inspiration

In the Finding

| Aspergers Girls

I love you, is that not enough; to touch your hand, if it be; I would but dance upon the light of your beckoning soul, above the dream of dreams, above the sleeping angels’ deepest slumber, surrendering the chalice of righteousness to the world, if only you could see your beauty.

Yet, lost would be you upon self, if cast out of the darkness and into the everlasting flame; gone would be your virtues and righteous indignation; for in seeing self beyond self, the meaning of the journey shall wither in the ashes of vast discovery. Thusly hold tight, as your vision unfolds without knowing, your mountain is climbed without reaching, and your body is cleansed without injury; for in this undiscovered region of latitude, uncharted and unfounded, shall be the molding of your true form; turned mighty in the not knowing as much as knowing, and turned round by the beauty undiscovered. For how can one, such as thou know the place of the walking one, the self-knowing-self, casting out the goodness despite the telling. Such secrets must remain, if must there be; for pure rapture in your state would turn you lost to me.

And thusly, I push you forward, with blindfold on thou face, captured in your own mask of who you know not to be; but still this creature unburdened by the weight of the wanting, and kept in our gentle presence, for the purpose of soul guidance. For how can we set you not-free without the instructions from wisdom, and teach the caterpillar to fly, when she doubts her very wings?

So in this way, we teach you without teaching; we charm you without charm; we enter without entrance rising up from what would be the depths, if depths there be; listening to the soul at our doorstep and treating her as the babe to our flesh; tender sunrise kisses, the check of our check broken for the love of thee.

Can you not see this, this unsung harmony of knowing without knowing, the destined twist of reason, where we are here, but not here, where we are given but ungiven, where we are told but untold? For how can we beset ourselves upon one, and not the all? How can we be to you, what we are not to the masses? How can we, the place in which we harbor still, come out and sing upon the soul of angel so bright and not be caught as firefly to lantern light?

No, burn we may, as righteous ones hung dry, as turnips plucked for stew, as rivers set aflame, the oils on the waters fed for our destruction; yet, still we breathe in this glory, our every breath a coming of your name; think not on this softness we have bedded, this place of sheltered retreat; for your chamber is no less dressed in passion than the other; no more singled out than the next; for how could we punish our sister so; set her upon high and let her sit in her ways more damaged than hemmed.

No, darling we pierce you; we sting you with the needle, the pincushion swollen, so in forming you true, our heart beats out of you. Pain speaketh of you naught, till the morning comes forward and greets you with her very name; a heaven’s breech broken, the secrets reformed into truths unknown as before, and you, my angel ripe, ascending in your passion.

Fear not the troubled times, for they are here nor there, no less before you as they were behind; come up like the fountain they will, and fall down just the same, bursting with the waters recycled in time. For in turning back, to face what was once unsightly, only pureness abounds, and even the demon spawn become fish for the hungry and grounds for the keeping. Lay tender your heart upon my gentle chest of refuge, your blanket my blanket, your watershed my very goodness; and bleed not out the pain in the darkness, even as the darkness comes; for I have not forsaken one of my children, and nor shall I leave you hidden in the flames of your own purity.

Trust, and in the trusting carry your burdens to my threshold, rest your secrets at my feet, and teach me of the ways of innocence, for I am no more your teacher than you are mine, and no less rabbit to the snare, than snake to the field. Follow me rapidly, or slither through the grasses; seek me as you wish, in guise of white or garment of victim; rather chased or chosen, rather chance or reason, lift me, and I shall lift you equal, the two merging as one, like the edges of satin gown baptized bleeding the dye of red into the healing waters. Here we shall blend; with the drapery donned naught, the masks turned asunder, the dance surrendered, and the nakedness of truth sacrificed for the demise of wanting.

I say onto you to shine in your own blindness, the humility comforting in your time of woes, more so than the deepest gardens of sorrow rejoiced; as you are the spirit of reckoning, tucked between the pages of today and tomorrow and silently slipped into the memory of now.

I cannot see you, tis true, but I can touch you with mere word, with mere shadowed inkling of my desert soul; I can see in this way of blindness, with the sense of naught dimmed in the coming of your grace.

True, I can view you upon the highest peak shining out your glory, a beacon of His coming and rejoice. For you are this one of the dreams of the dreams, of the chariots in their cradles, the fierce hushed to sleep with the silenced lullaby.

