Don’t ask questions about longing.
Look in my face.Rumi
females
401: To The Woman Afflicted with Aspergers
This is my current truth, nothing less, nothing more.
I believe presently Aspergers is an affliction of the human condition. I do not believe people with Aspergers are any different than the ‘typical’ person. I believe the person with Aspergers is in a heightened state of awareness. He or she is more aware of the inner makings of the mind and thoughts, and in thusly so, trapped in the pre-awakened state.
Wherein, many individuals can walk around without analyzing each and every decision, people still do. They are still thinking the same thoughts and reaching the same conclusions as a person with Aspergers; they are just less aware that they are doing so. By less, I do not mean worse or to a lesser degree; to me this is as if we are each looking through a window from the depths of our internal self. We each have the same window, the same beauty, the same ability and capacity, but some windows are covered with deeper films. Does this make the one seeing more clearly or less clearly any less? No. The window is still the window. And behind the window is still the ever-shining light.
This is not to say that only people with Aspergers have a keener view, only to say those with Aspergers seem to have a natural tendency to understand the inner workings of complex thoughts and reasonings, enabling them to venture into the intricate makings of philosophy, communication, and the “ways” of the world. How or why isn’t important at this time, whether a cosmic chance, a genetic variation, a spiritual affliction, or something else, doesn’t matter. What matters is that this is occurring.
In stating this, I understand that Aspergers is clearly a label, and nothing more: a manmade word that attempts to explain a cluster of behavioral, intellectual, and emotional attributes; a manmade word that has already reached the brink of extinction in man’s needling to make something of nothing. That is: to turn what already has been found and claimed, into another something to fit the maze of reasoning man has attempted to establish. To mix and fit a pre-established made up condition into another newly established seems the work of idle thinkers, but I make no judgment so, only to point out the audacity of their cause and how making one into another by name, does not make the person change in circumstance or personhood.
In stating this, too, I understand that many, many people are also at the edge of awakening, and having Aspergers is no less prerequisite than any other label man has invented, be that: female, male, Jewish, Christian, Muslim, Buddhist, Agnostic, or what have you. But I do agree, within myself, and self alone, that what I have experienced as of late, demonstrates the potentiality of Aspergers to be more of a spiritual affliction of inner trappings than anything else. Perhaps it is the mind that makes this so, or something more; no difference. Whether one grasps onto the mind as the reason or the spirit, the end result is the same; at least for me, Aspergers felt as affliction—a wrought iron affliction it be.
In seeing this, the conclusion I have recently reached through the surfacing of my own relief from said affliction, I recognize there is absolutely no need for one to find relief through religion, or even spiritual refuge. The only relief I found, and was able to continue to bask in, is in the coming into my own self. That is to say digging back through where I had buried me, and finding her there weak, filling her with her own goodness found in self and others, and then purging with her all the unanswered hopes and dreams. Here together we worked through the labyrinth of lies of society and the game-makers, and the game-players we stared down steadily, each a harbor for the other, each adding to the armor we forbade. I cannot explain this process, even as I attempted to do in writing after writings, as I know only the eyes that look upon my words are the judge and decipherer, and no variable amount of steering or recollection one obtains will lead the one in the direction of my own thoughts. I have recognized, I am as ghost to the world, no more visible than the air one breathes, less so, in actuality, as one must feed off the air, and no one need feed off of me.
So alas, I am in this state of relief, having no roadmap to offer, except the words that pour out of me from a place of self so distant, yet so clear, that the offerings feel secure in their rendering, though funny they sound, indeed, even to the scriber who writes as witness with rising smile. I cannot say how I have found these things, or how I know these things, but the words I have let leak upon the past page upon page in the aforementioned works are my inner testimony. Whether I be mad woman, gifted genius, or something of another nature and finding, I know not, and I no longer struggle to understand something so unfamiliar and familiar to self all at once. I only know to love who this is that is this me, and to love who it is that is this you, and the rest makes no difference whatsoever in any measure. And so, from here, I can pour out from a place of love, wrung dry of all fear. The purpose only to be and nothing more, to pour out what is this me from vessel to substance, so I too can breathe in the absence of day.
