338: You Are The Block

Today I participated in being present.
I got in my van and drove where I felt drawn to go.
I found myself on the waterfront by the boat docks, and walked lightly along the pathway.
I felt grounded into the earth and protected, and very much loved.
I noticed the sky and all the sounds about me. I noticed many things that I hadn’t noticed before.
The sun paid a visit and peeked out from the clouds, and I was invited by this lovely block structure to lean and take in the sunlight on my face.
I closed my eyes and just let myself be.


I thanked the block art.
I have always admired people who could be still and with themselves and find a gentle resonating connection to the earth and with their inner being.
Today I was one of those connecters.

I walked past a building that invited me in. And there I greeted a flyer about a movement class. I kept the paper and will reflect on the opportunity.

As I traveled back to my van, I practiced letting go of thoughts and took in many sounds and sensations.
When I was on the road again, I drove past a small bakery.
I treated myself to lunch there, the most sensational lunch.
I savored every bite with awareness and pleasure. The fork tickled me. The sautéed mushroom, bread, and egg saluted me. I found myself giggling inside at the images in the food. I found myself giving repeated thanks and gratitude.
I soaked in the goodness, and as I had done before, I kept repeating the words “Love, love, love.”

I was continually brought back to the present. Every movement and ever feeling inside of my body felt magical.

The world looks different now.
Wherein sensory stimuli could sometimes overwhelm me, now I am intrigued by all of the motion of the world.
As I ate, I smiled at the homeless man outside the window. I watched him eat on the bench. He had much food. I imagined we were eating together. When he was finished, and approached where I sat, a glass pane separating us, we locked eyes and smiled together.
We’d eaten together in my heart.

I took over a half of an hour to eat one sandwich. I wondered why I always ate so fast before, when every bite was an opportunity for acceptance and gratitude.
I listened to the sound of people and watched them move. I took in the pitch of voices and the color of clothes. With every thought I released all judgment.
I felt tremendous joy of being alive, and gave thanks for the ability to appreciate the moment and my life.
When I moved from my chair, I did so with gentle intention. No anxiety was in my psyche or my physical being. Everything about me radiated serenity.
A bakery worker moved towards me to collect my plate. We shared a sentence and our eyes smiled. I felt such warmth and human connection.

When I drove again, if any sorrow arose, manifested by an ache in my heart and gut, I imagined the sorrow, the shape of the sorrow. To me, the sorrow appeared a twisted colorless ribbon. I let the sorrow rise and then I held the sorrow.
When I held the sorrow, sorrow evaporated.
Each time the sorrow rose, I let the deep ache come to me.
I felt the intensity of suffering. I felt the tears of my soul, and then, through awareness and acceptance, I held the pain once more, and once more again.

Today I was happy despite my sorrow. Today I was sorrow-filled despite my happiness. And neither was the winner.
Moment after moment I returned back to the present, leaving the sorrow and happiness to the space of emptiness.
I see neither sorrow or happiness as my partner or friend, and neither as my foe.
I accept where I am at and let the river of peace flow through me.

I do not stand in judgment of myself, and with this freedom I do not stand in judgment of my passing neighbor.
I do not stand in judgment of my passing neighbor, and with this freedom I do not stand in judgment of my self.

I planned nothing. I thought not of the future, nor did I linger long in the past. I just was. I just am.

If ever there was joy to be found immeasurably, it was in the simplicity of my being.

Now as I sit here, I feel embraced.
I know not why or how or from where this love comes; I release; I release the source and I release the cause.
Nothing matters, while everything matters.

Today I am thankful, not for anything or anyone, not for a singular experience or emotion; today I am thankful because I recognize that with the release of attachment, I am at last releasing self into the ocean of life. I am a bird swimming in the blue. I am a fish flying through the sky. All is a reflection, one upon the other.
And everywhere I look is beauty.

I am looking at you now. Beautiful one. Special one. Dear one. Lovely lovely light-filled soul.
I am looking at you, and you are all.
You are the sunshine in my face. You are the sensation of pleasure dripping off of my fork. You are the homeless man smiling with his eyes. You are the earth smiling with your heart.
You are everything to me, as I am to you.
And I accept your love and grace.
I accept you just as you are right now. Just right where you are.
You are divinely perfect.
You are the block.
You are the art in the park.
The place where one can rest and lean and soak in the goodness of the world.
Thank you.

Photo on 3-7-13 at 3.47 PM

Thirty-Three: The Celery String is Alive! Personification Pondering.

For those of you wondering: Yes, I do have a life outside of processing what’s going on inside my head. It’s just that, at the moment, what’s going on inside my head is extremely fascinating. Just so you know, I did just return from my city’s quaint downtown, with a cheese puff and apple fritter in hand, from the best bakery this side of the western states. And, I might add, I had a hot brewed cup of coffee with just a tad of nutmeg. This, after partaking in a relaxing venue atop the acupuncturist’s cushioned table. The coffee is about to kick in, so I will try to make this fast, as to not dial into manic-mode. I’m one of those types that given a drop of coffee, becomes frantically intense and even more interesting, in that peculiar, glad-I’m-not her, kind of way. I’ve been known to rearrange an entire room, sometimes clean for eight hours straight, given the adequate amount of particular slow-roasted beverage. Coffee is certainly and enigma of our time. I wonder what substance or activity will eventually replace the black gold as our source of rapture and excuse for social gatherings.