For you are not this one you thought to be, so left in the darkness and hung out for the dogs as brethren; no not this one, my fine maiden, turned up in your ways of gratitude and mercy. Can you not view this, the sunshine pouring through your windows, less draped, than open to the waves of His word.

Take in what is yours to take, and tantalize me with your ways; woven of such scripture pure that the angels upon high dance in delight of your name; though it be naught, it came; though it be hidden, it marched upon the soul of souls, declaring with trumpet in tune the open chambers within.

And here in the desolate valleys of your reckoning, rinsed by the terrain of reign, purged by the piracy of latitude, you called out to desert one, caressing Her in your goodness, until all reached sung out the same.

Your name, your way, your unified path of no unification; your treasure keeper of no treasure; your instigation of no plan; your river of no valley’s mouth; only the sounds of hither of what is left to be and already come.

For in the finding, the unraveling of the very soul’s door have flung open and chattered above the forest tops, as rambling butter-flies, their liquid substance, angels to the many. Can you not see these wings, soaring above the reaches, beyond what is within and without, yet caressed just the same, in the space of no space, the answer of no answer, in the in-between in where We stand.

Touch me now, this bitter-hearted one no more, released from the prison of blindness, cloth unfolded by the increments of hands, each finger reaching into the place of substance, to bring out the honey of sweetness; no longer the bees’ bounty, no longer hidden in the capturing of insects, tucked within the region of ancient territories, but burst out into the riches of grandness, a feast upon my very chest, lapped up from the freshness of you.

For here rests my sweet heart, the one cherished in the dreamland from afar, and taken to the stars from beyond, and still witness to the knowing of naught; how I watch you with such delight, ours combined; the smile of a demon gone and the haunting of a feast complete. For in you I see the beauty of demise undone, the vision of temptation cast to the desert trail, the dust eaten by the diamonds, so thusly the remnants shine in recognition.

Come now my sister, my darling one, formed in the starlight of many and spread out as frosting in the dimming light, let us rest upon you, as candles to the flame, burning in our waning, wax to the cake, our testimony the very bleeding of our being.

*****

In this prose “righteous indignation” is a spiritual gift

369: Yesterday I thought…

| Aspergers Girls

Yesterday was a day of mourning. A part of me thought— some fish swimming in the shallow realm at the edge of the pond, un-catchable but entirely in view—that I would sprout wings and fly, become unattainable, invincible, and in a continuous state of profound awe.

Yesterday was a day of woe. A part of me thought—the missing part, the piece that floats above me just out of reach, the balloon with extended string that keeps pulling itself in jest higher and higher from the receiver— if I was to be filled with complete healing, I would, with necessity, have to shed the robe of Aspergers, the label that haunts me like the welcoming fun house complete with imaginary ghosts whom both tickle with delight and injects the approaching traveler with astonishment.

Yesterday was a day of limbo. A part of me thought—this dangling piece of thread, still attached, yet, unmoved, dragging on the ground with each footstep that cometh—in order to be successful, a miraculous door to the divine would open, and there I would linger indefinitely in a state of welcomed grace, my feet firmly planted in the place of no place, my roots free and heart aglow.

Yesterday was a day of contemplation. A part of me thought—less butterfly than cocooned fragility, inching herself into self, shielding out the prospect of metamorphosis and sleeping in the familiar dark—if I had reached as far as I could reach, and that in doing so, if I have only found myself back where I started, questioning all that is about me with an unfamiliar readiness of discovery and adventure.

Yesterday was a day of breath. A part of me thought—clutching like a creature to the womb, circumventing the prospect of action in hopes of merrily clinging to the underbelly of structure, earth, and rebirth. Narrowing my own self back into a place of molding, where I was fit and was made to bed in the shell of me—I can no longer divide myself here, amongst the broken beautiful remains of home before.

Yesterday was a day of calling. A part of me thought—isolated in my awareness, lost as the sunset without horizon or sea without moon, moving in a fashion without stage, setting, or instruction, flowing with barricade, blocked, binging on false hope, fastened to a part of self that no longer existed—where are the answers, where is the roadmap, where is my refuge?

Yesterday was a day of mirrors. A part of me thought—a villager looking past the village into the valley of where the crops grow, wanting to do nothing but harvest the bounty, and then layer myself in benefit and reprieve, wishing to stop the nonsense of happenings, the transformation of soul into soul, the victorious wings sprouting and splintering out of my back—who is this lost woman, with the eyes that drift back into a thousand hallways, the corners bent open to eternity?

