“Samantha Craft,” M.Ed. has served as an educator for adults and children, a spiritual counselor and an advocate for individuals with special needs. She holds a teaching credential and a Master’s Degree in Education, and has completed multiple postgraduate courseworks in the field of psychology and counseling. Currently, under the penname of Samantha Craft, she manages and authors the well-circulated blog Everyday Aspergers: Life through the eyes of a female with Aspergers. Her prolific writings depict the multifaceted daily life of an adult with Asperger’s Syndrome. Samantha maintains contact with people across the world touched by ASD and serves as the founder of an online support group for adult females on the autistic spectrum. She resides with her husband and three sons, (one with ASD), in the state of Washington.
This article may be duplicated for professional use in an educational setting and for family members in the home setting. Please keep contact information on the page. The works are copyright protected and not meant for duplication for groups or presentations. Copies of the edited and complete article can be found in the future publication of a peer reviewed journal.
Navigating the Female Aspergerian Mind
Chances are, because of the lack of available resources in regards to Females with Asperger’s Syndrome, an undiagnosed female with ASD has slipped under the radar of many professionals. With today’s growing rates of autistic syndromes, any professional established in the field of mental health therapy would benefit from careful examination of the complexities of Asperger’s Syndrome, as it pertains to the female experience. Until recently, little to nothing was known about the female with Asperger’s, as most, if not all, current diagnostic tools are geared toward and develop based on the male genders’ characteristics of ASD. The simplest of signs that might indicate the female representation of Asperger’s to a practitioner are often misunderstood, misdiagnosed, denied, diluted, or unnoticed.
As a result of under-diagnoses, a large majority of females on the autistic spectrum are reaching adulthood as survivors of multiple emotional and physical traumas. Because limited resources and tools are available for working with the female client with Asperger’s, professionals sometimes fall back on what has worked with clients who do not have ASD, regardless of the fact that Asperger’s is not a mental health condition, but a neurological syndrome. More often than not the practitioner treats the symptoms and not the condition, focusing on the obvious comorbid traits of Asperger’s, such as depression and anxiety, without full consideration dedicated to the whole of the person, in particular the fact that he is working with an individual who views the world somewhat different from the mainstream client. Though the professional has the client’s best interest in mind, in some cases the professional’s overall lack of education and limited know-how can be not only non-beneficial for the client with ASD, but detrimental to the psyche. Wherein the astute practitioner recognizes the challenges at hand in regards to the female with ASD, he seems to be a rare minority.
Considering the sensitive nature of the female with Asperger’s condition, an individual whom has likely often found herself a subject of alienation, ridicule, suspicion, doubt and abuse, it is vital for the professional to understand the power she holds to make or break her client; especially the client’s feasible outlook on seeking out further assistance as pertains to her emotional well-being. In example, females on the autistic spectrum develop both conscious and subconscious strategies in their attempt to function effectively in a world which often appears unpredictable and potentially volatile. Oftentimes, a female with Asperger’s is using all of her mental and emotional resources to merely survive and navigate the social world. In response she is fatigued and over-taxed. If a female is partaking in mental health therapy, and the therapist suggest to her that she change or adjust some of her coping mechanisms, for example seeking out strategies to decrease verbal processing, the suggestion itself has the potential to create increased anxiety and feasibly shutdown the client’s ability to remain focused and present. Aspects of the unexplored “Aspergerian” mind can present challenges and/or roadblocks that the practitioner does not necessarily encounter in therapeutic dialogue with ‘typical’ clients, e.g., those presenting with mental health illness without a neurological condition. (I avoid the word ‘disorder’ entirely, in regards to Asperger’s Syndrome, as it is my firm belief that just because one functions outside the perimeters of the current majorities’ collective agreement of norm does not by the process of negation establish a select group as abnormal or having a disorder.)
In understanding the female’s (with Aspergers) mindset is uniquely different from the majority of mainstream society, including her capacity for complexity of thoughts, intense mental connections/scaffolding, and advanced logical sequencing, and taking into account the potential effects of a lifetime of repeated humiliation and abuse, it is advisable for the professional to consider the (ASD) client’s trauma may reach far beyond what is considered the typical depths of post-traumatic stress. Add this to her tendencies for sensory-stimuli overload, and the female with Aspergers will likely exhibit an instinctual flight-or-flight response to any new situation; especially those pertaining to vulnerability and emotional intimacy. Other factors hindering the benefits of therapy include the client’s ability to recreate her self-presentation based on how she perceives the professional perceives her. Often a master actress, the female with Asperger’s has developed a toolbox of masks enabling her to move in the world undetectable to the naked, untrained eye. Here in the client-practitioner relationship, the client is likely to mold into the persona that she believes best fits the comfort-level of the professional, moving within the room of therapy just as she moves in the exterior symbolic rooms of her life. A professional, unstudied in the elements of the female condition of Asperger’s, is apt to miss the nuances of a given client’s chameleon qualities, overlooking the client’s subtle changes in representation of self or wrongfully assuming the client is resorting to trickery and sabotage.
The female with Asperger’s, while extremely witty and intelligent, exhibits continual emotional fragility. In some cases this is hidden behind emotionally-detached humor or within the guise of a persona she is currently exhibiting; e.g., she may imitate a character on television. Though she is emotionally vulnerable, she is capable of hiding herself from other people and is keen in her honed ability to detect social norms and acceptable behaviors of a given situation. Given her nature and character, one word or mannerism from the practitioner may be overanalyzed and/or perceived by the client as a threat or criticism. Misinterpretations, distrust, or a number of other variables, can lead the client to shutdown (emotional withdraw), meltdown (emotional outburst), retreat into imagination or fantasy, recreate the presentation of self, and/or switch from a state of emotional presence to logical analysis. When the client is triggered by the professional and responds accordingly, the quality of the therapeutic relationship is adversely affected. Unlike the mainstream client, a woman with Asperger’s may never trust a professional once she believes she has been misinterpreted and/or criticized.
