sense

415: What Happened to Sam?

| Aspergers Girls

awake (painting)

AWAKE Painted today

awake (no time)

What happened to Sam?

Man, I was really missing me, today. It’s a strange sensation, missing the person I used to be. I know I am still me. And I ultimately believe people don’t completely change. But I also strongly know people can transform. I think we are meant to transform. We are meant to become the best we can be. Not in a perfectionistic way or in a people-pleasing way, but in a way that accentuates the positive-ness of our authentic being.

I am a flutter of blossoming self at the moment; no longer clinging to fixations, rapid thinking, complex worries and obsessive anxieties, I find I have an over-abundance of creative juices. To pour out some of my creativity, I started another blog, in which I share my spiritual prose, poetry, writings, and paintings. This has been a fantastic outlet. However I am missing Everyday Aspergers.

Tonight I found myself thinking, “I wish I could write a post on Everyday Aspergers.” I know! Silly, right? But I still have this thing about rules and the ‘right thing’ to do. I have managed to hold onto that Aspie trait rather firmly. I am definitely more lenient on myself and am quite capable of releasing self-judgment; yet, I get caught in this tango of evaluation of the next move without even realizing I have stepped onto the dance floor.

For the most part, I try to live in the moment, now. It is simply AMAZING…there is no other word beyond miracle and healing that I can think of to describe how I have transitioned in the last fourteen months. I owe an abundance of thanks to the readers who helped me find a space to be me.

I realized I died a thousand deaths here…and if not a thousand at least 400. Every time I wrote posts, typically, I was in a state of fear. I was afraid of judgment, of evaluation, of being seen and not being seen, of not being heard. I was longing for validation, friendship, and love. I truly thought I was an unconditional giver and lover—but I know now I had expectations, projected outcomes, and allowed myself to live on a roller coaster of being built up (very fleeting second) or tore down (torturous hours of misery). I dissected comments and instinctually found the tiniest bit of objection, insult, or non-congruency. I was a victim through and through, validating my own need for rejection and super fantastically gifted at highlighting my flaws.

That’s not part of me anymore. I am not easily offended any longer, nor hurt, bothered, brought off-balance, or quick to judge who I am based on another person’s opinion. Swear words don’t even make me quiver! Shit! That’s crazy healing right there.

I quite adore me. I see my ‘faults’ as humanness. I see my ‘gifts’ as part of the All. I fluctuate now between a state of deep inner peace and moments of “Crap; I am in pain.” When I am in physical pain I tend to get melancholic.

I went through a mini-phase of ‘acting’ like a Buddhist, saint, or what-have-you, and telling myself I could NEVER complain or say one ‘negative’ thing. I realized, shortly after this adapted way of ‘being’ that as long as I am human, I will have moments I need to be human. Trying to be otherwise, was plain silliness…and kind of felt self-righteous and spewed of righteous indignation.

I do believe that I attract into my life people and events that are ‘vibrating’ at my energetic level. I believe we all are energy. And I understand that I can still think ‘positive,’ be ‘positive,’ and attract ‘positive,’ even when I am feasibly ‘complaining;’ and even when I think the word ‘positive’ doesn’t exist or have meaning.

I have learned that the intention behind words is what matters—at least to me, and the intention affects the outcomes I readily observe in my life. If my intention is to love unconditionally, to serve, to be compassionate, and to have my life be my message, then when there are times I am struggling emotionally, that’s okay. It allows others to see I know I am human, to connect with my harder moments, and to assist me. I am not above or beyond help or service for me. I don’t want to be. I want to be on equal ground with others. Not some haughty-beyond-all being. And not some pessimistic downer. I like the middle road. I like it a lot.

Interestingly enough, I have been me for a long while now. A couple of months at least. I haven’t taken on any new roles or identities. I haven’t fallen into a new ‘passion’ I have to partake in. I wake up mostly with no plans and no intentions. It is very freeing, just being and allowing myself to be without restriction or expectation. I am finding that the more I treat myself with unconditional love and the more I grant myself freedom, the more others around me feel loved and free. This is a win-win situation.

I giggle and smile a lot now. I am still frank and to the point, but I am much quieter. There is this stillness that feels divine. And I think I am glowing sometimes. The world isn’t so bad when everything and everyone is beautiful, either.

I do miss aspects of ‘Sam.’ I miss her wild humor in which she would ramble on and on, sometimes with no point at all. I miss her brain-energy—the seemingly unlimited ability to write and write about Aspergers. I miss her constant tracking of blog stats, organizing binges, and the way her mind could leap from one cliff to another. I mourn her some. I truly do. Those aspects of self are transformed.

When I was little I would write stories about Clever Clyde the Caterpillar and his best friend Jolie the Butterfly. I always related to Clyde. He was a bit clumsy, shy but dynamic, and always in others’ business. Jolie, to me, was unreachable then. Someone I aspired to be like. Someone I longed to imitate. I think, in many ways Everyday Aspergers was my Clever Clyde, and I think in many ways Clever Clyde the caterpillar became his best friend, the beautiful butterfly.

