thoughts

Day Twenty-Three: A Sliver of My Sacred Hours

| Aspergers Girls

Everyday that I sit to write, usually between the Pacific Coast hours of 9:00 and 11:00 a.m., is a sacred journey for me. Whether I am coming off a black tea caffeine-high, and spicing my ramblings with humorous prose, or sharing a profound recollection or excerpt from past journals, I honor this time as a part of my spiritual passage. And for being here, and sharing in this journey, I thank you. My hope is that you leave with something of value, though I understand your experience is your experience, and out of my control. Still, my intention is to connect and share, to never preach or persuade. I hope you can sense my intention.

I feel guided by a higher spirit during my revered two hours. I try not to plan what I am going to write, because when I do plan, the words never match my idea of what I’d thought to type. Usually, the prose is at a dynamic polar opposite of my original preset plan.

I believe in a higher power but choose not to let my belief system affect my open heart and mind—I wish to remain available to life and avoid rigidness and dogmatic viewpoints. Obviously, in someway, my belief system will always define, minimally at a subconscious level, how I perceive life.

In analyzing my spiritual reckonings, I say today, at this very moment of writing, I haven’t had a choice but to believe in some higher being, collective energy, or presence. A source that remains beyond myself and my limited understanding.  As odd as that may sound—the statment of having had no other option but to believe in a higher source—this remains a fact in my life. I accept this is my current truism, and recollect, that like the flowers through the seasons, I will inevitably transition, possibly into a new state of comprehension. As I explained in my fist post, I conjecture our perception of life is based on multiple factors:

“Our understanding of this life experience is primarily based on our individual genetic makeup, societal influences, family environment and dynamics, adopted belief systems, and the limitation of the five senses. Some would go further and postulate that our experience of this life is based on a collective spiritual, and perhaps even ancestral, journey, and/or that we are living a journey already preordained and set out in an exact blueprint. There is the concept of emptiness. There is the idea of heaven. The thought of the collective unconscious. The faith of a higher power. Some even hold true to the fact that we are living in multiple dimensions, creating infinite destinies with each and every decision, each and every breath. Others believe this life is finite–that the real reward rests beyond.

Each of us holds something to be true about our experience of the world: even if that truth is simply believing no truth exists.”

 I understand this is only my idea of my universe. I choose to not place my view onto others, as I recognize my individual limitations to see the whole of what is before me; if in fact, anything exists before me at all. Within the vastness of my mind, I postulate that my higher source is an energetic love, and whether he or she, or even it, bares the face of a recognized deity, God, spiritual being, or other established truth, serves no baring in my determination of what is momentarily true for me.

Whether or not my higher source is the commonly accepted name of any given society—past, present, remote, distant, or near—is no matter to me. Having clung to and/or embraced multiple belief systems and faiths, I have determined, for myself, and me alone, that whatever the masses proclaim to be the form or name of a higher power, does not substantiate or decrease my belief.

I believe the power behind words, particularly the names of gods or deities, comes from the intention of the people proclaiming said names. When a word is spoken by the masses to represent truth and love, then the word reflects truth and love. And I conjecture the opposite to be true.

Like others before me, I believe words and symbols vibrate with collective energy, and that the level of vibration is determined directly by the belief system applied by the individual writing or speaking the word. Each of us experiences a word’s vibration based on the collected whole’s interpretation and in combination with our own life experience and understanding of the word. Words are simply, or not so simply, symbols transformed into pictures, images created in our minds. What I visualize in my mind is ultimately different from what another pictures in his or her mind. The variance of experience is inevitable, but the power behind a given word remains universal.

In current times, the line between science and religion, and other belief systems, regarding human’s state of existence, is becoming narrower and narrower; the line often appearing to vanish, as one sect’s of accepted truth overlaps with another sect’s of truth. I believe any man (woman) who holds onto his or her truth as the exact and only truth to be an innocent one. Inside the elements of my truth, all of us are innocent: for even when one accepts the limitations of the mind, he or she is still grasping at his or her individualized way of interpreting the world. This is not to say that I do not envision my higher power as a particular embodiment, only to say I understand my mind’s limitations.