In knowing Aspergers is an affliction, I state this not to negate the condition, to make it less, or wrong, or even sparse; I state this in hopes, if hope there be, in bringing further clarity to the viewer who takes in the ramblings of this twisted mind. I hope that in doing so the person can turn inward and find where she last stood, rediscover her lost hope and be who she is without pre-thought or want or need. That she can find her beauty locked behind the window bright.
In saying this I have established a roadmap of sorts, though I know nothing until I type, and am just as interested to see what surfaces as the next traveler come.
The makings of Aspergers are distinctively two-fold. In one degree there is the affliction. But this affliction is not brought on by sin or cause or some predestined circumstance. It just is. Whether created by self, or society, or God, or some other act of nature, who is to know, and who is to care. It is what it is at this moment, and nothing more. The first of the makings is the primary cause, what feed the rest, and this is the high-intellect that allows the person of Aspergers to analyze things and events at such depth that the mind can become thy very enemy. Lost in thought the world vanishes, and one lives in a prison, or chamber, depending on the imaginings and denial, and is there for eternity.
She is lost in the inner-workings of all she has brought into herself, all she has been taught, all she has seen and gathered. She is a deep basket, able to carry so much information and ponderings that it is no wonder she becomes lost in the basket itself and forgets that she is not this basket but the collector of self. She forgets she is not these thoughts, this past, this future, and this corresponding fear. She remains trapped in what feels like safety but which is actually a darkness of a forgotten self. She has been told by the many and the masses that she is less than, different, not enough, and to be forgotten. When in truth she is made more than enough, so complex in her thinkings, that the excess becomes her very tool to the victim.
She is making herself more confused in the searching. Responding to the agony of contradictions in two ways: searching out more and burying herself further and/or retreating into a dismal state of lost hope. These are the two paths she sees: One of needing to be more and one of needing to stay as less. Neither path leads to salvation from self.
The only path that I see worthy is through the process of elimination. Where we have been bred to take in more to aid us in dilemma, whether this be through product or wantings, the truth is to be found in taking in less. We have taken in enough already. And there are not answers waiting to be found that will set the afflicted free.
The only way to free oneself is to return to the chamber, say thee prison within, and stay there; and in the waiting find self and bring her into the light, bring her light out to the world. This is a personal and very intense process that can only be done through the very fragile thread of love of humanity. One must see the light in others and thusly find the light in self. One must see the light in all. This is extremely difficult for one so afflicted by what would be perceived as predators, villains, and rightful ones. Even the persecutors themselves play into the affliction. For the very thing that shall save the one, is the one that has in illusion hurt the one. But this is why the female with Aspergers has been given the gift of great emotion and love—all the emotions are two: love or fear. We can therefor turn off the fear and turn on the love. In this way the rest is burned out in the flame of love. It is the only way; there is no other path.
The second of the making is the ability to see between the lines, to decipher that there are no rights or wrongs. There are no rules. There are no reasons. We can clearly take in so many rules of the way to be that we become entirely unwound in ourselves from the reasonings behind the reasonings. From the start of no start. From the man running in some endless game. We see this clearly when we are engaged in conversation and struggling to be who we are to be, but not knowing who this being is. We see this in all we do. This is the affliction, as well, but the greatest of saviors. For how can we stay in such suffering? Endless suffering of seeing through the illusion.
Before we were told, by self, or by another to change, and to become that of what is the game before us. But this is not something that works. We have tried, and in trying we have found our very self retreating in form back into the chamber, hiding away, whether in reality or psyche/spirit, makes no difference. We are hiding. This is the same as the false path. The one of retreating or the one of trying to gather more information—in neither is the rescue found.