As a professionally diagnosed female with Asperger’s, in reviewing my own experiences in therapy, which encompass a decade-long-span of individual, couple, small-group and large-group interaction, incorporating a cornucopia of therapeutic techniques and theories, my most damaging experiences occurred when the practitioner was neither vulnerable nor authentic, a perceived-lacking from my point of view, that affected my capacity to connect at a humanistic-level with the practitioner. The best scenarios, in my therapy experience as the client, occurred when the professional was free of dogma, restrictions, and rigid-habits, and able to see through my mirage of disguises. In truth, I don’t think this ever happened, the best scenario that is, and that I, in actuality, through the process of vigorous self-help and psychological self-studies and applications, became my own psychologist by trade, primarily implementing Transpersonal Psychotherapy and elements of Logotherapy.
Based on my own life experience, the deep-level of understanding of my own Asperger’s condition and the personal interactions with other females on the autisitc spectrum, I have developed a list of what I would have liked to have seen, given the means and opportunity to time travel back as a client or to time travel forward as a practitioner. In recognizing each therapist has his unique style, I offer this as a list of suggested ideas, my hope and intention being to provide others the opportunity for a beneficial client-practitioner relationship.
My son just told me he is only wearing his retainer (for his teeth) at night! He is supposed to wear it all day and night for a year!!! Oh, noooo; he is breaking a rule! I watched myself in the mini-van spin into a semi-state of hysteria. Just when I thought I had this “rule thing” all figured out, I lost it. However, I was able to step back enough to watch, as the observer, as I “scolded” my son. “Do you know how much we invested in your teeth? What do you mean you are not wearing it all day? How could you do that?” By the tone of my voice, and the racing of my heart, I’d have thought, in reflection, I’d just found out that my eldest son robbed the mini-market down the road. Oh, my gosh! Freak out. Total freak out. This is so wonderfully awesome, to be a witness to my humanness.
I just apologized. “You kind of over reacted,” my teenage son responded. “I know I did. I know I did,” I said, the words floating inward to my core.
Something shook me; I don’t know what, but something. I am thinking my reaction is two-fold, this mini-freak out. Part one is my close adherence to manmade rules, the second is my immediate embracing of fear (in this case the loss of all the time and money in fixing his teeth). The fear part, I think I am getting a huge grasp of. I can talk myself through, and as observer sit back and take a sip through a straw of cool iced-tea and watch the other me spin. I know she’ll come back; it’s just so weird to watch.
I recognize this is part of my learning and growth. Right when I think I’ve got this “me” under control, something comes out of the woodwork to remind me that first of all I do not have control of anything, and second of all, I don’t need to focus on this “control.” I am me. This is me. This is how I currently walk in the world, and that is okay.
Had you asked me two hours ago, how I was, I’d tell you Aspergers, at least the fear and anxiety part, was behind me; this is troubling, as I now walk half of my day in extreme peace and solitude, and a large portion of the rest smack back down in the earth zone. I feel like a gladiator that retreats to pray in the chapel each morning and then is thrown into the arena with the beasts. Truth is, I am a champion; I continually destroy the beasts; problem is I’ve gotten all these bites on me now, like giant-mosquito-wasp-mutant-beaver-teethed-ghosts keep buzzing about and chomping. Flesh is literally at my feet!
I am never going to be perfect! Never, ever, ever, ever. And that kind of sucks; but it’s good, too; because I don’t think there are many people who want to hang out with a floating semi-saint. I mean, I would totally miss sipping a hard pear cider and drowning myself in garlic-cheese fries, (with freshly grated parmesan.) Can you sort of tell that I am having some trouble navigating life? I love, love, love the floaty, ethereal part of being connected with my higher source; I seriously glow. But all that floating, it has a price. Coming out of that state makes me hit bottom hard. I imagine the process of drifting down is much like coming off a high of a shroom or some drug, like LSD.
As case and point, semi-saint speaks below:
“I am walking through a tunnel, the tunnel of attachment to enlightenment. I am attached to the enlightenment. But soon this tunnel shall be lifted, and I shall see a million tunnels before me, all the levels of attachment lifted. And then I shall be in that space above the tunnels and blessing the tunnels one by one; my life an endless bliss of thanking every single thing that brought me suffering. Soon I will see beyond the tunnels into the space of nothing. Then I will be filled with the divine laughter at the seat of my soul; then the imaginary tunnels as they float in front of me will bring me nothing but joy as they explode and burst into butterflies.”
***
I mean who in their fricken mind talks like that? Well, supposedly I do! Surprise. All the sudden all these aspects of me are emerging full force, like this confidence I have reclaimed has in and of itself called out all the parts of me and declared: “Share who you are with the world. We are free!!!” I can hear the trumpets. I can see the dancing. I can see the naked guru fluttering down the street: I am butterfly. I am butterfly. I am butterfly.
What if that is my next state? What if I am morphing into a street streaker? That is possible you know! I could manifest it, or some person out there might be manifesting it right now!
Of course, this would draw an increasing number of people to my blog. So there is that.
I was contemplating, the other night, after my husband’s classic quote: “I keep thinking to myself, how do you do that? I mean who’s got that much shit to say,” that perhaps the book title I have been searching for is truly: Shit, my wife says. I mean that would draw the other half of the population in that isn’t in it for the streaking.
