***
I drove 1700 miles over the four-day weekend.
I grounded myself in my roots near the ocean-side of the Monterey California Peninsula.
I spent the weekend with my dear aunt, a devout and very loving Catholic.
I slept in my nana’s and nano’s room that has been untouched by the years, with aged prints of Mother Mary and Jesus set about me.
I slept in their bed, where they’d slept so many years together, long ago, before they passed on to another place.
And I felt remarkable healing.
I drove alone, and had in total, through several trips, over a day’s traveling time, some twenty-six hours alone on the road.
I prayed a lot. I laughed and I cried.
I sang to music.
I found myself again.
I didn’t let the invisible fear slip in.
Each time I felt a pain in my body or mind, I released the fear to God, and watched as thoughts evaporated and lightness entered me.
I didn’t hurt, despite my muscle condition; I was able to sit for an extended time and remained energetic and able to function at a high-level.
I was happy.
I was me and loved my company.
I was nurtured by loved ones and by myself, well-fed to the point of my chubby cheeks and lovely soul growing a few inches.
I nurtured every part of me. I walked and slept deeply.
Each night, in my grandparents’ room, I was blanketed in the deepest warmth and adoration. I have never felt such love.
I awoke refreshed and renewed.
The visions still came and are still coming, and so is the sadness, sorrow, and suffering. But there remains so much hope and thoughts of goodness to come. And I recognize the goodness is already here. Right here in me.
I am realizing with this traveling of body and spirit that I was happiest when I was teaching. I was happiest when I had a reason to get up and get out of the house, a responsibility beyond appointments and housecleaning and driving.
I am searching now, inside, wondering where I will go next, what my soul longs for, and whom she longs to be with. I miss the company of others, and realize that although my recent social isolation felt necessary that I now wish to return to a semblance of the life I had before, when I moved in the world more frequently with others and when I was confident in my work.
I have hidden a lot in the past twelve years, since I left the public schools, hidden at home and in my own thoughts. I have too much time to think, too much time to process and worry, and too much opportunity to over-weigh my choices and decisions repeatedly.
I need to be, and in my being, I need to be with other people more. I need to create friendships and connections here, in this place I have lived for almost three years. It’s time to stop searching for me and just be.
I have set some “goals” for myself, loose ones with no restrictions or necessity, no demands or “musts” attached, just ideas that I am releasing to my higher power, creations of whom I’d like to be again. Not just the part of me I released over a decade ago, but the part of me that had so much joy and eagerness for life.
I am slowly finding her, rekindling her flame.
I had to let myself burn in the fire awhile, slowly cinder there in deep reflection of self and my travels.
But I think I’m done with that now, the analysis and ins and outs of who this person that is me be.
I know I am love and light.
I know I am beautiful.
I know I am worthy of love and adoration.
I know I have an abundance of love and service to give.
And now I release this part of me, this “pain body,” this searcher, this wanderer continually searching for that which is nowhere to be found.
For I am here. I always have been, as has my God.
And so I am trusting in my next steps, not so much blindly, but with the legion of selves I have created at my side, cheering me on;
and I am releasing, with every part of my self, all pain to the higher realm.
I am releasing. I am letting go. And in so doing, I am free.
Blessings and love, Sam
I find his music to be very healing. I memorized this song. It’s gorgeous, as is his spirit.
I am experiencing a great shift in consciousness as of late, and am stepping back and watching two characters of self emerge. One part of self is clinging to the label of spiritual awakened and one part of self is clinging to the label of Aspergers.
In a direct sense, both selves are neither right or wrong, they are merely playing out a game at an unconscious level inside of me.
What is interesting is to watch this other self I be: the observer.
Thusly, inside of my mind I am able to see 1) the two ego selves at battle for power, 2) the observer watching the ego’s game, and 3) one in lesser form watching the observer.
When I try to step out beyond the third level, the place in which one is watching the observer, there doesn’t seem to be a fourth level, and all I can see is black or even the absence of color.
I am beginning to see, or further seeing, the world and my mind at complex levels, and reacquainting myself with truths that seem more familiar to me than my very own self, or more recently selves.
Coincidence after coincidence is occurring, and dreams are revealing to me events. The walks I partake in through nature are coming too with images of the future. Some of this, actually most of this, is nothing new to me; what is new is the intensity, the frequency, and the verification from others of what I am experiencing.