One must dive into the illusion and claim it for what it is. This can be done in various ways, but two distinct measures are in announcing your goodness and light to the world through speech, creation, and genuine love of heart. There can be no dismay, no fear, no misery, no blindness, no wanting and no reasoning behind it. This love of self must be rebirthed and then sprouted new, shared with the world. To do so before would cause greater separation of self and outcome, for to have such outcome without the root of love is to set yourself up for predetermined and definite failure. You can only speak from the place of heart—and you will know this place for it will heal you and the world.
You have been gifted all you need to make this excursion; through works or studies; through various outlets in your life; through what draws you in closer and makes you safe; choose these same ways of your avenue to deeper self; do what you must to take out the insides within and lay them out to the world. Cast away doubt that you are unlovable and unworthy and flawed. You have been given this affliction, whether formed by self, nature, or another, for reason, and the reason is for your freedom.
You aren’t trapped in the darkest of chambers; your window is being wiped clean daily, and in this you can see your path more clearly. You only need take the first step and acknowledge the affliction and all shall unfold as intended, and your goodness shall shine out to the world and set us each free, for you are an essential key to the changing of the tide: to pulling out the authentic cord of humanity so we may all sail through the sky in your light. Doubt not what I say, or choose to doubt. There is no choice I can make or perceive. I only say what is in my heart, and bid you do the same deed.
“A human being is part of the whole called by us universe, a part limited in time and space. We experience ourselves, our thoughts and feelings as something separate from the rest. A kind of optical delusion of consciousness. This delusion is a kind of prison for us, restricting us to our personal desires and to affection for a few persons nearest to us. Our task must be to free ourselves from the prison by widening our circle of compassion to embrace all living creatures and the whole of nature in its beauty. The true value of a human being is determined by the measure and the sense in which they have obtained liberation from the self. We shall require a substantially new manner of thinking if humanity is to survive.”
~ Albert Einstein.
398: Watching the Wheels
“Don’t let my wisdom and intelligence fool you. I might know a lot, but in that I know nothing, and am still just as needing and vulnerable as the rest. I just don’t choose to hide behind lies, silence, and games. I hide behind the truths I think shall save me from my loneliness.” ~ Sam
Yesterday I went to a baseball game to watch my son. I was entirely present and able to enjoy the game—a first in my book. I used to hide at sporting events inside books, and if there wasn’t a book, I leapt into my mind thinking of the past or future.
I used to flee when I felt scared in public. That is the bottom line, whether in my mind or physically, I escaped.
Until I realized I feel fear around people because
1) I sensed the illusions and falsehoods, including false love
I explored the false love and falsehood concepts in-depth in a recent post: The Core of Fear
Presently, if I feel fear surfacing around other people, I immediately, without much thought, recognize my true being is not who another person chooses to see. I understand I am simply a reflection of how another feels about herself. I understand that no matter what I say or do, many people will still choose to judge me, as they judge themselves. I am freed by this understanding and able to step back and not let another actions affect me.
This brings me peace wherever I travel.
I love myself despite my perceived imperfections. I have shed all my secrets, in public domain no less. I have nothing to hide. I have no one I need pretend be. I am a wonderful person and honored to know me. I have been to the great depths of soul and found only beauty. This enables me to love others freely, without expectation, want, or desire. And without needing another to complete, validate or fill me.
I am no longer questioning how to fit in, what to say, or how to be; I am simply me. I understand the narrowness and silliness of social rules and structure. I understand I never needed to understand the game; I only needed to step out of the game. Having the strength of self enables me to be self. I am still vulnerable. I am still human. I still care and feel, but the difference is I am not escaping my own feelings through distraction because the pain of separation and misunderstanding is unbearable.