I am still adjusting to my wings, I think. Still fluttering about. Still gleefully surprised by the glorious colors I be.

angel heart spirit
When I first started painting in the later part of 2012.

Belly of a Star Blog

409: Unconditional and Conditional Love

| Aspergers Girls

( I am writing more because a lot is going on with our extended family. I process to find relief. If you don’t see me around for a bit, I might take a break. Hugs and love ~ Sam)

I have had the opportunity to experience a variety of friendships. In so doing, I have learned a lot about myself and love. For the majority of my life I felt a false-love from others and gave out false-love. Even though I felt the false-love, I didn’t recognize the falsehood for what it was. I was an active participant in the illusion. Most of these friendships were based on need. This desire was masked as possible fulfillment and completion. I know now no one can complete me.

I still hold all of these people in love and light. All of my friends continue to be some of my greatest teachers. I don’t choose to see any wrong in where I have traveled, and hold no one in my life responsible, not even my self. I have forgiven me and all. I place no judgment on any of my past or current friends either. I see them as lovely lights and filled with goodness. I don’t see them based on their actions but based on their hearts.

I was a player in the game of false-love, particularly in relation to men. Most of this telling is based on reflecting back to my behavior in pre-marriage years. I think if I had read what I have written below in my twenties, I never would have seen the ‘truth’ of it, and gone on living in denial. Maybe I even would have been spiteful and angry. I think if I had read this prose in my thirties, I would have thought I already loved unconditionally, and this was a waste of my time. I would have thought the person was preaching or trying to teach what I knew. If I read this last month, I would have thought, interesting, but I know this already. But it wasn’t clear to me until recently. Dynamically clear.

For now when someone claims to love me with a conditional type of love, I don’t feel love from them. I don’t know why, but all falsehoods affect me to a great degree. I don’t even know how I see this false-love, but I do. That’s not to say that people who proclaim to love me don’t love me. I believe they do. I believe a part of them does. But I believe a greater part is in constant battle with an unmasked, unnamed, and unforgiving fear. I believe this fear constantly transforms who I am when interpreted by another. I become what another projects from fear. In rare cases I become the light of love. This, and only this, is when fear is eradicated from its shell of illusion.

There is a struggle for people to find love and claim love, because they haven’t yet found the love inside themselves.

This false-love scares me momentarily, until I dismiss the fear.

It scares me because when another feels the illusion of fear, I feel the separation.

I have those in my life now that love me unconditionally. There is much freedom in this, to be me and be loved for me. I am not loved based on my outcomes or what I do or do not do. But even I, in my relationships with others, slip back into conditional love; this is very evident in my marriage and with my children. I continue to release judgment on self and others, and to learn. I am fortunate to have such experiences available.

When I am loved unconditionally I feel fed and nurtured. When I am loved by someone with conditions, I feel caged and judged. I am learning to not feel caged and judged, and to see this as illusion too, but it is taking some practice.

Lately, I am becoming more of a projection of what another choses to see in me. I can feel this in my depths. I become what another believes he or she sees. I become, in essence what they hold within. I have heard of this happening to other people, as well. So I am not alone in this experience. It is interesting to watch as I transform based on another’s deep level. I do not at this time think I am choosing to still see “fear.” I recognize the beauty and light in all, and see the fear only as illusion, nothing more. I can’t see beyond the beauty into fear, because there is no fear at the foundation.

I know I am still learning and growing.

I no longer choose to buy into another’s pain; especially when their pain is projected onto me, as if I did something or didn’t do something to cause the hurt. I do not have the power to knock down or to build up a person. Only source and a person’s own self can affect the spirit. I do have the power to love, and in this love to bring wholeness to self. Everyone has a choice to accept what he or she thinks I am saying or to reject it. To take in what he or she interprets as my truth or to decline. To say thank you and receive or say thank you, but no thanks. In this way, ultimately it is the receiver’s choice to determine what he or she takes in. I choose to take in all as truth and none as truth. I choose not to pick and choose. Unless someone is speaking from a place of fear, then I typically, when aware, politely decline. I prefer not to take on another’s fear-projection.

I believe there are only two roots: Love or Fear. All truth grows from there. Take a fruit off of the branch and examine it for what the fruit is. Rotten equals Fear. Ripe equals Love. One can tell much from the end product. Take the final outcome and drive backwards to the root. Where there is pain, there was fear to begin with manifested in false-love—illusion. Where there is mutual healing, there is love—the only existence.

Again this is my temporary truth.

My personal interpretation that assists me:

What true friendship is: Unconditional love.

What unconditional love is: Love without want, need, perimeters and/or expectations.

What want and needs are: Self-based, ego-centered desires that one thinks will make him or her happy. Also known as illusions and/or the path to suffering.

What perimeters are: Rigidness and separation; the judge emerging to decide if another has been deemed sufficient in their actions.