In actuality, there is current evidence for an ever-changing world and belief system based on individual perception. The science community continues to postulate, from collected data, that an electron’s movement is directly related to the observer. And man has recorded photographs of water crystals forming exact shapes and form based on the vibration of the written words and/or the intention of one’s thoughts. Reality is being captured by man as a state of perpetual transition based on the observer.

I share this with you as a form of preparation. Not for you so much, but for me. As this aspect of myself is a vital piece of who I am, and how I currently present myself through words. In my walking world, where my physical form is present, I often shy away from topics encompassing my reality of life, but here, where I am shedding light on my experience, I find a necessity, at least for today, to be as real and authentic as possible.

Ironically, I aspire to paint with words a picture of my individual reality, while I know this world is not mine to own or create alone.

I’ve included a substantially complex prose entitled Universal Measurement below, which delves deeper into one’s  perception. In no way do I claim this as anyone’s truth. I’m not even certain the writing is what I know to be true. The words are only words, miraculous letters combined to convey a sliver of a glimpse of what I perceived. I still embrace many aspects of the religion I was raised to know; the main difference now is that I acknowledge my own being’s limitations to ever know the exact truth. In peace and love ~ Sam

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Day Twenty-One: Blog Rules 101

| Aspergers Girls

Concerned I might not know the etiquette of blogging, I perused the Internet in search of answers.

Blog Rules 101

1. Don’t vent personal issues about someone else.

2. Take the time to comment without calling names.

3. Don’t drag people into your drama.

4. Mix in a video.

5. Make meaningful charts, articles, tables, and pictures.

6. Monopolizing, hijacking, or steamrolling prohibited.

7. Keep commentary on topic.

8. Don’t gang up on anyone.

9. Racial, ethnic slurs, stereotyping of any kind not tolerated.

10. You can’t copy and paste copyrighted stuff.

11. Be safe—do not share personal information about residence, phone, etc.

12.  Keep religion out of discussions.

13. Say what everyone else thinks. {Psychic!}

14. If someone asks for a critique, offer constructive criticism.

15. Remove constructive negative comments.

16. Have a thoughtful discussion with courtesy and discourse. {discourse means discussion}

17. If you have questions, don’t hesitate to ask.

18. If I overlook a question, ask me again. {Really?}

19. Start all statements with “People are Stupid and here’s why?” {Copied word-for-word.}

20. Include interesting links.

21. Be more creative than the rest.

22. Post at least one guiding question in the blog. {I don’t know why I find that funny.}

23. Have a bigger vision. {I’m going to rule the world!}

24. Let’s agree to be honest but still “sisterly.” {giggling}

25. Don’t be racist or morally offensive.

26. Threats, slander, and violence prohibited.

27. Make sense.

28.  No trolling.

29. No inappropriately long, rambling rants.  {Good thing rants was included.}

30. No threats of any kind.

31. No name calling, particularly if I’m the recipient. {Love the last part.}

32. No nasty, snide, snarcky tone. {It’s snarky.}

33. Be Ladies and Gentlemen.

34. Passion without wallowing in mire. {One of my favorites.}

35. Don’t cyberbully.

36. No real names.

37. Be careful who you talk to. {whom}

38. No inappropriate pictures.

39. Avoid legal entanglement. {laughing again}

40. Cite your sources, check your facts, respect copyright law. {Does this include the copying of super cute images?}

41. Don’t have any private “convosations.”

42. Consider the implications.

43. Purposely don’t follow blogging rules. {Say what?}

44. Add your own rules.  {Okay?}

45. Traditional blogging doesn’t exist. {Oh, no!}

46. Keep posts short. {Oops}

47. Keep posts as long as they have to be. {Deep sigh of relief}

48. Use correct grammar. {I’m dyslexic.}

49. Challenge yourself and others using your critical thinking skills.

50.  Provide value, something worthwhile.

51. Focus on a niche.

52. Insults are not tolerated and will be subject to edit or deletion.

53. Be opinionated. {What’s left to be opinionated about?}

54. Be more extreme than others. {I’m thinking sports.}

55. Get personal.

56. Be more personal than the others. {The mysterious others on the other side of blog island? Lost reference.}

57. Be transparent.

58. Remember kids might read the content.

59. You have to know what you are talking about.

60. You have to want to write it.

61. You have to care about your readers {This from a blog filled with half-naked photos of women.}

62.  Be the best teacher in your niche. {I want an easy niche!}

63. When competitors begin sending customers to your site to understand a topic, you’ll know you’ve won. {So not making sense.}