What do you think? We (you and me—as you are automatically my best friend by reading this)..we could insert “aspie” right before the word “wife,” so the search engine could find it better, or I suppose “Asperger’s.” We could indeed insert several adjectives of interest there. Hmmm. Let us change the subject.
Here is some more of myself this morning. There has to be a middle ground, between this shaking-her-head-at-sad-little-wanna-be-guru-half-me (who is typing now) and the sad-little-wanna-be-guru-peon (who is writing below.) There just has gotta be!
***
“I find myself slipping back into self, into a place I cannot see; it is as if I am there and watching, experiencing the whole thing, but then when I try to look back, it appears I wasn’t there to begin with; as I cannot remember walking through life, or breathing, or even thinking. The process is similar to when I write my spiritual prose, in which I hear this delicate woven oneness throughout my being, and from somewhere deep that isn’t deep at all; this lovely-joy emerges without emerging. There seems to be no door opened or closed, just a stream within a stream within a stream. And I am swept up into the images of where I am not, but am; perhaps this is grace or being touched by the divine. Whether this is manifested, an embrace from beyond self, or an embrace by myself alone, makes no matter, for in the “teachings” which are more akin to remembering, I know without boundary and outside the numerical representation of percentages, that there is no right or wrong, or any answers.”
I inserted the photo so you would think the post was over. hehehehehe
Sounds like she is drugged, yes? Come on, come on, be truthful. If you are an Aspie, I can count on your for that.
And I go on, and on, and on….like my experience is the make or break of me. Like if I don’t share this insight, I shall have died inside for not fulfilling my destiny. Please. Cut out the crap, princess-semi-saint!
She continues:
“As I have mentioned before, I recognize this is my experience; I don’t expect anyone to get “me,” or understand “me,” or even want anyone to accept “me.” There is an inner peace I have come to find and any moment I experience attachment, the serenity seemingly vanishes. Thusly, it is far more freeing to release what I want than to release the serenity. It is simple to me. Really. I am on this other side of nowhere, in this space, and I have no desire to slip back to the other space, even though I know all is space. Isn’t that a silly thing? Yes, indeed this all is. That is why I laughed so deeply this morning, uncontrollable spiritual laughing. I chuckled so deeply that the only thing I can compare the intensity to is the extreme polar opposite beyond opposite of weeping deeply. The experience was reminiscent of the moments I have sobbed on my knees or in the fetal position inside my closet begging for rescue from my own self; except, and in this joy-filled weeping of love…”
***
Pausing to sigh, and laugh, and remind you that I (the fun-loving gal) am still here. Hold on, it gets better:
“….I felt so deeply and fully that it far surpasses the deepest I have ever wept. For once the measure of my pain did not equally match my joy. My joy reached tremendous glorious heights. And there in a moment, all of it, all of my life made so much sense. I saw everything, like I had died, but what was flashing before me was instant knowing of the comical joke of being lost for so long. And there wasn’t any sadness or remorse or regret; nothing that didn’t fit into the ring of sublime love and joy. I was a giddy guru celebrating the entire journey of me. All of time stopped and I slipped through my own mind, outside of somewhere of nowhere. I just was. And in this intense being and what felt to be connection, I felt nowhere and everywhere at once. I understood so much so fast, as if a person had lifted open a box to find me and He or She or It was peering down at me with glorious kind eyes and laughing.”
***
YES, it’s me SAM CRAFT…and I have come with a club to smack you on the head!
And she goes on more:
“The remarkable part of the divine laughter was I found myself unable to be afraid of the experience. I was able to ask questions and have answers before the questions were entirely formed. I knew what was happening was from the divine and I knew all was well. I laughed harder, as I thought: “What if I never stop?!” I now understand clearly that I don’t have to endure suffering to connect with my higher power.”
***
You see? Come on, who would you rather sit with at a pub? This me writing, or that me above, who literally is above, floating two-feet off of her stool. I think you would enjoy the other emerging (barging out me), but she gets boring, and stiff, and old so fast. You’d be begging me to stop, like if I have a switch or something. I don’t. Of course you’d likely learn a lot because I have grand flashes of knowing! You’d learn that it hurts when you yawn so much; you’d learn that my face has a freakish way of not being able to stop smiling. You’d learn that it is indeed not an act and that I am either in some trance, taken over by aliens, or, filled with something or another. (Port wine?)
Then I would drone on more. Here, stick some fries in your ears.
“Last night I noticed, as I was playing catch up with responding to lovely souls who leave words for me to delight in,”
***
lol…. I am sorry… but can’t she just say “people”? Okay, carry on….
“I didn’t feel what I used to feel when people responded to me. There wasn’t any evaluation of them or me, of their words, of their intended meaning, of their intention. I just saw beauty. That is it. Just lovely beauty. And I thought how kind of them to reach out and connect; how very kind.”
***
Someone tell SAM she doesn’t have to share EVERYTHING. I already deleted like 30% of her ramble. And still she babbles on and on and on. I bow down to you, oh enlightened all-mighty one.
Again…..
“This morning when I read a few new comments, I found myself at a distinct crossroad. I stepped back and watched myself process. At first I thought, “Well that doesn’t fit what I was feeling when I wrote it.” And then I played out all these ways in which I would have responded to self in the past and to another in the past. I would have wanted to plead or prove my point, or explain, or re-explain, or justify or point out. I would have wanted to prove who I was and how I was. But then with a flash, and a great relief of both physical and spiritual pressure, I realized, yet again, there is NOTHING to prove to me or anyone! I am who I am and that is all. I am a reflection of the person viewing my words and the being I weave within these words. What a person chooses to see is how he or she sees the path before him or her. Not me. It’s not about ME! It’s about everyone else.
