thoughts

363: Gluttony and Surrender

| Aspergers Girls

I am really struggling with gluttony. Not in the over-indulgence-of-substance modern-day view of gluttony, but in the John of the Cross way. Gluttony in the sense of being one who applies too much self-affliction, self-persecution, and self-punishment. I’ve had this “issue,” or decree of self-annihilation of self from self, since I can recollect, particularly surfacing about the time of puberty.

I get locked into this dance of enough and not enough, real and not real, opinion and not opinion, hanging myself on a loom of remorse of never finding the answers. I am stuck on this pendulum and all I can hear is the tick-tick-ticking of which way. Do I cling to the wall on the left or the wall on the right; or do I find a way to make the pendulum swing the direction opposite of east-west, and spring out ahead north or fall behind south. Or do I jump off of the pendulum and sink into the dark unknown abyss. I don’t know. But I know I am tired of my reasoning-brain, this spill of logic that dives into every thought I have.

The only time I feel at peace is when I am in a state of meditation (grace) and connection (to Holy Spirit), which I can now acquire for up to six hours straight. This time with source is beyond wonderful and the beauty is indescribable.

However there exists one major problem: I now feel like two people.

I feel like this higher-self, this ideal me, the one I have always wanted to reconnect with. But I also feel like this other person, this other me. The other me is where I am at right now. This other me is where I am having difficulty being.

This ideal me, she has it together, really does. She loves and serves unconditionally. She lives in the moment. She is pretty fabulous. She also, through all of this, manages to be humble and so very giving.

The problem occurs when she disappears, or slips back, or falls asleep, or goes somewhere, perhaps skydiving with the angels, and I am back, facing me in the mirror, a face I don’t recognize in a body I do not want. I am in essence lost, having had just been to a place beyond imagination of divine love and inherent goodness. It is this attachment to the higher power I long for and live for that continues to slip out of my grasp and leave me to wonder what happened, and if indeed I imagined everything.

At a logical level I know something is happening beyond myself. Too many dreams have come true, too many intuitive knowings, too many connections, “coincidences,” signs, recognitions, and premonitions materializing. I recognize this, but no proof seems enough when dealing with that which still remains unattainable and unimaginable, at least not in the state I am in this very moment, one of the fallen me, left abandoned waiting to reconnect with the infinite divine.

There is more happenings as well; beyond the empathic abilities, the visions, the ability to scribe deep philosophical prose from seemingly nowhere, there is my husband, whom is known to be a skeptic and prone to Mr. Spock Vulcan like tendencies. He sees the miraculous changes in me and is in awe of the visions and writings I share; so much so in fact that he has taken a liking to referring to himself as Mrs. Noah, like the Biblical Noah’s wife. Wherein I get all the glory and he works diligently in the background.

I can’t deny some dynamic shifts have taken place. My healing visions have materialized, people have contacted me I knew I would meet, and I have connected with such spectacular and marvelous people from all over the world, many whom have become friends and confidants. All is happening in a wonderful way. Joy-filled connections daily and heart-endearing messages. I am beyond thankful, but still remains this lingering doubt.

As much as I experience these visions and write these writings, I still question my own ability and worthiness. Primarily these are the same doubts I have had my entire life. I have the same record playing in the background.

Though I have much transitioned, and have gained tremendous peace, self-acceptance, serenity and love of myself and others, I still have this part of me whom wonders why. Could it be the decades of searching has finally materialized the part of me that was lost, and that in finding my own vocation and life’s purpose another part of me, the same part that held me back for so many years, is here trembling in the corner denying such a reality exists?

For in the corner I hear drenching thoughts of: I am no one special. I am just this flawed stumbling human being endowed with troubling thoughts I cannot purge, fear I cannot conquer, and tears that continually flow. I am ultimately imperfection, unworthy of the extreme goodness and joy I am afforded.

And all this surfaces, while the other me, the observer, she steps back in form and watches, her smile wide, her heart open, whispering surrender, sweet one, surrender.

361: Why I Am Smiling

| Aspergers Girls

Photo on 4

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. 🙂

358: Love or Fear? Learning to let go of behaviors.

| Aspergers Girls

Some of my personality traits are directly stemmed from fear. What I once thought were very much aspects of my “aspiness,” I see are/were merely coping mechanism in attempt to adapt to the way I see the world.

Primarily, from birth, the world has seemed an unsafe place. It was not until I risked my greatest self and outpoured my authentic fears and misgivings that I was able to unleash this fear that had for so long been my bed partner.

