me. In essence, I have been taught, through experience, example, and through others’ cautionary words, to not trust and to not be myself.

What a terrible way to live: to carry within my being a perpetual fear of being me because I might be hurt.

But that is my world at this instant.

Despite the warnings and potentially looming dangers, I have made the conscious decision to be me.

I know enough to understand that no matter the preparation and shielding, the pretending and hiding, that ultimately people cannot escape fear; and that the fear does not reside outside in the scary world, but inside in the choice to not be real, and the fallout of non-genuineness that causes people to lose touch with who they are.

In looking at fear-based living, what is troubling, beyond the potential loss of self-understanding and authenticity, is the way society perpetuates fear.

Today, I readily view the fear indoctrination through our media, big business, and government. Although, with the sharing of beds, big business, media, and government, are potentially all one ancestral family.

Presently fear is perpetuated through the bombardment of looming cancer. Even at the amusement park, I went to yesterday, there was a huge  pink ribbon symbolising breast cancer awareness painted on the concrete. And the whole ride was painted pink. When I shop, I am asked to support cancer research. When I drive down the freeway, I see billboards about sickness and cancer. When I turn on the radio, television, or read a magazine, I view cancer, cancer, cancer.

My world is painted with the fear of cancer. It’s not that I am against awareness or finding a cure; it’s that I am against fear. Or not even against it, but tired of fear being put on a throne set upon a pedestal. Tired of fear being the foundation of my society.

Fear has been indoctrinated into my mind since I was born. American born and bred, I arrived fresh and innocent into a world that had for over a decade already been pushing fear into society to encourage others to buy, buy, buy, to stimulate the economic market. Then it was only television that reminded my generation and the ones before and after me to buy to subside fear. Now everything is media. I can’t go anywhere, beyond the beauty and grace of the forest, without the fear-factor.

And cancer research and awareness are not the answers, nor the solutions to our problems. The problem is literally the problems—the view and bombardment set upon us that everything is a problem.

And in considering these presented problems, we already have solutions, solutions echoed by the Native Americans long before us. Cancer is not the disease and enemy. Cancer is merely a result of our overly polluted environment: the toxins in our food, water, air, and prescription drugs. The disconnection and disrespect for our environment and nature. The disconnection from ourselves.

Food has become our poison. Much of what is added to our processed foods, in the form of corn syrup, in mutated form, is actually classified by the companies themselves as pesticide. It seems rather simple to me, a first step in fighting cancer and illness, would be to stop selling pesticides disguised as food.

Also, in America, it is fact that economically deprived neighborhoods don’t even have grocery stores. There are no opportunities to buy fruits and vegetables. Why? Because grocery store establishments have deemed the low-income areas non-profitable and have as a result pulled out of those neighborhoods. Cancer, diabetes, and obesity are on the rise everywhere, but particularly in the areas where the people are under-educated and living at poverty-level. In these neighborhoods, the giant fast food industries move in to make up for the lacking. So our young generation is being fast-food fed on mutated, poor grade meat and poultry, loaded with chemicals and over treated in fat and oils, and are without the money to travel to find a store with real food, and without the education or mind-energy fueled by nutrients to know better. Suddenly a corn-fed, antibiotic, disease-ridden, slaughtered mixture of multiple cows added with toxins, additives, overly processed oils, and fat, has become the staple meal of the poor. Suddenly an apple is deemed not as nutritious as poison. Or not so suddenly, in actuality, I suppose.

So what does this have to do with trusting my fellow human or the lady on the street screaming?

First off, the lady was yelling because there was a misinterpretation. I thought she wanted me to drive through the crosswalk, that she wasn’t ready to cross the street. She thought I was going to wait. And then she went further to think that my intention was to be inconsiderate and down right rude. She chose to see the worst in me, to believe I didn’t care about her, that I wasn’t willing to bother to stop. She chose not to trust me.

And that bothers me, because the more I think about it, the more I realize, as a collective we don’t trust. We have been raised a fear-based, paranoid society, made to fret over each moment of our day, to wonder what traumatic event will befall us, and to spend our last dime in creating a reality around us of distractions and comforts in hopes of diminishing our fear. We carry an emptiness around that we believe at moments can be filled with food or material goods. We believe solutions are found in a pill, not in nature. We believe the only way out of turmoil is through polluting our environment more through consumerism and over spending. We carry an urgency for a way out and not a way in.

We have been taught to live a life escaping death, escaping loneliness, and avoiding ugliness.

We have been taught that we are dying, we are unworthy, and that we are ugly.

We have been taught we are wrong and in need of fixing.

We have been taught to give of ourselves completely in the wealth of our minds, our bodies, our spirit, and currency, in order to be fixed.

We are trapped in a cycle of fear feeding fear, trying to fix that which was never broken with placebos that only injure at every level.

We are ready to return to the spirit, who knows awareness without fear.