(Not me! What a relief.) << that's non-semi-saint talking.
I could then just reflect back to the self inside self or outside self or no self at all…(you see the confusion, and how I still blunder within-hahaha)…that what is written for me, carries NO message at all in the words beyond the emotions and experience I choose to have when I read the message. Each word is my teacher. And then all is reversed. It is me reading their words and choosing what I see to be the path in front of me. They become my teacher. In releasing the judgment, the discernment, the questions, I simply let them teach me. And so I take in the vibration of their words now quite differently, or what seems differently than before. I smile, with this smile that just never seems to fade, and think: “Ah, so that is how you see yourself? And, ah, so this is how you teach me, with your blessings of being.
When I am out in the world, something else has “transitioned.” I had finally received another person fully. There are no questions, only a gentle acceptance. Thoughts of: What a kind person. What a beautiful light. What a dream. What a love.
I have also released attachment to words. I see how every word, no matter the word, can be loved for the word itself and nothing more. Words have no implications on me or the world or anyone. I have the only implication upon self. If a word doesn’t resonate with me, I just sit with the word and what it carries, and I listen to the experience, opening as I am taught. That is all. This is no trick of the mind or game, it just is; like the salmon in the stream, I just move as I am called, up or down or around, with no fear of my destination, but still following the course that either drives me or moves me.
I have been spending quiet time daily, studying different spiritual texts, my favorite at the moment being the gnostic Christian gospels, the Catholic Saints, and Buddhist texts. I also have been listening to my angels throughout the day. I am practicing being in the moment without effort or strain. I am learning more and more about where I am and where I have been without asking or yearning. I have let go of the thoughts of attachments, to need, to anything that is not matched exactly to the serene peace my higher power brings."
***
(not over yet…she ain’t! I think I just did a mini-barf! Tastes like garlic)
“I understand fully that my path is my path, and that anyone and everyone chooses their own path. I have no judgment in how one walks, in how they choose to see me, how they choose to see the choices I am making. I know I am not leading the way. I know each person is his or her own leader. There is no judgment I place on my own journey. I know without doubt that I am a living example of the LIGHT, and in this way, I am the key, just as everyone else is a key. I now view this word Aspergers as a symbolic representation of the cycle of everything. I see the connections within the connections.
I had to latch on and attach to Aspergers. I just had to. Any attempt to pull me out the immersion of Aspergers was met in fierce defense. I am wondering if Aspergers is not indeed a state of limbo. A state of being half-awakened, the beginning of recognizing the illusion of conversation, the illusions of the games people play, the illusion of rules, the illusion of everything. And if perhaps this Aspergers, with this sometimes intense anguish it brings, is not the hugest blessing of all; at least to me, because it thrust me into so much confusion and discomfort that I had the choice to live in fear and pain or to find the answer.
I found the answer in attachment. I was giving the ability to fixate and attach to things. And so I attached to me and my mind and my pain. And I went through it all. I sifted through it. I made a pledge to come out on the other side a transformed person; I did this through attachment. Much like I attached to the word Aspergers. I had to attach to self. I couldn’t bypass this step. I sank into the depth of self, and while doing this took my greatest risks. I risked being exposed, being judged, being wrong, being not liked. I risked all the things in which Aspergers had “made” me fear. I faced my fear.”
*****
Intermission…. in case you need to pee.
*****
Continue:
“This journey has been two-fold, one of embracing Aspergers and of diving into self. I was brave and I conquered the dark night of the soul. The trick is, I didn’t know what I was doing. The entire time I just did. I just let go and did. I allowed myself to be authentic and whole, no matter what state I was in….”
(so true….look at her go)
“… no matter how the other person might perceive me. In this there was torturous hell, repeated doubts, and endless fear. But in this there was freedom, for having faced my demons, they no longer exist. Whether gifts are found in living with the Holy Spirit, walking the path of the Buddhist, connecting to the divine being, or in other elements from the variety of paths to the Light, I see that in Aspergers, or more so specifically, in the traits that make up the manmade concept of Aspergers, I have:
A heart like a child
A longing for the truth
A longing to be gentle and kind
A desire to be the best person I can
The ability to see through games
The ability to step back and be observer of self
The huge capacity for intense studies of any subject of interest
The want to be the best person I can be
The lack of wanting to hurt anyone, to manipulate, or to lie
Compassion for all living things (some objects, too)
An ability to love easily and forgive easily
Indeed, I believe that Aspergers is and was my path to freedom. I also understand fully that attachment and non-attachment are twins. I see a doorway for each and everything I have attached my energy to. I see millions of doors. I see how I had to attach to many things, like “love” interests, and fear, and food, and so on, in order to reach non-attachment, just as I had to attach to Aspergers and myself to un-attach from both. There is a door of attachment. I open the door. I experience actions, emotions, or waking trials/challenges and walk through the tunnel of this specific fear. The tunnel is dark and scary. And as I am walking through this tunnel I face the demons. But I keep walking, keep trudging forward. I do reach the end. I open the closed-door and I am back in the light on non-attachment.
In this way attachment is my tunnel. In this way attachment is my greatest teacher. All along I thought that I had to first release and let go to heal, but what I had to do was let go enough only to face my fear. Now I go through the tunnel in an instant; the dark comes and then the huge light. In taking in the dark and holding the fear, I am simultaneously embraced by the light. Soon the dark is such a small sliver that the light just keeps coming and coming. But My hope now is nothing. I realize I don’t have to keep forcing myself to not attach; instead I allow myself the freedom to attach to anything and everything and watch as I pull my own tentacles off of what I am embracing. It has become so evident that feeding off of a desire is painful and standing in the light is intensely freeing. I can no longer rest as a giant octopus sucking upon the dark side of an underwater rock. I just can’t. It doesn’t resonate. I see myself instantly and think, “No, thanks. Been there, done that. Give me the light.” ”
*****
I forgot to mention, I just paid a fortune for my new retainer, as my teeth shifted back, because I never got a retainer as a teenager and didn’t have an Aspie mom.
