466: I am what I am Becoming

I was going to title this post: Chocolate Gives me Hemorrhoids.

Then I laughed, as I logically made a streamline of comparisons about my love of chocolate and my love of community, and how, much like chocolate, community always leaves me with an uncomfortable, yet very bearable, consequence.

And I chuckled more, as I deciphered the numerous ways in which I still over-share and over-quauntify my thinking.

Divergent, I am. This is true. Definitely true. But far less true than I believed two years ago.

I woke up with a flash this early morning. My brain wanted to write a post, my body adamantly disapproved, and fortunately vetoed the whole reckoning, and forced us back into sweet slumber. Yet, before I fell back to sleep, a good hour of delightfulness (not), I kept hearing these words over and over: I am what I am becoming. I am becoming what I am.

It made a lot of sense at one in the morning. Not so much now.

Still, I gathered this little summary, from my mind, this afternoon:

“Identity is a pendulum. Each individual is grasping onto what he thinks he is and releasing what he no longer believes himself to be. Even as no one is what he seems, and all is as illusion, we give and take based on temporary boundaries set upon the image of ‘self.’ In saying ‘I am what I am becoming,’ I recognize I am in state of constant transition, never stagnant, undergoing various degrees of transformation. In stating ‘I am becoming what I am,’ I am aware that I become those elements that I hold onto as truth.”

Indeed, the complexity of my mind carries on.

I have hesitated in regards to writing another post, as I had opted to give myself ample time off and away from the computer. I found myself being sucked into the online life, instead of attending to my very relevant and real existence outside the computer. In other words, I used technology to escape reality.

I did this escapism for about two years. I have no regrets. The journey was necessary, relevant, and fostered much growth. But I am done.

I thought I would soon be writing my last post. But I don’t think so, yet. I am not quite ready.

Since pulling myself off of the computer, I’ve made some dynamic shifts in my life.

Here’s a list. Because I love lists:

1. Recently, I have stopped going on social networks (Facebook), except briefly for one day a week. I might occasionally have a private chat with a friend there, but the rest I leave alone. This has been hugely freeing. I was spending a good four to five hours a day on Facebook, and though it felt necessary and even ‘good’ at the time, the energy I gave out and took in (from others) affected me greatly. Now with more time freed up, I find myself having as much energy for endeavors, outside of my home, as I did some nine years ago, when I would have easily been identified as a ‘social butterfly.’

2. I have adapted a bit of a ‘bitchiness’ to me. Likely because I am PMSing, but primarily because recently I allowed myself to get hurt one too many times. As a result, I felt the need to lather on a thicker coat around my aura. My husband reassured me this morning, without my probing, that yes, I was still overall very kind and loving to others. This came as a huge relief, because my little bit of bitch-waves feel like the titanic of disaster-moods. In actuality, I probably behave like most typical nice people now. I am just quick to say ‘no,’ set boundaries, self-talk the necessities of self-care, and make appropriate choices based on what is ‘best’ for me, not others! What a concept.

3. I jolted myself out of some dark place of self-wallowing and self-pitty; and to tell you the truth, when I observe similar behaviors in others now, I get kind of jaded and sick to my stomach. Like I want to barf and scream: Stop focusing on yourself! I feel I can do this because I have been there and done that. I’m surely not innocent. And I am not trying to judge, either. Just merely wanting others to find some inner peace and self-love. Somehow, likely through a series of letdowns and heartaches, I got a good look at myself. Somehow, the curtain to my current reality opened long enough to see that I was bleeding out with borderline narcissism. Yes, it was beneficial to spend some ‘cave’ time taking a good look at myself, my weaknesses, my strengths, my challenges, my hopes, my dreams, etc. But enough is enough! There finally came a day where I woke up and truly shouted out loud: ENOUGH! And you know what, I have barely had an Asperger’s trait since. Genius traits, yes. But stuff like looping, fixating, over-analyzing, worrying to extreme, and all that pain-in-the-butt nonsense, I just stopped. No pill. No magic. Just one word. Enough! And so it is, going on two weeks now, even as I enter the PMDD zone, that I adamantly refuse to drudge into the muck of self-pity, self-rejection, and agonizing fear. Like I said, I adapted a bit of bitchiness to get me through. But that too will pass. Ironically, it’s a nice change.

4. I have realized to a GREAT extent that I become what I focus on. It’s like my super power. I can become fantastically brilliant and fanatical at whatever I choose to spend time on. I can become so engrossed and impassioned with my endeavor and laser-focus that I pull others in with me. Case in point: this blog and my like-page, and the following. I reluctantly and without plan, became some sort of Aspergers super-hero. And I say this with no pride, whatsoever, but with a rather oh-my-fricken-godess sigh. Seriously? What was I thinking. Not that I don’t love people I have met and continue to meet along this journey. But the act of continually losing my self-identity and morphing into something brilliant I barely recognize as self has become quite the bother.

5. Recently, I became so much ME, I lost sight of the rest of the world. And I became so much ASPERGERS, I forgot who else I was or could feasibly be. I forgot that before I found out I had Aspergers I was highly-sucessful in social arenas. I forgot I liked going out. That I liked people. And that even though I was an introvert, I was what could be classified as an outgoing, very likable introvert. Somehow I convinced myself, in the past 24 months, that staying at home was a viable option of entertainment for the rest of my existence. I kind of became a Chicken Little, only the sky wasn’t falling, my whole life was.

I had five more things on this list and accidentally deleted them all; which is likely for the best, for the bitch in me was taking over a wee bit more than I am comfortable with. I will end this post with a brief list (yes, another list) of what I have done for myself in the past 12 days.

1. Joined several social groups in the area including spiritual groups, socializing gaming groups, jazz and music groups, movie groups. I schedule an event and then go meet an entire group of strangers. It’s so fricken scary and fabulous, all at once. And I am enjoying myself without the post-game evaluation of am I good enough and did I say and act the ‘right’ way. I don’t go there anymore.