For now, in this moment, I understand most people don’t see life like me; I understand I know how to love unconditionally and many people still don’t. I can tell the difference between fear and love. I can see through lies and pretending. And that’s okay. I choose to love the dreamer trapped inside the dream. I choose over and over to see another person as light and beauty, no matter their actions. I recognize all actions not of true love are stemmed from fear. I don’t really have any other emotions now. Usually just love and fear. All other emotions stem from those two. I see this easily enough.
If I come from a place of fear now, I feel an immediate poison in the body. Here, for me, are things that indicate a fear-based mentality:
1. Feeling the need to defend my point of view
2. Feeling the need to stick up for myself
3. Feeling the need to argue
4. Feeling the need to point out a correction
5. Feeling the need for approval
6. Feeling the need for recognition
7. Feeling the need for outcome
8. Feeling the need to set things right
9. Feeling the need to plan or think of the future
10. Feeling the need to reflect on the past
11. Feeling the need to complain
12. Feeling the need to gossip
13. Feeling the need to attach to an idea, person, place, thing, or event
14. Feeling the need to fix myself or another person
15. Feeling the need to help another person be happy
16. Feeling the need to placate
17. Feeling the need to judge anything or anyone
18. Feeling the need to point out another person’s errors or misunderstanding
I write “feeling the need” because I usually don’t let fear get beyond the starting point of forming need. I think a key to letting go of attachment is understanding fear in its guises and complexities. It, to me, is surely the darkest force and source—both hidden and able to adapt to ever-changing variables.
I refuse to see ugliness in the world. I refuse to see ugliness in people. I can step back and watch in wonderment, like when I was a child. I can watch and wait, and hope another sees their beauty as I do. That’s all I can do, beyond releasing, and letting be what is.
I think for a long time, I had things backwards. I was waiting for others to see me and my beauty, not realizing my own fear blocked my authentic light. Now I look for others beauty, and naturally find mine.
This image and process of painting represents me finding balance between my self here on earth and my divine inner light.
Recently, I got lost in a pool of spiritual paths and inside the search of the right ways. Primarily because such great shifts were happening in my conscious and psyche that I felt I needed answers. But the quest itself became my life. I am back now, very much refreshed and desiring few answers. Having purged out my self and my soul, and left no secrets behind, I am free. This freedom is worth saving and savoring. NO point punishing myself in trying to figure out why and how, or even what. I can just be with my found me. And in that is pure heaven.
Today I heard a brief announcement on the radio: “The experts have just revealed that in actuality keeping secrets is detrimental to our health.” I just cracked up. I mean, I literally had divine belly-wobbling laughter. Experts, indeed.
397: Invisible Nothingness and Topless Men
I shared with a friend what my two oldest sons said to me this morning. But I sort of left out the last part.
Here is what my sons said, each contributing their not-so-discreet, two-cents:
“It’s true, Mom. You are always nice and kind; you are uncommonly good to people.”
Here’s the part I ‘forgot’ to mention to my friend.
“Yeah, but it’s creepy, Mom. Really creepy. I mean who is so nice?”
“Yeah, Mom. I mean how do we know you’re not a sociopath or something? Because based on your characteristics it’s quite feasible….” <<< son with ASD, starting a dissertation.
I’ve been generally in a grand state of la-la-land happiness because I reconnected with my true spirit. I am that magical little girl I used to be. I love her. She is so fun and sweet and terribly kind. Likely a sociopath in the making.
On my walk a few days ago, I found a stick with sea-green moss attached and a natural loop on the top, and I pretended it was my elven princess wand. I kept knighting my little black labradoodle “Sir-Princess Violet.” Except I poked her in the eye. After she smelled this really cute mutt’s butt, I said, “See, what good fortune you have after I knighted you?” My dog has crazy white facial fur that looks like Einstein eye brows, and when I am in my little-girl-mood, she raises them often, as if questioning if she’ll get the bed to herself when I go to the insane asylum. On our walk, we stopped and took turns looking through the wooden-looped-wand. Every once in a while I pretended to change people into other things. I have this new game I play; when I see someone I attach a new name to them. Like I say: sac of potatos, or tow-truck, or peacock butt. I just make any random name up, to teach myself that nothing I have learned before is real—just all names someone made up at one time or another. I like to do this to keep things straight in my head. Nobody needs to be labeled fat, tall, skinny, dirty, stinky, etc. So I like to turn them into things before my mind can catch up. So far my favorite was the turnip. On our walk we sang: “We’re off to see the Wizard, the wonderful Wizard of Oz, because, because, because”…(long pause)…. (and start song again.) That’s how we sing it, because I have a terrible memory for lyrics and Violet never saw the movie.