64.  Be funnier than the others. {Does dorky count?} {More mysterious others.}

65. Your blog should be easy to navigate.

66.  Don’t focus on widgets. {Crap, I seriously love widgets!}

67.  Be the source of timely news.

68. Develop your own strategies.

69. Posting the same thing over and over again is annoying.

70. Posting the same thing over and over again is annoying.

71.  No flaming. {Or hosing}

72. No soliciting. {Try some vita-juice!}

73. Do not engage in criminal behavior.

74. Don’t drag visitors off with comments.

75. Use good judgment.

76. Blog frequently and intelligently.

77. Be trustworthy.

78. Be respectful of other people, especially when you disagree.

79. People will disagree, and might be really mad at you. {Yikes!}

80. Be right.

Conclusion: Blog rules, like all rules in life (especially the social arena rules), sometimes involve basic common sense but can also be restrictive, contradicting, ambiguous, confusing, debatable, and sometimes just downright laughable.

                                                

My Blog Rules:

 1.   Be yourself

2.    If you are a dumb butt or poop head, prepare for deletion.

Just incase you’re wondering: 101 means introductory to something. The reference is to a college course with the course code 101, which in the American system indicates an introductory course, often with no prerequisites.

Feel free to continue onward

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Day Twenty: The Wounded Healer (Enter with Caution: Super Deep)

| Aspergers Girls

The Wounded Healer

Often my philosophical prose presents itself to me as a stream of consciousness.  The words usually come as I am drifting to sleep or just about to awake. This particular philosophical prose The Wounded Healer appeared as I was resting on the acupuncture table. The message was shown as a page, resembling a scroll. I read the words (in my mind) and heard them simultaneously (with my inner voice).  It feels something akin to being a vessel that is downloading information.  This gives me the sense that there is much information in energy itself. I like to tease my husband and say, “I am either a genius or getting help from somewhere.” I tend to believe the latter.

I propose that many of us our wounded healers.

I offer this out as an example of philosophical prose. Take or leave what you want from this. It is my sole intention to shed light on my journey. Blessings ~ Sam

 

“There are many types of healers. They are all brave. No healer is better or lesser than the other. One healer is called The Wounded Healer. Sometimes this may be preferred to as The Wounded Warrior, as they are like warriors, in their undying effort to overcome obstacles and serve. Before coming to this earth Wounded Healers make a soul-contract to answer the calling of a healer. Those that answer the call follow a similar pattern in life; some eventually become healers of great magnitude through various means, others partially complete the process; and still some, as hard as they try to answer the call on this plane, cannot. Still the soul-commitment of a Wounded Healer alone adds to the positive vibration of the earth and heals. And in this way there is always success. A Wounded Healer need do nothing on this planet and still contribute to the healing effect. However, The Wounded Healer that does go on to complete his task will have a huge impact on others’ pain.

Human pain is perceived as physical, emotional, spiritual, mental, and psychological in combination. No pain experienced is singular. Because no pain is singular, Wounded Healers “learn” to understand various levels of pain in their own life. To a great degree, each person on earth has the potential to be a healer. In fact each person in recognizing the light in another human being automatically heals. Thoughts heal. Words heal. But The Wounded Healer varies from many others in that their life’s purpose from birth is to heal. Because of this, there will be distinct markers of a Wounded Healer.

At all times it is beneficial to remember that a Wounded Healer is no greater or lesser than anyone on this plane of existence, and seeing oneself as a Wounded Healer is not meant to elevate or lift a person. In truth a Wounded Healer will feel a great degree of conflict in reading this; not wanting to feel prideful, pleased, or increased in any measure, there will be discomfort in the physical body upon reading these words. For The Wounded Healer’s main objective, above all, is to remain humble in spirit. Without humility, the healing efforts are lessened, not decreased entirely, but depleted with feelings of judgment of self and others. One cannot judge oneself lesser or greater than another, without losing humility. One cannot heal to the greatest degree without humility. Thus, these variants are dependent upon one another; that is to say, give up self to become humble, become humble to heal. Of course, as humans, there is a degree of self-giving and self-worth that is necessary to survive. Therefore, a balance is necessary—that  is to say, for The Wounded Healer there needs to be a balance of healing of others and self-love. Though most Wounded Healers, when reaching the fruit of their calling, will be naturally loved and healed through healing others in humility. And therefore, in its greatest capacity, the healing is contradictory in terms of existing as both self-serving and endowed with humility. This is a complicated matter in considering, but no less necessary to explain.

