aspergers

352: Here Comes the Mud

| Aspergers Girls

Last night I dreamt two boys, my son and a friend’s son, had painted my stairs with clay-colored shit. On close examination, it wasn’t shit at all, but mud they’d dug out of the water-creek area centered at the heart of our house, the outside elements inside, below the stairs. There were shovels there; they’d been digging for water in fun, until they were scolded by my friend, the one boy’s mother, for spreading shit inside the house. She had climbed down and brought up a clump in her hand, smelled it and insisted it was crap. I, then, knowing this to be false, proceeded to the site of the wet muddy bank and scooped up my own lump. I held it to my face, with only a touch of doubt, and inhaled deeply. It was dirt. I was certain. Wet dirt. “It’s not shit,” I insisted, a bit irritated, but thankful feces were not smeared across my carpeted steps; but my friend, the son’s mother, she insisted it was shit. And that was that. The last words spoken: Shit.

I think my angels are telling me something. It’s actually quite clear. Where I am at right now, currently, feels like shit, looks like shit, and even, quite frankly, when I first wake up, tastes like shit; but a part of me, the analytical and hope-filled part, she knows it is just all mud, and like all mud, this too will be swept up in the rain, cleansed and removed.

This is all coming about, this feeling of “shit” because of my hormones and that “time of the month,” aka
“Hell.”

I have gained weight. The weight gain could be the result of the reduction of thyroid pill, or my binge eating from PMS, or reduced walking…… or just the cold winter season. Regardless, bodily changes freak me out. Really do, to the point I don’t want to wear nice clothes and I don’t want to leave the house.

Unless of course I deem the changes positive.

And it makes no difference how often someone reassures me I am still pretty or enough, or beautiful on the inside. It just doesn’t. I get comfortable when I weigh less. Not super skinny, just enough skinny so the fat doesn’t disgust me.

Now, other people, like my friends, if they gain a little weight, I don’t care! It’s so unfair. I really don’t care if they are ten pounds heavier or one hundred, as long as they are healthy and happy. They are lovely no matter what. (sidebar: In all honesty, I have to say with boyfriends in the past and in considering my husband’s weight gain or weight loss, I can be bothered, because I see that person daily and….clearing throat….naked.) And I mean that. Some people even look better with a little more weight. Especially as the female face ages and grows more gaunt. But for me I have a double-standard. I must be a certain weight or I am deemed “not enough.”

Truth be told, last I prayed, I wished to go head-to-head with my bodily issues and with my hang ups on appearance. To face the demons. So here it is! The shit, at least appearance of shit, being dug up and hitting not only the fan, but the stairs leading to advancement and a higher place…hmmmmmm Tricky angels I have.

I must be careful what I pray for. I must. I must!.

When I gain weight, I wig. I spazzzzz. I obsess. My “fatness” becomes my fixation.

For me, it feels like my weight is one of the few things in this world I can find familiarity in; something that doesn’t shift and vary with each ticking second.

I hate being me right now.. I would pay someone to take me ahead five years, preferably un-aged, to menopause. Don’t age my children though; I don’t want to miss out. I just can’t stand these spikes in emotions.

I blame some of this on the changes of hormones since I stopped the natural pig hormone for thyroid issues. The pig hormone, I concluded after much research, was causing peaks of progesterone and then rapid drops which lead to the muscles in my tongue responding while I slept, which led to waking up with sore throats, which led to a head cold every month for two days before my period. And cystic acne (which I never had before) caused by the imbalance of other hormones.

Even though I quoted 50 other people whom had cited cystic acne after starting thyroid meds, my natural path didn’t believe me; however, my gynecologist did. And I have been doing this ping-pong battle of rights and wrongs in my head for seven weeks. “Stop the thyroid pill for six months, and then get retested” ……words served by gynecologist. “Cut the pill in half”… words served by natural path doctor.
I stopped. All symptoms seized. Weight came on quicker.

Well I have grown not to trust my natural path doctor. Even though I adore her and have trusted her for the last two years.

She had me at thyroid levels well enough left alone and then upped the dose in August to decrease my levels more. And as a result I was in a state of hyper-thyroid behavior for months, e.g., hair falling out, heart beating fast, rapid thoughts, increased OCD and need to process, and not gaining weight, no matter what I ate.