SEEEEEEEE I told you, she’s a talker. She is so virtuous and good and loving and kind. Oh, NO!! Am I experiencing split personality??? Stopping myself from looking up characteristics of such a condition.
You know what totally sucks about semi-saint is the fact that she will never ever say one bad thing about me. She won’t even use the word “bad” without something in parenthesis editing her own dull verbiage. Crap! Fricken Crap. I am always going to be the bad guy, without her ever pointing it out! Until she crushes me, or I crush her. And I won’t see her coming, she’ll be so charming and loving and truth-filled and radiating love that I will be wooed by her, just like my husband. I will wag my imaginary tail, shaking my bootie back and forth and just give in. I’ll just slip away.
Is this enlightenment? Because it royally sucks!
This is ALL my teacher’s fault: The Buddhist monk, or nun, or mountain man who lives in the cave, (he is hot and in a flannel shirt; hot as in sexy hot), or whomever was supposed to beam down and help me through this process.
I give up. My hands are in the air. This off-her-rocker-elven-princess who morphs into semi-saint-wannabe needs a proxy-teacher. Anyone up for the job? Anyone? Anyone?
(thank you to the person who shared this song, today!)
Today I painted for six hours straight without pause. I was able to process and purge some of my emotions. I prayed and connected to spirit. This is my first attempt at a realistic watercolor. I am pleased with the outcome. I feel my energy and love in this piece. It is called “The Shift.” I am still feeling a great passion and surge of connection to source; thusly, I quickly scribed a poem to match the painting. With my recent emotional and spiritual healings, I have an intense drive to bring to life the beating love within me.
The Shift
I walked alone, a stranger on an island to herself. The atmosphere thick and strangling, my emotions bottled inside the opaque glass of reason. I did not know myself, my name, my passion. All was nothing and nothing was all. I longed for companionship; and as desert soul left open, would climb the cliffs in search of you.
Call out, I did, until you came, at least the whispered ghost of you; your phantom corridor offering me respite, if only in imaginings. I ached so devastatingly deep that the richest cave could not harbor the very start of my emptiness. A lion’s roar was my enemy and friend; this triumphant beating trembling purge of beast that drifted and wept across the sea.
I died onto myself, missing you as the window misses the onlooker; left rigid, cold, and clear with no view and no observer. I was less than invisible. I was abstract, set out beneath the world, yet none could be my witness; none could hear my tears.
Falling, I fell. Calling, I called. And yet you heard me not, except the tiniest splinter of thought. In daylight I formed you with clay; the milkiness of you seeping through my entangled fingers. Bled out to the ground, I molded my dignity, my fortitude, my every want into the making of your heart.
And you beat, this moistened part of you, beneath where I rested; my lathered palms dripping muddy-sweet into the blades of greenest grass. I ate you, then, ground your essence between my teeth, and turned my mouth a brown of dreams. Played you between my tongue and cheeks; something tangy, no less sweeter than my own buds.
I nibbled and caressed, taking in the fantasy I created; the one I longed to paint across the seabreeze, to make your real, like the toy that comes alive to the child still innocent. To dance with you, your floppy legs turned limber and lean; the muscles flexing underneath the all of you.
I could climb you like a tree, harboring your very branches between my thighs, and ride you into the sunset as a damsel on her knight obedient.
Atop, in the blue haze, far beyond the robin’s nest, where the eagle soars still, I would witness the end, and sit with you hand—in-hand, like butter between my flesh and soul. Spread out like no other, my head upon thy breast, my heart within your very dove-winged embrace. My mystery revealed, a treasure onto you. In so much that my kingdom becomes your destiny; a place of rapture, delight, and dancing laughter.
Spin me there, now, kind prince. Swing me through the evergreen forest and champion your maiden ripe. For the time has come for children to rise and face the light of happiness.
I am really struggling with gluttony. Not in the over-indulgence-of-substance modern-day view of gluttony, but in the John of the Cross way. Gluttony in the sense of being one who applies too much self-affliction, self-persecution, and self-punishment. I’ve had this “issue,” or decree of self-annihilation of self from self, since I can recollect, particularly surfacing about the time of puberty.
I get locked into this dance of enough and not enough, real and not real, opinion and not opinion, hanging myself on a loom of remorse of never finding the answers. I am stuck on this pendulum and all I can hear is the tick-tick-ticking of which way. Do I cling to the wall on the left or the wall on the right; or do I find a way to make the pendulum swing the direction opposite of east-west, and spring out ahead north or fall behind south. Or do I jump off of the pendulum and sink into the dark unknown abyss. I don’t know. But I know I am tired of my reasoning-brain, this spill of logic that dives into every thought I have.
The only time I feel at peace is when I am in a state of meditation (grace) and connection (to Holy Spirit), which I can now acquire for up to six hours straight. This time with source is beyond wonderful and the beauty is indescribable.
However there exists one major problem: I now feel like two people.
I feel like this higher-self, this ideal me, the one I have always wanted to reconnect with. But I also feel like this other person, this other me. The other me is where I am at right now. This other me is where I am having difficulty being.
This ideal me, she has it together, really does. She loves and serves unconditionally. She lives in the moment. She is pretty fabulous. She also, through all of this, manages to be humble and so very giving.