There are five distinct traits of a Wounded Healer. These traits can be used to identify a healer in yourself or others.

 

(1) Wounded Healers are set on a path of empathy from birth. This is referred to as the “pain-cycle.” Often over-sensitive and naïve in nature, The Wounded Healer will experience pain in all forms before reaching their final role as a Healer of Mankind. This pain will happen throughout many years of their youth, and likely into young adulthood. Some will experience strong degrees of pain for half or more of their life. When this pain-cycle is complete, differs for each healer. When they have experienced the pain intended to experience, the cycle will make a dramatic shift. This will be an obvious shift. Observers will recognize this shift, as will the individual. The shifting of the pain-cycle will feel like a rebirth. This is often predicated by a dramatic change in lifestyle or life choice. This is not to be confused of “hitting bottom” or breaking the cycle of addiction. This is the end result of years of trials and tribulations—one after the other of soul-experience of pain and human-experience of pain, until at last there is a sunrise of a new day. This will literally feel like a “dawning.” There will be no doubt that the pain-cycle has come to an end. Healers will thus still experience pain, pain does not disappear, but the cycle of learning through pain will have ceased to spin.

 

(2) Often, almost all of the time, the child will experience great trauma in childhood. This will be perceived at one pain-level at minimum, most commonly the psychological-level, but very often the pain comes in combination. Wounded healers choose to experience a childhood of trauma in order to obtain a higher degree of empathy. This trauma (during this current time period) can be seen in all forms of abuse, ridicule, shame, addiction, neglect, malnourishment, poverty and abandonment. In the absence of an outside force produced by others, or in combination, the pain may be self-inflicted, as in perceived ailments of the mind or body. This may take the form of disfigurement, or the inability to be considered by others as “normal.” In later life this pain-cycle may manifest itself in the form of repeated unexplained sickness. These traumas will make a mark on the child. Each mark will serve as a greater good in the years that follow. Each mark indicates a pain that will be released from another being other than the healer. This can be visualized as slashes on the skin. A Wounded Healer carries these slashes that have turned to scars. Each person they heal at a later date will cause a healer’s scar to heal. Thus it follows the more scars a child experiences, the mores pains she is destined to remove from others. But remember, the number of scars is not equated to the number of people. In the process of healing only one person, all of the healer’s scars can vanish. In this way, a Wounded Healer’s soul-purpose may be to heal only one. Whether one or millions are healed is of no difference. Healing one has as much power and magnitude as healing millions. There is no lesser or greater; this is of up most importance to remember. Therefore, a Wounded Healer may complete his contract by healing one or healing many.

 

(3) All Wounded Healers are called to serve since childhood. It is not uncommon for the child to know before the age of ten what they aspire to be. Whether this vocation transforms rapidly or slowly is dependent upon the pain-cycle the person is to experience. Some will arrive at the vocation at a young age, while other will change jobs many times before answering the call.  Still others will slowly transition.  All life experience will benefit the Healer’s vocation. In childhood, The Wounded Healer will seek out ways to help others. Oversensitive, they will feel drawn to saving, nursing, rescuing, and easing discomfort. They will notice the wonders of nature that others often overlook. They will cry if a creature is hurt. They will cry if a person is hurt. At one point, in an attempt to survive, they will learn to stop crying as much, and this can cause much inner turmoil. These children will seem wise beyond their years. They will have the strong need to serve the greater good. They will often feel like failures and not good enough. This will be mistaken for low self- esteem. This is not so. These souls have a strong, if not all encompassing need to serve and heal, and when they cannot do so they feel suffocated, inadequate, weak, and not good enough. They might be mistaken by others as depressed, failures, dreamers, or perfectionists.  Emotions may be out of control.