Now, my body is confused, as I’ve stopped, or not so much confused, but readjusting, and the equilibrium they are finding is not to my liking. I hate feeling tightness around my waist. And I hate disliking my image, an image I already was uncomfortable with, but slowly getting used to before I began to change…again.

I do not like the uncertainty of the world. I can’t deal with it at times. I can’t deal with anything right now: no noise, no decisions, no nothing; and this is likely why I have been housebound for three days, entirely on the couch or at my dining room table, fixated on organizing my blog and talking to others, fixating on escaping who I am.

I don’t get it, and I don’t get me; and I don’t like how hormones happenings can change ME. I dislike health issues; they are my major tipping point, my trigger, a fear-based swampland. I don’t do well with anything related to sickness. But even in the fowl, muddy-mood I am in, I do recognize my fear of health issues has in the last two months decreased ten-fold…a miracle in itself.

Which leads me to my angels. I can feel them still, sitting back and watching me go through this mucky mud. I know they are there. I know this is necessary for whatever reason. But it doesn’t stop me from wanting to turn them into visible, little fairies that I can stomp on for pleasure.

They get that. They do. And I think I can hear them laughing at the joke, and even giggling in relief they don’t have to be human. But I do. And it sucks. It stinks like shit even though I know it “ain’t.” And that’s the hell of it: Knowing it’s passing mud, but feeling and believing it’s shit that sticks.

I don’t know what to do except to write it out, to pound it out, and hope that someone out there is touched and healed, or at least relieved in some way. Perhaps in the knowing that as hard as I try, as much as I do, as strong as my faith is, that sometimes through it all, all I see is shit.

351: My Next Step

| Aspergers Girls

I have been spending the past few days going through my first 70 posts. You can find the links under Helpful Pages to the left, in the sidebar menu. I will be doing the same for all of the posts. About 300 left to sort through.

I am organizing my writings for several reasons:

1) To view where I was in comparison to where I am now.
2) To sort the posts in a fashion that will be user-friendly for readers.
3) To reflect upon what my next step will be.

This process of sorting is similar to stacking toy blocks or sorting toy cars. The process allows me to forget my own mind for a bit and to momentarily escape.

I find myself at a fork in the road. I have been in contact with the editor of the journal I write for; she is a wonderful person currently assisting me as I process through my next step regarding creating a book. I would like to collect these works into hardcopy book form. Something people can hold in their hands. And something I can hold in mine.

I made the committment to self to write 365 posts, because that number symbolizes a year and a full-circle journey. That end-date is swiftly approaching. In seeing this endpoint, I recognize an ending represents a beginning as well. Not a new start, as new starts are available every moment, but a new beginning: a leaping point that will take me in a new direction.

I have some anxiety associated with newness and the unknown. A part of me would like to be fearless and entirely optimistic about the future, but a part of me recognizes this fear is part of my journey at the moment.

I don’t know what to do, or where to go, in regards to my writing and my vocation. I do know I want to serve and I serve well through words and creating safe places. I do know I need to consider my physical challenges and my own Aspergers, as I am quickly depleted if I am out of the house too much or around large crowds.

I have worries. I worry that if I attempt to put my works into a book I shall become ego-attached. I worry about who will want to read what I have written and wonder if this endeavor to make a book all be for naught. I don’t know if I should seek out an agent, publisher, or self-publish. I wonder what will happen when I open this new door. I wonder about rejection and allowing myself to feel wounded and “not enough.”

This blog has become a very safe place for me. A haven. I risk, but I don’t usually feel fear associated with risking. I feel at home. Like a sibling free to be herself amongst her brothers and sisters. I feel sheltered. I thank you for this.

Outside of this blog, I felt unsafe.

I am trying to visualize my next place. I am wanting answers. I am wanting to see the future. So much is a blur. I see myself utilizing my masters degree in education and speaking to others. But I don’t know about what. My heart is at home when I am connecting to my poetry and spiritual writings. I feel the healing there. But at the same time I know my work with Aspergers is vital, at least at this moment.

I have a lot of works here, a couple hundred pages of auto-biographical stories alone. There are also many poems, automatic writing and precognitive spiritual experiences, silly life experiences, examples of the inner-workings of my mind, and more.

