She entered gently, the kissing sunshine on her shoulders sweet, a baroness of beckoning light within my dimly lit threshold
I greeted her, the door man shy, and took my place at fair lady’s feet, the honey-milk of her scent upon me
My awakening came slowly, as the crimson rose blooms beyond time, opening bud after bud to her glory
She whispered, her words a chisel of feather soft, her eyes the ebony of compassion, her hand upon my surrendered shoulder
Touched, I wept, the tears inside cleansing wounds of sword, fractures of youth’s mourned merriment
My every cell moved, beholding this adorned child dressed in blue, the ocean maiden of the distant ages
Streams of aqua reborn, merged forward, pushing the heart of past into the baptismal of present, a forest of water at my door
Quaked, my very existence stood tall, quaked, the foundation of all truth and valor collapsed without fall, the boundaries dripping as honey, disappearing into the depths of hope
I faltered in thought, recalling my place, my duty, and traced the outline of her shadow, a maiden with endless treasure, the illusion of end marking entrance to eternity
‘I am home. I am home,’ the whispers came, a tapping upon the window of heart, an opening to the view of victorious
To have found the mirror of me, the echo of my existence, to have found the palm of palm, and coming of my own dawn
To watch as her sunrise awakens the world beneath my flesh, calling upon the beast to rise and devour with gaunt hunger what is served, dish upon dish
Beyond the cage I sat, wanting and waiting, my crying her own breath, my need fulfilled at the calling of her name
The spoken word, a spell upon my lips, a taste upon my soul, to behold the beauty unwrapped before me
To behold the mistress of my ache, the mistress of my time and making, the sun captured within the capsule of opened spirit
To kneel before the queen of my own mystery and bounty, and melt into the vision as one, my every wish to rest within her endlessly
Beyond captured, I retreat into gentle man’s cave, and even there the darkness dissipates, healing blood pulsating across the caverns
Everywhere is her redness, her sacrifice, her singing love, and I cannot but help to taste her, as the sugar-coated finger to mouth
For she is in me, about me, and beyond, her essence the chalice of my life, and I shall drink and drink until the ocean floor sits alone
The liquid of all siphoned into my open mouth, her jewels my own crown, her all, my answered prayer
‘Come, Sweet Lady,’ I cry, come through my doorway, and stay, rest at my side eternal angel, so I may rise again, complete within this union of you
I awoke before four in the morning today with words and images twirling nonstop in my mind. I felt like a giant lollipop being dipped in the swirls of sweet wisdom. Although I was sleepy, and wanting to fall back into a deep slumber, I was made awake, wrapped spiritually in what could essentially be called a lesson review of sorts.
The images and thoughts came swiftly, and with a touch of deliberate humor, ended with memories of my first college course, where I sat a plum-faced, shy freshman girl, surrounded by upper classmen. I had signed up for Psychology of Human Sexuality Course on a whim, having had no clue that the course would actually be about real sex!
I giggled this early morn, as the lesson dancing in my head wrapped up, and I was reminded of the term penis envy, a popular belief back in the early days of my schooling: the thought that many of women’s psychological insecurities are caused by their subconscious desire to have the same package as men.
I chuckled inside at the memory of class, of going around in a circle, and each of us female members of the group describing our degree of envy. Back then, I was so malleable, still am, that any belief system set upon me, I innocently absorbed as truth. Thusly, I went around for many years thinking I wanted to grow male stuff.
Today, in the wee hours of the morn, as the lesson began, with my mind’s eye, I saw numerous dogs and cats posed in various ways in their silly hats and wearing their silly expressions. And then I saw a massive amount of other animals, starting with the more common American pets of snakes, turtles, and hamsters, and ending with pigs and rats, and even monkeys. The debate came to my mind between cat lovers and dog lovers, and then I saw how silly the debate was. I saw that as a society we created these pets as our favorites, and then divided the camps. I thought about why they were our favorites: cuddly, responsive, expressive, fairly clean and predictable, sensitive, and perhaps even thoughtful.
And then I thought that the love of dogs and cats was all by choice, that as a collective we could easily have chosen a pig and a rat as our favorite pets, that instead of cats and dogs that pigs and rats could be there in their place…perhaps in another time or universe.
I began to visualize the various poses of pigs in their holiday wear and with their big eyes, and with captions written across their photos. I could see the rats too, all decked out for the season, with jingle bell vests, and more. It wasn’t such a leap out of our current reality.
In truth, much of what happens is all about what we as a whole choose to make our reality.
