“All truly great thoughts are conceived while walking”
Friedrich Nietzsche
“Those who contemplate the beauty of the earth find reserves of strength that will endure as long as life lasts.”~ Rachel Carson
“There is new life in the soil. There is healing in the trees for tired minds and for our overburdened spirits, there is great strength in the hills, if only we will lift up our eyes. Remember that nature is your great restorer.” ~ Calvin Coolidge
Forget not that the earth delights to feel your bare feet and the wind longs to play with your hair.” – Kahil Gibran
“Rivers and rocks and trees have always been talking to us, but we’ve forgotten how to listen.” – Michael Roads
“The best remedy for those who are afraid, lonely, or unhappy is to go outside, somewhere where they can be quiet, alone with the heavens, nature and God. Because only then does one feel that all is as it should be and that God wishes to see people happy, amidst the simple beauty of nature.” ~Anne Frank
I came across this list I wrote over a year ago, in 2011.
In This Way I Shall Live
Recognize power is not in money but in the perception and energy granted to the illusion of money.
Explore avenues and options, and discard thoughts that are built on foundations of hopelessness and failure.
Acknowledge the limitless of the universe within.
Welcome abundance into life.
Confront feelings of “being nice.” Discover what “being nice” has meant, what it has brought, and what it has cost. Replace “being nice” with “living authentically.”
Honor true feelings and opinions without judgment of self.
Release the need to be anything to anyone.
Understand and embrace inner potential.
Prioritize what is most vital, including health, clean environment, communication, fun, and gratitude.
Welcome order into life.
Partake in a health cleanse to detoxify the body, mind and spirit.
Continue cleanse day-by-day based on individual needs and desires, and not balanced against the outcomes of others.
Pay attention to what is put into the mouth, where food comes from, who provides the food and at what cost to society and the environment the food is made.
Welcome clean healthy food into life.
Be gentle with self.
Welcome accomplishment into life.
Release the need to contribute.
Pamper the self.
Give back to the giver.
Give by receiving thankfully and fully, without excuse or diminishment of the experience.
Allow others to love the beauty carried within.
Believe in the worth of the glorious embodied spirit of love that resides within.
Reach not for answers.
Relax in just being and knowing essentially all is enough.
Welcome nurturing into life.
Sacrifice for growth. To break through spiritual blockages make a sacrifice through spoken word, written word, or other form of creation.
Take a risk to honor the self.
Speak up.
Claim the right to be heard.
Speak for self and self alone, not dependent upon outcome or response.
Honor the self enough to give voice to passion and need.
Replace silence with truth.
Welcome growth into life.
Let go.
Release anyone, everything, anything, any thought, any memory, any worry, and any entity taking energy from spirit.
Release and know that in releasing in return there is increased compassion and love.
Replace anger, resentment, regret, bitterness, and blame with increased empathy, patience, love, and forgiveness.
Forgive and then forgive again. Make forgiveness an every moment process. Awake and forgive. And awake and forgive again.
Welcome freedom into life.
Let loose the pattern of looking for infractions, wrongs, and imperfection.
Notice the limitless beauty in imperfection.
Know if this was to be the last day of breath, the day will have been spent in thankfulness.
Welcome life.
Forest in Great Northwest Washington Photos by Sam Craft
What I thought about while I drove eleven hours (700 miles) to California.
“God gives us dope! God gives us dope! God gives us dope!” (Remembering back to when my young boys screamed this through the house, after they misheard the song lyrics: “God gives us hope.” I never had the heart to correct them.)
Oh, I can pinch much less fat around my waist now.
I wonder if I should use the all-wheel drive option for hills. Oh, what the heck. Let’s see what happens.
Blue sky! I see blue sky! I wonder how tan I’ll get?
“You know what? Bird shit could easily be considered abstract art. Just look at it. (points to sidewalk) Even a good artist would have a hard time duplicating that.” ~ My middle son’s comment a few weeks ago
The time when I was twelve, the seventh grade fieldtrip was to Ashland, Oregon, a seven hour school bus ride. On arrival I stepped on a nail and had to go the emergency room for a tetanus shot. On departure I threw up all over the backseat.
The time I was a teacher and went to science camp with my fifth grade class and ended up in the emergency room for severe breakout of poison oak.
I’ve been in an ambulance at least six times.
The time when I was a student at middle school, and in science class a boa constrictor snake wrapped itself around my waist, went through my belt hoops, and got stuck. I had to give the boa constrictor’s owner my pants to take home. Why does weird stuff always happen to me?
There are a whole lot of songs about love and heartbreak on the radio, that pretty much cover every possible scenario, and that I’ve just about experienced every single scenario.
My muse. My darling muse. The enigma who makes me read, write, and digest erotica.
My youngest son is much like a wild hamster in the way he nests and clutters up the backseat of the van. Is there such a thing as wild hamsters?
I never ever see tailgaters in Washington, but see them all over California.