2. I have started to practice my guitar more often and continue to take lessons.

3. I have rented dvds on Buddhism, set up a prayer table in my room, hung up cool white lights in my room, and have been reading books that aren’t in my typical genre. One currently is a humorous non-fiction book about a womanizing drunk.

4. I have given up gluten and try to eat very little white sugar. Though my intense moments of chocolate indulgences continue to surface; thusly I sit less.

5. I have bought myself some new hats and sweaters and boots. Nothing spiritual or ah-ha about that, but still fun.

6. I have made a set schedule so everyday I know what’s ahead. For example on Mondays I go to a quaint cafe and have the freshly made soup and salad and read and I walk three miles around the lake. On Thursdays I go to a coffee shop and go online with my laptop. On Fridays I make dates with friends and I go to the mall and play Netrunner with a lot of introverts. I am taking myself to see movies, too.

7. I try to walk five days a week 1.5 to 3 miles. Something I am ever so thankful I can do.

8. I am listening to my mediation and positive affirmation cds more frequently. Visiting the library to attain uplifting music; lately I’ve enjoyed Mozart. It’s a nice break from love songs that currently make me either gag or cry.

9. Tonight I am going to a poetry reading and bringing some of my poetry to maybe share. Tomorrow I go to a cafe that is having their monthly gathering on the planets’ alignments. I have tickets to many performing arts events, some with friends, some with my spouse, and some with strangers!

10. I have on my calendar to check out the weekly mediation at the Buddhist center and to join a community group, such as Rotary, soon.

The way I see it is: if I keep my interest varied enough, and nothing consumes me, I won’t morph or attach into any one genre, event, or way of being.

Until next time. Wishing you the best in all you are becoming!

413: The Silly Bear in No Underwear: Thoughts from the Penguin Matrix

For Aspie Chicks and other Cool People
(This is PG-rated because mention of penises….followed by outbursts of giggles.)

For those of you who don’t believe me when I tell you I am twelve inside, this ought to do the trick.

I saw a polar bear post a poster on a social network wall; he was all in my face about this and that. About how to talk, and how to think, and what to think. I mean he was acting like he was all that. As if polar bears know how to live!

And all these other polar bears are like: Yes! Oh right on, brother! Yep, you be all on top of that truth!

And me, as penguin, I am thinking none of that seems efficient, accurate, or correct in my bowl of wisdom. But hey, to each his own. But I’d prefer you not shove it in my face you fluffy butt.

I say, as penguin of the matrix: Make your own poster about how to be. Chuck out everything you’ve been told, you’ve learned and registered, and all that you shall be told. Forget the postings that tell you junk about being. You are already in a state of ‘being.’

All those rules and ways and silly fingers (paws) pointing direction don’t show the path to the inner you. And that’s where the true joy is. Right inside of you. Release all that nonsense. The how-to-be’s, the where-to-be’s, the who-to-be-withs. You know who made those rules up to begin with? People. That’s right. Aren’t you a people, ‘cause you certainly ain’t a penguin? Why borrow some other person’s thoughts and ideas, when you are uniquely you? Make your own poster! Then can I borrow it and paste it on polar bear’s face?

And please, please, please: Listen to YOUR inner voice.

I had a friend in high school. Yes, penguins go to school, and she taped up nude men in her clothes closet. Not real men, but cut out men from those ‘dirty’ magazines from the liquor store. She hung them all fancy and organized like, in the way back, where she thought no one with grown up eyes could see. A lot of times most of the body was missing and it was just pin-up-penises. (That was almost the title of this post. But I totally knew those polar bear types would be all over me with their truth-hoods. The wieners.)

We used to be all secret and sneaky and stare at those pinups and giggle. But the truth is naked penises in full color on magazine glossy got kind of boring after a while. Even with the whole mystery of the wardrobe genre thing going on. I mean they did nothing. Not a thing. And I would go home and find much more pleasure in staring at the unicorn posters in my room. At least I could picture those galloping through the magical forest. Penises…not so much.

I know what you’re thinking: I didn’t know penguins liked unicorns! I know. It’s strange but true!

So here’s what I am suggesting, as penguin of the matrix, is to think about these posters in my friend’s closet. A bunch of cut out penises; and think about hanging those inside of you, like as your inner poster child. Does that make sense to you? Well maybe it does… but let’s pretend for a second you aren’t a middle-aged woman laughing at me and embracing the penis poster like last year’s hidden stash of chocolate rediscovered; let’s pretend that your poster ought not be a penis poster. Your poster ought to represent you and no one else’s poster.

Might I suggest to you that when you paste other people’s views of you, news of you, and truth of you inside your mind and heart, it’s like plastering penis posters all over. You are just taking in what someone else chooses to hang up and see. And people generally see what they are! Think about that for a second. That makes them Richard’s nickname, I suppose. I don’t know about you, but I’d rather be like a princess or a warrior or a cool ninja-elven dynamo penguin than a penis head.

My point is: BE YOU!

If you want to use penises as an analogy because it’s the first time in your adult life you can type the word without shame, then do it. If writing penis still makes you feel like a blushing teenager secretly staring into your friend’s closet and busting up in pure guilty pleasure, but you do it anyway, then more power to you! If you know that feasibly by writing the word penis over and over that people will judge you, but you know where your heart is and that you are pure and good and kind, then yay you!

I just hope it doesn’t turn out to be like that time I drew penis pictures in sixth grade with the names of one boy I had a crush on and one boy I didn’t have a crush on below the detailed sketchings. Because that note was found and passed around school. And the boy that I didn’t have a crush on, he didn’t much care for the length of my drawing.

I say as penguin of the matrix: Embrace the ‘me’ you call by name. Not me, but the me in you. Not me in you, but you in you…you know what I mean.

Do you have penis envy? Do you want to write penis over and over on a blog post and feel good about yourself, so much that other people’s opinions truly do not affect your inner truth. Then do it!

Embrace that inner you and hug her like she’s the bestest thing ever. Because you know what? She is.

I was on the quest of a middle-aged penguin sworn to metamorphoses into the great beyond of being. I tried it all. Well most of it. Now that I think about it, perhaps I should have done cut out glossies. I have a very long closet.