I do not know what is happening, but I seem to be tapped into a higher –frequency of sorts, almost as if I be an old-fashioned television and someone has lifted and extended a long metal antenna from my very being.
What is new, as well, when compared to my childhood, is the darker side of this is no longer affecting me. There is a new found peace, and with this peace a knowing that brings me a sense of safety and protection, as if a legion of guardians, angels, and ancestors have formed lines and are marching to show their support and unyielding faith in me.
I feel overwhelmed with love for people and animals; and the observer part of self perceives others in a way I never thought possible. This observer does not seem to have any attachment to things, people, or even life. He is one that would willingly sacrifice self, even without calling it sacrifice, for sacrifice itself involves ego. He would simply release and be.
There is a calmness with the observer that very much resembles serenity. I have found an increasing amount of energy flowing through my body, both my hands and feet, but particularly with the whole of my body feeling much aglow.
As of late, I am having difficulty holding onto fear. Though, I recognize the emotion comes; however when fear appears it is liken to a small ripple of water; wherein before the fear was like a tsunami. I am able to stand inside the ripple and watch the effect of fear within and without. I am able to see where this fear is and where it is carried. I am able to feel this fear, understand fear’s source, and then release.
I am understanding that the clinging of labels is unnecessary in the higher sense; that Aspergers itself is only a means to an end, a way to connect like soul to like soul, to bring community together; perhaps to bring more observers to the light.
Through the observer, I can see clearly the complexity of the mind. Through my own complexity, I can understand others like me in their complexity. I can see clearly the reason I am here and how my calling is manifesting healing in self, and healing in others. I understand that this is nothing to do with me, and entirely to do with source.
This is what I saw in vision that I will try to explain, as it came in quick picture without explanation, almost as an injection of thought. I am not used to understandings coming so fast, but it seems that some of my recognitions are coming now without the use of words, and even beyond the use of images; how this is happening, I have no idea, and why this is happening, I have no idea either.
The understanding I have been given is this:
1) I have a complex mind.
2) Because I have a complex mind, I have complex thoughts.
3) Because I have complex thoughts, ego runs rampant with idea after idea, and connection after connection inside my mind (see the previous post for example).
4) Because I have so many thoughts running rampant, I cannot simply let go, silence my mind, or use common means to release.
5) Because I cannot utilize common means, I am forced to find escape; this escape comes in the form of verbally processing through speech and writing, this escape comes through extreme focus, fixations, fantasy, special interest, and creation.
6) Because I escape, I am able to produce phenomenal amounts of work in a short period of time; the downfall being that I am missing out on my own life, because I am spending endless hours in mode of escape, in an attempt to escape my own thoughts, brought on by my complex mind.
7) Because I can produce a lot in a limited amount of time, I can also analyze my mind in limited time at a deep level and study the very happenings inside self, through this emerging observer.
8) With observer as witness I am able to release a lot of self-doubt, fear, and non-beneficial emotion. With observer I am able to watch ego and study my own thought processes.
9) The observer was only able to come when I was willing to look closely at thought and thusly expose ego and self-driven wants and needs, such as: attention, fame, and acknowledgment.
10) I was able to release the self-driven needs through much observation and prayer, and by tapping into a part of self that only wanted to serve and love.
11) By tapping into the part that only wants to serve and love, I was able to not remove ego, but to step outside and watch ego further, acknowledging that whenever an emotion of fear, want, need, defense, or upset of any type emerged that in fact it was ego taking over.
12) By being able to recognize ego readily, I was further able to refine my want to serve and love, and to begin to save the excess energy that was used before in ego’s attempt to acquire acceptance and validation.
13) I was able to recognize ego enough to start to remove intention, want or need from my writings; in turn my writings reflected the inner me and honesty, which enabled me to reach out more fully and freely to find other like souls; which in turn gained me the acceptance and validation ego was originally seeking.
14) This acceptance and validation was temporarily pleasing, until I realized that to accept validation also meant to accept insult and injury.
15) With this understanding of the double-nature of others perception of my self, I was able to release the want and need for any type of acknowledgment of “right” or “wrong” based on an outside perception and opinion.
16) With this release I delve deeper into my own self and ego, and gorged out the lies and untruths that surfaced there. One upon the next I wiped out the fears that were mere phantoms. I did this quite unexpectedly and oftentimes unwillingly, as events presented themselves to challenge me and my new found truth.