 

4)  All wounded healers are empathic and also considered Empathic Healers. The Empathic Healers carry empathic traits, but do not necessarily carry all the traits of a Wounded Healer. The Wounded Healer includes the qualities of an Empathic Healer. However, an Empathic Healer may or may not have the traits of the Wounded Healer, such as: traumatic childhood and pain-cycle. In distinguishing the two, there is no urgency or necessity. But for clarity we point out the difference. Traits of an Empathic Healer include the ability to read the emotional energy field outside of a person. This can or cannot be seen. Usually the energy is felt more than seen. But seeing can be developed with focused practice and attention. Empathics have the ability to pick up on others’ emotional state. They may feel “depleted” in energy around other people, especially in crowds. This is a falsehood to consider the experience a “depletion.” This interpretation implies that there is not enough energy left in the person, and that something has been removed, taken, leaked, or escaped. There is no depletion of energy that is possible. What is happening is the person is taking the others’ energy and reworking the energy so to say, and then returning the energy cleansed to the others. This is like a doctor removing a sample of blood, cleaning the blood, and returning the blood. Only the Empathic Healer is the doctor, the tube holding the blood, and the source of healing. Thus the Empathic Healer is left feeling tired from the process. There is no danger in this except the feeling of exhaustion and the possible susceptibility to taking on another’s pain instead of cleansing the pain. Each Empathic Healer will have to learn how to protect themselves from exhaustion and the transfer of pain. The key is to recognize ultimately there is no pain, and thus, what is really happening is an energy transfer, a giving of one to heal another at a soul-level. This “healing” is complicated, but it is suffice to say the one must recognize the other for the earth to heal, although, even this is very much not the true and ultimate meaning.

 

5)  All wounded healers are repeatedly humbled. This begins in childhood and does not stop for the course of a lifetime. For in order to heal to the greatest degree, as mentioned before, the person must practice and live in humility. Each will do so in various degrees. The greatest healers and shifters of mankind will be the most humble. We need not look far to see who these souls were that existed to transform this world. Not all souls who are Wounded Healers will retreat to the greatest of humility, there will be varying degrees based on culture and the necessity to affect change. How others perceive the healer is still important. Societal rules and regulations, and the status of a person, can all affect the perceived skill of the healer. Therefore, each Healer will have different degrees of humility. Not all seekers will feel comfortable with a half naked man with no teeth. Therefore, Healers are colored in all patterns, and dressed in robes that will attract those needed to fulfill their highest good. This may mean no robe, a tattered robe, a designer robe, or a robe of gold; what matters is not the robe the healer wears but what he houses beneath. A Wounded Healer will heal. This is a matter of practicality. There is no way she cannot.

 

Wounded since childhood, and sometimes before entering this plane, the soul of The Wounded Healer will seek out help from an early age. They will attempt to remove the pain in many methods. Many of the methods will lead to further humility. Sources such as strict religion, addictive relationships, drugs, alcohol, gambling, overwork, and the like will often accompany the Wounded Healer in his journey through the pain-cycle. Many will seek help through doctors, psychics, energy-healers, therapists, clergy, and counselors, and in this way continue to be humbled. Others may succumb to mental collapse or physical breakdown. Again, they will be stripped to the bare bone. Some will experience great pain through loss and affliction repeatedly, which end results leads to humility. The pain-cycle will continue. When the fruitful time has arrived, The Wounded Healer will break free from the pain-cycle. This is different for each person. If one were to know when the pain would end, this would be no different then knowing the age of death. On knowing the age of death all life is unavoidably lived and experienced differently. Therefore The Wounded Healer has made an agreement to not know when the pain-cycle will end, in order not to affect change or the end result.

Even as the pain-cycle ends, pain remains to a degree. Humility remains, as does the ability to see in others what is in thy own self. Humility then becomes a coat of armor and a friend. A blessed companion we thank the heavens for creating. For in this grand humility we find the comfort of knowing what has come before has served to heal.