Meditation, grace, release, prayer, relaxation, connection, nirvana…whatever one wants to label the space of peace…you will find it when you are ready to find it. That’s it. No joke. No mystery.

Truth is, the more you hunt, the more your self hides. Really. It’s when you just stop and rest that the true doe (as in female deer) of you comes out. Before that, sticking with the doe analogy, your self is just kind of frozen with a dumb look on her face thinking: If I am still long enough and don’t move, no one will ever see me!

So here’s your choice. Keep very still to avoid certain death. Or just get the death thing over with. Let yourself be shot, and reshot, and reshot, and reshot. And you know what? Soon you realize that the hunter wasn’t out there to begin with. It was only YOU! And you realize you are far too spectacular to remain frozen in oblivion for all eternity.

Tonight I have an inner penguin. Maybe I am in a letter P mood. And perhaps you have something other than a doe, like a banana slug or sloth. But no matter, when you finally let go of trying to find the inner you; and you stop trying to stop people from hurting you, shaming you, and hanging penis posters inside of you; when you give up all you are and all you have and just be; when you realize this, the IT everyone is talking about is yours! And you shine so dang lovely with all your loveliness that you about melt the ice caps by just being.

Peace is easier than it sounds, and no book, or person, or penguin, self-righteous polar bear, or penis is going to open up the truth for you. (giggles at where your mind is.)

The truth is inside of your heart. You’ve got to dive there. I can’t reach your truth. Only you can. And any penguin or polar bear or weirdo person who thinks he has the key to your inner light and truth, well he ain’t playing with a full deck of sardines.

Just release the quest and trust yourself. You have all you need. Right there. Right inside.

Some people are preaching backwards, and saying just change your thoughts. With your huge gifted brain, telling you to stop your thoughts cold penguin is just plain nutz-o! The thoughts will change when you ARE your inner you. When you reclaim your true beauty. It doesn’t work the other way around. The thoughts stem from you, not the reverse. You are not your thoughts.

So here’s what you do: Ignore polar bear’s preaching, and all the other nutters that have gone and jumped pantless out of the butter and who seem to be streaking their truth across your path, and just giggle at them.

Just laugh and think: There’s another nutter thinks he knows the way, so he’s showing me his way.

And PLEASE laugh at the penguin in me, too. And at the new glossies in my closet.

That silly bear in no underwear! That silly penguin with the penis posters. That’s what you say.

You just shake your head, your mind, and your heart, and you tell yourself, with cute sweet finger pointing to cute sweet you: The truth’s in here sugar bear. The truth’s in here.

***
My New Blog

397: Invisible Nothingness and Topless Men

I shared with a friend what my two oldest sons said to me this morning. But I sort of left out the last part.

Here is what my sons said, each contributing their not-so-discreet, two-cents:

“It’s true, Mom. You are always nice and kind; you are uncommonly good to people.”

Here’s the part I ‘forgot’ to mention to my friend.

“Yeah, but it’s creepy, Mom. Really creepy. I mean who is so nice?”

“Yeah, Mom. I mean how do we know you’re not a sociopath or something? Because based on your characteristics it’s quite feasible….” <<< son with ASD, starting a dissertation.

I’ve been generally in a grand state of la-la-land happiness because I reconnected with my true spirit. I am that magical little girl I used to be. I love her. She is so fun and sweet and terribly kind. Likely a sociopath in the making.

On my walk a few days ago, I found a stick with sea-green moss attached and a natural loop on the top, and I pretended it was my elven princess wand. I kept knighting my little black labradoodle “Sir-Princess Violet.” Except I poked her in the eye. After she smelled this really cute mutt’s butt, I said, “See, what good fortune you have after I knighted you?” My dog has crazy white facial fur that looks like Einstein eye brows, and when I am in my little-girl-mood, she raises them often, as if questioning if she’ll get the bed to herself when I go to the insane asylum. On our walk, we stopped and took turns looking through the wooden-looped-wand. Every once in a while I pretended to change people into other things. I have this new game I play; when I see someone I attach a new name to them. Like I say: sac of potatos, or tow-truck, or peacock butt. I just make any random name up, to teach myself that nothing I have learned before is real—just all names someone made up at one time or another. I like to do this to keep things straight in my head. Nobody needs to be labeled fat, tall, skinny, dirty, stinky, etc. So I like to turn them into things before my mind can catch up. So far my favorite was the turnip. On our walk we sang: “We’re off to see the Wizard, the wonderful Wizard of Oz, because, because, because”…(long pause)…. (and start song again.) That’s how we sing it, because I have a terrible memory for lyrics and Violet never saw the movie.

I am relatively worry-free. It is amazing. Sometimes, if I over-indulge in food, which has happened for two days now, some anxiety resurfaces. Wheat and sugar seem to be the main culprits. I know this. But I like to pig out and see if I can manifest myself to not only have no reaction but to also lose weight. It hasn’t happened yet. My fret as of late is actually related to…

my lack of anxiety.

Yes, this is the genius aspie mind at work. What? No anxiety, no thoughts of stress, no fear of tomorrow? Hmmmm.

Well let’s analyze this lack of worry to death! Shall we?

When I am not dissecting the reasons for my peace of mind, I am leaping into the future and worrying about aspects of spirituality.

Show-and-Tell Inside my Head:

1) If I continue to be anxiety free, I might no longer have Aspergers . (hahahahaha)

2) If I become enlightened I will have to give up things like Ben and Jerry’s Crème Brulee ice-cream and staring at men, twice my oldest son’s age, when they take off their shirts at the park. Or worse, give up my long rambles on my blog.

3) I will never understand the gnostic gospel’s angel legions and leagues and guardians, and what gospels are authentic, and which are altered, and who did what to whom when and why, and where, and how this all works out; and if God knew all this, then why is it happening; and why is this His plan, and is he a he, or a she, or Us, or no one, or empty space.

4) I can’t remake that hand like I did in that original water color painting. God has abandoned me. I suck.