17) I began to see that everything related to fear was an illusion and that only love existed, once I stepped out of the need to be lifted by others, and once I stepped back into faith.
18) Ultimately it was my faith in something higher than self that I bleed my soul into, through prayer and through walking in high-awareness every minute of the day.
19) In this walking and prayer I was granted a serenity unknown to me before.
20) In this way, I can walk into the world, walk into an environment with other people, and step outside of the ego self and live as observer. In the state of observer all the fears are gone. My only thought is of listening to another and loving another and helping another.
21) In the state of observer I do not worry about conversation. I do not worry about anything. Instead I feel filled with light and peace, and simply exist as a reflection of another. In this state of observer, I can listen to each word with a gentle calmness, thinking nothing about what I want to say or contribute, and only thinking of the other person.
22) There is no fakeness, no effort, no ingeniousness involved as the observer, and seems to be a place of no ego; though in stating there is no ego, ego simply slips back in; so to say so without saying so becomes predicament.
23) I have concluded through this process of my own self that there are key elements I needed in order to find peace of mind. One is connecting to some source greater than self that need not be a religion or specific spiritual practice, but need be a source. A second is humbly submitting to said source repeatedly and walking in awareness of this goal and effort. Thirdly a sacrifice through self-examination and release of fear. Wherein the fear is held up to the light and all frailties of self exposed. Fourth, once exposed, ego must temporarily step in and seek support and connection of some kind while rebuilding and regrounding. Lastly, a disconnection of ego is necessary through trials and challenges brought on through higher-self.
24) This is my experience. I do not think it is the right way or only way, but simply the experience I was brought through.
25) I am not complete in awakening, and know that when I think I am, I am not, an only when I am no longer attached to awakening will I truly be awakened; which is a dynamic paradox I cannot venture to grasp. But I know that I walk in a light and love. I know, too, that now I see a great sadness in many people, and a huge heaviness; the energy I used to feel and collect at a subconscious level is now at a conscious level. As is my own pain. I can now pinpoint my pain and often know from whom or from what thoughts the pain has come through. I can also often release this pain.
26) I am not in a state of awe or grandiose thinking; I am not manic; I am not giddy and joy-filled; but I am very much at peace. There is not a façade of healing surrounding me, in which I want to be a healer so I live and act like a healer. The healing is radiating from within without instruction or want. This is new to me, this being without effort. Yesterday, I did experience my first moments of overwhelming joy in which I saw signs/omens in nature; I was overcome with extreme understanding and love, and literally was laughing hysterically for ten minutes like a mad woman. Interestingly enough at that very moment I had flashes and images of all the ones that have come before me laughing hysterically, and I felt extremely connected and whole in my journey. I have never heard such effortless and joyous sound in my life.
27) My main struggle now is one of humility; a struggle that God is continuing to answer for me. He has shown me that my fear of pride is also ego-based and an attachment to a goal and ownership of accomplishment; that accomplishment being the achievement of humility. He has shown me that because I continually ask for humility and am against pride that these natural thoughts and wishes, in and of themselves, display my heart and want for humility. I cannot go into detail with my humility journey, as to me this seems prideful and self-serving in and of itself; but I say this for those that are also struggling with this part of their journey; because as was scribed in the Wounded Warrior, humility is one of the markers of the healer.
28) I work now towards no longer working towards anything, and just being. I accept I do not know what this transition will look like, but I know that with my trust in my higher power and true wish to heal, serve and love others that I am walking in the light.
29) I will continue to strive towards being the best I can be while continually detaching from ego, though even this gives ego spotlight; and so I will fumble like many others, as I try to find the meeting point between submission and honor of self.
30) This concludes my thoughts, and I hope to continue to walk with a clear mind and in a state of peace.
I think from where I come from there are no wolves.
I think where I used to live there are lots of givers and seekers and dreamers.
I think where I used to stand there was a huge glowing light of acceptance and love.
I think I was surrounded by kinship.
I think I was supported for my truth and vision.
I think that some of us have come from somewhere else, still carrying our light.
And I am often so very homesick.
I am careful. And I grow tired of this carefulness.
For where I come from, I don’t think there was this word careful, or at least not the implications and stitching that created the concept of careful. It is backwards, this word, backwards indeed. For to be careful one moves back into fear, always back, and I just don’t think fear existed where I was before.
Yet, still, this careful seems to be the sword I carry, unable to set it down, unable to really use it effectively, as all things stemmed from fear produce nothing but more fear. No beauty comes from careful. No beauty at all.