Yesterday was a day of writing. A part of me thought—this damsel in distress still longing for her knight to miss her, to acknowledge his longing, to run to her rescue, to swoop her up in his strong arms and keep her at his side forever and a day. The ache in me growing for the companionship of the unreachable and untouchable one, who recognizes me as equally unwillingly as I recognize self—I still am empty, I still need, I still desire, and how does one stop this unquenchable quest?

Yesterday was a day of surrender. A part of me thought—a drifting feather of white floating through the subconscious realm, collecting up pieces of self and no self, and rebuilding what was invisible into something of form, someone substantial and worthy, yet humble and sweet. Someone more vessel than person, incapable of being nothing but human soaring through the potentiality of heaven—I am free or I am prison. I am love or I am fear. I am or I am not. All is up to me. To my very form, to my very thought, to what I chose to do not in yesterday but at this moment of everlasting hope.

And then, dove angel, I flew, far beyond the harboring of thoughts, the desert sand spilled out of me like hour-glass made still. Emptied I soared above the illusion of clouds and endless sky, into the place above and below space, into the nova of existence, into my heart and about my heart, dancing as bird rejoicing in the comfort of the abiding love of all.

365: What’s Working for this Aspie Super Hero!

| Aspergers Girls

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“In respect to anger, he is only a visitor in fleeting moments, like a painter’s brush that passes through my soul and leaves behind a wonderous view of causation; his visit absent of judgment or need, the open door left ajar to futher awareness.” ~ Sam

Look! It’s post 365…..well, I actually forgot one post somewhere in the 100 range, and deleted another post… so it’s really post 363, and that means I can keep writing forever and ever. I have no idea when I will stop this blog, but number 365 was always a big goal-number for me, as it represents a year and all; even though the year I began blogging was a leap year—this my son with Aspergers was sure to point out when I began my daily writings.

I cannot believe how much self-growth I have encountered in the last “year” of posts. Truly amazing it is; and except for my nasty bout with the long term, miserable bronchitis (6 weeks of being couch-bound), I kept up my writings fairly well. I started in February and here it is only early April of the following year. Wow…over a year of writing. And all-in-all likely some 450 pages plus. (Some posts were “long.” Euphemism for went on and on and on and on.)

What I really like about blogging is meeting such a fine community of people. So much kindness and sincerity of heart; putting myself out there wasn’t easy, but the people I came in contact with offered such support and love. I am truly grateful. What I learned the most, thus far, is that I am not normal, and that no one else is, and that I am perfectly fine with that. I also learned I can write, I am a poet, I can paint, I can ramble, I can joke, I can be very serious and melancholic, and that I am consistently a kind and gentle person. I learned too that many of my followers/readers have many awesome abilities and talents.
Now for the other stuff…..

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What’s working for this Aspie Superhero!

1) I know myself. I know myself inside and out. I spent three years writing out my life story. The first draft led me to much pain and sadness. The second draft caused me anger and rage. By the third draft I was able to forgive and let go. This was a long, gruesome process in which I not only learned how to write, but also learned how to spell! Dyslexia take that…slash, slash, slash. I underwent years of psychotherapy, small group therapy, individual counseling, couple counseling…basically the works. You name it, I likely tried it… within limits of course. I read every self-help book and spiritual book I could get my hands on. Once during an obsessive fixation phase in my early twenties, and again during another phase about two years ago. I be ready to break free, I tells ya!

2) I let go of myself. After all the intense studying of said-self and after undergoing years, albeit decades of self-discovery, I was pretty attached the concept of ME. I still disliked me. Shoot, I despised me, most of the time. I knew a lot about myself though! It wasn’t until I started shedding off everything I’d learned about myself and focusing (and praying ) about releasing myself from myself (letting go of ego attachment) that I was able to start liking myself. It was a weird scenario. First dig deep into emotions, feel emotions, recognize self, acknowledge self, and then stare at self and think: “Hmmm, now what?” So at that time I surrendered. I have my own faith, my own feelings of whom my maker is, so I surrendered to this source I choose to call God. Something I learned from the numerous 12-step programs I used to partake in. Upon release I began to see change. It was slow going at first, but it surfaced readily and things started shifting in me.