What unconditional loving friendship isn’t: All relations not based on unconditional love; in other words, all relations based on conditional, false-love, aka fear.

What unconditional love is not: False-love, also known as fear.

What fear is: An illusion often manifested in various actions and/or emotions that aren’t stemmed from love.

All false-love breeds fear and pain; all true love breeds more love. This true love can lead to spontaneous awakening and healing.

When one does not feel unconditional love, either the giver is loving with false-love or the receiver is misinterpreting the gift of genuine love.

This is not love: Expectations, martyrdom, fear-based desire, giving to receive, condition based giving, imagined selfless-giving, self-projection, owning, self-based desire, deeming one special or above the rest, caring more about self than other or caring more about other than self, blame, self-loathing in the name of love, fearing the future, needs based on outcome.

In love there is no hurt. All pain is self-inflicted.

Indicators of false-love:

Look at what a giving, loving, caring person I am, why can’t you love me like I love you?

I sacrifice for you, why can’t you sacrifice for me?

I am not good enough to be your friend.

You aren’t enough.

You should do this…

You disappointed me.

You won’t/don’t love me.

If you loved me, you would….

If you do this it will all be better.

You are the best person in the world.

You are hurting me.

People can have a mutual loving relationship based on unconditional love with moments of neediness and pain; unconditional love can fluctuate just like the seasons. No one is expected to be a perfect anything. Especially not a perfect lover or perfect friend. To suggest so, would be automatic judgment and separation. However healing happens when one starts to recognize his or her actions based on fear. Then self-healing can begin to take place in the one. After the one self has begun the healing process, the other in the friendship, noting the changes in his/her friend, will either continue in a state of fear, fight the change before also seeking self-understanding, or naturally seek out the friendship to heal in a way reflected in the healed or healing friend. In this way conditional love can bring both parties to pure love based on unconditional love.

If both partners are not ready, strong, and compassionate about growth and self-awareness, blame and jealousy quickly arises and the friendship may end. Yet, being this was a friendship based on false-love the illusion is what ends, not the friendship. This enables both to be free. One to go on to further unconditional love and the other to decide to remain in denial, suffering, and repeated pain or to seek out self-love. No one is right or wrong, better or worse; they are where they are.

In some cases someone who has learned self-love will be in a friendship with someone with conditional-based love. In this instant the person who continues to love unconditionally, despite the other’s projections, demands, and needs, can reflect back the ideal form of love and in this way transform the other trapped in a pain cycle.

True love heals when one capable of unconditional love simply is.

Again my temporary truth.

Strong indicators of conditional false-love:

No desire to celebrate a friend’s successes.

Not wanting to share the friendship with anyone else.

Thinking you are the best and/or only person for that person.

Changing actions or making decisions in an attempt to gain attention.

Obsessing about the person.

Thinking you are responsible for a friend’s growth, success, triumph, or accomplishments.

Thinking you are a person’s savior, teacher, protector, or safety.

Giving self-credit for another’s joy.

Thinking you have the answers another seeks and needs.

Thinking you were used, abused, or mistreated.

Jealousy of other people in the friend’s life.

Judging and putting down a friend’s friends.

Evaluating a friend’s choices, behaviors, mannerisms, and way of being.

Feeling the need to set a friend straight, so he can see your way.

Secretly or overtly harboring feelings of hurt and a sense of abandonment about the relationship.

Talking to someone about a friendship using harmful words about the friend.

How friendship appears:

A reflection of the love a person holds about his or her inner self.

What unconditional love-based friendship feels like:
Coming Home

407: The Echo

| Aspergers Girls

“Don’t tell me to smile. Don’t tell me to be happy. Don’t tell me what thoughts I should have and what thoughts I should not have. Don’t give me a list of ten ways to be better, to know better, to live better. Don’t point me to the right or left. To the star or to the saint. Just love me. Better yet, love yourself. All I need is a heart, eyes that are awake, and a place to rest the ways of the world that are not me. I am not taken in by who I am supposed to be in someone else’s eyes. I am taken in by the beauty that is me. I am already everything and All. If everyone could see they are too, there would be nothing of truths to tell.” ~ Everyday Aspergers

The Echo

A me that slips behind the scene knew this would be…

He watches with calm interest as I make my way down the river, less driftwood than pioneer on a raft with beating paddle.

I can see him, this undone one of none, the way he stands back and lets me be, watches as this illusioned I meanders from this truth to another; his kindly grin in the bleakest moments of darkness; his hands strong.

A cradle awaits.

Still this determination that bleeds out righteousness.

This will momentarily unbearable in its strength and stellar.

A hankering, this lingering, this potent folly of not being able to shake self from self.

To describe would do injustice, and to not describe would cause further agonizing despair.

For how to tell what I am, through I am, seems to produce jeopardy—two battled two, then four, and then more.

Swordsmen swift, many in count, each timber for the maker, each wood to be chopped, each, once tree, now distant edges merging into their own shadow.