Though when I attempt to set down this phantom sword, coated in fear’s gold it be, I am pierced as if ribbons of shield have been peeled down about my chest and daggers thrown through, one upon the other; no less victim than victorious one, but still shattered and broken, staggering pain replacing the falsehood of fear.
And here, where I now stand, pained, there seems to be flowers of strife, shooting up black and withered-whole in bleakness from the dead and dying ground; these flowers seem to be trickery, enticing trickery, bleed out upon us in satisfaction, though empty-satisfaction it be.
And I watch as others pick at the illusion. Pick away.
And I want to shout: Careful; though I know this careful, as black flowers dead, does not exist.
And I stand witness, these wolves about, painting flowers black themselves, in hopes of passerby. Eating up self, though poison it be. Lapping at the dark fed out and bled out.
And I know not what to do, with this truth of illusion, of these givers who give not, of these wanters who want not, of all these dancers in illusion, from where I stand aware.
Shall I stop? Shall I watch? Shall I just breathe and wait for the embers of their very own self-inflicted fires to dim? Shall I dare touch while flame still scorches—to stand in the path created by the field-seekers, the ones destined to not so much fail, but to fall into self in a way so foreign that self is forgotten and all that remains is dim hope calling out from the corners of unreachable nowhere.
What do I dare do, when home calls out to me, some forever beacon lifting the veil of my senses and perspective? Do I call out, or stand here drowning in the destructive showers of reason mankind thrusts upon me?
What shall be my way, when I can barely touch and find where I am meant to be?
For I am not some forever-masked dancer bending down in retreat and hollowing burrows for my own escape. I am this dance within dance. I am the music without form. I am what moves the other to ecstasy and what cowers in the darkness afraid to shine.
For where I look, I know not what to do, but to sit out at the edges and wait while the divine calls me forward, motions me with finger-light:
“Come my child, come. Come dance in this place of no dance. Eat in this place of no eatery. Divulge thyself in the goodness that is naught, so you may pierce thine own heart and bleed out the falseness of the world.
Come my child, to this place of darkness and shine bright, shed the mask for my glory, and see me in all. Placate me, this once. Dance in the danger pleading for rescue. Dance in the danger diving for retreat amongst the living. Fear this place as I have feared and then move beyond the fear, to the one you recognize, to your home, that stands waiting beneath the dance, beneath the tango of refuge, beneath the floor, beneath the music, behind the masks of makers; find me there, amongst the dance, before you forget where I be.”
And I respond, a shivering leaf of one, no less and no more than the piles of eternity before and beyond me:
Blow me to this place of sorrow, to this place of pain, to the deepest place of hurt, and let me bleed. Let me gorge out my own eyes so that I may see.
Let me dance out my own steps, until my own feet give way, and I am forced to be carried away to the darkness of my own making.
Take me and lead me to this valley, with my own hands and own mind, take me.
Take me, like you have my masters before me, and spread me out in painted red, so I may bleed and in this bleeding weep out the tears of all.
Take me and pound me into the earth, my veins the very mystery of your forever soul. For there is not taking in the making of one, there is no giving in the haunting whispers of sorrow’s song, only misery beyond misery, plight of the foreigner in foreign land.
Least let me not suffer for self and self alone. Let me suffer for all. For in my own suffering may I find release in the reckoning that my suffering be not in waste, and not of need of rescue or refinement, but fortified by your wishes and ever-movement, blended with your glory and honor, and slaughtered out in division of whole as bounty for the wolves.
Let me be the bait for the misery and enticed ones; let me be the horror that the others seek in self, so I might find the avenue of retreat beyond the hauntings that no longer exist beneath your sheltered wings.
Let me cry out to the world, so loudly that my own piercing deafens the silence that besets me. The silence of where I once stood in knowing.
Whisper me back into the place of forgiveness. Speak me into being. Beyond the valley of your goodness, carry me home.
Breathe into me, I beseech you. Breathe into me your goodness, so I may erase all that is flawed and forged, all that is forgotten. Breathe into me so I may awake refueled and renewed, a star child no less bright than the dimmest star but still existing in your painted sky of eternity.
Feed me from the misery I pour out; turn what is wasteland in to purity, the soils rich with your own bounty and making. Dim me once and then again. Smother me so I can sit in the darkening nowhere. Dim me so I may not know my own face, my own ways, my own words. Dim me into the doom of doom so I may awaken rebirthed again and again in your glory.