We are ready to stop fighting and fearing and to become aware that we no longer need to build our world on a foundation of fear.

Because despite all of this indoctrinated fear, this misshapen world that has been painted onto our souls, some of us still carry hope. Some of us still trust. Some of us are not afraid to be our true selves, to shine and be authentic no matter the imaginary threat.

Despite the lies we  have been told, the trickery, the sadness, and devastation, we can choose to not fear, to see the light in people. We can continue to carry hope wherever we travel. We have the spirit-given eyes to see through the illusions, to know that this reality is temporary, that we are in transition, and that together we can transform our reality into a place of soul awareness.

This fear can be leached out and drained away, the more we pour in love and truth.

We must see the lady on the street screaming as pure beauty in disguise.  An instigator of change. A symbol of our screaming world. An obvious sign that the world is not happy and not trusting.

We can choose to look at the person screaming out as the innocent submerged in the sea of sadness perpetuated by the ongoing waves of fear and mistrust.

We can bring her out with a gentle hand to the shore and let her shine.

But first we must crawl out of submersion ourselves and stand in the light of authentic being.

Day 209: Checking Out Men

| Aspergers Girls

I was going to write about this awesome salad I made…….that’s guacamole along the edges, and beets I peeled and steamed, and all organic!

Or my adorable Violet (aka Spastic Colon) that I overfed with people-food so much that she threw up all over the house. This is her looking at me wondering why I didn’t take her on my walk to the lake. It was 95 degrees outside, that’s why. And you, Violet, poop out after one lap when it gets over 70 degrees. You no longer like the sun. She didn’t understand.

Well, I guess, I just did write about both, but not at length. Here’s the real scoop….

I’ve been walking around the lake near our house, once or twice a day. While I’m walking, I practice eye contact. Eye contact is not something I learn naturally, and not something I ever feel comfortable with. Not something I enjoy. And not something that I like practicing.

I “taught” myself how to make eye contact with strangers at the age of thirty-five. I realized I was having a hard time at it (eye contact), and needed to make a change, the time I was attempting to look up at a male sales clerk at a local take-and-go pizza parlor, and I got so nervous, that I wrote a check for $400 instead of $14. He wasn’t eye candy or even close to my age. But pretty much all males under 80 and over 10 make me nervous. I didn’t realize the error in my ways, until the establishment cashed my check.

I get nervous looking at anyone I do not know well. Especially men. I have become much more comfortable with women my age and older, small children, and senior citizens. They feel safe to me. Every other age group, when I think about locking eyes, I squirm inside from nervousness.

I now set my eyes just beyond a person or on a person’s forehead, in an attempt to appear friendly and approachable. I’d say I make eye contact with 80% of the females I pass (like in a store) and about 40% of males, well maybe 20%.

Lately, I’ve been wearing sunglasses when I walk the lake, and a plastered on real-looking smile. I listen to music and this helps me smile. And I remember all the smiles I’ve been practicing in the mirror and on camera. My face fidgets all over the place, while my smile tries to find a home. I am more comfortable with my mouth closed. Though I think my teethy smile is prettier. So I probably look perplexed and intense when I smile.

My hugest practice-smiling comes when a man my age approaches me while passing me on the jogging/walking trail at the lake. There are typically a couple dozen of men my age any given day that pass me. I have learned, through trial and error, to stare down the female, if a couple approaches, before I glance very quickly at HER male with a smile. If I smile at the male first, I tend to get a very shifty-darty eyed look from the female. I find this interesting, but logical.

I have also found that men about ten years my senior or more, tend to smile at me first, and even nod or say hello, while men my age look suspicious. This could be me jumping to conclusions. I wonder if I should start taking notes.

With every person that passes me,  I stand up straighter, glance slightly that person’s way, and then look at the forehead. With sunglasses on, I can hover there longer. Sometimes I get nervous and move down to the chest or legs. Which in retrospect, maybe isn’t such a good path for my eyes to follow. The whole time I’m looking I have a cheesy closed-lip smile and I hold my breath.

I’ve been practicing really super hard, and was feeling fairly pleased with my progress. Until tonight. Now I’m going back to the proverbial drawing board in my mind and trying to connect the eye contact dots.

At the lake, on my last loop around, a man my age approached me. He came up real close. I think he ran up to me from his car. He said, “Hey,” grabbed my wrist gently, and placed a folded small piece of paper in my hand. Between the “Hey” and hand grabbing, I figured this guy had special needs and needed my help.

He didn’t. But that was my first thought—trusting soul I am.

And so I smiled big, wanting him to feel safe, if indeed he had special needs.

As he stood there, I unfolded the note and read it quickly. Kind of in shock, and not fully comprehending what I’d read, I fell back on habit and manners, smiled again, and said with a giddy voice, “Thank you!”

The note??

James. Phone number.

I saw you checking me out!

Text me your name.

Hmmmm…..I think I might need some more practice….