The problem occurs when she disappears, or slips back, or falls asleep, or goes somewhere, perhaps skydiving with the angels, and I am back, facing me in the mirror, a face I don’t recognize in a body I do not want. I am in essence lost, having had just been to a place beyond imagination of divine love and inherent goodness. It is this attachment to the higher power I long for and live for that continues to slip out of my grasp and leave me to wonder what happened, and if indeed I imagined everything.
At a logical level I know something is happening beyond myself. Too many dreams have come true, too many intuitive knowings, too many connections, “coincidences,” signs, recognitions, and premonitions materializing. I recognize this, but no proof seems enough when dealing with that which still remains unattainable and unimaginable, at least not in the state I am in this very moment, one of the fallen me, left abandoned waiting to reconnect with the infinite divine.
There is more happenings as well; beyond the empathic abilities, the visions, the ability to scribe deep philosophical prose from seemingly nowhere, there is my husband, whom is known to be a skeptic and prone to Mr. Spock Vulcan like tendencies. He sees the miraculous changes in me and is in awe of the visions and writings I share; so much so in fact that he has taken a liking to referring to himself as Mrs. Noah, like the Biblical Noah’s wife. Wherein I get all the glory and he works diligently in the background.
I can’t deny some dynamic shifts have taken place. My healing visions have materialized, people have contacted me I knew I would meet, and I have connected with such spectacular and marvelous people from all over the world, many whom have become friends and confidants. All is happening in a wonderful way. Joy-filled connections daily and heart-endearing messages. I am beyond thankful, but still remains this lingering doubt.
As much as I experience these visions and write these writings, I still question my own ability and worthiness. Primarily these are the same doubts I have had my entire life. I have the same record playing in the background.
Though I have much transitioned, and have gained tremendous peace, self-acceptance, serenity and love of myself and others, I still have this part of me whom wonders why. Could it be the decades of searching has finally materialized the part of me that was lost, and that in finding my own vocation and life’s purpose another part of me, the same part that held me back for so many years, is here trembling in the corner denying such a reality exists?
For in the corner I hear drenching thoughts of: I am no one special. I am just this flawed stumbling human being endowed with troubling thoughts I cannot purge, fear I cannot conquer, and tears that continually flow. I am ultimately imperfection, unworthy of the extreme goodness and joy I am afforded.
And all this surfaces, while the other me, the observer, she steps back in form and watches, her smile wide, her heart open, whispering surrender, sweet one, surrender.
Lately, something remarkable has been happening; in truth this something has likely always been happening, as it does for all of us, and just perhaps a new door of awareness has been opened. I am able to spend long periods of time in what feels like a bubble of light and safety. Sometimes this ability, or more so happening, occurs from when I awake until late afternoon. I notice during this “time,” I remain in the moment, I do not think of the future or past, and I have no experiences with fear. There is a gentle vibration I feel up my spine, particularly at the base of my neck, and a tingling sensation throughout my body that is very mild, except at the tips of my fingers and toes where the vibration is stronger and seems to collect. I can feel this vibration as I am typing. I can connect into this “state,” (which I hesitate to call state, but can think of no other word), more easily when I am alone or in nature. The soothing sounds of the water drops dripping off of the evergreen trees after a spring rain, the eruption of singing birds flying and their noise tipping my senses into ecstasy, the sweet stream bubbling and flowing downward, the echo of my own footsteps against the soil, all collect and calm my being at multiple levels.
During these times, when I am at would could be called a heightened awareness, I am able to easily tap into complex thoughts and ideas. I experience multiple awakenings and what I can only think are visions. I am entirely calm, seemingly in a state of surrender. My senses are heightened but not to a degree in which I am overwhelmed. Sharp noises and sudden emotions don’t exist. Nothing pierces me, and I am soothed by a voice that isn’t there, a whisper that feeds me with no sound. When I was a child sometimes I would hear angelic music or entire symphonies while alone in my bedroom; during these experiences I had a sense of awe and amazement. I remember feeling safe and protected. When I am in this state of grace, I feel this sense of safety that is reminiscent of my youthful times of music.
Often, through out my day, whether I am existing in this “bubble” or existing beyond or outside of the state, I am given knowledge at a fast and vibrant rate. So unexpected in the degree of capacity that I, as observer, step back in amazement and ponder how a vast amount of learning could be poured into me in a small increment of time. This reminds me of the abstractness, and better yet, invisibility and non-existence of the concept time, a collaborated truism based on our collected and created illusion.
Walking today, beneath and beside the towering pines and cedars, I was reminded of the beauty of connection, and given a mini-lesson in the time it took to walk two blocks. So much with so few steps. And I slipped again into the outside of the varying experience, and watched myself take in the viewing—all in images and a sense of “knowing” I cannot describe in words or in action. There is no vocabulary available, and if there were, then the experience would no longer exist; as it feels entirely secret and precious, in a sacred and honored space that one must reach with delicacy and sincerity of heart. Scattered with images so profound, but equally simple and easy. The complexity wrapped in the packaging of innocence, indeed.
I watch, and simultaneously am soothed, my pain lifted, or at minimum dissipated. I feel as if I am a child and remarkably small but remarkably significant all at once. There is no barrier, no difficulty, no stopping to understand, question, or figure out. The voice is of many weaved and ribboned into one, neither feminine nor masculine, but powerful in the gentleness. I hear from within and from without, even perhaps at a cellular level. And within a moment I understand what I can best describe as pages of information—a small book or pamphlet perhaps, but without the struggle to read, to decipher, to even be present. The occurrence is as simple as slipping under the covers and taking in the coolness and comfort of the bed sheets after a productive and satisfying day, like tired and well-used muscles easing into the reward of finality in the space of safety. And not just my muscles, but my mind, spirit, and entire body—this organism I be.