I am not sure where to begin. I am not sure how to sort and organize this. I am uncertain what is important and what is not. And the anxiousness that comes with wanting to piece together a puzzle, and the need to dissect and sort, is here.

I want to magically awaken and have someone come and say: Here, here is the answer. Or better yet: I will do it for you!

I want to be surrounded in compassionate support, deep understanding, and unconditional love.

I want my angels to show me the exact steps and the exact outcome.

Here are some questions I need answers to:

1) What do you think would be beneficial for me to do with these works?

2) What works on this blog are you most drawn to?

3) What works on this blog have helped you the most and in what way?

4) Do you have a viewpoint about self-publishing verses searching for a literary agent?

5) Where do you see these works having an effect? (e.g., college university, females with aspergers)

6) What are your own thoughts or hunches about this blog?

Thank you very much for listening. I welcome all ideas and thoughts with love.

In Love and Light,

Sam

350: Crap! I have this. That’s all she wrote.

| Aspergers Girls

Crap! I have this (too). That’s all she wrote.

PMDD

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Premenstrual_dysphoric_disorder

http://www.mayoclinic.com/health/pmdd/AN01372

Here is a fellow blogger with Aspergers who writes about PMDD. http://worldwecreate.blogspot.ca/2013/03/how-to-deal-with-pmdd-part-2.html

And after lots of processing…she wrote a bit more!
Okay…. are studies being done about this COMT enzyme??? It affects emotions and executive functioning?? AND is thought to be possible cause of PMDD!!!

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Catechol-O-methyl_transferase

Could not feasibly the symptoms of PMDD be used as an additional indicator of Aspergers in Women, since there is the strong connection with the variant enzyme of COMT in people with autism? Yes, indeed, I believe so. I love my brain.

346: The Love I Am (A review of emotions, joy, fear, and pain)

| Aspergers Girls

I remember sitting on my bed in my early twenties and realizing with a sudden revelation that I did not know how to feel joy. In fact, in analysis, I concluded then that in the past several years I had not recognized many emotions. Generally I felt anxious, nervous, over-concerned, shy, out-of-place, insecure, depressed, sad, and worried. That was all I could feel. I could not feel anger. I could not feel love. My feelings for my significant other were all wrapped around fear of abandonment. I could feel fear.

I went from extreme emotional highs to extreme lows. I now believe this was not biologically induced. I think I made myself purposely cycle through thought-processes. If I was not extremely high (overly-anxious, overly-obsessed, overly-concerned), I was extremely low (unable to leave the house, fatigued, depressed). There wasn’t a manic high of joy, elation, grandiose thoughts, and magical-viewing of the environment and self. In the high-state there was only this inability to let go of fear, which led me to act out (OCD-like behavior, rituals, non-stop analysis) in order to eliminate thoughts. In the low-state there was the same inability to let go of fear, but my efforts to eliminate the thoughts were displayed through withdrawing, sleeping, and retreat.

I still go through these same states. Though I now know what the middle ground of emotions feels like. I think I “make” myself go through these states in an attempt to feel joy. I used to only feel joy when I was transitioning from one state (low) to the other (high). And even then, only for a fleeting moment.

In the past, and at this moment, I cannot experience this sensation of fleeting joy/happiness without the anxiety tagging along and questioning me, like some annoying tailgating friend I attempted to shake of millions of times before: “Are you sure you’re happy? Is this happiness? Will it last? How do you know it is happiness? Why are you happy? Are you being selfish? Is this self-based?”

My being seems incapable of holding onto this type of joy, and joy alone. This joy has to have companions of suspicion, dread, over-analysis, and such. And I utilize the word “have” because that is how the experience registers for me.

In the same line of thought, my extreme lows which include the inability to move, the discomfort of being me, and the fatigue of simply thinking, comes too with a posse of entities—emotions garbed as “why again,” “what is happening,” “why can’t I control my own self.”

This doesn’t feel like a mood disorder to me, though I see how my behaviors, and possibly thoughts, would present themselves as so. To me, this teeter-tottering is always pinpointed to an exact spot of awakening to the highest step of anxiety or lowest step of deep sorrow. I can find a reason. I can in retrospect see where I was switched from one extreme to the other.