For it is not the darkness I fear. It is neither the wolves or the shield of fear that carries me back. It is thy own self, wrapped in the misery of others’ before me and beyond. It is my own wishing, my own doing, my own bending, turning me round and round to the place from whilst I came. Turning me over to see that what is beneath is also about, beyond, and within. Making me this that is naught to return me to that which is eternal in sunrise gone. The light beyond light illuminating not from the desire of one but from the unity of whole.
For here is my sword of truth, turned sideways in fashion so fear begets the emptiness from which it came. Here is my sword positioned without cause or pretense. Dripping out the substance of nothing upon nothing until vanishing in the banquet of your coming.
Alternative Title: How Deep Is Your Brain ^^^Thusly, this song I cannot get out of my head.
This writing is an example of how my brain processes, not an example of clarity, linear thought, or even anything understandable to most. It goes in circles while trying to pull out conclusions. In the end it makes lots of sense to me… and probably only me.
One time I got all gung-ho about Jesus with an atheist girlfriend; and I ended up giving her an impromptu mini-dissertation about how church would save her marriage. I can kind of blame my untamed and inappropriate outcries of abashment on the bad reaction I was experiencing from an anti-depressant at that time: and since I can, I will. But what sparked the monolithic proportions of my monologue eludes me. Sadly, I must say that that then and there moment, as I spewed Jesus jargon judiciously, would mark the end of what had been a fruitful relationship.
For the most part, I am a fence sitter, it seems, stuck between one version of me and another. If I cling onto some thought too tightly, I crash. I get carried away like a young fledgling on first flight, spreading my wings and getting caught in the experience more than the cause.
In most cases, I don’t like to leap off my fence, as I crash and burn. Case and point being my mini-prophet-for-Jesus excursion.
I like to sit in the middle, in the neutral territory. At least I thought I did.
But I got to thinking last night, as I tossed and turned, still sick from some virus combined with the combination of pre-menopausal hormones that make me shift from a feeling of icy-pond to a bug-singing-lightbulb-crisp rollercoaster ride every few minutes. I pondered on the capacity and audacity of my fence-squatting, and was hit by a big ah!ha!
Like retrospection on high-speed, I was shown the intimate details of the fear-factor that makes me so hesitant to leap from the place in which I perch.
It’s not so much that there is an embryotic fluid that I am trying to maintain balance within, it’s not that I don’t want to cause waves, it’s not that I’ve latched on to some Eastern Tradition of unconditional acceptance and the knowing of not and absence, it’s that I’m fricken freaked out and afraid to claim who I am.
Ohhhhhh, she said to herself, she being me, as she tossed about night-sweaty, feverish, and nose-drippingly on the creased and feather-beddy couch.
Ohhhhh, she said again.
Bewildered once again by the self enlightening of self.
And then the mind dove as often does, into a place that still astounds me.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I have clung onto all these beliefs of why I am the way I am.
In truth, at least today’s limited truth, or in thought, or in some speck of bubble of time that I happened to breathe in at this moment, the fast growing cohesive fact is that I am AFRAID.
Quest-filled as I be, I am AFRAID to be anything outside the scope of that which I’ve studied and claimed to be a supposed ideal.
I blame zealousy entirely.
I am the potent human combination of INFJ, Idealist, and Cancerian, and over-dominantly right-brained. I am basically screwed on all accounts to be a functioning logical human being without being overthrown by extreme passion, emotion, and evaluation for doing what is right and just.
And in so being this way, that is seemingly beyond my own control, I have latched on to the right and just path: That of doing nothing, because essentially nothing is real to begin with.
The only one big oversight being that in essence in the rigid act of doing nothing, I am in fact doing something.
I am indeed afraid to be anything other than that which I have so deemed to be ideal.
I have moved beyond much self-serving wishes and behavior, but here I still remain stuck on the fence.
And why?
(And with this question I dive deeper in image and thought. Still making sense, but communicating what I am thinking becomes more difficult, as I am experiencing most of these concepts all in picture form and trying to find words that feel right. Some words feel good while others feel like a bump in the road of what I am trying to communicate.)
Well I used to think it was because I was being good, not claiming a right way or right cause, but in so doing, in so sitting on this proverbial fence, wall, or what have you, I am in fact claiming a way. I am claiming the way of the fence-sitter!