In evaluating a Wounded Healer it is best not to use logic but instead to rely on instinct and feeling. A healer of such magnitude, who carries the armor of humility and the pain of many scars, will be notable to you on many levels. First, and foremost, they will carry with them a peace and inner light so that you will have a tendency to feel that you “know” the person or want to know them. You will be attracted to The Wounded Healer and not necessarily know why. This of course is after the completion of the pain-cycle—before this you might actually be propelled away or want to escape. But we speak of the end of the pain-cycle, when the cloak of humility, grace and service is evident. In this time seek you signs of a welcomed presence. This Healer will seem wise beyond his years, will gravitate towards serving others for the sake of healing alone, and will often be serious-minded and unable to easily let go and relax. Overall, in considering The Wounded Healer it is important to remember their coat of humility. For whatever they may say or do, or seem to say or do through your perception, their ultimate goal is healing.” ~ Sam

(No editing was applied to this prose. This all came out in one quick sitting.)

 

 

Day Nineteen: Return to Planet Earth

| Aspergers Girls

 

I believe, without a doubt, I have Aspergers. And I believe Aspergers affects me on multiple levels. I believe I am handicapped in ways, because of this syndrome. I uphold that what my diagnosis means to anyone, beyond myself, is inconsequential. While I love and care about others unconditionally, I am aware that when I care how others’ perceive me, and let their opinions affect my esteem, then ego is stepping in. Thusly, I have been actively releasing ego-attachments associated with the title of Asperger’s Syndrome. And  I’ve been actively telling myself to not use the diagnosis as an excuse, such as a reason to not leave the house, to escape into isolation, to fixate more, etc. I forgive myself for partaking in this natural process of swinging to one extreme on the pendulum of attachment and emotional-response to the other, before finding a restful state of equilibrium.

Yes, the Aspergers title has enabled me to understand myself at a very profound level. And I support others who are seeking a diagnosis and/or self-understanding. But I no longer choose to let the diagnosis define my personhood. 

 Sam Craft’s Expedition Journal (February 2012) Semi-Fictional

Day One: Upon receiving my official diagnosis of Asperger’s Syndrome, I have subsequently clung onto the title. Beginning to understand the implications of diagnosis.

Day Two: My diagnosis now qualifies as a life preserver, as the term Aspergers appears to be keeping me afloat, as I relive aspects of my past and evaluate my perception of reality. Mental connections observed. Huge relief in finding semblance of answers, preponderance of flashbacks. Mild-degree of depression. Reality shifting.

Day Three: Uncertain if clinging is beneficial. Is this need to grasp onto a title indeed part of my Asperger’s brain or part of my soul’s journey? Many questions emerging.

Day Four: If Aspergers is a man-made diagnosis, does it exist? Still clinging to title.

Day Five: I’ve met others who recognize me and validate my experience. I have found my people. I am proud to have Aspergers! I no longer care if I am clinging. Neurotypicals of planet earth do not understand me.

Day Six: Preparing for trip to Planet Aspie. Confirmation received: I am of alien decent. Leaving behind all prior diagnosis, roles, and identities, in hopes of forging ahead to new frontier. I have reclaimed my spaceship. Excited. Final goodbyes to cruel earth.

Day Seven: Take Off! Less and less grounded, but filled with hope.

Day Eight: Assimilated successfully with my kin. Partying, connecting. Don’t miss earth one bit, or anything I left behind.

Day Nine: Trouble breathing. Don’t know how much longer I can survive here. I fear if I depart I will lose clarity of self and multiple connections in new community. Gasping for air. Disappointed and discouraged by predicament.

Day Ten: Breathing remains labored. Beginning to reconsider options. I miss earth. I miss who I was. Understanding my identity, views, and reasoning have become obstructed and marred by the mere act of defining myself as an alien from Planet Aspie. Forgotten who I was.

Day Eleven: I’ve been forced to make preparations to leave planet, after a radio signal I picked up from earth, on a social network frequency:

“Isn’t it strange how folks pigeon holed by their ‘labels’ want to be recognized for their ‘labels’, yet don’t want to be pigeon holed by labels?” ~ K

Day Thirteen: Ego wounded on planet. A fellow alien wrote the following message on the  side of my spacecraft:

“I’ve never considered it a disability. You take the good with the bad. Asperger’s gives one good analytical thinking and attention to detail, useful traits wouldn’t you say?