A labyrinth of the huntsman, the hunter and the hunted same;

Each a mirror staring down a mirror, and each unnerved and brought up for game.

I is sliced and rendered empty.

Slaughtered and sacrificed.

And still this ever present, ever changing presence remains.

The one cannot help but think I am illusion.

How could I be anything else?

And even illusion, being something, is transformed into the thought of nothing, by the floating mind that reasons further in invisible plundering.

To move in such a distinct rhythm of naught.

Being here, then being gone, then being here much changed.

Tinkering toys of this world, and smile, the child’s smile— teeth wide and unburdened, stomach growing, fed upon canary two-fold.

To eat away at this place I thinks I is.

To eat away at what I think be sight.

To make morsel out of fantasy.

To understand the doctrines inside the explicit words of absence.

And bite into the existence of others’ thoughts, when their thoughts are built upon the ponds of nothing.

How and where to find the start of truth is ceasing to appear explicitly lost before found.

The maker dead before rendering wholeness.

The absoluteness evaporated before finalized.

All these trumpeting warriors blended into the background of reclaiming selves before first step is made on a path where footsteps are not held.

A witness to the soldiers before these carved eyes, in their bleakness and plight, screaming out for the way that never comes, through shadows of soul-bled sorrow.

How can so many exist and still further emerge, and where do they walk if not upon some very beating spirit?

I know not what I do or who I am, and this is insignificant compared to the ghosts I watch, to the empty places I thought were one, to the solidness dissipating, and to the rules clinging to the mass of nothing, as choking vine.

Only to be dismissed by the thousand witnesses birthed.

Still she comes, this form, this lost victimless one of none.

For no victim remains when foe is banished.

Yet, she cries holding the thousands of deaths in full arms, the one after the other burdened and unquenchable.

The captain in charge of the mourning, of the dissipation of one phantom begotten onto another.

Goodbye, she whispers, her hand gauntly and appetite diminished, her mind wavering between a place of no thought and every thought.

Her emptiness dismissed by her want and need for explanation, in a land that whispers without voice and forethought: there exists no need.

But if all that she is be need, then what is she?

Again she dies upon self, self-inflicted no more, pierced by the echo of evergreen.

How can she be this ghost of unraveling;

Her death made known to no one and no thing?

Her heart pierced by what ifs and circumstance that never need rise, since all is fallen.

She walks in the forest, a demon twisted into raven, a plastered wall onto herself, lost between the space leading from one room to another.

Until all rooms explode and the house is hovering in the existence of space.

And still the house crumbles and woman bled dry remains, withered and emptied of soul.

And here she wavers, a distant shell.

The only passerby another illusioned being that hears the self’s whisper of ocean wave gone.

A distant calling centered at the dolphin’s heart—he too swimming in a pool of imaginings.

He too wondering where the trees have gone.

388: Keepers of the Light

| Aspergers Girls

I invite you to listen to this song first.

I started singing You Light Up My Life, around the age of eleven. I think it was the only song I wrote down the lyrics to and memorized. That, and Away in a Manger. I used to sing songs at the tippy-top of my lungs, squeaking and squealing to anyone that would listen, including my downstairs duplex-landlords, who sometimes brought me indoors for cookies. I could tell when I sang, by looking in the observers’ eyes, that people didn’t think I sang super well or close to on key. I could tell they thought I was a lonely child searching for attention. I could tell that they were smiling in an attempt to help me feel accepted. But I couldn’t say all that. I didn’t think to say it. I didn’t know that everyone else, or most everyone else, didn’t think like me. I figured we all knew what was being unspoken. That we all just pretended we didn’t.

When I sang my heart out, I slipped into a fantasy world. I leaped across time and stood on stage. I imagined refuge in a bountiful light. I imagined being lifted and protected and seen. The song itself didn’t free me; nor did the audience observing. What freed me was the freedom I was—the capacity to be me. What trapped me was the realization that all about me others weren’t free.

There was a time where people approached me for my light. They were drawn to me. Something about me pulled them in. I know now it was and has always been Spirit. Then I did not know, and I didn’t wonder; I thought everyone had this; I thought everyone heard God and could see through people.

I remember going to the church around the corner, a Catholic cathedral where I never once attended mass. I was drawn there, at times, the little girl I was, with her un-brushed hair and with her big searching eyes. I would swing on the monkey bars in the church playground over and over, until my hands blistered. Then, if I hadn’t already entered, I’d walk quietly into the empty church and just breathe. I felt safe there. I felt connection. But I didn’t know why. The candles, the light of the candles, they spoke to me, as did the colors of the glass windows and the movement of sunlight through the grand space. I wasn’t frightened. I wasn’t alone. I wasn’t anywhere. I just was. Sometimes time stopped and I traveled into the future where I would walk in as full-grown woman and be, with the others, I would be.