So all this time I think I am doing nothing but observing and being, I am actually doing and demonstrating, and that’s what befuddles me: the extremeness of being, wherein I cannot theoretically choose anything without spawning a choice and then exposing the choice to the world. I cannot even sit on the fence without being that which others would claim as a fence-sitter.
Every action I do is perceived as an action. Even inertia. I cannot be motionless without being perceived as motionless. And it is in this perception, in the others’ viewing of me, in which I feel trapped and over exposed.
Before last night and the review of my actions thus far, I hadn’t thought that a fence-sitter could be judged. I thought I was safe on the fence. But in actuality in today’s reckoning, indeed I am judged.
Outsiders judge me with wonderment, regardless.
As the depths of me unfold and I sit upon my fence, I am a fireball of inferno waiting to rupture, waiting to expand and scream I AM ME! Only I know not who I be.
So here, I set about to claim myself, if not to free my own entrapment, than to re-stir that which has been deemed stagnant energy.
I reclaim myself in the doing world, in the being world.
The fact that I have molded myself into so many identities in attempts to fit into a place where I never quite fit in has led me to flee to the sideline, to the fence-sitting. But as I started to write and share my strangeness and perception of life with other earthlings, I soon gathered that I was not as isolated and alone as I had previously imagined. What this means is the fear of rejection was slowly purged and eradicated out of my soul in a two-fold way.
(Here is where I dive deeper and I add words that might not make sense to anyone but me)
First, I was forced, though self-enforcement, to face hundreds of strangers’ reading my words. After months upon months of panic and fear of how said strangers would perceive me, and how my innards would be torn out by disarray and conflict and people pleasing, I became utterly exhausted by the entire process; depleted of mirth and effort I had no choice but to retreat and to let go. And then, and only, with the release of fear, I was finally freed from that which had been the doings of my own self-imposed tyrant.
Secondly, with the people-pleasing aspect of myself released, processed, and forgiven, I was free to speak more from a place of me than from a place of potential danger. Doomville in the strings of feasible futures was eradicated from my thoughts, freeing up a creative aspect I hadn’t delved into as this self before. Having solely dived in such a manner, as in freeing self and freeing mind, I then began to subconsciously analyze my own behavior further, whilst the original me remained dutifully ignorant that the underlayering of me was shedding and rebuilding.
I emerged, some time and somewhere in between as this other me: someone not afraid of what people would say or how people would react to my words, but someone still afraid to make a claim and remove self from the fence.
(Now I go into philosophy mode. I type what I feel, see, and hear from an inner voice. It doesn’t all make sense until I go back and reread it. I remember all the images I viewed while writing and learn a lot about myself. Some words “hurt” and I can’t use them. I pause until the right word comes..)
I was like an in-betweener. Somewhat of a gorgeously endowed knight with shiny armor, sword, and crested shield, yet unyielding in desire to move. To budge me off the fence would be my doom. To make me be a someone, an individual, a man of opinion, or woman no matter, would be my potential downfall.
And so I sat, fence-sitter me as observer dressed for pillaging and forging through the mysteries of world, with only my mind for company.
In so being, I dove further into thought, and vision, and the expansiveness of non-reality, emerging further bathed in what I could decipher as knowledge and know-how but with nowhere to stake my said claim of what would not be called accomplishment but experience.
And as a fence-sitter I grew, and grew weary, wanting more to reach out to the essential self of who I am and was and could be than to the passerby who judged me solely from that place in which I sat.
The judgment be gone and I could jump off. Or so I thought. I dissected, this part of me beneath my other traveling skin-covered self, and recovered the pullings of that which brought rapture upon the dying pieces; I brought out the truth of my fears, beyond the truth of the judgers and the perceivers and the passerbys with weapons and wounds their own.
I came to see that what really kept me steadfast and immobile and riddled with a fear of movement was not that fence in which I built to sit, but that of what could be, if I merged all sections of self and forgo the constant self-injury.
What I saw, as a holy terror, was that the emerging of my divine self was in actuality that which I claimed monster from the start; for in this divine energy coming forth were the mysteries I could not analyze or solve, or even factor as a multiple of life. And as numbers abounded me, drowning me in complexity, the thought of breaking and molding into something new astounded me true, but terrified me more than less.
And so I set bewildered at the self and the propensity of amazement, that indeed the act of self-implosion and procreation of the millions upon millions of tri-folded awakenings beneath me was justly my foe.