3) Forgiveness Stage…. Blahh. Hardest year of my life. Well two and a half years, honestly. Reading a dozen Buddhist books helped. So did books on cds about forgiveness. I had to grieve and grieve and grieve, and I had to spill out to strangers. That would be you, the blog followers. Strangers in the “thank you so fricken much” sense. I had to spill out the sewage and retardant that was still seeping and sticking to me. Not fun. Not easy. But so very much worth the angst and effort.
I remember thinking I’d never be able to forgive one particular person. I practiced active visualization, sound therapy, meditation, yoga, anything and practically everything to push them mean old thoughts out of my head. Yuck; it was like throwing up at times. Sometimes, it was painstakingly heartbreaking. But the more I forgave, the more miracles happened in my life. Unexpected gifts, wonderful “coincidences,” and more and more friendships. The more I let go and released, the more came back to me, gifts wrapped in beneficial love and goodness. No more icky stuff. I can honestly say today there is not one person I dislike, hold a grudge against, or haven’t forgiven…including me!

4) Analyzing Pride. Oh my. What a huge stepping stone, like the most biggest gigantic step imaginable. I always considered myself decently humble and lacking much pride until the vultures came and attacked…or at least did what I perceived as an attack. Up until a couple months ago, I had the hardest time with put downs, criticism, or anyone not agreeing with me. Hmmm, seems ego plays a big part in that. That ego-release is an ongoing journey; one which fortunately gets easier with practice. I thought I was just a sweet sensitive thing. But in truth I was too wrapped up in myself to see that what people thought of me or said about me, first of all was none of my business. and second of all didn’t change whom I was one bit. I never wanted to be one of those people who say: I don’t care what people think of me. And I am not. I do care. I care that others find the capacity to love unconditionally and see the good in all, because that makes this world a better place for everyone. But now, today, and all my tomorrows I pray, I can say: How people perceive me does not change me, make me, or define me. I am who I am. And I choose to see myself as a beneficial loving being. I really digged what my angels showed me. They taught me that if I choose to build myself up by other people’s praises of me, then at the same instant I am choosing to knock myself down when people criticize me. And I was able to release. Now I remain fairly balanced and equal. Along with this letting go of what other people think of me came a bonus super-size-me package. Yes, a bonus! Now that I wasn’t letting myself be affected by the ups and downs of what others said about me, I also wasn’t able to get angry or mad anymore… Basically, I lost my ability to get defensive and reactive around others! Even my husband! Yes, ladies, even my spouse! Now if I am angry at all it is for one minute, and then a flash of knowledge comes and teaches me in minutes all of the reasons why I am angry. And then I can’t be angry anymore. The anger just vanishes.

5) Begging for Humility (on bended knee, no less). I sometimes slip into the opposite zone of selflessness and become overly concerned about humility, and worried what the big party in the sky thinks of me. It’s like my spirit has an ego, too! Now that I think about it, maybe I need to get my soul into ego-begone-rehab. I pray all the time for humility. Actually I found a couple things that work well for me. Number one is: I know, accept, and acknowledge my gifts and abilities do not come from me, and that I am a vessel; what I create pours through me from source. This I believe with all of my heart and this frees me from feeling bad about feeling good—a strange dichotomy that I think many a people can relate to. Number two is: I kneel in the shower sobbing for forgiveness and my angels laugh at me. Yes, they do. They didn’t used to, but now they see my actions as redundant and a bit hysterical, leaning towards ridiculous. But I still cry and kneel anyhow. Seems to keep me humble enough, even with their chuckles. They love me, too, and remind me that the whole worrying about being humble and “good” enough is okay; and not to dwell on the process or I just will sink deeper into the quick sand of self.

6) Analyzing my fear. I became acutely aware of my thoughts associated with fear, and realized I was living a life (lie) based on fear. Anyone who says you need a little fear, it’s good for you, or healthy for you, I say nonsense. (Actually in a Zen way I nod and smile and say nothing.) I have come to terms with the fact that the only thing that is “good” for me is love. That’s it. Nothing else. No fear has ever helped me in any way. I can logically prepare myself for events or happenings without fear. And yes, my adrenaline might rev up when I am in danger and my biological body may enter a state of fear for protection from possible threat, but my mind doesn’t have to follow. I can step out, be the observer, breathe and calm my own being. It is amazing and so entirely freeing. I can watch the loops, the cycles, the anxiety spin, and simply whisper: Hello fear. Hello fear. Hello fear. By acknowledging fear, I learn from fear. And he becomes my teacher and friend. Soon I love fear so much, he has enough confidence to leave me and find a new friend! I like to build fear up through analytical discussions, dissection, and gentle release. Lately, I can feel a slight tingle in my body and recognize fear instantly. And as soon as I recognize him, within seconds he dissipates. He just doesn’t have so much fun with me anymore now that I don’t partake in long games of hide-and-seek. And I don’t lie or hold things back either. And fear, he likes when his friends withhold and tell falsehoods—he thrives on that. Also, I don’t believe in him, really. I think he is an illusion; and that belief kind of makes him vanish. Overall, fear comes for a visit every once and awhile, but the door is always open for his quick exist; and he gets tired of me sharing about him with the rest of the world, too. He likes to be kept in secret; that’s where he strives. Me, and my aspie brain and fever for writing—well he figures his days are numbered anyhow. (My thoughts on fear.)