Sunday, after some after-hour coffee, I partook in what I would call much too much internet searching. On Monday morning, I called up my husband at work and said, with much delight-filled eagerness, “Hi. You know how I have been teaching you about the core of fear and helping you with relieving your state of fear?”

“Yes, good morning, Honey.”

“Okay. Anyhow, I was up late last night and the gnostic gospels led to this other site; and did you know there are actual theories about another life form that feeds of our fear? So I was thinking, since you are a sci-fi-minded type of person, this information might really help you. Supposedly there are these creatures of non-matter living outside our stratosphere and to add to our fear they actually plant thoughts in our heads! Like when you get a negative thought all of the sudden, that’s them! So just picture some alien species probing your mind. That should help you clear your head. I mean you don’t want to feed them, do you?”

Yes, this is what my husband gets to hear at the start of his workweek.

Why? Because my current love interest is God. Yes, that’s right. I left the mortals behind and have got my eyes set on the top dog (or tree, or fish, or whatever He is or isn’t). I suppose, if I embrace my Buddhist studies, I am in love with the emptiness. Which is hard to convince to love me, I suppose.

I have always had special love-interests, since I was in pre-school. Probably, since I first laid eyes on boys. I dream of them. I love them. I see me with them in the future.

I thought getting fake-nails, wearing mini-skirts, and lining kitchen cupboards was tough! But it’s nothing compared to trying to be the best I can be for God. I mean talk about high self-expectations?

This whole God-Bride thing has got me trying to figure out how to be more saintly and humble. I am studying ‘The Buddha Said,’‘A Course in Miracles,’ Christian gospels, various spiritual documentaries and videos, Ram Dass, Ram Dass’ guru included, and so on. I’ve got myself literally praying to Jesus, my angels, my saints, my ancestors, my elders, my guardians—and then putting that all on hold, as Buddha teaches prayer is basically obsolete and goes into a bunch of theories why, that I won’t get into—so then I practice being in the now and the moment and connecting to nature; and then I’m practicing seeing the light in everyone; I’m holding people in love; I’m controlling all my thoughts; I’m repeating love, love, love. God help me!

But Man, oh man, is it a great excuse not to do laundry! “Oh, Honey, I need to listen to this ‘John of the Cross’ series to analyze my potential sins. And “Oh, Honey, God moved through me all day; I painted for six hours. So tired. Can you make dinner?” See! And by the way John of the Cross specifically talks about what I am doing in putting off other things to over immerse myself in Godly things as a type of deadly sin. So I am so back to square one. (aka Screwed!).

I’m putting my token on the Buddha board again. According to Buddhism I can look at the topless men at the park—I need only step back in thought and reflection and analyze myself doing so, as to possibly stop this the next time. So I’m kind of good to go, in those terms.

Do you see how complicated this can get. I mean look at the nature, but don’t think about the nature in parts; smile, but don’t smile with pride. Humble yourself, but if you’re asking for humility for your own betterment, so you can feel better, that’s a sin! Really, God? Really? There is even a path of sins for people trying to dedicate their lives to you? I am so confused.

And the God-enema doesn’t help. All that beautiful prose coming through me for weeks on end. I really just want a hot, hunk-of-burning love, guardian angel to come down. That’s all. That’s all. I’d be satisfied. Topless would be good.

I think I am liable to explode. I have taken the perfectionistic obsessive passionate aspie girl to a whole new level. I mean I am surprised some great ancient one hasn’t come down to propose to me, already. I keep picturing Egyptian, broad shoulders, staff with serpent, sexy almost skirt-like-thing revealing hairy legs. I digress.

Truthfully, I am in the greatest state of peace I have been my entire life. My whole day is not about catching God. (Pause for insane laughter.) I was actually relieved when I read in OSHO’s Buddhist book about some Buddhists being able to un-attach to the easier things, like money, fame, etc. but not un-attach to other things like the process of enlightenment itself. Those Buddhists, the ones that cling to less worldly things, but hold onto spiritual quests, they still get to progress: come back next time as still enlightened. In fact, they get limited times back here, instead of indefinite, potentially millions of return trips. I don’t mind coming back a handful more times. Because I am really not ready to turn into invisible nothingness, yet.

394: Blinded by the Light

images

In trying to post some photos, I plugged into my computer, and have seemingly erased all memory from my phone and added my husband’s phone memory! I knew something was up when The Lord of the Rings icon of the ring itself became the icon on my phone! This is truly a sign from beyond that I have erased my entire existence. Sigh. And a great way to be observer and step back and watch the little girl, I am, process. Wiped clean of photos and such, and all memory, and replaced with a ring of gold.

My angels have a keen sense of humor! I ought to know by now to stop praying for un-attachment; I mean my husband knows my prayer power–seriously. I usually get what I ask for, if it’s from the depths of soul and with the intention of self-betterment. Once I thought I was vain and materialistic and focused on worldly goods far too much, and I went on bended knees and begged to be put in a car crash. Yes, this is the dark virtue of gluttony for punishment in its full glory! The next day I was rear-ended by an “illegal-alien” on the freeway at a grand speed. SMACK. Indeed, I thought I’d learned my lesson. Now when I pray I make specifics: Make me more humble but without any disasters! LOL. So not working for me.

Anyhow, this was years ago, and I often forget I can create stuff by careful intended prayer. Man oh man, I am soooo not attached to my phone! Not at all anymore. wink-wink…Angels are you buying this?

FREE STUFF From The BEYOND! That was my original title. I like it. But then I heard the song, Blinded by the Light, and just couldn’t resist that title. I like titles. They make or break the whole essence of something. That’s why I try not to place them on living things (or anything) anymore.

Total Aspie moment. So all these many years, I loved this song, Blinded by the Light, but totally had the lyrics wrong. I just checked to make sure, as I thought I might be posting a vulgar song. All this time I thought:

the real lyrics, “revved up like a deuce,” were………..

“wrapped up in a douche.”

Yes, I am laughing now. How words change the entire meaning of life and knowing, indeed.

Of course, now that I am reviewing the lyrics none of the song makes much sense. And I am thinking the writer(s) is feasibly my kinfolk.