Who thought it was a good idea to close California state parks? Who thought it was a good idea to elect the Terminator as a governor?
Country singers can make anything sound sad and sexy.
It was so kind of the restaurant waitress to subtract the price of the vegetarian omelet from my bill after I politely explained that they might want to be careful not to accidentally have chunks of ground beef in the veggie omelet.
How wonderful that you have to let someone pump your gas in Oregon. It’s the law.
How fortunate that out of all the gas stations in the upper portion of California that I happened to pick the only free full-service gas station. And that the man with the one arm and missing teeth who pumped my gas had the most beautiful energy and spirit. And that I could feasibly marry a man with one arm and missing teeth. And that looks do not matter to me nearly as much as the energy I share with a person. And that I need to stop worrying about my looks, because I radiate love and positive energy. And I am beautiful just like the man with one arm and missing teeth.
How great that so many people have the capacity to travel the manmade road, through manmade passage ways, passages that were exploded with dynamite.
Trucks are sexy. I would make a lousy truck driver.
I think way too much about way too much, and could probably survive with my sanity intact in solitary confinement because of my vivid imagination and inquisitive thought processes.
For some reason the phrases “pump my gas” and “big rig” sound erotic.
I’m so happy. I wonder if I drank too much iced-tea.
I’m a SUPER FREAK this morning. I am pretty sure my youngest has restless leg syndrome. And he definitely talks, moans, and moves a whole lot in his sleep. Oh, yes…..traveling once again, and so very much reminded of my human condition. This time an eleven hour drive to California with my three boys, ages ten, thirteen, and fourteen…..oh boy! Literally!
Just pulled this writing up from early May 2012. Today, again, having slept in a hotel (sigh) I am dealing with much overload, lack of sleep, exhaustion, and grumpiness. Hope to have a happier disposition tomorrow after a decent night’s sleep. If you see a woman having a meltdown on the side of Highway 5 in California…that would be super freak me!
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On the first day of our trip to the Island of Maui, I was reminded of my over sensitive system. I hadn’t imagined the plane fight would be such an unpleasant experience. I’d forgotten, or more likely, I’d hoped for change.
Many people with Aspergers, if not all, are extremely sensitive. They feel emotions and feelings in great depth. Likewise, their senses of sight, sound, touch, taste, and smell are very acute. Often, a person experiences sensory overload when he or she is outside his everyday environment. In some cases, home or perhaps nature, are the only places that are tolerable to the senses. Outside of the comfort zone, a person with Aspergers can likely feel an overwhelming degree of agitation, pain, and misery. This is one of the reasons I prefer to spend more time at home than in public places. Sensory overload can lead to meltdowns—which are akin to adult tantrums—a screaming out for help, when one does not know how to help one’s self.
In considering sound, where many people can block out background noise and focus without distraction, people with sensory sensitivities hear everything at once. There is no mute button. And there is no making the noise stop, beyond earplugs and escape.
The other senses work the same. Textures irritate. Smells overwhelm and overtake. Sights hurt. And even the taste of air is unpleasant.
It appears there is something about the Asperger’s sensory and processing system that cause people to sense things in the environment in segmented over-exaggerated parts, instead of whole. Instead of looking upon a crowd and seeing a crowd, one looks upon a multitude of bombarding shapes and sizes, each movement as uncomfortable to view as the next.
People with sensory sensitivities are acutely aware of everything happening in their environment and everything seems to be occurring all at once. There isn’t release. What would be a soft unnoticeable hum to one becomes a piercing roar to the other. It is as if someone has turned up the volume of every single sensory organ.
There is no relaxation, only the constant stream of shards—parts of chatter, parts of the ticking clock, parts of the rattling and hum. There are parts of smells, all sorted out and classified, not mingled, not forgotten. There are parts of tastes—the breath, the air, the fragrances, the poisons chemicals. Sights are in parts. Fragmented pieces that attempt to make a whole, but fail. A face not remembered except as shape of wrinkled wide nose and color of dark narrow eyes. Even the mind is in parts, continually breaking down wholes to subsections. Whole to parts is easy. Parts to whole is hard. Nothing is as it appears. Everything is in parts. It is the parts that bring agony, the endless parts that bring with them the impossibility of finding retreat in the whole.
With my sensory sensitivities, the six-hour ride in the airplane to Maui was torturous. No mind control, mantras, visualization, or distractions could stop the parts. And lacking the ability to help myself, sank me into self-blame. I sat in misery wishing to time travel into sweet oblivion. I became depleted, agitated, and depressed. Meltdown was avoided, but angry eyes prevailed.
The worst was the piercing babies’ cries. There were at least ten babies on the plane. There wasn’t a time when one wasn’t screaming.
I did find refuge. I had my words. I could write. I could escape through the process of creating images, feelings, and thoughts into story. Words were my parachute and freedom, a passport away from the screaming shards.
Everyday Asperger's 