And then the light shone, and I disintegrated thought and mind, and released and proclaimed my stand as man and man alone, in spirit and in flesh; one divinely gifted with light and love and passion to be.
And in this reclaiming that had been said so long ago in ancient land, I set forth the fortress of who I was—the castle strong, the enemy weakened, the turrets rising and declaring my beauty.
I rose then, not this man confused by the dark but man confused by the light. For seeing such a grand mass of individualism ghastly reformed into truth blinded me to the causation of form, blinded me to the fact that yes: within I had blossomed so grandly that in need I blinded self.
I understood then, with an unbridled passion of symbolic thought and image, that what be futile broken and unclaimed holiness, was in the same instance trickery mirrors, set upon by no other but me, to deflect from the beauty emerging within.
For in the end, as I rise phoenix from the flame of eternal everlasting self, there was never an enemy beyond the fury of reflection inflamed before my eyes. For where I saw fire was no other than self, and not that the flame bleed false, or wrongly, or pain, but the flame bled beauty beyond reason.
And in this is where I sat, astounded by my own beauty, forever singed in the smoke and soot of what I thought to be demon enemy.
How merrily disguised this beast of naught, how trickery is woven by self and self alone, as one sets upon the land of feet and walks in no direction but away from self, when self is where the ocean waits.
I see now, clearly that I am no less black and no less white than that in which the flame dictates. For when the light reflects I am the shadow, I project and I foresee. I am nothing and everything I wish, if the wisher be awake.
Yet still I sit, this fence-sitter still wondering if all I see is not some grand mystery trapped with a droplet on the ebb and flow of some forgotten time. I sit and wait for the flame thrower to cast his way, for the one I call me to find the girth and scope of chivalry, to find this thing called brave, and jump into the abyss beyond. I see now whilst contemplating the rhythm of thought and nature, I am but me and nothing more, but this me be everything.
And these are the visions that come before me as I still sit twisted in the knowing that though the flame be no other than me that the flame still be.
^^^ and I dedicate this to my hormones ^^^ Night Fever :)))
And that’s all she wrote… as her brain was emptied…. at least for the next hour.
I was standing in front of a variety of buckets of paint. I dipped myself in paint after paint.
I was in search of answers.
Soon I was multi-colored and dripping in knowledge.
I dipped and dipped more and a brilliant rainbow blossomed.
I dipped and dipped, covering every inch of me, until the colors all merged.
Then, and only then, I was the color of black.
But it did not bother me, this guise, this dark, this black.
For I knew all the other colors were still there, still with me, and now in me.
But then the “experts” and “professionals” entered the room, where I stood dripping black. And they observed. Their clipboards and furrowed brows moving in an unwanted rhythm. The dance of them entering my mind and hurting my being.
And they looked and looked where I stood—noting this black shroud upon me.
And I knew then that they were blind, that they could not see all the colors.
They only saw black.
They were quick to form theories about this black. And they were quick to find words, and labels, and meaning.
They assumed since I was garbed in black that I liked black, and only black. They assumed what they saw was the truth.
They couldn’t see.
They couldn’t see that just as black was my companion, so was every other color. Colors they had never imagined.
I couldn’t explain the colors to them. I couldn’t go back and show them where I’d been. I didn’t know how.
I didn’t know the words.
I was blind to their words, as they were blind to my colors.
To them I needed black.
To them I was black.
To them this end product of black was their everything.
They didn’t know that black was merely the mixing of everywhere I’d searched and everything I’d questioned.
They didn’t know that black was not the end product. There were still more colors to find. Still more colors to be.
But when they looked, they saw black.
They gathered their boxes next.
They needed boxes like I needed colors.
I understood that we both craved things that the other did not see or comprehend.
But somehow I was supposed to accept and understand their boxes. Even though they do not attempt to see my colors.
This made me cry inside. This disconnection. And the black grew darker, thick and coated. A darkness that stopped the colors from seeping through. And stopped me from dipping and dripping. Stopped me from being.
And as I was black to them, I was placed in their box of black.
And from there, in the box, I watched them write the words of who I am.
I could not tell them how these words made me feel. I was too busy crying for the lost colors.
How I longed for them to see my colors. To see me in completion. How I longed for them to dip.
For then I knew they would see.
They would see what I see.
And through their dipping and dripping
They would soon discover
That their boxes never existed.
Everyday Asperger's 