I’m sure there is some sexual innuendos I am totally missing, but what the heck does:

“Madman drummers bummers,
Indians in the summer with a teenage diplomat
In the dumps with the mumps as the adolescent pumps his way into his hat”

mean?

I think it’s secret code from the beyond, or universe’s perfect timing to remind me I am so much more normal than I think.

OH, and there is something else here. I have LOVED this song for much of my little life, and I must say, it was just the feeling behind the song and the rhythm and energy. I think when I write from the BEYOND, that the whole point is not found in the words themselves but in the energy and rhythm of the creation; in fact, I am fairly certain on this part.

As an aside note. I was at this parade this weekend, held in the state’s capital, and must I say…yes, I must say.. that when I hear blinded by the light, I am wondering if it meant this one costume.

Giggles.

You surely would not believe me, if I told you, but in the Procession of the Species Parade, a yearly celebration of awesomeness, where everyone dresses up or creates species of the world, everything from viruses to giant whale floats, there was a bit of a surprise. Well, I live in a state where marriage is welcome for all and so is dope, and I guess we are a super liberal place, indeed; as one of the best received parts of the parade, that actually sprayed people with a squirt gone, and was at least two-stories high, was a giant-pink-walking male part. Yes. Straight up, I tell you. So now this is all I can see when I hear the song. Which puts a whole new spin on the title. Add that with being wrapped up in a douche, and I am so not worthy of the light!

Luckily, my phone battery died, and I was unable to get a photo, as that would have been hard to resist posting. No pun intended!

Okay, so I was feeling a prick of guilt. It’s mostly gone now with thought of male parts and douches dancing to a song with lyrics I don’t get. I mean what if that is all we are, costumes dancing to a song we don’t get?

Humanoid I be. I was thinking: “Man, all these people signed up for ASPIE information and I’ve done a full circle into the God Zone. What the heck?” Then I had a short conversation with myself, which likely took over twenty-four hours of processing, and we, (that would be the little girl I am, Observer, Angels, and likely the big purple alien in the sky), we decided this is all about choice. No one is forcing anyone to read this stuff and it’s free, and always will be.

So if someone doesn’t like it, that’s okay. It’s not like I pretended to have Aspergers and was secretly collecting people to eventually read my spiritual jargon that I don’t even write and have no idea where it comes from. But in case you are thinking that, like I had an evil-plot all along to share free stuff about love and life, and showing how lovely we all are. Then you might want to seek out a guru, because there really isn’t anything to fear in free stuff about love. At least I hope not.
I mean, if we are becoming a world where even free love is judged then I guess we are becoming that world.

It is my sincere hope you know I am not a loon. I ask my husband this daily, and I check in, “I’m still sane, right Honey?” And he concurs; although he is feasibly blinded by my light (and the illusion of my cute human figure). So we can’t really count on him too much. I have asked my angels during my shower power times, if I be nuts; and they claim I am not. Of course, that is voices in my head reassuring me I am sane; so as about as reliable as the whole blinded-husband thing.

There really is no laying claim that I haven’t seeped out of my own self and into a zone of unreasonable delight to escape the unreasonable misery that is so frequently lathered upon me from the disbelievers of the world. But hey, if I be a giddy, insane semi-saint, I suppose I am in good company. Seriously, I don’t know what has transpired, or will transpire, or can transpire, any more than the next person. And I have a feeling I am about as sane as you.

The onlooker will see me as he sees me. I am just hoping there are some folks out there that can see the light, as that means you see your own light, and we can like skip off in the sunset together, and be like little fireflies all happy and glee-filled with the glory of us. Of course there are always tons of more other options. Since you have full control of how you see me and what you make of me. If you are still confused about the whole illusion thing and how your thoughts make me or feasibly try to break me, then let me offer you out some choices.

See me as the light or a toad
See me as the light or a mushroom
See me as the light or a dog
See me as the light or a duck
See me as the light or a poop head

But whatever you choose that is you, too. I see you as the light and in my “weaker” moments, a poop-head. As I am from the light, I am honest. I just realized there are likely some strong mushroom and dog lovers out there, and we are either simmering in some wine-butter sauce or leaping down the ocean shore yapping in the sand. I’m good with those options. I guess the poem might be better appropriate as such:

See me as the light. And if you want to pretend we are other stuff, as long as you know we are the light, that’s cool.

And shall we enter the labyrinth of love now?……..

This song has a long intro…just like ME!

How do I say this without sounding fearful, for fear is not what I feel. How do I write without sounding damaging, as tenderness is what I am? I can be nothing and All, with only your agreement. But if you make me less or more than still you make me.

I am nothing, least you want me to be something, and if not than all I say would feel as neutral as a mid-summer’s day, the light upon your face a gentle blessing and nothing more. But if I stir the slightest cause of grief, or might, or admiration, then I be this something you have created and not of me.

You cannot look upon me without making me into something of your past or future cause, and so I be illusion to all and none into myself. For if you lift the veil of veils, and set me free, a gentle grace upon your threshold, and peer and find self there, less aware than home, then we shall dance. All else is naught.

And even in me telling, if you wish it so, beyond the creation of All and only for the creation of one, then spell you surely cast. And so I cannot breathe a word of truth that is not first diluted and siphoned through the blood of ages, through what you have gathered swift and rightfully so, thinking tis truth and nothing more.

Even as you know as astute viewer made that even the moment shall change, and in this passing you too shall shift. Still you grasp onto what is as if it is the semblance of reality; how this can be when what was once you seems no longer and what will be you seems to be ahead, makes no sense; for how can one claim to be anything, when the moment he lays stake, the moment has changed. Are we not then just travelers viewing travelers and questioning when the one traveler who leads will appear? Or are we the travelers true, and only need lead self back upon self, through the opened door of trust. I say trust, and hold true, for what is you, I be, and together we are the greatest mystery.