For decades, I carried fear with me, as if fear was my only shield. In fact, oftentimes I mistook fear as a friend. Looking back, I understand I chose fear and “he” did not choose me. I chose fear because, though fear be an illusion, at the time this emotion seemed the only emotion I could comprehend, in essence the only emotion I could feel. Fear was my feeling. Encompassing fear, virtually sprouting off of his imagined edges, were his dynamo of legions, his mutant henchmen, cloaked in garbs of: abandonment, not-enough, isolation, never good, ugly, stupid, crazy, and so on.

The illusions dangled in front of me, and, in so doing, led me to latch on to more fear, for as I was lost in the dance of unworthiness, I had no one to turn to but fear. Fear became my shadow, the very essence of what I projected outward and how I walked in the world.

People could sense this—my fear. What I thought were off springs of my love, e.g., smothering with attention, care-taking, continually checking in, over-sharing, creating, placating, agreeing, giving, being there, listening, etc., were in actuality further illusion. My love for another did not exist. My love for others could not exist because my love for self did not yet exist. And as I had no love for myself, the only thing I could find was fear, and the only thing I could manifest was fear.

Today I am only beginning to understand the concept of love because I am only just beginning to accept and love myself in completion. The more I do, the more I step away from fear; the more I step away, the clearer my vision becomes. The removal of self from the circus-ring of fear resembles the removal of residue from a glass-window. I spray the film with love, and the love washes away the illusion, revealing the beauty of existence.

Fear is more so a drug to me now than a partner. He is enticing and familiar; however I recognize the dangers. I loose myself in fear. When with fear, my energy is not my own, and I become unhealthy in behaviors which affect myself and those around me. I feed off the fear by attempting to suck up the love from others, perhaps in the form of approval. I feed off the fear by taking myself out of the picture and focusing on what is outside of myself.

In fear someone or something is wrong. Whether this wrong is assumed to be in a behavior, a projected outcome, a circumstance or in self alone, makes no difference, for illusion exists regardless. In attaching onto the illusion of fear, something neutral turns to something beyond neutral.

In applying fear, I judge. In a sense fear and judgment are one. Although I understand the two vary: fear is an illusion and judgment is a response to fear. Yet still, to see another openly without judgment can produce no fear.

People judge to understand, or so they think. They judge to categorize and make sense, or so they think. But as young children we survived without such categorization. We existed to play, to laugh, to feel joy, and to openly give without reason or intention. We loved.

When judgment slipped in, a behavior/reaction repeatedly mirrored by society, fear slipped in as well. This isn’t to say judgment is the only sub-product of fear, but it is a very large portion.

Fear often stems from the inability to accept self and love self. In fear, a person projects himself onto others, finding the others’ flaws and differences; or in cases of fondness, a person picks and chooses the character traits of another that he or she likes. What we forget is that inevitably everything and everyone will change and transition, for nothing is stagnant and no one remains entirely the same, predictable, and unmoving. To initiate friendship and/or love based on judgment and evaluation denotes eventual failure, unless the illusion of fear is lifted. In false-love various aspects are appreciated and various aspects are disregarded. And in so doing, an individual hopes in someway that the aspects he has chosen to appreciate will grow and the aspects he has chosen to disregard shall simply disappear. Furthermore, we apply the aspect of hope, hoping the other might change to our liking, improve, or learn from us. This is not unconditional love. This is love and/or union based on judgment. This is love based on fear.

To love fully one must remove him or herself from the equation, to remove the judge, and become less judger and more lover. This, the removing of judge, is an impossibility until the aspect of self-love is grasped. When one loves self, he or she sees the beauty in everyone. This is a truth.

When one loves self, he or she sees straight to the core of the other person and sees a reflection of self. He or she sees a person just as self; a person trying his or her best to walk in this world. The rest are illusions. The doubts, the fears, the misgivings, and even the non-trusting. A person who loves self recognizes these truths and a gentle knowing radiates from his or her being. People are naturally attracted to a person choosing to release judgment. There is a safety there, a familiarity of home.

In this knowing the onlooker accepts the other as equally one without judgment and without fear. This is true love and this is the only love possible. All other concepts are intruders and imaginary games.

Some of my past behaviors based on fear that I thought was part of “me” that I could not change:

1. Over analyzing what someone has written or spoken and trying to figure out the meaning. I was over analyzing in an attempt to protect myself. I thought I needed protection from the other person hurting me. I over analyzed to make sure I wasn’t misinterpreted, misunderstood, seen in the “wrong” light, taken the “wrong” way, and/or in attempt to catch hints of how the other person “saw” me. Basically, I wanted to try to make sure the other person liked or, better yet, loved me. The focus was on self and self alone. What did this person say that reflects me as a person?