Typically, I feel the mixture of joy and dread when I have 1) Accomplished a goal that I was afraid I would never accomplish; 2) Accomplished a goal in which I was fixated from the start and glad to be done; 3) Completed something I was dreading for days; 4) Received good news after worrying about bad news; 5) Received a compliment about my appearance, as I am insecure about the way I physically look.

In review, each of these supposed “joys” is accompanied by a fear or “negative aspect.” For example, in number one, “I was afraid,” and in number two “I was fixated.”

For a long time, this was the only way I could feel sporadic spurts of mixed joy: by attaching a fear or negative aspect, and then with some stimuli (another person, place, thing, event, words) the negative aspect is momentarily released and that moment of release feels to me akin to joy. For me, when the negative aspect I placed on self is temporarily removed, joy steps in.

In fact, in my mind, and in my scenario of feeling, I cannot feel this type of joy without first attaching an element of “negativity” and/or “fear.”

In contrast, in my moments of fear, in my low state, I have attached hope or the “best case scenario.” I create in my mind the release, the escape, or the rescue and I wait. I set myself in a cage, much akin to a prison, where I’ve locked myself away in darkness, and then wait. What I am waiting for is the removal of deep pain, and I have decided, somewhere deep in my mind or spirit that this removal will only happen in a specific way. For example, in sighting past experiences, this might be, this release of pain through the removal of a stimuli: an illness going away, a person coming and going, a meeting passing, a phone call received.

Here seems to be the tipping point, or the starting point of where my fleeting joy begins. While I sit readily in this cage of misery, I am creating the future of joy I hope to see. Whilst worrying immensely in a non-stoppable way and running through all the possibilities and strings of variable outcomes I can, I am in a direct way preparing to feel release and joy in the near future. This is to me, seemingly like a junkie in need of an adrenaline high. I am making myself increasingly low, so when the event or stimuli arises that apparently lifts me from outside of my self-inflicted prison, I am brought to a state of infinite fleeting freedom. In extreme emotion, I am brought high above myself and able to at last feel beyond suffering. I am creating my own high.

It is only in the in between state, between the middle part of prison and the freedom of elation that I feel the fleeting joy. I quickly rise past the joy to the state of high-anxiety, as the doubts and questioning sets in. This is why, after much processing about a possible scenario that could lead to my demise, failure, rejection or the lot, I will appear momentarily elated with relief when the scenario does not turn out in the thousand terrible ways I thought, but then I will quickly switch of the invented and created false feeling of joy and question my emotion. This will then put me in a state of shutdown, where I am wondering why I worried to the degree of physical and emotional, even spiritual ache, for the gift of fleeting fake joy brought on by a self-invented high.

Is this indeed a process I have created in an attempt to feel human? In an attempt to feel what “I am supposed to feel?” Am I lacking something or some chemical? I don’t think so.

I think this is the way my mind works itself out of confusion, in an attempt to unravel all the thoughts that are bombarding me, including all the stimuli, constant awareness, and confusion. I think this is my mind’s way of putting me into protection. I think in my cell of worry is the only time I feel safe from the world. To me, the fear-state is more liken to protection and safety than the joy state. For joy crashes and fear remains. Fear is predictable and stays with me as I loop and over-think; joy emerges as this falsehood and leaves me abandoned.

Do I like the cell perhaps more than I acknowledge? Is the cell the darkness I need to retreat to in order to renew? Am I, like the caterpillar, in need of continual metamorphoses? And if I am turning into a butterfly from the retreat out of darkness then why do my wings suddenly disappear?

In living, I have gained some recognition of middle emotions, the more subtle emotions of: satisfaction, contentment, serenity, connection, gentle-anticipation; but as these subtle emotions surface and are identified, I analyze where they have come from. I wonder which came first, my own thought, or the emotion; and often conclude my thought brought this emotion; and then I go into a place of deep thinking of when and where this thought came into existence that caused this emotion, and if this is indeed an emotion I welcome; and if this emotion comes from a place of selflessness, ego-release, and love. If the emotion/thought, both spun out together with thought in a slight lead, are not from a place of benefit for me and others, I then review why I have created these non-beneficial thoughts.