I see things as if for the first time but also as if for the millionth time, in a way in which I feel in every part of me, I have always had this wisdom. My body becomes light and unburdened, my mission clear, my beingness validated. There is the opportunity so vast and so undoubtedly un-narrow that the chance for growth seems entirely feasible without effort or know-how. Just as my hair or nails grow, I grow. There is no telling, no reminding, the “truth” just comes. I cannot will this experience, control, or even know when this place of no-time will exist, if it exists at all.
I am reminded during this process of the goodness of the world, of the goodness of people, of the heart of people, of our innate love and capacity for love. I am reminded of the lesser and the greater being the same, of the endless sea of potential. I see the universe in the water drop and the universe within each soul.
In these moments of gentle clarity, I cry out in in humility, and through tears beg for the release of pride. In response, I hear this gentle knowing, almost a laughter, but sweet-joy of laughter if it be. The sound without sound whispers joy and hope: “Oh, precious child, it is your humility that carries you.” And I cry again, not out of fear of the experience, but from fear of my own self, that I be not worthy, not entitled, not enough, at least not to partake in an experience that is neither grand nor small, but completely serene.
In this span of being, I can become the trees. I can become the sky and both be and fly. Below me I see angelic shapes, above me the mirror of the angels beside. Everywhere is this gentle flow, and nothing unsettled or too much or not enough. And I can remain here, watching myself walk through this time of no-time, reminding my own self that I am okay and all is enough. I can hear myself whispering, too, that there need not be an answer to this, whether formulated by mind or created by something beyond mind, that beauty is enough without comprehending the source. And then I am brought back through an endless pull and stream into the flow of the universe, increasingly ready to swim without effort. A pull so magnificent that no desire is laid unturned or unexplored, and all the answers laid out in front of me with only a first hope, slipped in before thought.
Today, as I was here, in this place, I was taught of empathy. I was shown in pictures and in moving scenes, and with words without words why I am the way I am. And why perhaps some others experience the world in the same way. So much was shown so fast that I hesitate to scribe, for how can I, being only me, give justice to what transpired outside of time. And in so thinking, this same thought of inadequacy or forgetfulness as I walked, I was told, reminded again, that I will remember enough.
In so far as empathy is concerned, I witnessed many of the sufferings I had experienced throughout my life, too many to list, and too narrowing to mention; but with each of these sufferings, in experiencing my individual sufferings, I understood, as I walked through an outpour of knowing, that because of my suffering I am able to feel and relive another’s suffering.
I understood that true empathy does not exist. That empathy is yet another illusion, and a label being used to classify, and in some ways minimize a people or sect of community.
In my understanding that came in rapid pictures entwined with messages and a quality that can best be described as mini-lectures without pretense, hierarchy, expectation, or manipulation, I was shown the capacity I have, (and in turn others have), to relate to suffering because I have suffered.
I was shown that to state one has empathy for another is to believe he or she is experiencing the others’ emotional, physical, and spiritual experience, and that this is an impossibility; however, the easiest and closest cousin to empathy is the capacity to love and hold another in love while he or she is suffering; this can be attained at a richer and purer level when the one holding, in this case me, is capable of going back, almost slipping back at a biological and spiritual level to a similar experience. In this state of remembering, I, the holder, have the ability to be as close to the one suffering as I can.
This closeness is only achieved, if I have experienced a similar suffering, but not the same, as I am a separate individual with my own scope of experience, my unique sensory processing, and my own way of reasoning, theorizing, and connection. My experience can never be the same as another’s, but the closet thing to sameness is this remembering and connecting.
In this way the true way to connect is in thinking back and knowing what the experience of another might have been like, but at the exact time knowing that the experiences are unique. Taking this into account, the next step or part, is recognizing the own self in another, and how his or her journey reflects an aspect of my own self and my own path. In seeing this I can simultaneously, as I hold and remember recalling my own experiences, also reflect on what could big the “bigger” picture—that of us, the suffering one and the holder, both being spirits living a spiritual life, from the belief point that one reflects and teaches the other.
So whilst I am deciphering and remembering at a physical and emotional level, I am also remembering at a soul-level the purpose, and ultimate meaning, of my own life: to connect and to love. In this I am serving; in having experienced my own suffering I am able to serve by connecting and loving.
All this occurs when I display what the society has labeled “empathy,” and in some cases my lack of “empathy.” In observation, yes, I am focusing on self, but I am focusing on self for a higher-cause and higher-purpose. I am reflecting back on what would be my life and my spirit in hopes of better serving the sufferer. Ultimately, I am serving not empathizing. For to empathize simply means to put oneself in another shoes and feel that experience readily; that is only the first part of what I do. I am also reflecting and remembering my spirit and my mission to love, so I am taking this empathy beyond empathy.
In seeing all this in the span of a few minutes of my walk, I was also shown another part. All of this played out at the same instant, not in order, not chronologically, not spilt out, not split up, not categorized, but gently placed within, as if eye-dropper squeezed out the molecular reflection of a droplet of rain into hand, and I, as learner, sat observing the dynamic spectrum and pyramid of light from something so miraculously small and at first glance simple.