I am relatively worry-free. It is amazing. Sometimes, if I over-indulge in food, which has happened for two days now, some anxiety resurfaces. Wheat and sugar seem to be the main culprits. I know this. But I like to pig out and see if I can manifest myself to not only have no reaction but to also lose weight. It hasn’t happened yet. My fret as of late is actually related to…
my lack of anxiety.
Yes, this is the genius aspie mind at work. What? No anxiety, no thoughts of stress, no fear of tomorrow? Hmmmm.
Well let’s analyze this lack of worry to death! Shall we?
When I am not dissecting the reasons for my peace of mind, I am leaping into the future and worrying about aspects of spirituality.
Show-and-Tell Inside my Head:
1) If I continue to be anxiety free, I might no longer have Aspergers . (hahahahaha)
2) If I become enlightened I will have to give up things like Ben and Jerry’s Crème Brulee ice-cream and staring at men, twice my oldest son’s age, when they take off their shirts at the park. Or worse, give up my long rambles on my blog.
3) I will never understand the gnostic gospel’s angel legions and leagues and guardians, and what gospels are authentic, and which are altered, and who did what to whom when and why, and where, and how this all works out; and if God knew all this, then why is it happening; and why is this His plan, and is he a he, or a she, or Us, or no one, or empty space.
4) I can’t remake that hand like I did in that original water color painting. God has abandoned me. I suck.
Sunday, after some after-hour coffee, I partook in what I would call much too much internet searching. On Monday morning, I called up my husband at work and said, with much delight-filled eagerness, “Hi. You know how I have been teaching you about the core of fear and helping you with relieving your state of fear?”
“Yes, good morning, Honey.”
“Okay. Anyhow, I was up late last night and the gnostic gospels led to this other site; and did you know there are actual theories about another life form that feeds of our fear? So I was thinking, since you are a sci-fi-minded type of person, this information might really help you. Supposedly there are these creatures of non-matter living outside our stratosphere and to add to our fear they actually plant thoughts in our heads! Like when you get a negative thought all of the sudden, that’s them! So just picture some alien species probing your mind. That should help you clear your head. I mean you don’t want to feed them, do you?”
Yes, this is what my husband gets to hear at the start of his workweek.
Why? Because my current love interest is God. Yes, that’s right. I left the mortals behind and have got my eyes set on the top dog (or tree, or fish, or whatever He is or isn’t). I suppose, if I embrace my Buddhist studies, I am in love with the emptiness. Which is hard to convince to love me, I suppose.
I have always had special love-interests, since I was in pre-school. Probably, since I first laid eyes on boys. I dream of them. I love them. I see me with them in the future.
I thought getting fake-nails, wearing mini-skirts, and lining kitchen cupboards was tough! But it’s nothing compared to trying to be the best I can be for God. I mean talk about high self-expectations?
This whole God-Bride thing has got me trying to figure out how to be more saintly and humble. I am studying ‘The Buddha Said,’‘A Course in Miracles,’ Christian gospels, various spiritual documentaries and videos, Ram Dass, Ram Dass’ guru included, and so on. I’ve got myself literally praying to Jesus, my angels, my saints, my ancestors, my elders, my guardians—and then putting that all on hold, as Buddha teaches prayer is basically obsolete and goes into a bunch of theories why, that I won’t get into—so then I practice being in the now and the moment and connecting to nature; and then I’m practicing seeing the light in everyone; I’m holding people in love; I’m controlling all my thoughts; I’m repeating love, love, love. God help me!