Social skills aren’t hard to learn if you work at it…How could you compare a social impediment with…? That’s being perhaps a little bit whiny and self-obsessed.

If- perchance- you’re offended, I don’t blame my asperger’s. I blame myself. If I’ve crossed the line here, I’m sorry and it’s my fault.” ~ J

Resulting consequence: I became self-absorbed and remained (momentarily) in a feeble-state of wounded-ego. I understand now, the message was not a direct attack upon my personhood, and that I only felt attacked because I’ve wrapped my identity in a spacesuit of Aspergers. Though I disagree with aspects of the message and tone, these words carry nothing but ego-bullets. To avoid further injury, I am returning to planet earth where I can better control ego, (and breathe).

Day Fourteen: Ego-attachment to Aspergers identity is still very strong, as I buckle in and prepare for departure.

Day Fifteen: Touched down on Planet Earth. Immediately reunited with vital parts of self. Ego in balance. Collecting parts of personhood that I left behind. Mourning loss of identity. Breathing still labored.

Day Sixteen: Planting a new garden of identity that hosts a multitude of vegetation. Seeds in place. Breathing normal. Earthlings are loving, indeed. Aliens no longer exist. All beings on same journey.

Day Seventeen: Successfully integrated all Aspergers’ traits back into the whole of my personhood. Ego at bay. Nolonger in need of a self-definition to exist. Breathing is divine.

Day Eighteen: Flowers are in full bloom in garden. Welcoming beauty. Anchored in awareness. Seeing others as a reflection of my perceptions. Continue to learn.

Day Nineteen: Accepting and loving all parts of self. Witnessed another earthling blast off to Planet Aspie. Will remain in garden waiting for her to return. Sending her love and light.

 

Day Eighteen: A Sports Bar Induced Stroll Down Memory Lane —

| Aspergers Girls

 

Oh boy! Did you luck out! I ranted on and on about fake cheese, before I forced my finger to hit delete. Little voice protested, but I prevailed.

Thank you for being there. I pictured you listening to my witty prose. Fortunately for you, I erased the massive mess that oozed out of my brain. If I’d typed on a typewriter for an hour, and used whiteout to correct all my spelling errors, I’d be phoning you, and reciting the entire post. Like I said, you totally (born and raised in California) lucked out! Seriously! Wipe the sweat off of your forehead and shout Amen!

I have to be fair and offer out that not all my posts are going to be Bambi-Little-April-Shower-happy. The song I would jump up and down on my bed to, when I was five. I’m listening to the song as I type.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=168kHWL-GXw

Okay, it’s hard to type to this beat!

Boy, talk about a repetitive song.

Memories flowing back.

So lovely….

Wait.

Scary music? Haunted house, theme-park ride music?

Okay, bad analogy: Little April Shower is not as chipper as I remember.

I didn’t sleep well, and blame the tossing and turning on the fake cheese. I went to a bar yesterday—that’s where the fake cheese came in. (This was written on Thursday, so it was actually the day before yesterday. Not that it matters, but I’ve got that whole honesty thing going on.)

I had some quesadillas that probably wouldn’t have qualified as food.

A bar? Are you crazy? Perhaps. (I’m serious. No smiling!)

A group of classmates at the university, that studious-me attends, were headed out for a celebration. (I just deleted an entire paragraph about my theories of why people drink. Another Amen.) This was my first invite to a bar in eons. My little voice (inside my head) was excited, and she said: “OH, this could be a fun experiment! We could blog about it!”

She was all sweet and convincing, and giving me all these facts, like I need to be brave and bond with my peer group. We had a little argument, little voice and I, as I stood in the elevator, stuck and not going anywhere with four of my classmates. After a good four minutes, I said, “Hey. Did anyone press the number one?” We all had a good laugh, and little voice used that as further nectar for her warped plan.

When I arrived at the noisy, crowded sports bar, the only place left to perch was in the far corner; which would have been tolerable, maybe even preferred, except I had to sit by two gentlemen from class. And my least favorite social thing to do in the whole entire of all the universe, both discovered and undiscovered, is to engage in small chat with men, particularly men I hardly know. In retrospect this situation easily merited me ordering a glass of wine.