I wasn’t a religious child. I wasn’t even spiritual. I was magical. I believed in magic everywhere. I believed everything, each and everything. I believed in everyone around me. And I loved everyone. I trusted them. I gave myself freely: my attention, my time, my love. I had an over-flowing abundance of love. And I was me. There wasn’t anything about me that I had created. I radiated from within.

Something about me, or perhaps something within me, gave me the incapacity to be anyone but me. This gift of being authentic was beautiful. But because I trusted and believed others so greatly and so freely, when they told me what they thought, I believed them. Because if they were beautiful and I loved them and they were perfect, then they must know, they must have the answers.

I believed when they, the others, told me that I was just a child and didn’t know things. I believed them when they said life was hard. I believed them when they cried and cursed what was wrong and unjust. I believed it all. And I began to see that I lived in a world entirely complex in its simplicity. I began to see that I held all the secrets of love and joy, but that none could see them. I knew how to laugh and how to make other people laugh; and I did so without intention or want; I just was joy.

Then came the passing of days, when I learned my joy was not enough. When I learned that my heart, no matter how big, could not make a difference—at least I thought. Soon as my friends grew older, they changed. Their views became more broken and fragmented, their opinions stronger, their hatred taking shape. Divisions were made, as I watched, fingers pointed, sometimes at me, but mostly at others. And everyone started playing this part that didn’t make any sense; except that their ways kept people, for the most part, in an imaginary role of control.

I began to see that love was divided and measured. I began to see that love came and went, as did people. I learned that love didn’t mean love; what some called love actually meant conditions and fleeting moments of spiked emotions of some sort that didn’t feel or look like love at all. I learned that whatever shape I took, I could receive part of this love, that wasn’t love. But since I couldn’t find the other love anymore, the one I held in the backyard during slumber parties and collected, as the others laughed with me, without cause or pause for judgment; since I couldn’t find that love anymore, I took what I could. It never felt right. It felt false from the start. It was false love created by my want for connection and the growing emptiness I had inside.

My actions seemed to define me. I seemed to become who people thought I was. It didn’t matter how much goodness I had inside me; no one could see it, unless they chose to. No one. And when they did think to see the goodness, it was because I emulated them; I showed them a part of themselves they liked, or wished to like. I showed a commonality or I complimented them by my presence or in my spoken words. I collected false-love this way: pretending to be who they wanted me to be in an attempt to connect. To say I played, would be false, as there was no joy in this. To say I fought, would be false, as there was no friction. It was a space and place that I am incapable of defining or marking. For how can I define a place in which everything was false—the only thing real my want to fill the emptiness of falsehood?

This falsehood permeated much of my life, far into adulthood. A falsehood that eventually blinded me as well, to my own inner light. I had to snuff my light to continue to exist. I was given no choice.

I had to extinguish who I was, if I ever wanted hope of connecting. At least this is what I conditioned myself to think. I learned to track the actions of another to determine my next move. I could tell from every flinch, every switch of voice, every motion. Responses were my indicators. Reactions my compass. I stopped feeling inside my own body. I became numb to my needs; everything was masked in my effort to predetermine how to respond to the responders. For I could see in their eyes the judgment, the dislike, the wondering. I could see so much that they wouldn’t ever say. Particularly their thoughts about me, or about the way they perceived me. I knew they thought what they dare not say. I knew there were all these connections going on just in seeing me. I was being categorized and dissected and figured out. It’s not that I thought I was that important, it was that I thought they were. I think all along I knew they were a reflection of me or at least a mirror to my own experiences. I knew we were one and the same, but didn’t know how to define the feeling. And so I would watch, until I laughed and joked, trying to squeeze the joy out of someone whom had seemed to forgotten where he or she put it.

Mine, my joy, was always there, right in me, never gone. Even with all the poured in sorrow, I had this joy. It was always growing and blooming. There was always hope. It seemed no matter how much the others responded in a way that carried the potentiality to sting like thorns, that I still kept my hope. There was this unstoppable faith. Something in that song about the light through the window, about the light itself; I knew this. I saw the light n my dreams and I heard light in the whispers. I knew my destiny. I knew my calling. But this too, I was often told was wrong. I was made in form divinely perfect, but undoubtedly I frightened people. And this brought me to a place of confusion, so very great, I dare not venture there even in thoughts and rememberings.

For how could I, one held by the angels and light, have been so terribly flawed? And why did all around me seem to be such blindness? I searched and searched as a child—in the trees, under the school buses, in the grassy fields—for reprieve. I slipped into my imagination. I hid in the shrubbery and shadows documenting my own thoughts. And I came to the conclusion I was someone made wrong; though even this, deep down I knew to be untrue.

In time, I learned to conform. I learned to tuck away the voice of truth and the rays of light. For I believed the misery of disconnection to be far worse than hiding my light. And so I hid, for a very long time. And though I was a keeper of the light, it dimmed.