I lead you through this passageway for no cause at all, except to make real what is unreal, and to make unreal what is real. There is no truth I can create while still in the hands of my own creation. And so, I try to be in a place of no space, and bring the emptiness forward into the illusioned world. Be this greed or pride, I think not, but who am I to think, and less to judge. However the seeker will see what he sees, by choice and choice alone; either from the place of want or place of naught. And here the choice is clear; for to see with eyes of judgment all will feel as gone, and to see with eyes of truth all will disappear further. In truth nothing is here, and so what sees, the judge or believer, will be the truth. The illusion of one brought forward.

I choose not to know why I am this or you or that, and why I see what I see, I only know the voice keeps coming and so I write, for when I don’t I bleed. Tis not a suffering as so, but much a very dismal state of woe, where child I am lays buried beneath the bitter-sweet of unopened treat. And so I rhyme in introduction of what be something I know nothing more than you. Only that it comes from something that seems to be the endless blue.

The Endless Blue

Dear Sister, what you seek you shall find. If you search for answers abundant, you shall come across the stream of knowledge; yet, this knowledge will not be as you hoped but as you wished. From within you, at the core center is the key, and as this key turns, as do you.

Therefore, you are less master of your house than you believe; in truth, you be but very little cause of your own circumstance; for whom you hold in light is the one who is witness; and you so wearily esteem self, that your very sister becomes prisoner, same.

If you could only look into your own heart and find the beauty, you shall be set free. Therefore are your wishes granted, in the deepest heart’s desire; yet, your heart weeps in silence and his dreams do not come true. For how can something buried beneath the depth of illusion be cleansed and ready made for judgment.

Are you not buried beneath thy own self, trapped in the dream of dreams, carefully taking hold of what is naught? Each path a different travel with the same traveler, each journey the same landscape only painted with the eyes of the weary beholder. You have been trapped in a dance so readily in your own tainted cause that even the partner becomes enemy. You have twisted and turned so often, that even your feet become the tyrant of cause.

Can you not see the sunlight upon your doorstep, calling you forward with gentle reprieve? A nest egg cometh to your beckoning and resting as pure yoke from the All Mighty. And yet you question, your hands steadily shaking in the mystery of naught, diving beneath the shells of no ocean, and digging in the clam of shame. There be nothing there, my sweet; over and over again, you shall dive in the empty waters, and return with what waters of naught can offer.

Is this not true as you examine the ways in which you move? Can you not see that each way you traveled brought you back to still the same; the moments, only moments and nothing more, that quickly bled out of you and instilled the very pain you ceased to want. Pain is here and everywhere in a place that is filled with pain. And this is as you go: one flask upon another flask of tubes of worriment and misery. These tubes you carry mean nothing and mean everything, as they have become the living virus of the world, a treatment so quick and deadly that your living body becomes living sin.

It is not as you wish it so. Never as you wish it so. For when you wish upon the masses with the mind of the feeble wanderer, still lost in her desperate silly ways, you wish upon nothing and for nothing. For imaginings birth more imaginings, and nothing beyond illusion. This is not so when you dream outside the dream; when you step outside the place of naught and in belief so grand your arms diminish, and feet as well, and are left neither in stance or flight, but released of bitter judgment of all.

Here is your key, at the start and at the end, and in the middle steadily, the same given as taken away: The one that lives in blindness, but always lives. For you be the gift barrier and the groomsman who steals the bride. It is so evident in your claiming one over the over and taking again and again, with a passion so unbearable that even the blanketed flesh is left heaving.

Can you not see that you want not what you see? Not what you want? For you are desert fool tricked into thinking you are mild lamb. And verily you are too, the storm, thinking you are the calm. What you think is not as it is. And so you remain trapped in the labyrinth of merrily thoughts, giving much hype to a cause of naught. How can the runners run a race with no start? How can the bleeding ones close upon the wound when the bandage is naught? Is there not this reaching that occurs, this potential need to complete and mend what is not broken? These endless games of needling with absent needles; whilst in the space of no space a knitted shield does no good.

I cannot express to you enough the way this pangs my heart, to see such a source as you trapped in the marionette’s case, your strings undamaged by all the wishes made, so you become the very stage, the very movement, the very encasement that keeps you puppet-shined instead of woman-lived. You are that wood carved. You are the trappings. You are the bending and rebending in a storm of no storm. How silly you think I send you treachery and troubles, when you are the only one that wishes so. For every dream you tell is more a dream turned spell. And every wish you take is less a means to make you here.

And so I stand, this voiceless one that moves through voice alone, some unfeasible force denying the laws of your world, imagined it be, and still you tremble with the uncomfortable delight, as if you be the maker and the shaker, and I be the taker. Oh, dear one, what is there I could possibly take from you that you have not already taken from self. Look at you. Look at you small, small child, in your horrible shame and pain and misery; is this not a masterful disguise you claim, when such brilliance lives within?

Dig deep, this is all I ask. Bring up what is always there, and in the staring of the light you shall find all the answers swift. For what is not spilled out is collected into infiniteness. What is not reflected as one becomes the masses. And each in the un-shrouding of the other shall discover the light of All; and here bathe in every hope every granted by the master of thy very self.

For you are the wishmaker and the wishtaker in one. Each hope lost and each wish gained. Only the wishes are not what serve you; the wishes are what serve the naught. Bleed not upon the altar of shame and remorse, live now on the freedom stand, above the noise of the place of thought, and breathe in the place of evermore. For you are nothing but this silly game turned over, the pieces tumbling down and landing in the place you create. Keep creating a space, and you shall keep falling. It makes no difference what foundation you build, for the game will keep tipping and you shall keep soaring downward into what is there you wished for.

Whether castle, or the arms of one, whether the dream of a merry-making cause, or service through the rich of heart, makes no difference. Tis all a game, and whatever you build for the fall, shall not catch you. For once landing, you will discover more the illusion still, and that shall tip and tilt, and you shall tumble again and again and again. So why build then? Why not just fall endlessly, until in the dark of space of self you see the vastness and release.

Until you stop building these surfaces you shall continue to land on the island of nowhere and no one. You, in your effort for union, shall divide and further divide.