Then I realized that the expectations we have upon animals do actually affect the behavior of the overall species. With millions of people thinking dogs are awesomely friendly, no wonder they walk around with goofy grins and wagging tails. I imagine that if the collective believed all natural brunettes were brilliant, fascinating, and someone to aspire to be, I would walk around with my bum shaking a bit too, with goofy smile to boot.
I began to wonder what would happen if we replaced all the cats and dogs (temporarily and in theory only) with two other animals. I visualized the majority of pet owners with a snake at their side, cuddling during a television show, with the turtle tucked under the covers with their owner at bedtime. And the thoughts didn’t seem so farfetched; for with enough conditioning and collective belief, we have the potential to mold any species’ behavior.
I had intense laughable visuals of a pet owner holding their ant farm during a movie or even housing a bee’s nest in their home and keeping a window open for free access to the fields. I began to see how anything was possible, if enough people believed or accepted a norm. This is evident from culture to culture, when considering what animals are revered, accepted as pets, or eaten for supper.
These thoughts led to the concept of ownership, and the fact that most domesticated dogs are entirely dependent upon their owner. I imagined what that dependency must feel like for dogs, how they must wonder when the food will come, the fresh water, the walks, the grooming, the holding, the words “good dog.” How they live their lives essentially as a prisoner to their master’s behavior, wherein the pet is entirely dependent on what their owner does.
I began to think that perhaps this dependency could cause some dogs a type of sadness, as I believe was in the case of my Goldendoodle, Scooby. For the first couple years of Scooby’s life, Scoob appeared mostly sad and withdrawn, until we brought home another dog. Then his spirit lit up and he seemed to come alive. But then he fell into another sadness spell, shortly after we moved to Washington, and he had less of a yard for roaming. He began to crave walks, and beg for walks, and on the days there were no walks, he sat in the corner forlorn. Scoob also despised all dog food. Most of his days he set about to steal whatever people food he could from out of the sink or atop the stove—like some grizzly bear at a picnic. He was adorable, but primarily a sad pup. Being empathetic to animals, I always sought to cheer him up, through fur massages and rough housing with a stuffed toy, even dancing to music. Still, he seemed to feel as if he was trapped in a life I ordained for him, that I ran, that I created.
This thought led me to the idea of the human experience, that we, too, as a people, have our own masters: our accepted beliefs; and that in truth, the only thing we can control, as many ancient teachings state, are our thoughts.
I suppose my Scooby didn’t have that capacity—to control his thoughts. Instead all he could see at certain times was missed opportunity. Even on the days we walked, he longed for more. Perhaps he would have been the happiest on a ranch estate. Perhaps if he’d had the capacity to daydream, that is where he went, to the golden fields where he could run until his legs gave out beneath him. I like to think that is where he is now, with a perpetual wet-nosed smile upon his face.
From here my thoughts turned to the social taboos of societies. It was at the age of eighteen, in that human sexuality college course, I first learned about how a society actually creates what is socially acceptable. I remember pondering about the collective creating ideals of rights and wrong, popular and unpopular, and loved and unloved.
The way my professor explained social taboo, forever stayed in my mind. The professor asked the class to visualize a planet in which it was socially unacceptable to eat in front of another person; to imagine a place where you were only allowed to eat in private or with a special significant other, a world in which people ate in the dark of their bedrooms, even under the covers; a place where chewing in public was seen as vulgar and disgusting, and punishable by law. My professor explained about how the body opening of the mouth was only to be used for practical purposes in public: for breathing, drinking, and talking. Laughing was a risk, for the mouth might open too wide.
This other world’s eating taboo he then compared to sexual intercourse and the naked flesh taboos of this world.
I remember then that a light bulb turned on in my mind. It was in that classroom I understood that much of what I was told and much of what was modeled were based on a collective’s culture and belief system, and that I was living in a world with unpredictable and shifting values.
In theory what was a norm that day and what was deemed taboo at the same moment would shift with the passing of time. I remember feeling extreme discomfort. I recall analyzing the current taboos of the time, particularly mixed-race marriage and homosexuality. I concluded that in time people’s views would shift, and as a whole our outlook and perception would change, that the unacceptable would become accepted, or at least move in the direction of the majority accepting.
The reality of the collective establishing truth boggled my mind. I could see clearly how I was a part of the collective and even though I was aware that I lived in a society that created truths and rights and wrongs, that even with my awareness I was continually molded by these created truths. I was in essence powerless.