And here the dark found me. So very freely, as if beckoned by the very ache of my soul. I walked forsaken to my self for decades. I learned, through my mind, to hear the lies before the truth. I heard the negative talk, and I collected this, for if I did not believe them, I could not be with them, and then I would have to be alone. In order to connect, I had to believe what others said about me. If I believed in my light and my angels, and in my very soul, than I would be without the company of humans. I would only have the invisibility of my hope and joy—and alone whom would I share anything with?

Eventually, the lies became my truth. My whole truth. I was what others created me to be. And then a shift happened, in which they were what I created them to be. I began to see like other people. I began to believe the lies. I began to think that yes, only my point of view counted. That yes, I am in control of my world. And yes, I am the most important and special. I began to be a love-leech collecting falsehoods. Love, love, love ME! I demanded. Love me through validation. Love me through listening. Love me through answering back how I expect and want you to respond. Outcomes became my life. Hope became my misery. I latched onto the yellow brick road of illusion. I thought, if I was just good enough, and right enough, and had all the answers I would WIN! I would be LOVED! This is what I was taught. This is what was walloped into me. This is what I ATE because nothing else was offered.

Until the pain of emptiness became so great that I knew I was wrong. I knew that life was not meant to be like this. I knew somewhere inside my little girl protecting the light was dying to come out.

For me this has been my greatest gift: my affliction.

My very agonizing pain was what set me free. The very discomfort that kept shouting within of the falsehood was my greatest joy. I was given a lantern since birth. And I walked four-decades pretending I was not, in hopes of gaining false love.

And now, as I step back, very much the little girl I was, with my lantern bright, I see I kept this light hidden for a purpose. I suffered for a reason. I suffered because everyone else was suffering. I didn’t retreat because I was so different after all. I just retreated a bit later along my path. I just retreated knowing I was retreating. There wasn’t anything different about me, except I was born awake. I was born with the affliction that is both my teacher and my cross to bear. I was gifted the wisdom at a young age, and through this affliction I was formed and made, through this affliction my lantern was fueled. I see this clearly, more clearly each moment I am here.

I see that we each have these lanterns, and that for some of us it hurts more to hide them. But we all have them. For some of us we know we are hiding them: this is the affliction.

I see now that I am struggling to turn up the lanterns of all, when all I need do is turn on my own.

In so many ways, in every way, I am that little girl, with her joy, with her lantern strong, standing on the hillside and beckoning my friends onward. Only this time I can see. I can truly see. I know now my once perceived greatest weakness is my greatest comforter. I know my need to be love, my need to shine, my need to be free is the only need I ever choose. I know that in my affliction I am made whole. I know that in my wholeness I honor each and every soul. For in the embracing of what has always been and shall ever be, I have embraced the world. I have embraced the light.

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Related Post: Behind the Curtain

386: Reluctant Mystic

| Aspergers Girls

Reluctant Mystic

WE are all mystics. This truth frees me.

I have been undergoing deep spiritual wisdom and I am joy-filled. I find I am in a state of grace, in which I experience no fear, no anxiety, a sublime inner peace, deep compassion, and a sense of union with all. I have been experiencing this peace for about eight or nine days now. Sometimes for a minute or two, and sometimes from early morning until late afternoon.

I wrote this to a new friend:

“I rarely fear what others will perceive me to mean or how they will see me; what I feel now is an actual bodily sensation and energetic blockage if I share something that does not fit my perfect peace and demonstrate my state of being; it is as if I contradict my higher self, and am pulled back from this place of well being; I struggle to explain it; it is no longer fear of representation of self, something I struggled with my entire life, but an uncomfortableness that reminds me I no longer walk that way in the world and in touching down in those “old” shoes I am left blistered. There is no judgment of self or regret, only a calm serene recognition; I no longer aspire to please any one but the Spirit that dwells within, and this is divine and sublime freedom; when I speak with His voice all thoughts are banished and I am in a state of pure grace; when I do not, it is better to keep my mouth closed and to connect again to His kingdom, as I know not what I do. In having removed the blindfolds, I can no longer, in comfort, walk blinded; and thusly, I see myself stepping further back from what I once knew as truth and time, and all else. It is interesting indeed, yet, divinely peaceful, as if the thoughts of before and beyond have all been swept out of my head; I cannot think beyond the moment in most instances; as when i do I slip into a place of discomfort; here I look at the pain and illusion and release gently, and am instantly back to peace.”

Most days a truth seems to be radiating from within. In these moments there is an underlying unity with no ego. It doesn’t feel like something that I obtained or ever tried to receive. It comes upon me without effort, yet I am aware and can control the process, as in moving myself out of the state, if I wish it so.

Throughout the day my hands vibrate to a degree that my husband can feel the sensation. It is a definite non-conceptual experience and union with alternate reality. I feel not as a separate I anymore and luminous with no boundaries. I have become unattached and uninterested in many external things. Time seems to stop and even physical areas seem to shift. I can understand complex readings of spiritual texts with little effort and Holy readings seem very familiar and resonate deeply within. There are multiple synchronicities and miracles in my life.