2. Obsessing over someone. I mistook this as a physical and/or spiritual attraction. What was indeed going on was primarily bio-chemical fed by my fears. While I do believe in kindred spirits, I do not believe that when I am obsessing and/or acting in an addicted manner that this is an indication of love or even passion. I believe obsessive behavior about another person stems from not feeling worthy enough in the core of self. How can I make this person see and love me?

3. Talking a lot. When I first meet someone I tend to go overboard and over share. In a huge way there is something chemical going on in my brain, there is a need to verbally process and I feel release when I am done. I usually do what I would call “over-sharing” the first two or three times I am with someone in conversation, especially if one-on-one. I thought this was something out of my control, a part of my wiring. To a degree there are elements that present this as a truism: that indeed I do need to verbally process to relieve the pressure inside of me. I do not know if this behavior will stop completely but I know it can transition. I recognize when I feel at peace I don’t need to over share. I am recognizing too that I have the power to choose what I share about. I can withhold words that don’t benefit me or another. When I am coming from a place of fear, I am thinking: How can I make this person know me? Or look how smart I am!

4. Over-giving. When I find myself creating for someone else repeatedly in the form of poetry, stories, paintings, or the like, or in the form of service, such as cleaning or giving of my time, then I know I am over-giving because I am in need of love and recognition. When this happens, I am not feeling filled within self and think that if I give enough to another, they will 1) See how lovely and giving I am and 2) Eventually give back. This is again conditional love. This is love based on return. I am thinking: How can I get more love from them? Look how giving I am.

5. Being short or disappearing. In conversation I might not answer back or provide little responses, hoping the other person will notice that I am upset or need validation. To me this feels like game-playing. I am essentially wanting attention and wanting love. I am learning to ask for love when I need it, instead of hoping the other person will feel bad enough to give me something that resembles love, but feels more like pity. Love me, Pleaseeeee.

It is exhausting to always focus on self while at the same time fooling myself into thinking I am being loving and have the other person’s interest in mind. For me, it is far easier to just love self and then in return love others.

353: I couldn’t sleep

| Aspergers Girls

I couldn’t sleep. My mind was in a state of unrest and I had much physical pain. I left my chambers and came upstairs and wrote this in one quick sitting. I apologize for the visual appeal, as I know, for me, at times it is easier to read in distinct paragraphs, but this is the way the piece is meant to be presented and delivered. Having written this I feel emptied of anxiety and rescued from much of my pain. I do not understand where all of this comes from and why in a sense I am haunted by thoughts until I release them. But I have released, and in doing so I feel realigned, comforted, and home. I choose not what I write and for whom I write. I know only that this is what I was given. As I am tired now and ready to rest, I ask that you also forgive any errors I overlooked. Blessings and Love ~ Sam

Your pain is not a gift, nor is it a curse. You have not manifested your suffering or created or birthed it into being. Your pain is not more because you are chosen. Your pain is not less because you were not chosen. Your mission is not grander with pain. Your mission is not weaker in the absence of pain. To wear your pain on your sleeve is to say: Because I have suffered I am special. But we say onto you everyone suffers, everything suffers. When one suffers all suffer. When ones pain exceeds another the pain is not held by one alone; the pain is held by each body here, one upon the other taking in the pain. Pain breeds pain and suffering breeds suffering. This is not to say that the sufferer is to blame or in charge of his suffering. No one is in charge of his own suffering. Yet everyone is in charge of the suffering of one. We all suffer. No matter the witness or contest, no suffering is greater. There is no way to compare suffering, as there is no way to compare love. And in so saying, you cannot love without suffering. You cannot suffer without love.