I wondered where the truth really rested, how I could reach it, and how would I know.
I recognized that at a certain level, beyond conscious awareness, I was affected by what others accepted as truth. I recognized ultimately I was affected by what others thought. Living on this planet, the collective belief system was to a degree always to be a cornerstone of my own belief system—their reality, my reality; their conclusions, my conclusions.
I innately knew, I wouldn’t be able to fully grasp multi-dimensions, the supernatural, and the magic of the world, until the majority accepted this as a possibility, but that even then, whatever was believed and grasped onto by the whole could and would once again shift.
I was a dependent part of an intricate and mind-blowing mechanism, no less and no more, and entirely unable to escape. In a sense, I was my dog, my Scooby, waiting in my chair to see what the masters did.
It wasn’t until this morning, through all of these aforementioned thoughts that manifested in a span of twenty-minutes, that I recognized what was happening to me with more clarity: a shift was occurring.
More and more people were expanding their awareness and understanding of the illusion of the world and the power of thought, and thusly so was I.
Some early mornings I sit in my van in the driveway and weep deeply. Today was one of those mornings. I listened to a song over and over and let the tears fall.
I’m learning to let my emotions come. And I’m learning to take care of myself. Really take care of me. Because I am precious and lovely.
I took a Dead Sea Salt bath this morning. And I let myself be. This rebalanced me.
I experience extreme emotions, daily. Sometimes they are mine; sometimes I find out that I am experiencing something akin to what a close friend or relative is experiencing.
I’m beginning to understand, to distinguish, the difference between my own emotions and others’. I’m beginning to understand how deeply affected I am by others’ core energy and thoughts—what is their essence, their fears, their joys, their belief and experience….and then beyond that to what is their spirit, the beautiful divine.
My “feelings” take me on great adventures. Often, daily, I spend hours upon hours, as if floating on air. I feel connected to the world, and a profound inner peace. I know without doubt I am surrounded by a fleet of angels, protected, watched and bathed in unyielding love.
There has been a great shift in me the last few weeks; where in I used to be carried away with my extreme emotions, now I am a bystander. I have the ability and capacity to step outside of the experience and become the silent observer offering my inner transitioning self my unconditional support. This other me, this “higher” me, she is constantly content, at peace, and in love with herself, others and life. She isn’t weeping or flying on the air. She just is.
I’ve been “practicing” visualizing what I want in my life. It’s been fun, in that giddy-little-girl way. I keep hearing behind me somewhere, or perhaps from deep within me, to be careful what you wish for, as the universe usually unfolds to give me what my deepest desires are.
I’ve had to reel in some of my own thoughts and needs, and continually pray for the higher good of my self and others, as I have a few fanciful ideas of my own that are only for my pure pleasure.
The other day, actually last week, I wanted to see how this visualizing worked. I wanted something fun and easy. I wanted something light-hearted—something my girlfriends would giggle at.
And so I asked, jokingly, for my angels to make husky (handsome) men in flannel shirts appear all day long. For then I could imagine laughing with my friends at the sudden rugged appearance of flannel-wearing hunks. I carried my friends with me throughout the day. And wouldn’t you know it, at every turn, in the stores shopping, on the streets wheeling out garbage, in cars and trucks and busses, were men in flannels. I wondered what would have happened if I had added the word naked to my list.
The next day I asked for a butterfly, that’s all I wanted. I wanted confirmation from my angels that they hear my prayers. And so, in the dark of winter, I visualized seeing a butterfly in flight. A real butterfly. I was specific. An image wouldn’t do.
I felt inside they would produce this for me. I felt in a few days time I would see a butterfly. And I would know.
Yesterday, we took a trip to a museum. I had no idea or forethought about the exhibits presented there. Turns out there was a huge butterfly exhibit. One where you walk inside, through the humid air and greenery and flowers in bloom, and get to dance within the sweeping butterflies. So many in flight, so many colors, so beautiful. And oh so confirming. I’d like to go back and just sit in the butterfly world for hours upon hours and do nothing but watch them be.
What shall I visualize now?
I visualize your smile, your inner peace, your love, your beauty. And I so wish for you to see how gorgeously lovely you are in every feasible way, in all ways imaginable, the beauty in your richest dearest dreams, and I wish more for you to be lathered in the love of the universe, to be dipped and re-dipped in the goodness that is both you and me. To be overwhelmed with a sense of peace and a knowing you are exactly where you need to be. Bless you and the butterflies. May we all honor our season, whether in cocoon, or nearly set to flight, may we see how divinely brilliant we shine.