Where before for four-decades I was highly unaware of my own thoughts and emotions, and felt numb to the world, unless in a place of extreme anxiety or extreme low, now I am highly-aware of my experience, each moment analyzing and questioning my experience here, in this place I have been told isn’t really here at all. I have fed myself with so much factual data, through various sources and through moments of awakenings, that I cannot help but to try to place my own emotional/thought experience into a category.

My mind categorizes. I was built, I believe to a degree, to sort and categorize, to circumvent my emotional wiring and dig beneath and pull out what is occurring. I am a computer analyzing the computer-self. The mind boggles and I am left, wishing to do nothing but to be simple in the extreme, to wash away the complexity and start again anew and refreshed.

In an attempt to pull myself out of myself, I continually study and analyze, not just words and visual sources, but thoughts and happenings. I analyze the trees, the sky, the movement of all, even the invisible and untouchable. I analyze because I am attempting to take the moment I am set free from prison, to capture that fleeting flicker, and rise with this moment in true form of butterfly.

The dilemma is in finding myself lost in self, and reviewing the past data (Eastern philosophies of escape from mind), and then trying to understand this absence of thought, as I am built to a degree where the past ways of transcending (absence of thought; deep meditation in silence of mind) and completing the process of thought (silence and retreat after reflection) are foreign. I seem incapable of mastering my own mind enough to sit in the stillness of release. My brain appears so high-powered by some high-force that I am suited best for the prison of darkness as my retreat.

But there is hope, always hope.

And this hope is found in one way.

I have been able to at last find rescue from my own self in the act of giving of self. When I come from a place of pure intention to give without recognition or reward, I am set free. This is where the butterfly is meant to fly.

What I have been doing for so long is releasing myself from the cage and giving myself the imagined joy. I have been trying to hold onto a joy for self, and to build up self with joy, as this is what has been demonstrated by society: to make myself happy; to be happy; to find happiness. But this is not right; at least not my right, if right was to be.

I am not put here to make myself happy. I don’t need to be happy. Innately, beneath this façade of thoughts that generates a façade of emotions, I am happy. And I know this. I am not confused by self. I am confused by the thoughts and emotions, because beneath I am a spirit having a human experience. But my suit, my human suit is not adjusted, it is open enough so that the experience of human is confusing, debilitating, and disconcerting; I have spent eons, or what appears eons, trying to master my thoughts and emotions, when the freedom is not found in mastery of the invisible and illusion: mastery is found in the release of this humanness.

There is no direct way to self, as I am already self. There is no direct way to free myself of thoughts and emotions, as they do not even exist. They are not real.

Yes, I feel. Yes, I experience. But ultimately after a lifetime of analyzing my own experience, I see the illusion I have created. And though I stand in a lonely place at times, in reality, in my reality, I am finally able to grasp joy, and this joy is not fleeting. This joy does not bring out invisible scissors that eventually clip and remove my wings. I do not bleed from this joy, nor do I suffer.

I am attuning self enough to know that false joy will not last, and thusly this false, self-created, and self-wanting joy feels poisonous to me. I want to spit the falsehood out, and bring out the reinforcement of armies with swords in hand and slice away at false joy with question. I feel attacked when the questions come, when the illusion of joy is destroyed, but I am not attacking anything but illusion upon illusion. I am not attacking anything but selfish want and selfish joy.

Joy to me is only found in giving. This is my place of joy. This is how I am wired. I have been trying to live like the rest say to live, to fill myself in order to be fulfilled. But I am ultimately fulfilled when another is fulfilled. I am filled when I am able to bring joy to another. I am filled when the love I have for another is received. I am filled when I know in my deepest knowing that I am not wanting for self and self alone. There is no way around this for me. I still take comfort in the fineries of good food, decorative clothes, and good friends; these can bring me happiness. But this is not a happiness that stays. I see this. I recognize this. And thusly, my mind creates a stage of battles, where I am once again made supposed victim as the questions slice away at the supposed joy. But I am no less victim than the tree pecked by the woodpecker. I am made home for the world, for the flying birds, when I am carved out and hollowed. And in this place, when the world slips inside of me for shelter, I am joy.

And so it is my journey begins with intention. If I set out to love the world, to give of myself freely, without motive for self, then I shall receive endless abundance and joy that I can time and time again return to and tap into. This joy might waver with the wavering of my thoughts and emotions, but this joy is there always. This joy is always there. This joy is love of others, and in so loving other, love of self. There is no non-benefit to giving and loving freely. There just isn’t. When I come from a place of love, I am free. When I do not, I am imprisoned. There is no other place for me than from a place of love.