I cried all the way home from the bakery, while balancing my coffee, and listening to Jars of Clay. I’ve listened to the same song some 100 times in the last couple of weeks. Finally thought it was time to share the song. I added the video at the end of this post. Though I have reservations, as the group is Christian. Reservations only because I fret you might not listen for that reason alone. Which is sad. Because I’d like you to hear the song, for no other reason but to connect to my experience and feel supported, by whatever support that brings you peace. (For my thoughts on spirituality/religion press HERE.) Because when I listen to the song I picture us all together in a large non-denominational, unconditional-love stadium, think the 1970’s, with our arms up swaying back and forth to the music, and supporting one another through this experience someone once named life.

Sometimes I picture us holding white candles, until I think of the fumes, the potential fire hazard, and the possibility of wax dripping all over my arm. In my vision, we are weeping, in the same way I wept all the way home this morning while wailing aloud to the song—there has to be a word for that huge release of energy that comes from a good cry, the type of cry that explodes with love and knowing that we are not alone. The type of cry that means: I made it to the other side, and I’m still standing! And here we are standing together.

Anyhow, that’s how I was crying. There has to be a word.  Maybe: vociferating restitution (wailing with gain-based recovery) combined with hue and cry, (loud public outcry). Restferating Hue! That works. I had a huge restferating hue!

Part of the restferating hue was in response to a video clip I watched yesterday. The other part was the freedom I felt in no longer being connected to the heavy energy from the university. And, yet another, very important piece, is being able to connect with people like you. Well, not like you, but YOU.

Today I would like to plan a gargantuan of a party to celebrate the freedom I am feeling. I think of hosting a party quite often, for you all, in my town in Washington, in the best weather-month ever—August.  I’ve said before that I love to plan a party. Not to be at the party, per say, but plan the party.

I imagine the whole of the gathering would be quite the happening. Everything would have to be very well thought out, though. I’m thinking sunglasses and hats, lounge chairs with pillows, soft lightening, definitely name tags, and for certain the use of inside-voices. NO perfumes. NO loud clothing or squeaky shoes. No toenails showing, hair just so, as to not be visually distracting. Sorry, no children—they are far too unpredictable (in a good way).

All attendees need be double-showered, maybe wearing name tags on their backside as well.  And background checks would be beneficial. Crazy frog is laughing! (Press LINGO BUTTON, if you’re new to my rambling.)

I do imagine meeting you. Our conventions would be a hoot. I don’t think I can do the entire dialogue, LV’s got going on in her head, justice, as I’d have to wean out a lot of material that LV is giggling about. But let’s just say there is a lot of sensory-issues and people-watching, and tons of brutal honesty.

“How was your flight?”


“What’s your greatest fear?”

“Standing here talking to you!”

“If you could be doing anything right now. What would you be doing?”

“Running the other direction.”

Like I said, LV is having a laughing fit!

The BBC video that LV was all happy and get-up-and-go about, introduced the most precious little girl who spoke about personification. Personification: giving human traits (qualities, feelings, action, or characteristics) to non-living objects (things, colors, qualities, or ideas). For example: The rain-covered window is crying. The verb, crying, is a human action. A window is a non-living object.

This discovery is getting a bit too emotional. Just a minute.

I’m back. Crazy Frog is doing deep breathing exercises, and looks so darn adorable with his green bubble chest inflating so. He’s quite muscular. Let’s all take a deep breath and relax the shoulders, shall we? Better.

I have this thing (there’s no better word I can think of) I do, that I’ve always done, that the little girl in the video does, in a similar fashion.

For the longest time, before knowing other people do this thing, too, I thought I was over-sensitive, connected to another dimension, and/or just plain wacky. Well, even with the discovery, those thoughts haven’t changed.

I’m sure there is some cool British word for wacky. I shall allow Crazy Frog (Lingo) to cut loose from the deep emotional stuff for just a minute.

Crazy Frog is such a Jeeves. (Jeeves = resourceful helper; cool word, right?) He loves Yahoo! Here are some British words for wacky, according to Yahoo! Yes, I know, real alive Brits would be the best direct source, but no Britons happen to be in my house at the moment.

Other words for wacky, British style:


gone off my rocker



stark raving mad


a few sandwiches short of a picnic (cucumber sandwiches?)

completely mental

mad as a hatter



total spaz

and my favorite: away with the fairies.

With fairies, I’m thinking a lush green, mossy forest with magical waterfalls and pixie dust sweeping through the air—the smell of honeysuckles and hyacinth flowers.

Wouldn’t you know that hyacinth is my favorite smell, but I can’t pronounce the name. I sound like this when I say the flower name aloud: HIj-sint-HY-sin-t- Hy-nt-sin-ahhhh-ahhhhh. Poop!