May you feel the sunshine on your shoulders, Dearest You!
Even in the smallest events there’s no such thing as coincidence. – Haruki Murakami
So, when the sales lady told me: “You can’t wear panties with this dress because of panty lines,” (photo above), I ought to have recognized I NEVER would be able to go to my husband’s work party without wearing underwear.
Still, I bought the gorgeous dress that fit me like a glove and also showed off all my lady parts, hoping I’d get gutsy. (I was going to write ‘grow a pair’ or ‘grow balls,’ but that just seemed plain ridiculous to write, when talking about a panty-free dress.)
My husband was with me when I tried the dress on at the boutique. He loved the dress. When I asked him about the shopping experience later, he chuckled and said, “Do you really think I could comprehend anything AT ALL after I found out you would have to wear no underwear!”
So, as you can see, he was little to no help.
When I talked to my friend in England (after I bought the dress), she said: “I don’t think that’s such a good idea wearing no knickers to your husband’s work party.”
You think?
When I thought about creating an underwear-free zone under my dress, I was taken back in time to the months I had to share a small bed with my wrinkly snoring grandmother. She never wore underwear to bed.
Regardless of my panty-issues, with high hopes, I brought the body-hugging dress home.
The night before last, I spent an hour searching in the intimate undergarment department for stockings. I figured stockings would at least give me a layer. I found some nylons that made me gasp out loud. I really said: “EWWWW!” I didn’t know they made stockings that went all the way to the bottom of the bra line as to not show stocking lines. The photo of the woman was outrageously odd, like some bi-ped mermaid in a stretchy black see-through suit.
First no panty lines? Now no stocking lines? I was beginning to wonder whom I was hiding all these lines from and for what purpose.
As I looked around the department store, I found all types of signs that tried to remind me of my inadequacy.
I couldn’t believe all the weird contraptions: body suits that sucked in my fat, bras that pushed up my stuff, and other thing-a-ma-jigs I wasn’t sure what I’d do with, other than take photos to send to my friend, so we could bust up laughing together.
My favorite was the attire that read: “Gets rid of muffin top.” I didn’t even know clothes manufactures used that term. Oh, and one item promised: “Gives you instant confidence.” I thought, wow, I didn’t have to write this blog, I could have just spent $19.95, slipped on this nude-colored leotard thingy, and presto had instant esteem.
After all the “line” hiding I was supposed to do, I was surprised I was “allowed” to wear a bra. Until I saw these things called breast petals—tiny flower shaped Bandaids made to stick to boobs, or at least the tips of boobs. I just about lost my composure then. Why would I want Bandaids for my boobs? And, man, the peel-off factor, when all was said and done….Ouch!
I ended up buying three pairs of different style stockings to try on with the deemed “panty-free” dress.
At home I tried to wear stockings with the pretty dress. I tried really hard. And then I cried inside, as I couldn’t pull it off.
I felt as if I lost a part of me then: The panty-free, pin-up girl who never was. Sigh….
Luckily, I had the black little nun-like dress I first fell in love with a week prior to finding the pin-up dress! And as soon as I put the black dress on, I twirled inside with glee. For this dress I could wear panties with!
~~~~~~~~
The Party
When we pulled out of the drive, to head out-of-town for the party, I screeched: “Stop the car! I forgot my blankie! I can’t sleep without my blankie!”
My fifteen year old was kind enough to say: “What are you like five years old, Mom?”
I jumped out of the van, did a twirl, and shouted back sweetly, “No. I’m twelve!!!”
When we first arrived at the party, only the owner of the company, my husband and I were touring a section of the building (museum) together, as the rest of the party, some hundred people, had moved on into the other rooms. The whole time (some fifteen minutes with the owner) I kept thinking to myself: I’m so glad I wore underwear!
Thank goodness, I didn’t say my thoughts aloud to the company owner.
Imagine the scene: “My smile? Well, to tell you the truth, I’m just so happy to have panties!”
As it was, I kept saying to my husband all night: “I’m soooo glad I didn’t wear that other dress!”
He just nodded. But I could see in his eyes what he was really thinking: “You have Aspergers. You are processing. Thus the repetition of the same statement. However, I kind of wish you didn’t have panties on.”
As I was leaving the party for the night, a party that turned out to be very pleasant, a kind lady complimented my outfit, and said, “And look at those cute red shoes, like Dorothy’s shoes from the Wizard of Oz. Who wears red shoes anymore? So cute.”