I think now that I was made the way I am to force myself into finding love. Here I have been searching to love myself, to change myself, to change my thoughts and emotions, to change my way of being, when all along the key was so very simple: love.

Here I was searching to understand love, to understand love through ownership and misinterpretation, and needing and wanting, and sometimes constant desiring, but that is not love. Love is not found in the one or in the self. Love is not found through the desire to receive. Love is not fleeting. And so often the love I have thought I have found, though unrecognizable, unidentifiable, and uncomfortable, still did not fit. No matter how hard I tried to make love fit, it did not. That is because I was searching for a suit of love for me, something to wear to soothe and protect the suffering beneath. But garments age; they tear, they break; no matter what we do they disintegrate, they become outdated, they eventually stink. The only love that can complete me must be outside the self and unattached from the self, something so immense and immeasurable that fear escapes in the infinite abundance.

I know now how to be happy.

Happiness is found in the detachment of love from self, so that love may fly freely. For it is not the butterfly I am that needs to find and wear her wings, it is the love I am that needs to soar.

345: Eyes of the Whole

| Aspergers Girls

I cannot teach any longer. I can only learn by sharing what I am learning. I am a student sharing her heart and nothing more. The vibration of teaching or preaching or telling is no longer me. I am only able to open myself up and pour out what is inside. I can write when I am called to write. I do not choose the topic, at least not at a conscious level. I do not plan what I write, the thoughts come to me, usually, in a giant wave of recognition, with flashes of insight. I usually do not know what I will be typing.

My intention cannot be my own or the healing energy is lost.

For instance, if I have the intention of wanting others to love me, to like my works, to congratulate me or to be inspired, what I write will be at a different energetic level than if I write without self-intention.

I have learned to remove outcome. I do not do this all the time, in all my waking hours, as I am human; yet, I have found a freeing place, within and without, where I am able to not focus on the outcome. I have found a remarkable way to free myself from fear, by not imagining and creating the future I wish.

If behind a thought I am wanting love for self and needing attention, and from this place of want I form my words, then the energy changes.

I am learning to speak as a child, with my intention clear and my voice and words not hiding what I am feeling inside. So often, when we communicate, an energy shift occurs between emotion, thought, and words spoken. I feel this. I feel when someone is speaking from a place of love or from a place of fear. There is no in between.

There is no combination or variants. Love is the only thing that cannot be divided and sliced and mixed into a grey area. Love is love, no matter how small or how large, love remains the same. Love radiates in all directions and heals. Love cannot be diminished or enlarged. Love just is.

Fear, being the bearer of opposites, is really not an opposite at all. Fear is much a façade that takes the forms of many opposites. He steps in and replaces the place where love would be, but he is not the opposite of love, for he doesn’t exist. He is a space filling a space, so to speak, and there are no barriers he cannot divide, except for love.

He tries to divide love time and time again; and thusly, he is much like hatred, anger, trickery, envy, and the darker lot; however he is none of these, because he is nothing. WE can un-layer the emotions of hatred and anger, and other, and find a cause. The cause is always the same. The cause is always a need for love.

Whether it is a need for money, recognition, fame, acknowledgment, union, clarity, or other, it is still a need for love. When there is love nothing else is needed.

Beyond the basic survival elements humans think they need, indeed imagine they need, is the all-life sustaining-force of love. It may sound silly, even odd to profess, but love is all We need.

Energy resonates and builds off of love. Truths are brought to life by love. Truth is willingly transformed by love. Eyes are opened by love. Children are birthed from love. Love is rebirth of rebirth, a transformation of one generation into the next.

What you see is truly what you get, in the arms of love.

In the arms of fear, you get nothing and no one.

You, as individual, are divided and made one, as all fear is in the state of unity divided, as fear is the divider. Once divided, and in what present day may call an ego-state, fear sets in. This fear then multiplies; because although fear is nothing, fear begets fear. Nothing begets nothing; just as love begets love.

WE have a choice to feed the world the end-product of nothing or the end-product of love. This is simple in argument and representation. Choose love.