In this span of un-time, I saw that these group currently classified as “Aspergers” are not lacking empathy, that in truth we are complex beings deciphering large amounts of random information at multiple levels and classifying this information into categories to better make sense of this world. And when a sufferer comes, we do the same as we do in our everyday walking life, we look, we observe, and we attempt to sort out. When we encounter something that is not of our “knowing,” as we have not felt it nor experienced it, we try to make sense of this experience the sufferer is having. In this way we may come across as logical or even be perceived as rude, or self-centered, but in actuality we are trying to serve the sufferer by first connecting to our own self, so that we can experience the level of sorrow and be capable of sitting in the pain with the other. When we hit roadblock is when we decipher and categorize, and attempt to cling to a memory or prior experience that is relatable to the sufferer, but no such moment exists. Here we become baffled, as how can we show this compassion and understanding to something that does not exist in our “knowing.” As I received this information, I saw myself in many scenarios reliving the moments when I was able to feel (connect to my own experience based on the past) and when I was unable to feel (finding no reference based in my past experience).
Furthermore, I was taught in these brief moments, that for me, when I am undergoing “empathy,” it does not make a difference to me who the other person is. I feel as much connection to the homeless man, some would deem “stranger,” as to the friend I have known a decade. I do not distinguish. As a child, and still to this day, I felt the suffering of animals, insects, and plant life. In this case I did not need to connect and live as another species, I just knew, and innately understood the root of suffering, that is oftentimes felt as a state of being unseen, alone, and isolated. I do believe that all organisms have the capacity to suffer. I cannot explain this, but I have felt it and seen this. And as I see it the suffering is released, but still remains. Again, I cannot explain all of what I see and in a way seem to “know.” Perhaps this suffering is the mirror image of my illusioned self suffering and seeking companionship, and perhaps not. I do not know.
In so being that in my eyes, since a child, I have within me the ability to love all at the same level, I empathize with all at the same level. This is not to say that at moments I do not feel a higher connection with some people, for instance my children, but I believe, at this time, that connection is brought on by biological means, and perhaps at a soul-level of recognition, or even as a “knowing” that the person or element has entered my life after a long absence of waiting and wishing. In these circumstances, at close look, it is not the other person that I am connecting with but indeed my own feelings and experience. For to truly connect is to imply unconditional love, and in the definition of unconditional my own individualized interpretation and emotions do not come into play.
Walking onward, in only a few more steps, I saw that in some ways, if I was to label this commonly agreed upon form of empathy in present day, that in many ways it resembles something self-focused and not love focused. Again, I saw all of this in an epiphany of knowing, all entering me in a droplet of substance, joined and unified together. There was no judgment or right or wrong, only this knowing I cannot explain. Here, this instant within another instant, all intertwined but separate onto itself, I witnessed the suffering of many.
I saw couples, of many shapes and sizes, holding a space for the other in this dance of “empathy.” But I saw beneath the façade, and understood instantly what mainstream calls “empathy” is not empathy at all. As a majority, many claim to empathize, and many claim that aspects of Aspergers character traits disable some individuals from empathizing. I saw clearly the falsehood in this belief. For in watching the knowledge pour into me, the water flowing with clarity, I was able to grasp in the movement of images once again, the capacity of another to empathize is not related to what he says, does, or did. The capacity to empathize is not held in the viewing of another’s words or actions. Here is where some get caught up. He or she watching the one that “should” be emphasizing has readily decided that the way in which the person acts, in so being what he does or says, is a reflection of empathy. And this is a falsehood.
The empathy is only seen when peeled back beyond the actions and presentation, and thusly seen as a sheer garment draped around the soul. It is in truth at an energetic, connected level where empathy emerges. Therefor what is said and done does not emulate or communicate empathy, true empathy is found in the emotion beneath emotion, and thought beneath thought, at an ever-moving state of energy flowing.
Here is where the empathy takes place: In the space that two allow the both to mingle and join.
Empathy occurs when one is held as the mirror and teacher to the other and one is aware that the other, though undergoing this illusion of suffering, is still learning, growing, and embraced by divine goodness and healing waters.
Here is where true empathy exists if empathy were to exist in any realm: It is in the holding another in a space of unconditional love and acceptance with the absence and non-existence of judgment.
Here in this space one is saying to the other: I like you am spirit who suffers. I like you recognize and experience suffering. I may not understand your exact suffering, as I am not you and you are uniquely you. Yet, I recognize you as spirit, my brother, who like me walks in this world thinking he is alone when in truth you are never alone. I am here now holding you in this space of union and here to remind you I am both yourself and your reflection. I am your heart and your knowing. And in this way you are never alone in your being or in your suffering.
Here is what I understood about empathy—that in the falsehood of actions empathy is masked and recreated into something it is not.
Words are not empathy. Actions are not empathy. Somehow we have been trapped in an imaginary game of believing what one says and does is truth. But in fact, it is the core of the person that rests his truth, what is beneath the layering of humanity, a layering of presentation which tries so very often to way the pros and cons, and to in essence manipulate before taking action.
In this way so much empathy is false and painted to be perceived as caring, where at the heart of the person there exists jumbled and confused thoughts (falsehoods as we are all one), such as: I am glad it’s not me; I am glad I am not going through this right now.
There may exist feelings of detachment, of wanting to run away, of not knowing what to say. But what comes out so very often is yet another way of communicating what is not there beneath the surface, but instead doing in action what one thinks another one wants to hear.
Empathy itself is best shown in just being with another. Just being. Not responding. Not reacting. Not fixing. Not speaking words of sympathy, but just being. For so often the words will not accurately reflect the underlying feelings and/or energy of the other.
All of these thoughts came to me in the span of two blocks, these thoughts and more in an almost endless flow of capacity for knowing. And yet, I was left unburdened and my own fears subsided. Perhaps this is indeed the clean waters pouring into the murky and still-standing being I am, and relinquishing me from the stagnant state of my existence of illusion.
Everyday Asperger's 