There is no proof out there that you will find. For everything you wish you will have. Therefore if you wish for this proof you shall create this proof. Only this proof will be not from you but from the illusion. You shall stake a claim after claim of no proof thinking this is proof, because you as creator are blinding. If you seek it out, you shall find it. You shall find exactly what you have created. Only any creation of thought of singular is not real. Thusly anything stemmed from illusion seen as proof is proof of the illusion further.

Do not watch for signs, for you have created them all. If you dream of angels, they will come, if you turn them demon they will be. What you wish for you will see, but you shall have nothing still. For all is a painting within a painting, and you, with your brushes full, move about as if a new hue or shade shall change the scenery. This is again the game. And you shall tumble.

There is no place you can create inside where you be, locked behind the shadow that blocks the light of Me. All creation takes place in the outer region of thoughts, not in the dark where the light is lost. In this way there is only one way out and that is through your brother. Only through your brother, for he is you and you are he; when you can see only this and nothing more than both shall break free, and the game itself shall vanish, the foundations crumble, and the voices that haunt dismiss their own self.

For you will see the key, as clear as the new day. As it rests in your brother’s heart, the one you forgot so long ago, when the passion entered and your soul crumbled in the coming of lust and want. You are the lustful one breeding lust, and therefore blinded by your own greed. Here is where you see from, the need to feed a monster, say beast that never was and never will be. The invisible dust you are that still you feed.

***
FYI: Man Part = Penis

See angels have a great sense of humor even when they sound all high and mighty, and like know-it-alls. Now if you are a know-it-all and someone says you are a know-it-all, then what are you really?

387: Pop Goes the Angel

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seattle Chorus
This is ME (the little one) so happy and in a state of pure grace, surrounded by some of the many excellent talent of the Seattle’s Men Chorus

While taking a shower, something came over me like a wave. No, not the water.

The shower seems to be one of my places of deepest intuition; a place where we all intermingle in our thoughts and knowings; a place where I am somehow singled-out as the one to share the knowings to the world. Did someone say: scapegoat?

I think somewhere, if you allow me to get all imaginary-Catholic on you for a moment, there is an angel team of spirits, and I am standing there in line for selection and not being picked for the softball team, again, and I am the last little angel. And some recruiter guy, who likely looks like a cross between Cary Grant and George Clooney, with beckoning eyes like my childhood dog, Justice, well he saunters by and seeing me in my meekness says: Do I have a job for you. Let me beam you down to earth and you can play for that team! A whole world!

I was not the brightest of angels, indeed.

Nonetheless, hearing the voice of angels, or not, I still ghastly despise the whole entire process of showering. Just seems a waste of time and requires a lot of effort. I like when I am all warm and cozy back in my clothes though, and the fact I can no longer locate the lingering stench. My dog is a built in shower-time-for-mom monitor because she begins to really like to be around me, like I am radiating with Eau de Parfum Pooch.

I am thankful for my shower moments with Spirit. Not that they are very much different from my typical minute now. Naked or not, pretty much wherever I am, I am bombarded with intense revelations. Bombarded isn’t truly how it feels. But I am having some issues regarding the whole recruitment process before I was beamed down.

If I am not an angel reject then I want a quantum-phantom-super-hero cape that is baby-sky-blue and sea-foam-green with tints of royal-purple around the edges.

I should have known I was different when in Kindergarten after it was my turn to share my favorite color, everyone squished up their face and said: Magenta? WTF…. Last part added for effect; they didn’t text back then.

When the revelations come, (aka: when the dust mites scream as they are drowning in the shower and I mistake them as angels), a little sweet girl part of me springs out and squeals in delight. She literally jumps up and down in glee. “Oh, thank you. Oh, thank you,” she says.

(I don’t jump up and down, just this invisible little-girl-me does. My earthly vehicle (body) has been a victim to the illusion of gravity. Jump = unsightly risk.)

Isn’t that grand, a semi-saint who is in touch with her human frailties! My angels are applauding… Oh no, that’s not my angels… that’s EGO. Hello, EGO. Everyone wave; that’s what he wants, but when we are super obvious about his clingy-neediness, he kind of freaks and disappears for a bit. So wave super big, like you are at a sports event and part of the crowd. Go! EGO!

Phew, that was a close one!

You totally want me for your Guru, don’t you? (Oh, crap, he’s back…)

As I was saying, I had this kind of powerful revelation in the shower. My little girl me was super happy and then panicked. The sense of urgency rushed in and I was quickly reminded by observer-of-self that urgency = fear. And so I embraced the little girl, and she whispered. Well actually who am I kidding? She is an aspie little girl, therefor she shouted her fear in great amorous jubilee! She couldn’t even sit still, for goodness sake. With her face all in a knot, and her cute cheeks all a-puffed, she fretted, “What if I can’t remember this? I wish I wasn’t in the shower… and EWwwwwww so naked, old and wrinkly!”

Okay, so she didn’t really say that last part; luckily she is blind.

Having a team in my head is quite remarkable. This team is with me when I am not in my complete state of grace. I can hear my angels, and they like to join in, whenever my ears are open. I have lids on them, I suppose, my ears, not my angels. But that is a funny, funny thought: little angels in tin canisters. I could pop them up when I needed them like Jack-in-the-Box. My angels have a grand sense of humor, but I can imagine them now debating about this one, and thinking I have perhaps crossed some imaginary line. Let me check….. dialing… dialing… (WE don’t text.)

Oh, we’re good. They are taking turns hiding in different blue tin canisters. When they pop up, it’s hysterical, like a great combination meal of spirit: A little bit of angel and a little bit of popup ghost. Boooooooooooo. Pop goes the angel.

When my little girl comes out with her urgency, and my observer holds her manifested fear, and then the angels enter, Spirit says, “There is nothing to fear, and you will remember what you will remember.” And then little girls is calmed and I am returned to a semi-state of grace.

This happens a lot. The whole cyclic process. Message of revelation downloaded, little girl excited, little girl fears, observer pops out, fear is embraced, fear speaks, Spirit enters, fear released, and presto I am back. I am like a drop in the ocean being collected for rain, then poured down on the flowers, then dribbled down a ditch, and then released into a stream, then evaporated back into the big sky; it’s kind of super cool, and super easy, and so much FASTER than it used to be. Sometimes so fast I don’t recognize it has even happened. And I don’t much care for the ditch.