I know this wacky list was from Yahoo! So I’m not so certain the list is entirely accurate, but assuming most of the words are, Crazy Frog is thinking, “You Brits have a lot of words for a crazy person.”

Crazy Frog is now trying on different hats, and considering changing his name from Crazy Frog to Sir Barmy. Crazy Frog loves the eccentric, daft, flighty elements of the word. The Daft-Hatter Frog is blowing kisses to himself in the mirror and tipping his hat.

Back up. Scratch that, like there’s no tomorrow. (Sorry if no tomorrow makes you think of the Mayan calendar.)

He just saw that barmy can mean dumbass. He is throwing off tall black hat, and placing daft-hat on nearest politician. I’m liking Crazy Frog.

I’m placing the barmy hat on one of my recent professors whose actions were dumbass in manner. Oops. That kind of slipped out from nowhere. Blame it on the Frog who’s away with the fairies.

So, as I was saying, I do this thing where I personify objects. The little girl in the video clip personified her shoes. She gives objects feelings. If one shoe is on her foot then she feels the other shoe is lonely. And I do the same thing. With shoes, and practically every inanimate object in my world!

For example, this may get a little gross, but if two globs of minty-green toothpaste are clinging on for dear life in my bathroom sink, and one glob is washed down, and the other glob is still there, I feel sorry for the lonely glob! And sorry for the other glob that I washed down the grimy drain, too. Fearing what awaits him. Notice the him. Nothing is an it. There is no it! Which has me thinking, if you haven’t read the children’s classic: A Wrinkle in Time, you ought to. And The Giver, while I’m going there.  Strings, strings, strings. Isn’t it cool, if you’re a regular reader of my ramblings, that you actually get my use of strings?

I even sometimes feel sorry for fruits and vegetables, like when I’m shoving cucumber peelings down the garbage disposal to their impending doom. When I used to fry (massacre) potatoes in a cast iron pan, when I was about the age of ten, the potatoes would make a squealing noise, like they were crying in agonizing, your killing us, pain. It was actually just the horrible sound of oil sizzling, but I felt for those particular potatoes. Sometimes I removed the ones that cried the loudest. But then I didn’t know what to do with them. Because who wants to be put in the garbage?

All this personifying is a big part of the reason eating and cooking, even preparing school lunches, is sometimes hard for me. It’s probably why I don’t ever care to empty a jar completely, or don’t finish the last pages of a book. Who wants to be brought to an end?

Personification is likely why I don’t eat meat; although, oddly enough, I have never felt sorry for chocolate. Except, of course, for the left over chocolate that must join the rest of his commune in my stomach, as soon as possible.

This marvelous discovery, this whole personification thing, explains why the other day, I was actually wondering how the strings of celery must be feeling as they were traveling through my digestive track. Sounds loony, right? I pictured the strings like they were at some waterslide park that ended in a tomb of bubbling stomach acid. Who does that?

Well! Supposedly sometimes some other people with Aspergers do that! So there! LV is sticking out her tongue, which is covered in blue from the jaw-breaker she is sucking on. (I even personify my thought processes!)

It’s okay in my heart that I feel sorry for crumpled paper that didn’t get tossed into the bin, and is now stranded on the floor, because there are other earthlings that feel sorry for the paper too.

What huge compassion I have. If you understand the compassion I have for inanimate objects and food, then image the immense compassion I carry for animals and people! It’s phenomenal.

My blog is personified, too. Bet you didn’t know that. It’s a living breathing entity. And when you are there reading my words you validate its life form. That’s why comments and stats are so important to me. If I know someone’s been here the blog is alive. Writing in a journal isn’t the same. The journal remains lonely and untouched. Get it?

Wow! I’m making huge revelations and connections. Now, the only issue is I have to turn off the study light and leave my poor computer idling in sleep mode, alone in the dark. Maybe you can keep him, Mr. Computer, company while I go frolic with the fairies. And why you are at it, when you make a comment, know you’re keeping Mr. Blog from isolation. Cheerio! (That’s goodbye not a cereal.)

Clarification:  I didn’t use personification in the exact way one is supposed to use the word. Personification references a rhetorical technique, one of many types of figure of speech or metaphor; whereas pathetic fallacy describes a disposition of the mind. ‘Pathetic’ isn’t derogatory; the word pathetic is in reference to being empathetic towards something. To further research look into pathetic fallacy.

Addition: My Blogging British Friend AilienHippy (BBF) added some more wacky words for me: “Barmy, Bonkers, Plonker, Noodle, Wally, Narna and Nutjob.” She does say, “…away with the fairies. And…He’s off his trolley.”  Laughing Housewife added her thoughts, too “…nutter, a bottle short of a six pack.” Schmidleysscribbling (hard one to spell with dyslexia, but a great lady) added: Bodman

Below is the video: Shelter by Jars of Clay. I picture us never walking alone. Upholding one another, and letting our inner light shine! I told you Little Me is a hope-filled melancholic. She can’t help herself.