But Man, oh man, is it a great excuse not to do laundry! “Oh, Honey, I need to listen to this ‘John of the Cross’ series to analyze my potential sins. And “Oh, Honey, God moved through me all day; I painted for six hours. So tired. Can you make dinner?” See! And by the way John of the Cross specifically talks about what I am doing in putting off other things to over immerse myself in Godly things as a type of deadly sin. So I am so back to square one. (aka Screwed!).
I’m putting my token on the Buddha board again. According to Buddhism I can look at the topless men at the park—I need only step back in thought and reflection and analyze myself doing so, as to possibly stop this the next time. So I’m kind of good to go, in those terms.
Do you see how complicated this can get. I mean look at the nature, but don’t think about the nature in parts; smile, but don’t smile with pride. Humble yourself, but if you’re asking for humility for your own betterment, so you can feel better, that’s a sin! Really, God? Really? There is even a path of sins for people trying to dedicate their lives to you? I am so confused.
And the God-enema doesn’t help. All that beautiful prose coming through me for weeks on end. I really just want a hot, hunk-of-burning love, guardian angel to come down. That’s all. That’s all. I’d be satisfied. Topless would be good.
I think I am liable to explode. I have taken the perfectionistic obsessive passionate aspie girl to a whole new level. I mean I am surprised some great ancient one hasn’t come down to propose to me, already. I keep picturing Egyptian, broad shoulders, staff with serpent, sexy almost skirt-like-thing revealing hairy legs. I digress.
Truthfully, I am in the greatest state of peace I have been my entire life. My whole day is not about catching God. (Pause for insane laughter.) I was actually relieved when I read in OSHO’s Buddhist book about some Buddhists being able to un-attach to the easier things, like money, fame, etc. but not un-attach to other things like the process of enlightenment itself. Those Buddhists, the ones that cling to less worldly things, but hold onto spiritual quests, they still get to progress: come back next time as still enlightened. In fact, they get limited times back here, instead of indefinite, potentially millions of return trips. I don’t mind coming back a handful more times. Because I am really not ready to turn into invisible nothingness, yet.
388: Keepers of the Light
I invite you to listen to this song first.
I started singing You Light Up My Life, around the age of eleven. I think it was the only song I wrote down the lyrics to and memorized. That, and Away in a Manger. I used to sing songs at the tippy-top of my lungs, squeaking and squealing to anyone that would listen, including my downstairs duplex-landlords, who sometimes brought me indoors for cookies. I could tell when I sang, by looking in the observers’ eyes, that people didn’t think I sang super well or close to on key. I could tell they thought I was a lonely child searching for attention. I could tell that they were smiling in an attempt to help me feel accepted. But I couldn’t say all that. I didn’t think to say it. I didn’t know that everyone else, or most everyone else, didn’t think like me. I figured we all knew what was being unspoken. That we all just pretended we didn’t.
When I sang my heart out, I slipped into a fantasy world. I leaped across time and stood on stage. I imagined refuge in a bountiful light. I imagined being lifted and protected and seen. The song itself didn’t free me; nor did the audience observing. What freed me was the freedom I was—the capacity to be me. What trapped me was the realization that all about me others weren’t free.
There was a time where people approached me for my light. They were drawn to me. Something about me pulled them in. I know now it was and has always been Spirit. Then I did not know, and I didn’t wonder; I thought everyone had this; I thought everyone heard God and could see through people.