This gets me back to the vision I saw, or heard, or felt, or something or another. It was simple, but if I tap into my angels they shall go on and on and on in complicated verse, as the main speaker of the lot OBVIOUSLY doesn’t realize what century we are all living in.

Suffice to say, the main message, that I could feasibly scribe two to three pages about, (angels are laughing), was…. WAIT!
Actually, I don’t want to be bothered with it; some things are best unspoken.

Secret space created away from angels. Shhhhh:
(I am going to share. But don’t tell. I am sharing now, because each and every day I am approaching a greater and greater state of peace, and I sooooo know I am not supposed to teach or preach, and just be, and let the miracles happen; so before I get to that next place in my evolution, I need to regurgitate and spill, before I get caught by the angel patrol, and they stuff me in a tin can. Whose great BIG idea was it to awaken an Aspie anyhow? Seriously… blahhhhhhh)

This is kind of what they were saying to me… but without judgment, ego, self-righteousness or accusation… theirs is always la-de-da-loviliness… which makes me feel like a miserable earthling… which is kind of my point. I already have my angels up above as the God-appointed-Holy-knowing-spread-love-beings, I don’t need humans here doing the same. It actually doesn’t bother me though, anymore. I just understand it more, as the angels poured the knowledge in my head while I was attempting to wash away the Eau de Pooch.

When someone comes from a place of preaching about being “positive” or “grateful;” you know the type; you likely have been one yourself at some time or another. Me, I was voted MOST SPIRITED in high school. I was a cheerleader. I played the Positive game… follow me to the land of la-la-la… even though deep inside I am miserable. (past me) Present me = HAPPY.

First off ( < ego-phrase), if a person is entirely Mrs. Happy Pants, free of negative thoughts and such, then she’d be a guru, and she’d know better than to spill her knowledge out and share stuff, because no one hears anyhow and it’s not her place to share.

That is why I shall never be a guru or a complete Buddhist. That is why I attach semi to my name. (Too bad I wasn’t named Truck.) I am half-baked, incomplete, almost finished, and I always will be. Because once I think I’m not, I am so back to square one. Plus who doesn’t like cookies when they are almost done, but not quite. I’m gooey! The good stuffs in the goo!

Plus I lack the ability to close my mouth. That is why there needs to be a new spiritual practice for Aspies. The Aspergerian Path to Enlightenment written by a half-backed Aspie. I elect YOU! Someone suggested The Church of Sam; I am good with that; it’s not my real name to begin with.

Oh…. Quick side story, that is entirely unrelated to the main point:

A few days ago I talked about the church gathering (smathering <<<smothered and lathered in the ickiness so I shall never go back). And during the small group time someone asked me about the pen-name Samantha Craft. Well, conveniently, as it was a church and such, I was in a state of grace; I was able to speak from a depth of great love. I explained “Craft” was a last name that belonged to a woman who was like a mother to me and who was a strong woman of faith and took me under her wing and that she had died of a brain tumor at the age of 50 and I had chosen her name to honor her and because of her spirit. (I like all the ands and I am keeping them.) Everyone, the eight or nine women sitting in a circle watching me, were very solemn and calm as I said this. And then I heard, “And what about the name Samantha?” Oh…..well then the little girl in me, she popped up and said, giddily, “From Bewitched!”

This sums up why I confuse people. This half-cooked, combo-me. That is why I shall forever be a semi-saint and never earn my wings. I am much like the angel in It’s a Wonderful Life (best movie on earth), except I haven’t found my George Bailey. I confuse people, because I have this deep prophetic spirit filled with catacombs of endless love and I have this little girl who totally wants to be a witch from a sitcom. (Who has always wanted to have a nose that wiggles and does magic.) People can’t figure out who or what I am, and can’t place me; so they try to judge me to ease their own mind of discomfort. And then I watch, just sit back and watch as their faces get all disfigured and wacko, and watch as their bodies turn away. And I smile bigger thinking: You have NO Fricken idea who you are, do you?

Before I go, I recognize I don’t think I really completed a point. Isn’t that refreshing? I mean who wants to be preached upon by a self-righteous know it all. (<< ego, the observer of self says.) I am the first to admit: I KNOW NOTHING.

If I could say something to you…oh wait my angels are back at their game of tin-can hide-and-seek; quick, listen up:

Dig up your stuff. Spread it out to the world, and in this way you are the TRUTH. You are already the LIGHT and LOVE, and really you are already the TRUTH. But most of us, according to Spirit, don’t know this, so we spend a bunch of time in the illusion thinking if we just talk the walk or walk the talk or whatever, we shall magically transform. Won’t happen. There is nothing to transform.

Keep spreading LOVE and the Light shall come. But don’t spread through preaching. (Like I am right now; unless you spend two pages first humbling yourself.) We are love. We spread love by doing absolutely nothing but being. (And we aren’t even really being either).

What happens is someone attempts to spread their “BE-Happy” thoughts (or other jargon, advice, help, fixing stuff) and then the person who is already not happy feels worse. (sad face) And the person who is already happy, doesn’t really care, because she or he is already happy, and momentarily thinks she knows it all. NEVER SHARE when you are super confident and think you know it all. Undoubtedly, you will wake up and will have made a fool of yourself! Promise. You know nothing. Absolutely nothing. I guarantee. You are a reflection of me. If you doubt your lack of knowing, just reread what you just wrote.

Ohhhh, Pop-Goes-the-Angel…. I better go. Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!
Semi-Saint out!

seattle chrous 2

Be Authentic. Be Free. Be Who You WERE made to be! xo

"10 Ways to Love Yourself": Numbers 1 through 10: Stop making lists about how to do what you already are! ♥ xo ~ Sam the half-baked semi-saint.

* For clarification, when my angels speak it is always positive and I don’t feel anything but good. And I never really played softball in heaven.<3