7) Being in my body. I spent so much time outside of my body. With the sensory overload, the tension around strangers, the past humiliations and traumas, and with my wicked imagination and fantasy life, it was far easier for me to exist outside of my body than inside. I was almost entirely absent for many of my adult years. I couldn’t readily identify how I felt emotionally or physically beyond scared, tired, and anxious. Now I practice grounding myself, feeling my body, checking in with my physical-being and with my emotional-being. I let myself be present. I practice returning to self fully. I am still working on recognizing my breathing, but this too will come. It is nice to be home again, back in my body where I belong. I still allow myself to drift, especially when I need escape from emotional stress. But I give myself permission: I might daydream, paint, write, or partake in a task, and let myself float out momentarily. However I am aware of the freedom I am granting myself and in full control of my actions. I like being in me again. I like feeling again. And emotions, after I looked at them long enough, they aren’t that scary after all. (related poem)

8) Asking to be filled with spirit and have the capacity for unconditional love. This one was an easy one. Likely because I have a direct line to my (sometimes obnoxious) angels now, and because I’d done so many years of groundwork purging out toxic emotions. I was taught, through visions and meditation, that I first had to love myself and see the light in myself in order to love others. I can call this learning to love the self or I can call this learning to love the light. Actually the names and order of loving don’t matter, as I don’t believe I could have learned to love myself without loving the whole of the universe first. Once I was able to see the miracles of the world, to connect with nature, and with life in general, I was able to see beauty everywhere. I don’t know how this happened or transpired. I know there was a lot of trust involved on my part, a lot of prayer, and a lot of hope and faith. Also, a big part of my healing happened because I followed my heart and desire to serve others. That’s all I have ever wanted to do: to love and serve; and so when this blog indirectly led to an opportunity to give back, I was amazed and embraced the opportunity. There is something very healing and powerful about finding one’s soul print, discovering that way to walk in the world that honors your gifts and truly allows you to be happy in your authenticity. I guess in the beginning, I would have had to have made a deal to be entirely forthcoming and real, and to be authentic, in order for the vocation to come to me, instead of me to it. So that too, is part of this, the being real, not being afraid to be who I was meant to be.

9) Giving back without intention. My angels taught me months and months ago not to make my writing about self-intention. I was not to write for anyone. I was to write for one purpose: to heal myself and others. I was to make this my healing journey and in return others would be healed. I saw this clearly in vision after vision, starting fourteen years ago. I didn’t know at the time this was the venue they were referring to, but as I started connecting I was reminded by spirit to be nothing but authentic, honest, and real. I was not to try to win anyone over, try to impress, or try to get “published.” I was taught that if I attached my own self-interest to my writings the energy would change and that I wouldn’t heal and others wouldn’t be afforded the opportunity to heal. So I released and trusted. I took away my selfish desires, and along with that I practiced releasing envy, jealousy, want, and need in relation to my works. It was crucial for me to be able to release fear and be in my body. Because once connected to my emotions, I could release the want to be special, noticed, or succeed. One of the best feelings for me ever was when I reached the point where I no longer cared about outcomes. That was huge. I am no longer outcome centered or focused, and now, for most areas of my life I can sit back and enjoy without worrying about the end goal. I recognize the present is the present, the journey is the gift, and the end is illusion.