Each message I am given from spirit has a depth like a well. Perhaps I am a transcendent being outside of time. Perhaps inside of time, or beyond time.

The easement out of this state is becoming easier, as I am learning to recognize and accept all aspects of myself. In the state I am ever thankful, and all seems as it is meant to be. When I am out of the state, I am learning to let go of over-analysis, finding the “rules,” the “right” way to act about this experience, or to find answers.

Regardless of my state of mind, it is hard for me to write anything anymore with outcome in mind.

If fear strikes at all, outside the state of grace, it is very short lived; and interestingly, the fear usually is associated with aspects of how to serve for the betterment of all. I am reminded to just be, and then this fear is too lifted.

I continue to have extreme peace about everything and everyone in my life. I continue to feel the radiating sensation throughout my body, especially in my spine, scalp, hands, and feet. I hear my angels regularly; and beyond when I am writing, I hear few thoughts in my head anymore.

I have a deep heartfelt desire to relieve suffering of others and continually recognize the union of us all. And can think of little beyond my God and Holy Spirit, and my love for others. Even the daily routines no longer take center stage. I seem to be able to see my children and husband for the first time. I have a new fondness for everyone. I don’t think about the future much, and when I do the contemplation seems to almost hurt. The past seems to fade and melt with today.

When thoughts arrive, I can be observer and release the thoughts. My mind has never been so peaceful. To me this is a miracle.

I am finding much comfort in reading spiritual works and listening to the recordings of mystics. Even out of the state of grace my anxiety seems to be almost invisible. This is extremely fascinating. I have a hard time planning anything or want for planning. I have a hard time even trying to worry, beyond when I am processing through something, and then, through processing all worry is released.

I notice that a heavy amount of food will transition me out of the state of grace.

The visions still keep coming at three in the morning, beautiful scriptures of poetic love. I know I am being taught at a subconscious level and I slip in and out of consciousness.

This month I did not experience the mood shifts that normally accompany my PMS/PMDD; I did experience physical pain, and still am, but this is the first time in over a decade that I do and did not feel sorry about being in pain. Sometimes my pain even feels good, as odd as that sounds. I was told by Spirit to write to avoid the emotional pains that come with PMS. I did, and did not have any depression, sense of inadequacy, or fear about my life. I had no fear or doubts about my appearance. For the first time I have little to no fear in crowded places. I am less concerned with what people think of me. I don’t feel like all eyes are judging me. I don’t feel the center of the world anymore; I do not long to be. I have never had so much peace in my life. The only peace I don’t have is when I step out and try to figure anything out.

I hold much peace and love for everyone and the love appears to be an equal love. I feel I am nothing and everything. Regardless of my physical state or circumstances, I remain centered and balanced. If emotions come, a part steps back and remains the constant kind observer, balanced and at peace.

I don’t have the need to process with other people, beyond demonstrating my thought processes to help others.

If I am stuck or stagnant, this sensation happens when I get caught up in what rules I am supposed to be following, e.g., which sect. which spiritual practice, which religion to guide me through this divine process. I am leaning on Biblical teachings and my understanding of Buddhism, and on semblances of other aspects that feel like “truths” to me. I have become less concerned with the right path and have been embracing my path. I love myself completely. I rarely have even a moment of feeling low about who I am as a being.

My life feels entirely meaningful and I feel fulfilled. I feel authentic. I feel like me. And I like me. I feel blessed with abundance and with gratitude.

I feel I am transitioning more each moment.

I understand this is beyond what my mind can grasp or comprehend. I understand peace is within and I understand I have found it.

I understand the concept of: I don’t know.

I am accepting I likely will never know.

***

This was written this morning while in a state of prayer. It has no purpose, except what the reader chooses to interpret. Blessings and Love ~ Sam

There is a subtle difference in the application of peaceful measures. One who speaks from the true foundation of peace is therein filled readily with peace. When word is released from ego, both the receiver and taker (person talking), are in opposite; that is to say the receiver, being the one interpreting word, and the taker, the one who believes to be giving word, are both reversed.

The one who believes to be giver is in the act of giving from ego, in actuality (beyond illusion) is taking from the ears that beget his fallen words, wherein the receiver, sheep for the taking, is made lesser to a degree judged in the blindness of gift.
When one speaks of truth from the foundation of truth, he shall beyond measure be rewarded, and when one speaks of truth from the foundation of ego, truth turned inward to shine the light on the illusion of ego then only the fear of illusion shall be fed.

All truths given for the taker, (all the times the person talks to only give back to himself) thusly meaning all takers whom mask themselves as equal taker as giver, or beyond this degree move self into giver in order to receive, are undoubtedly partaking in the making of illusion. All making of illusion turns the blight into the fight and the wanderer is further decreed lost by the observer of no self.