When one harbors grief and dismay, the beneficial remedy is love. When one harbors disagreement and guilt, the beneficial remedy is love. All emotions are healed through love.

What would be called positive and neutral emotions are healed by love, too. For love does not heal in the sense of taking something that is broken and repairing. Love sees nothing as broken. Love sees everything as already whole. Love cannot help but see only whole. If love stepped in and viewed “broken,” then the intention becomes to ‘repair,’ and thusly, the element that love has set her attention on becomes “broken” in spirit.

The teacher does not look upon a student and think: “broken” I shall fix. The teacher looks upon the student and sees potential in the seed planted before him. The seed shall grow, and thusly shall we all in love’s waters.

There is no fear. In hearing the rhythm of the angels, of nature, of the birds overhead, there is a healing sound. This is because there is no fear. There is a trust born of innate trust. Not fed trust, or given trust, or told trust.

Trust cannot be earned and none can be lead to trust, as there are no leaders, as there are no subordinate ones.

There is no hierarchy in a state of no fear and only love. And there is no state of no fear, as fear does not exist.

Though the call to trust is necessary, but truly resonates only from within soul. There is no avenue, no road, no way, or secret passage.

Those who profess to know, know the least.

It is only the one, or more so the union of ones manifested by illusion of one, which voices disbelief and question in own self, denouncing self and the profiteering of self, that understands.

As money divided, and any truth attached to profiteering, is already circumvented by fear.

Those who give freely are those who give without intention. That is without intention beyond love. Any disruption in this system leads to pain, which is falsehood.

Intention undermined by falsehood leads to the ugliness of falsehood. As falsehood exists, though this falsehood too is underscored by the non-existence of fear.

Remember fear is merely the absence of love.

Take love as a shape, a black cloak, and set this shape to dance in the threshold of your mind. Have this love in form move in the light. The dark of love is still beautiful. The dark of love still whole. All forms of love are whole and complete.

Watch the dark move and the shape of love resonate. And now, with intention to recognize the absence of fear, move love. Create in your vision and perception for the darkness shrouding love to leave. Make love momentarily appear gone. See only where love was. And now trace an outline where love once was. Fill this outline with nothing, just air if you wish, as nothing is unfathomable. Now remove the outline, too, and see the nothingness filling up the space that was love.

That is fear: the emptiness filling up the space that was love.

Behind every intention that is formed with nothing, nothing is birthed. Behind every intention that is formed by love, love is birthed.

Take judgment, a misrepresentation of the absence of love, an illusion brought on by the pressures of wanting to be loved, this judgment taught by the masses to divide and classify and make “sense” of the world that is seen through the “senses.” Remove judgment, and the illusion of fear is seen. The aspect of love forgotten, conditions set forth to divide, and the movement of fluid love to conditional need.

Where there is need, there is outcome projected. Where there is outcome projected, there is need. Where there is outcome projected, there is false intention, where focus is on the future as wished, and not on the present of love.

If talking to one, who is WE merely represented by one, and another “one” questions with the intention of love, healing emerges from the depths, and intention born of love heals.

When “one” speaks to “one” for what would be called “self-motives” than love is lost. Not gone, but lost, waiting outside the shape of love to be called back.

“Self” temporarily removes love. Love appears erased but love is merely momentarily missing.

Love cannot be brought back by a calling or a wish, love comes of its own making, without intention. When one wishes upon love there is self-intention, and love escapes. The only way love answers is with the mystery of self without self. This is to say once “self” evokes love, love vanishes into the areas of unseen. Love remains, but disappears from our limited senses.

Love cannot exist in this realm for self and self alone. Love exists for We.

This is to say that to wish for a self-love, before wishing for whole-love, is backwards and reverse. To love self is essential, if one is viewed as self, and whole was divided as multiple selves. Yet this is a truism that can breed dismay or great pleasure. But always the two extremes.

For self does not exist in stagnant form to be fed by self-love. We can only feed that which is not divided. Love is not divided, nor does love recognize the divided. Love recognizes union without self-intention.
To claim self-love is to live in a state of familiar let down and continued questioning. To release self-love is essential. Self-love cannot be grown or transformed or reflected, because there exists no self. To love: the whole must be loved. The intention of love for the whole.