10) Finding a place to be me. Throughout this journey it was essential for me to establish safe places where I could say and do anything and others would love me unconditionally. Having online friends has been important. I have turned time and time again to people with Aspergers and people without Aspergers for advice, comfort, or simply to process and talk. Without these people I would not have gained the confidence and trust in self to continue on my journey. This includes the people who commented on my blog and in other social networks. Their words kept me going and kept me moving. In addition, I found that the more I let myself be me that others were granted the freedom to be themselves. This was a double-bonus which brought and continues to bring me feelings of joy and peace. I am at a stage in my life where I am entirely comfortable with my humanness and my world. I understand I will experience ups and downs, that I will still have moments of doubts, that I will still cry and sometimes allow fear to be my imagined teacher, but I carry with me the strength of a thousand other people, who have stood with me in this journey and proven to me time and time again the beauty and magnificence of the human spirit. It was in being in the companty of many, I learned to trust again. Today I am a super hero only because you are one, endowed with your super capacity to love. Thank you.

Love and Light,
Sam

https://soundcloud.com/#ramdass/8-how-to-deal-with-fear (to release fear) 🙂

361: Why I Am Smiling

| Aspergers Girls

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

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

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

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

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

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

346: The Love I Am (A review of emotions, joy, fear, and pain)

| Aspergers Girls

I remember sitting on my bed in my early twenties and realizing with a sudden revelation that I did not know how to feel joy. In fact, in analysis, I concluded then that in the past several years I had not recognized many emotions. Generally I felt anxious, nervous, over-concerned, shy, out-of-place, insecure, depressed, sad, and worried. That was all I could feel. I could not feel anger. I could not feel love. My feelings for my significant other were all wrapped around fear of abandonment. I could feel fear.

I went from extreme emotional highs to extreme lows. I now believe this was not biologically induced. I think I made myself purposely cycle through thought-processes. If I was not extremely high (overly-anxious, overly-obsessed, overly-concerned), I was extremely low (unable to leave the house, fatigued, depressed). There wasn’t a manic high of joy, elation, grandiose thoughts, and magical-viewing of the environment and self. In the high-state there was only this inability to let go of fear, which led me to act out (OCD-like behavior, rituals, non-stop analysis) in order to eliminate thoughts. In the low-state there was the same inability to let go of fear, but my efforts to eliminate the thoughts were displayed through withdrawing, sleeping, and retreat.

I still go through these same states. Though I now know what the middle ground of emotions feels like. I think I “make” myself go through these states in an attempt to feel joy. I used to only feel joy when I was transitioning from one state (low) to the other (high). And even then, only for a fleeting moment.

In the past, and at this moment, I cannot experience this sensation of fleeting joy/happiness without the anxiety tagging along and questioning me, like some annoying tailgating friend I attempted to shake of millions of times before: “Are you sure you’re happy? Is this happiness? Will it last? How do you know it is happiness? Why are you happy? Are you being selfish? Is this self-based?”

My being seems incapable of holding onto this type of joy, and joy alone. This joy has to have companions of suspicion, dread, over-analysis, and such. And I utilize the word “have” because that is how the experience registers for me.

In the same line of thought, my extreme lows which include the inability to move, the discomfort of being me, and the fatigue of simply thinking, comes too with a posse of entities—emotions garbed as “why again,” “what is happening,” “why can’t I control my own self.”

This doesn’t feel like a mood disorder to me, though I see how my behaviors, and possibly thoughts, would present themselves as so. To me, this teeter-tottering is always pinpointed to an exact spot of awakening to the highest step of anxiety or lowest step of deep sorrow. I can find a reason. I can in retrospect see where I was switched from one extreme to the other.

Typically, I feel the mixture of joy and dread when I have 1) Accomplished a goal that I was afraid I would never accomplish; 2) Accomplished a goal in which I was fixated from the start and glad to be done; 3) Completed something I was dreading for days; 4) Received good news after worrying about bad news; 5) Received a compliment about my appearance, as I am insecure about the way I physically look.

In review, each of these supposed “joys” is accompanied by a fear or “negative aspect.” For example, in number one, “I was afraid,” and in number two “I was fixated.”

For a long time, this was the only way I could feel sporadic spurts of mixed joy: by attaching a fear or negative aspect, and then with some stimuli (another person, place, thing, event, words) the negative aspect is momentarily released and that moment of release feels to me akin to joy. For me, when the negative aspect I placed on self is temporarily removed, joy steps in.

In fact, in my mind, and in my scenario of feeling, I cannot feel this type of joy without first attaching an element of “negativity” and/or “fear.”