But, nooooo! little voice was adamant that I had to be the real me, and not compromise my normal behavior in order to attempt to fit in. (She’s on some trip with that lately. It’s rather annoying. Years of functioning without recourse through role-playing and pretend, and now she has to go and be all real.) Thusly, against my really-wanting-booze judgment, I ordered a Shirley Temple. And then, to torture little voice, I ate two, very-bad-for-me cherries. While little voice was going on about the red dye health hazards of cherries, I ignored her and pictured myself cuddled up at home watching the series Breaking Bad.

But soon, I was interrupted with the same old tapes playing in my head, (or cd’s or Blu-Ray discs): What to say? How to say it? When to say it? How to sit? Where to look? When to smile? Blah, blah, blah.

I did receive a table-full of laughs when I mistook the miniature trivia, game-playing contraption (one of seven the waitress plopped on our table) for an ATM machine. I kept asking, while holding my little blue machine up high, “How does the machine know what I ordered for dinner? What buttons do I press? How does it know me?” Before looking for the slot to put my debit card in.

It’s nice to know that the whole over-my-head quality I had in high school, hasn’t changed. (Sorry…I know I do this a lot. But what does over my head mean, literally? Is it facts flying over me? Am I ducking? If I stood up taller or jumped, would I reach the adequate information?)

I ordered a Shirley Temple, instead of my standard water (usually bottled or sparkling, but bars usually don’t have that. I think it’s a conspiracy to make me order alcohol). I ordered a S. Temple, because in first grade, I lived right around the block from Shirley Temple Black. I used to walk up to her wrought iron gate, daydreaming about getting her autograph for my spy notebook, and try to figure out why she changed her name. I ordered the soda, for the sole purpose of saying: Shirley Temple. But no one knew that. Just like no one knew I can’t stand soda.

The bar visit wasn’t as terrible as it could have been. I managed the small talk, okay. Overall, I’m pretty darn proud of me, and even thankful to little voice, (just don’t tell her), because I faced a huge fear without a best friend, or even a friend, by my side.

As I was sharing with you, just now, I was reminded of my love of Shirley Temple’s: On the Good Ship Lollipop. I can still feel my feet pressing into the golden fibers of our shag carpet. And visualize my dog, Justice, a black mutt, dancing around with me. The way dogs dance.

I was obsessed with the Pledge of Allegiance back then, and would recite the entire pledge, just to get to the line: And Justice for All! That’s when Justice would come running to me. It was a game I played several times a day. It wasn’t until years and years later, when I was in my early twenties, that I realized And Justice for All was the last line of the pledge. For some reason I thought the line came earlier. I made my friends and relatives say the entire pledge, too. That’s how things worked at my house. We pledged to my dog. That’s saying something; now isn’t it?

While dancing with Justice, I had a difficult time picturing Shirley Temple’s Lollipop Ship, and trouble understanding how a ship was good.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1r4bbgv1If8

I think, if I’d had an inner-Blu-Ray-disc playing back then, I would have seen the ship as a cross between the Love Boat and the S.S. Minnow (Gilligan’s Island.)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H2XfQo1YguY (copy and paste for Gilligan’s Island)

Every chance I had, I would watch Gilligan’s Island. The show was great exercise for my brain. I thought: Why did they pack all those things on a tiny ship for a three-hour trip? How did all those clothes and furniture fit on the tiny ship? Why wasn’t my favorite Mary Ann in the opening scene? And why didn’t Gilligan get to be the leader of the gang? I mean, he was a mighty sailor man and fearless. And the entire island was named after him!

I guess since I’ve provided this whole telling about my childhood music and television show fixation, I might as well include the lyrics/song I would scribe in pencil on my desk, every single day as a freshman in Massachusetts. Everyday I wrote, then erased. I desperately missed California. At home, I would play the song over and over on my record player and later in my head. Even with my dyspraxia and dyslexia, I memorized the song to perfection. Little voice sang the lyrics all the time. Oh, listening to the words now brings me back. Makes me want to cry for that little girl in a strange state (as in Massachusetts).

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NUbTW928sMU

In the end, my short trip to the sports bar paid off, after all. I was able to share some of my favorites and take a trip down memory lane. Thanks for taking the trip with me, and for packing lightly.