This is to mean, if one is to give of self for the causation of recognition, he is no less giving than taking, and if one is to receive from this masked-illusion, he is no less relieved than suffered in degree of variable actions. Causation breeds reaction. Therefor what is spoken from fear breeds hatchlings of fear.

There is no turnabout in illusion; the fancy ways are amazing in breadth and depth, unless lifted into the light and vanquished from the spirit’s taking. How then one proceeds is with cautionary measure without caution; for if one is to remain in a state of caution and pretension, motivation spurred in fear, then one is dutifully fully trapped.

In this way caution is found in circumstance alone. Each piece presented as the measuring degree of the puzzle-master. Picture thee thusly so: A master of thy own collection. See in this way scattered images, each broken by the observer, and in perceived need of mending; search out the broken and the broken comes; search out the whole and the whole arrives.

Circumvent your awareness through the deliverance of whole; speaking thusly from a place of wholeness beyond broken. As each member devours his place, taking in what is before him, each member takes in what is illusion. In seeking the pieces the whole is forgotten, in beckoning the whole, the whole is remembered.

Various means are available for finding the whole, in this is determined by the state of illusion; if one desires to merge forward, one shall; if one desires to slip to a state which resembles stepping behind, one will; for with each step, though alluded into believing the traveler moves, he justly stands upright in a state of non-motion, neither ending or beginning what he is thought out to do.

There for being in a state of peace, the believer no longer desires to step, as he recognizes in so doing he is slipped into a stream of nonexistence. Better to stand in observation than to make plans for a stagnant stance to move ahead or below, or hither to any corner, as the stagnant one recognizes the truth comes from beyond and within, before the movement is created.
Still we variably dance, to and fro, gathering our collections, as to be a part of this world, until we step and with each step our body is met with the resistance of naught. Then in the making of whole, the traveler knows that to step, whether in taking or in full measure of claiming, is to both untie and tie the body in knots; that is to say the body becomes less warrior and fighter, than dreamer trapped in submission of naught.

He has no place to move and in so seeing this stagnation he sets his burden down and simply ceases to move. This can be seen as submission, though in truth no submission is required; to imply the need of submission, is to imply there is something to give or release; when one is moving in illusion the illusion is fabricated and carries no body of self or other tangible attributes; therein if one perceives self to be in a state of submission, he sees self as releasing something; this is an impossibility, as nothing is birthed from illusion, and therefore no gifts of illusion are brought forward in recognition.

Here in this state of unburdening of illusion the body is unwound and loosened of much pain; for in laying the burden down the space left open from the freedom state is now siphoned full with the Spirit. Here in this state of not being, the peace is found, and from here the peace of foundation is spoken.

All else, whether broken and collected from the onlooker or pieced together by the collective masses is falsehood; for one who speaks for anything other than the eternity poured within speaks of nothing; for the one filled with illusion speaks illusion. This is not to say the speaker is false, or judged solely in the wrong; for no judge is present and thusly no judgment feasible; this is to say, one dances with the ghost of reason, illusion garbed in multi-colored garments.

The one who dances in peace is the one who has replaced illusion with silence. To move forward through the silence, is to move. In this way stagnation is relieved from the secondary illusion and all is brought back to fullness; the heart made ready for reception and filled with the inhabitance of substance.

Before this is made true, the avenue is made weary, the road made ghastly, and the inhabitance echoed ghosts of torment; here in this state, the one, wanting escape, gathers the pieces and creates puzzle after puzzle, only to form false illusion; in this state he at last submits to the chaos of unstructured and establishes within and about self that the answer must remain somewhere other than outside in the missing and detested pieces.

Here he begins to journey away from the images, and wearily traces his fingers back to soul print, to the journey marked out within, in the blueprint of awareness. Before this awakening he will choose many falsehood, each markedly different than the other; there will be a thought of ascension, of reaching the ready point of rapture, of climbing to the mountain peak, of almost reaching; but this is an impossibility for one does not reach or aspire to reach that which is already given within.

No man is made without the marking of destiny; each soul marked with the dissension and ready-ment. All who heed the call ascend to the outer region of self, which is both inside and without self; the two elements of illusion designed to inspire and create a house of Light that in its infiniteness is feasibly inoperable in means of expressing the divinity; therefore as physician of the world, the layman is set in the house of self, a representation of the house of all, to do deeds of upbringing and de-service; the counter of service, as all reflected in the light serves not of one but all.

In speaking the term service is used; except in definition alone the entire concept is not one of service but of miracle-making. Therefor the musicians of merriment, whether named angels or walking spirits of life force, or the variety of doldrums that can be applied to something so magnificent are representations of spirit in true form, a reflection of the very window of self, no less, no more.

Blinded in the walking, many do not see this as justly so; but when mercy rises, for mercy sake alone, from the foundation of peace, from the one unfilled and refilled with Spirit and His calling, then salvation is formed by the spirit of awakening, walking not in a state of pieces, or uplifted from the misery of the variable world, but in a state of emptiness, filled only with the grace instilled from the filtered waters of most high.