I giggled, and replied, “You know these shoes are a funny story. You see, I bought them to go with this clingy pin-up-girl dress, but I was too embarrassed to wear it and had to return the dress, but I kept the shoes.”
She smiled.
I was careful not to bring up the panty thing.
I felt so very twelve, so very pleased, and so very happy for my panties.
The Difference between being humble and having low self-esteem
I asked a question this morning and was given the answer so very fast and in so much detail, I hurried downstairs to my computer to collect the thoughts I was processing. (A little bit to my dismay, as I was retired on the couch.)
All of what is written is in direct response to my inquiry: What is the difference between being humble and having low self-esteem? I found the answer quite surprising and interesting. Though the logic is somewhat complex and not as easy to follow (for me at least) as some of my prior blog entries, I find this intriguing and very mindful of the well-being of others.
In my vocational practice, I now have new eyes, in terms of seeing the label of low self-esteem in a new light as the season of awareness. How wonderful to replace a “lowly” label with the beauty of the seasons.
As is typical, I typed the words as quickly as I heard them. Besides minor corrections in commas to display clarity, all is in original format.
What is the difference between being humble and having low self-esteem?
This is an interesting question you propose, and one we could go into with great detail. At this moment, it is sufficient to explain in summary that of which could be chiseled into great detail.
This self-esteem you speak of is an oddity for us.
To assume there is a self, is to say there is a being that is innately and proportionately equal to a one. Since, inevitably, and in all circumstances, we are never alone, separate, or divided, there follows that there is not this one that you so reverently perceive.
Wholly and dutifully, of course, there is a mass, a large unit that collectively (by human standards) could feasibly be divided and segregated into parts. This is natural of the human mind to search for separation, to make sense out of chaos, to bring order in the face of disunion. Even when elements are in union, such as the Universal Whole (collective unconscious, or by whatever term you seek to justify your perception), this human mind, in its limitation, dissects the union into parts in order to make sense. This is not error, and least not we judge, this is mere evidential fact.
Mediocre in nature, the mind is not set to work alone, much as a clock’s hands are not meant to work without all the concerning parts that lead up to the façade of the timeless face. You see, originally, you knew this; and innately, beyond your five human senses, you currently recognize and, to a degree, celebrate that you remember this. Although with the passing of (what you perceive as) time you have deliberately forgotten this fact. This is important, (and we use this word intentionally, this word important), for you to remember; that is that you have deliberately forgotten to remember. This is on purpose, as there are no accidents; in actuality no “purposes” either, but rather the simple being inside of being.
This is taking us off the track, but nonetheless we mention this being inside being. When you reflect on whom you are and question who is in the process of reflecting, you see there is more than one, again the mirror within the mirror, the reflection within the reflection; in a small fleck of a gem sense, this is what we mean by the being inside the being. In this way alone, you are never alone. Besides the Universal Whole, you are a being within a being.
And your being is surrounded by multitudes of other beings. This is beneficial to remember. Then in looking back at the initial question of self-esteem, we see, in our perception (which is more of a sensing than perception) that there exists not this single self. Thusly, as we follow this path logically, we can say if there does not exist this self, there does not exist this esteem of something (self) that does not truly exist.
Still, we understand your question in great magnitude, and the significance of the question, as you and many like you battle (appropriate word we think) with your inner perceived self-esteem.
There is a mass confusion in the term self-esteem, a confusion that is emerging into something anew and akin to awareness. Here we drift to the right of the path and look at the word awareness.
For as we “see” it, the human frailty that resides in the image of self-esteem is properly and justly replaceable, and easily rendered rectified with the more pleasing and palatable term of self-awareness. This, replacing of the term self-esteem to that of the term self-awareness, automatically diminishes, if not washes out, the need for scales and hierarchies, that of which we have mentioned before do not “exist” or better yet “pertain” to our current existence.
In following, we have this emerging and rebirthing of self-awareness that shall lead us into greatness. This greatness is yet to be identified or discussed, but safe to say this greatness will outshine the previous darkness.
In examining the substance of self-awarness, we can determine if a person has holes in any area of awareness. Again, we avoid words such as “missing” or “lacking;” we instead focus on the exactness of being complete but having holes, or a sense of emptiness, as in the hungry bird needing nourishment. We’ve mentioned this before, and need not review.