When “one” seen as “one” concentrates on the whole of what could be called goodness, on the picture of what could be, and what shall be for all, then love comes. One must see the whole picture, and in this is the wholeness.

None are to be singled out and made above or beyond, and in self-created love, which is a form of falsehood, then love is divided by intention.

To love, love from the perspective of whole: Whole loving whole.

What is good for the whole is good for the whole. We are not regulating you to love a whole so as singular you will benefit, as there is no you. You cannot be divided, as the tree cannot be divided by parts. You are WE and we is whole.

Once we claim separation, we are no longer in the comforting arms of love. This is not to say you are not unique and special. Each is unique and special as each is part of the whole. But the whole cannot be divided.

“I” cannot take an apple red and start to chunk out pieces with a carving knife and scatter the chunks and misshaped parts across a board, and claim this is “he” and this is “she,” and this is “him” and this is “her,” and look how special and grand each of these parts exists. This is an apple portioned into parts. “I” cannot determine the chunk that makes a complete piece of the whole. I cannot form a chunk that beneficially represents the whole.

No matter the size the shape or the division, “I” cannot equally divide an apple. And thusly WE cannot equally divide what is our whole into one form which is claimed you. For there is no way to determine, or more so recreate, that which is already divinely whole.

The world is a reflection onto self, but yet this self does not exist.

Imagine the apple piece looking up at self and wondering where to find whole. This is what self does. Self hammers away at chunk and multiplies division, thusly evacuating love once more.

Self need do nothing but recognize the absence of self and love enters. With the absence of self, giving becomes obsolete. As self is transformed into whole, and whole is love, and love gives without effort and intention.

Giving is no longer a verb but a noun. For giving equals love and love equals giving.

It is in the giving of self that love is birthed and rebirthed: Giving up the illusion of self.

This is not to indicate service. Giving of self has often been misinterpreted in the form of giving self. “One” can best “give” when self-intention is removed, and the self-intention is removed when self is removed. In this case self can vanish and truth can enter, truth of love and love of truth.

There is no doctrine that proclaims love, and love only, unless in doing so there is no division. When intention or division enters, love is removed. To honor the love, remove the intention and divisions.

Truth exists, but self must be removed to find the truth. And then as WE, truth is neither found or lost. Truth simply is.

Truth is love and love is truth. They are the same in one. There is no truth beyond love. There is no love beyond truth. This is where the universe ends and the elements are born, in the birthing place of love and truth. But truth cannot be found with self and self alone.

Truth seekers seek to know self first, but in truth they are searching to know whole, and whole is only temporarily masked by the illusion of self. So truth seekers, love seekers true, are in effect searching for truth in the whole, while masked in illusion.

Some will find the whole and others will be swallowed in self. The difference is clear. Look for intention without the use of sight. Feel the vibration of the words and the energy of the truth seeker. You can feel intention. You, as the perceived separated one, can feel intention, and this is either the heartbeat of love or the illusion of fear.

Remember fear begets fear which is nothing. Love begets love which is something.

What is the fruit of this apple tree, they say often, and this is to mean: Is love surrounding and growing or is fear illuminating from the space of nothing?

If fear is ringing louder than truth then illusion is present. If love rings alone, then love is present.
There is no other degrees of love. “One” cannot find a mixture, or to say a little bit of love with a lot of fear or a lot of fear with a little love.

There is either love behind intention or no love. And this will be felt as love, if serving the whole. If serving the self, the intention is a falsehood: a form or emotion, represented by the illusion of fear. You will know this well by the vibration and energy.

Choose love of whole and the vibration will heal the world. The whole is the answer and you are already this whole.

If the nothingness of fear is ringing than love is absent. Though truth and love are twins, they vary in their representation, when the illusion of nothing is heard. Love cannot change; love cannot alter; love cannot be silenced; but truth, in the ring of fear can be changed.

This is important to remember: Truth is silenced in the ring of fear.

Listen with that which is beyond senses and the love will be clear. Ask what the whole can do to love the whole and you, as perceived one, will have answers. Monitor the intention of one, and lead with the eyes of the whole.

~ Samantha Craft, 3-21-13
(This was written in one sitting this evening. I wrote what I heard, and was simply the observer of what I sensed and experienced. This is neither my truth nor my untruth. It simply is.)