Suffering occurs in the absence of love. Every type of suffering denotes a missing element of being. There is a string of events that will show you this suffering. Genetics mean nothing; nor does circumstance. All is merely oil on the canvas, paint applied to represent what is happening. No paint suffers more. Even if the paint depicts a horrible picture of torment and suffering, the paint does not suffer. The image denotes suffering. A representation of suffering occurs. An observer can find the suffering and behold the suffering and relate the suffering to this self in form, but the image painted feels nothing. We are these images. The suffering we feel is not our own paint, the suffering we feel is when one looks upon us and sees the image represented by the paint. If our image be grand through and through, the colors brilliant and bold, the semblance of happiness present and moving, even still the observer may suffer. For he may then sense lacking, the happiness pouring from the once blank slate and indicator of his own demise and inability to reach potential. It doesn’t matter the suffering or the imagined joy depicted in illusion; whatever the observer choses to see, he sees, and whatever the observer refuses to see, he misses. No two can set eyes upon eyes and see the same; this is impossibility, but still you insist reality is real. Well, whose reality is real? Whose view of the painting is adequately represented as truth? Which viewer’s viewpoint do you choose? Yours? Another’s? A beloved’s? An enemy’s? What if we were to say your enemy’s view is as equal to yours and yours to his? For whatever he holds true becomes his painting and whatever you hold true becomes yours. Therefore when two meet and behold the colors brought forth, your illusion is formed not once but twice, in the illusion you perform and the illusion you present as truth of your neighbor. Therefore when two meet four illusions are formed. The painting of one, the painting of the other, the viewpoint of one, the viewpoint of another. All is illusion quadrupled and multiplied in meeting, and still one walks away thinking he holds the truth. But what of the four is the truth? Which one? When one holds true the representation of himself is what he holds as truth, then what is this truth based on but not illusion after illusion built into storybook of truths. And further, when one holds a truth of another based on the view, does he not only counter the illusion of the first but intensify the illusion of the other. In seeing this there is a temptation to unravel the truth, to single out which of the choices is real. But this is the same, very much the twin, of choosing between the reflection in water multiplied thoroughly and deciding which reflection represents the truth of where one stands. In knowing this, we look back at where we stand and examine who is standing and we see it is this us, this I, this me, but who is this I that exists if not singled out and marked by the judgment and makings of the world. How can a being move in this world without absorbing the illusions, and thusly how can a being move in this world without being a rotating painting of illusions gathered? Life to many is merely a sponge of collection of mirages, the water sucked from the view, when no view is there. One illusion upon the other illusion we stare. And still we wait as the illusions unfold for you to see such common place as where the illusion bends. For what if I were to take a color with no color, say ye black turned white and then turned invisible and paint over the canvas once colored, until the blending is nothing but space. And what if then you stared into the illusion and peered willingly and came out with a satisfied grin, simply proclaiming I have seen beyond illusion. I have seen space. But no, we would say to you, you have not seen the space behind illusion. You have simply seen the replacement to illusion, the gap filled in with a substitute in an attempt to satisfy your appetite of discovery. Peer again and I shall resubmit the color as evidence of space removed, and then what say ye? Do you say the illusion has returned? If illusion returned than nothingness cannot exist; for nothing can take the place of nothingness and nothing can fill the void inside a void. Until the nothingness is removed than something remains. As long as there is a space, something can be filled, something can be altered, something can be changed, something can arise. It is in the space beyond space one looks then, into the realm beyond inquiry, stretching the mind in solution, the band made taught and heavy. Wherein where the fault lies is in the canvas itself. Within the painting. All searching is based on the paint of illusion. All decisions granted in the realm of illusion. Illusion has taught, say professed, where to look, and in listening to illusion the seeker finds only illusion. Seek not the canvas of paints, seek the painter. Who is the one painting the illusion and who is the one with the paints. Is this not the collective we? For who is to say the illusion of one is not the collective illusion of all who look upon. Exceedingly we look one upon the other, our brushes moving to create what we see. Not what we wish to see, for that would imply ownership and dictatorship, and even the power of creation, but that which we have taught one another to see. Each illusion a teacher to the next. Each mask painted with the colors of the soul that is supposed to be. Can you not see the illusion arises first not with you, first not with one, but in the making of all? For together we are scribe and painter writing the story of the moment, not with our thought and thought alone, but with the perception of thought. It is not enough to say: think these thoughts and all will transpire as planned, because in this way there is a plan, and in this plan is illusion. In this illusion is a false hope that the one and not the collective know the thought that ought be formed. But what then if one thought is deemed better than another thought? Then do we not begin the battle again. Painting illusions this time with paint dismissed and thoughts induced? Your thought, your word, is no less, better or worse than another. You cannot decide what word is just and which unjust, which word enough and not enough, without creating more illusion. The world will continue to spin in illusion, as one continues to attach to illusion. No answers can be found when one is set upon another. No answer true when searching in illusion. The search is not in self or outside self. The search is beyond the painting and the canvas. The truth is the paint and painter. So whom may we assign as this worthy painter if not we, if not truth, even if this truth be illusion? Who is this truth bearer? The one granted the role of leader and justice. Is this not you? Is this not your neighbor? Is this not your enemy? We say you know this truth innately; it is in the unraveling of each to find the substance of whole in where the truth bides his time, hidden in the controversy and friction between. And this is where we stand on the bridge between illusion and nothing. Not on one side or the other. No in right or in wrong but in the center, in the journey when love is brought out of the flames of illusion and one ventures across the avenue in search of nothing. There we stand in the bridegway waiting. But with blinders you pass us by, as your goal is to cross the bridge and not stay in the place between. For you have been taught by illusion that the place in between is passage way only, serving to get from one point to the next. What you cease to understand is there is no point and there is no next, and as soon as one illusion is reached another is formed. What you cease to understand is that there is no stopping point, just as there is no starting point. You are already there twice over, and twice over again, doubling your path to prove a point until illusion dollies in her own illusion and splits open leaving you centered in predicament. And there you sit both witness and observer. One standing and staring at the other. The two ones meeting. And there you merrily judge your ways, lost in the in between, stepped out between illusion and nothing, staring down your own brother, your own self. For you are not this broken hollowed isolated one. You are we and we are you. But still you stand in the half-way point of in between uncertain where to go. When there be no place to go but here. Throw down your villainess ways, pave the roads with the intentions naught. Take out your heart and lay it down to be crushed and observed as splendid. Bleed your love out to the world, a cross bearer of your own-making, not for His glory or your glory, but for the glory of knowing illusion standing still. Find the stopping point of illusion and tear down the stopping point of where and when. Believe in the absence of intention and fulfillment of love. Bring down your illusion and bring down your guard. Say to your brother I am love and onto him beseech him your goodness. For you are more worthy than the tenth illusion suffered, the levels laid out in fashion unbridled and unbroken. You are more worthy than the battles that came again and again to show the way, when no way exists outside love. All be said in the name of love. And here my brother is where illusion and nothingness depart, in the arms of love carried out by the masses rebirthed in glory and built bountiful by the journey delayed.