In contrast, in my moments of fear, in my low state, I have attached hope or the “best case scenario.” I create in my mind the release, the escape, or the rescue and I wait. I set myself in a cage, much akin to a prison, where I’ve locked myself away in darkness, and then wait. What I am waiting for is the removal of deep pain, and I have decided, somewhere deep in my mind or spirit that this removal will only happen in a specific way. For example, in sighting past experiences, this might be, this release of pain through the removal of a stimuli: an illness going away, a person coming and going, a meeting passing, a phone call received.

Here seems to be the tipping point, or the starting point of where my fleeting joy begins. While I sit readily in this cage of misery, I am creating the future of joy I hope to see. Whilst worrying immensely in a non-stoppable way and running through all the possibilities and strings of variable outcomes I can, I am in a direct way preparing to feel release and joy in the near future. This is to me, seemingly like a junkie in need of an adrenaline high. I am making myself increasingly low, so when the event or stimuli arises that apparently lifts me from outside of my self-inflicted prison, I am brought to a state of infinite fleeting freedom. In extreme emotion, I am brought high above myself and able to at last feel beyond suffering. I am creating my own high.

It is only in the in between state, between the middle part of prison and the freedom of elation that I feel the fleeting joy. I quickly rise past the joy to the state of high-anxiety, as the doubts and questioning sets in. This is why, after much processing about a possible scenario that could lead to my demise, failure, rejection or the lot, I will appear momentarily elated with relief when the scenario does not turn out in the thousand terrible ways I thought, but then I will quickly switch of the invented and created false feeling of joy and question my emotion. This will then put me in a state of shutdown, where I am wondering why I worried to the degree of physical and emotional, even spiritual ache, for the gift of fleeting fake joy brought on by a self-invented high.

Is this indeed a process I have created in an attempt to feel human? In an attempt to feel what “I am supposed to feel?” Am I lacking something or some chemical? I don’t think so.

I think this is the way my mind works itself out of confusion, in an attempt to unravel all the thoughts that are bombarding me, including all the stimuli, constant awareness, and confusion. I think this is my mind’s way of putting me into protection. I think in my cell of worry is the only time I feel safe from the world. To me, the fear-state is more liken to protection and safety than the joy state. For joy crashes and fear remains. Fear is predictable and stays with me as I loop and over-think; joy emerges as this falsehood and leaves me abandoned.

Do I like the cell perhaps more than I acknowledge? Is the cell the darkness I need to retreat to in order to renew? Am I, like the caterpillar, in need of continual metamorphoses? And if I am turning into a butterfly from the retreat out of darkness then why do my wings suddenly disappear?

In living, I have gained some recognition of middle emotions, the more subtle emotions of: satisfaction, contentment, serenity, connection, gentle-anticipation; but as these subtle emotions surface and are identified, I analyze where they have come from. I wonder which came first, my own thought, or the emotion; and often conclude my thought brought this emotion; and then I go into a place of deep thinking of when and where this thought came into existence that caused this emotion, and if this is indeed an emotion I welcome; and if this emotion comes from a place of selflessness, ego-release, and love. If the emotion/thought, both spun out together with thought in a slight lead, are not from a place of benefit for me and others, I then review why I have created these non-beneficial thoughts.

Where before for four-decades I was highly unaware of my own thoughts and emotions, and felt numb to the world, unless in a place of extreme anxiety or extreme low, now I am highly-aware of my experience, each moment analyzing and questioning my experience here, in this place I have been told isn’t really here at all. I have fed myself with so much factual data, through various sources and through moments of awakenings, that I cannot help but to try to place my own emotional/thought experience into a category.

My mind categorizes. I was built, I believe to a degree, to sort and categorize, to circumvent my emotional wiring and dig beneath and pull out what is occurring. I am a computer analyzing the computer-self. The mind boggles and I am left, wishing to do nothing but to be simple in the extreme, to wash away the complexity and start again anew and refreshed.

In an attempt to pull myself out of myself, I continually study and analyze, not just words and visual sources, but thoughts and happenings. I analyze the trees, the sky, the movement of all, even the invisible and untouchable. I analyze because I am attempting to take the moment I am set free from prison, to capture that fleeting flicker, and rise with this moment in true form of butterfly.

The dilemma is in finding myself lost in self, and reviewing the past data (Eastern philosophies of escape from mind), and then trying to understand this absence of thought, as I am built to a degree where the past ways of transcending (absence of thought; deep meditation in silence of mind) and completing the process of thought (silence and retreat after reflection) are foreign. I seem incapable of mastering my own mind enough to sit in the stillness of release. My brain appears so high-powered by some high-force that I am suited best for the prison of darkness as my retreat.