Take as an example the battered woman who previously may be assumed and labeled in human terms to lack of self-esteem. In this we simply replace the verbiage lack of self-esteem with the collective words effectiveness of awareness. In using the word effectiveness we can consider the comparisons as follows: Effectiveness of Awareness is equivalent to: Helpfulness of awareness; success of awareness; value of awareness; and similar likelihoods. We can also consider this as how ready one is for this said action of awareness.
The meaning of the words Effectiveness of Awareness can be gathered further by analysis. You might ask: What was the effectiveness of the meditation? This can be restated as: Was the meditation effective?
In this way, it follows, in examining the core meaning of effectiveness of awareness, we may consider these following alternatives in viewing the meaning: Was the awareness effective? Is the awareness actual or in practice; did the awareness cause a desired or intended result; did the awareness produce a favorable impression.
We phrase the words in this manner to avoid having a “one” or “person” in the statement; so that what is being evaluated and compared in circumstance is not the human but the degree of awareness. This removes the human from fault. For there is no fault. All is as is should be.
Therefore, we can now see if this example is followed to its fullest potential in understanding, that awareness is replacing the perception of self-esteem.
When we look at this battered woman again, one who has not left her perpetrator, who is still in the eyes of many a “victim,” we might often utter the words low self-esteem or low self-worth. In this instance, we ask you to consider her to be in a state of clouded awareness.
There are many avenues to consider, but for now let us say she may not be aware of choices, may not be aware of help, many not be aware of opportunity. Still some will say what choice? What help? And in this we reply above all that there is the help of Source, Higher Guidance, Prayer, and Retreat into Inner Self.
Others will point that if she had self-esteem, she would have awareness. This does not make sense. We are all born with awareness. The quality or aptitude of “one’s” awareness is not based on a degree of self-esteem, when there is in essence no “self.” We see in your eyes the confusion. Understand a person is not lacking esteem, only “lacking” (we are utilizing this word “lacking” for comparison only) an awareness of their wholeness and purity. To assume esteem can be gathered like wild flowers in the field and then stored in the spirit is a falsehood. All the flowers you require you were born with. You are already beauty in all measure.
There is a temptation to say this battered woman lacks awareness. This is not true, for we all have awareness at some degree; she is never lacking awareness. Also, in the same line of thought, there will be a tendency to divide the awareness into degrees, so as to say a “lesser degree of awareness.” This is also not a truth. There is simply a differing degree, just as seasons differ in temperature, in foliage, and activity. Her awareness is no lesser or greater than another. Because winter in many places is colder does not make winter less than summer? Nor does spring trump fall. Who is to judge this greater or lesser degree? Who is to be the barometer? Who is to be the trumpeter blowing out the only sound of truth? Judging is like falling into the trap of a spider, flying forward without thought into an invisible thread that winds and divides you. Better to not judge and accept.
Now as we have reviewed and seemingly replaced self-esteem with effectiveness of awareness, we can look at humility. Humility is a mighty word of much potential and power: power in terms of dynamic change. Humility is also much misunderstood. The humble are in many guises, none lesser or greater than the other, as is in accordance.
In humility we find a bowing down in body, mind, spirit, and emotion, not to lessen oneself, but to greet another at the same place in time and experience. The humble do not see themselves as elevated or lowly, but equal in experience. Yet, they have the capacity to greet another exactly where the other needs to be greeted. Thus, if you open your door to a stranger who is blinded, you will also feel blinded, not in eyesight but in character and stature; rightfully so, as a humble being, you shall see yourself in this person.
The humble recognize themselves in each reflection be it beast or babe. In this we see the humble carry the clarity of effectiveness of awareness. We struggle with finding more apt words, and recognize the difficulty in this verbiage. Still, this serves the essence of what we are trying to convey. To some degree this can be said as the degree in which awareness is awakened, though we discourage this because again this requires a perception of evaluation. Who is more awakened? Who is less awakened? Again the spider’s web.
Another way is to say the season of awareness, where each season is seen as welcomed and required. Therefore, following, one might be in a winter of awareness, the snow drifting and covering their full viewing, while another is in the summer of awareness filled with a knowing light of understanding. All seasons come and go. No season is lesser or greater. In this we can make some sense.
In closing, today, we ask you to remember that human terms and words are so limiting, that the concept alone of even considering the dubious process of comparing two words is boggling. Expressing truths in letter form, where letters are merged to make a concept, creates a different perception for each reader. Not only is the meaning lost directly in the translation from us to you, but again lost in your interpretation, and what you then form on paper. Again, there is meaning lost in the next set of eyes that read these scribed words. So we ask that you allow the vibration of the words to serve you equally.
Everyday Asperger's 