“A human being is a part of the whole called by us universe, a part limited in time and space. He experiences himself, his thoughts and feeling as something separated from the rest, a kind of optical delusion of his consciousness. This delusion is a kind of prison for us, restricting us to our personal desires and to affection for a few persons nearest to us. Our task must be to free ourselves from this prison by widening our circle of compassion to embrace all living creatures and the whole of nature in its beauty.”

–Albert Einstein

343: How I long to be the sun

| Aspergers Girls

IMG_0546

How I long to be the sun…

I am such a dichotomy of prisms, multi-faceted in a way that confuses me, the observer.

I keep looking into myself and finding only tunnels, web-like hallways leading in all directions. There is such mystery here, and clutter. I am an open book, but not to myself. I am an open book to only that which I let out and that which I allow in. Even as I share so much, I hold eternity inside. I worry, when I have all the reasonings harvested of why not to worry. I fear, when I have all the reasonings set out of why not to fear.

I am this pendulum; this constant pendulum. I know not what moves me, but I am continually moved. At times I feel I become the person you are. At times, so many times, I lose the person I am. I absorb the world, all of the ingredients brought into me; and then I am left, in my loneliness, both awe-inspired and drowning in pain of recognition.

I see too much. I feel too much. I know too much. And there is no remedy.

I am the heap of pain that one carries on his shoulders. I am the sorrow of the mistress. I am the angst and guilt of the destroyer. I am the pillager weeping at the joyful bounty. I am the child in the glee-filled park. I am the mountaineer on highest peak. I am the widow crying at the grave. I am the tie tightened around my very neck, chocking me from the outside, to match the fury of pain within.

I am enveloped in need and then enveloped in release. I am tortured by thoughts and misery, and then let free by understanding and the depth of beauty. I am unstable, yet stable in my instability. I am consistent in my varying degrees of emotions. A spit-fire of desire brought to tender knees by only the touch of your words.

I am affected by all and none. This silence speaks to me. And the loudness hurts. I am the fury in your eyes. I am the heartache in your bosom. I am that raw pain that eats away at you. Time and again I rise, some mercenary to the many; unable to stop my vengeance; my need to take revenge, to beat the rhythms of my own soul down.

I am anger. I am rectification. I am renewal. I am lust. I am all this and more. And they merge and spin inside of me, claiming their take, and taking more than was offered. I eat of myself, devouring the agony.

If only I could find a way to balance the esteem of you with the esteem of my own being. If only I could find a way to stop the pain you feed me. Your naked trembling fear. To unchain the leash that takes me to the dark side of my own moon.

How I long to be the sun, the perfect sun shining overhead; and then with one touch, without consequence, to set free with flame this yearning for rescue.

~ Sam 3/20/13