But there is hope, always hope.

And this hope is found in one way.

I have been able to at last find rescue from my own self in the act of giving of self. When I come from a place of pure intention to give without recognition or reward, I am set free. This is where the butterfly is meant to fly.

What I have been doing for so long is releasing myself from the cage and giving myself the imagined joy. I have been trying to hold onto a joy for self, and to build up self with joy, as this is what has been demonstrated by society: to make myself happy; to be happy; to find happiness. But this is not right; at least not my right, if right was to be.

I am not put here to make myself happy. I don’t need to be happy. Innately, beneath this façade of thoughts that generates a façade of emotions, I am happy. And I know this. I am not confused by self. I am confused by the thoughts and emotions, because beneath I am a spirit having a human experience. But my suit, my human suit is not adjusted, it is open enough so that the experience of human is confusing, debilitating, and disconcerting; I have spent eons, or what appears eons, trying to master my thoughts and emotions, when the freedom is not found in mastery of the invisible and illusion: mastery is found in the release of this humanness.

There is no direct way to self, as I am already self. There is no direct way to free myself of thoughts and emotions, as they do not even exist. They are not real.

Yes, I feel. Yes, I experience. But ultimately after a lifetime of analyzing my own experience, I see the illusion I have created. And though I stand in a lonely place at times, in reality, in my reality, I am finally able to grasp joy, and this joy is not fleeting. This joy does not bring out invisible scissors that eventually clip and remove my wings. I do not bleed from this joy, nor do I suffer.

I am attuning self enough to know that false joy will not last, and thusly this false, self-created, and self-wanting joy feels poisonous to me. I want to spit the falsehood out, and bring out the reinforcement of armies with swords in hand and slice away at false joy with question. I feel attacked when the questions come, when the illusion of joy is destroyed, but I am not attacking anything but illusion upon illusion. I am not attacking anything but selfish want and selfish joy.

Joy to me is only found in giving. This is my place of joy. This is how I am wired. I have been trying to live like the rest say to live, to fill myself in order to be fulfilled. But I am ultimately fulfilled when another is fulfilled. I am filled when I am able to bring joy to another. I am filled when the love I have for another is received. I am filled when I know in my deepest knowing that I am not wanting for self and self alone. There is no way around this for me. I still take comfort in the fineries of good food, decorative clothes, and good friends; these can bring me happiness. But this is not a happiness that stays. I see this. I recognize this. And thusly, my mind creates a stage of battles, where I am once again made supposed victim as the questions slice away at the supposed joy. But I am no less victim than the tree pecked by the woodpecker. I am made home for the world, for the flying birds, when I am carved out and hollowed. And in this place, when the world slips inside of me for shelter, I am joy.

And so it is my journey begins with intention. If I set out to love the world, to give of myself freely, without motive for self, then I shall receive endless abundance and joy that I can time and time again return to and tap into. This joy might waver with the wavering of my thoughts and emotions, but this joy is there always. This joy is always there. This joy is love of others, and in so loving other, love of self. There is no non-benefit to giving and loving freely. There just isn’t. When I come from a place of love, I am free. When I do not, I am imprisoned. There is no other place for me than from a place of love.

I think now that I was made the way I am to force myself into finding love. Here I have been searching to love myself, to change myself, to change my thoughts and emotions, to change my way of being, when all along the key was so very simple: love.

Here I was searching to understand love, to understand love through ownership and misinterpretation, and needing and wanting, and sometimes constant desiring, but that is not love. Love is not found in the one or in the self. Love is not found through the desire to receive. Love is not fleeting. And so often the love I have thought I have found, though unrecognizable, unidentifiable, and uncomfortable, still did not fit. No matter how hard I tried to make love fit, it did not. That is because I was searching for a suit of love for me, something to wear to soothe and protect the suffering beneath. But garments age; they tear, they break; no matter what we do they disintegrate, they become outdated, they eventually stink. The only love that can complete me must be outside the self and unattached from the self, something so immense and immeasurable that fear escapes in the infinite abundance.

I know now how to be happy.

Happiness is found in the detachment of love from self, so that love may fly freely. For it is not the butterfly I am that needs to find and wear her wings, it is the love I am that needs to soar.