I remember going to the church around the corner, a Catholic cathedral where I never once attended mass. I was drawn there, at times, the little girl I was, with her un-brushed hair and with her big searching eyes. I would swing on the monkey bars in the church playground over and over, until my hands blistered. Then, if I hadn’t already entered, I’d walk quietly into the empty church and just breathe. I felt safe there. I felt connection. But I didn’t know why. The candles, the light of the candles, they spoke to me, as did the colors of the glass windows and the movement of sunlight through the grand space. I wasn’t frightened. I wasn’t alone. I wasn’t anywhere. I just was. Sometimes time stopped and I traveled into the future where I would walk in as full-grown woman and be, with the others, I would be.
I wasn’t a religious child. I wasn’t even spiritual. I was magical. I believed in magic everywhere. I believed everything, each and everything. I believed in everyone around me. And I loved everyone. I trusted them. I gave myself freely: my attention, my time, my love. I had an over-flowing abundance of love. And I was me. There wasn’t anything about me that I had created. I radiated from within.
Something about me, or perhaps something within me, gave me the incapacity to be anyone but me. This gift of being authentic was beautiful. But because I trusted and believed others so greatly and so freely, when they told me what they thought, I believed them. Because if they were beautiful and I loved them and they were perfect, then they must know, they must have the answers.
I believed when they, the others, told me that I was just a child and didn’t know things. I believed them when they said life was hard. I believed them when they cried and cursed what was wrong and unjust. I believed it all. And I began to see that I lived in a world entirely complex in its simplicity. I began to see that I held all the secrets of love and joy, but that none could see them. I knew how to laugh and how to make other people laugh; and I did so without intention or want; I just was joy.
Then came the passing of days, when I learned my joy was not enough. When I learned that my heart, no matter how big, could not make a difference—at least I thought. Soon as my friends grew older, they changed. Their views became more broken and fragmented, their opinions stronger, their hatred taking shape. Divisions were made, as I watched, fingers pointed, sometimes at me, but mostly at others. And everyone started playing this part that didn’t make any sense; except that their ways kept people, for the most part, in an imaginary role of control.
I began to see that love was divided and measured. I began to see that love came and went, as did people. I learned that love didn’t mean love; what some called love actually meant conditions and fleeting moments of spiked emotions of some sort that didn’t feel or look like love at all. I learned that whatever shape I took, I could receive part of this love, that wasn’t love. But since I couldn’t find the other love anymore, the one I held in the backyard during slumber parties and collected, as the others laughed with me, without cause or pause for judgment; since I couldn’t find that love anymore, I took what I could. It never felt right. It felt false from the start. It was false love created by my want for connection and the growing emptiness I had inside.
My actions seemed to define me. I seemed to become who people thought I was. It didn’t matter how much goodness I had inside me; no one could see it, unless they chose to. No one. And when they did think to see the goodness, it was because I emulated them; I showed them a part of themselves they liked, or wished to like. I showed a commonality or I complimented them by my presence or in my spoken words. I collected false-love this way: pretending to be who they wanted me to be in an attempt to connect. To say I played, would be false, as there was no joy in this. To say I fought, would be false, as there was no friction. It was a space and place that I am incapable of defining or marking. For how can I define a place in which everything was false—the only thing real my want to fill the emptiness of falsehood?
This falsehood permeated much of my life, far into adulthood. A falsehood that eventually blinded me as well, to my own inner light. I had to snuff my light to continue to exist. I was given no choice.
I had to extinguish who I was, if I ever wanted hope of connecting. At least this is what I conditioned myself to think. I learned to track the actions of another to determine my next move. I could tell from every flinch, every switch of voice, every motion. Responses were my indicators. Reactions my compass. I stopped feeling inside my own body. I became numb to my needs; everything was masked in my effort to predetermine how to respond to the responders. For I could see in their eyes the judgment, the dislike, the wondering. I could see so much that they wouldn’t ever say. Particularly their thoughts about me, or about the way they perceived me. I knew they thought what they dare not say. I knew there were all these connections going on just in seeing me. I was being categorized and dissected and figured out. It’s not that I thought I was that important, it was that I thought they were. I think all along I knew they were a reflection of me or at least a mirror to my own experiences. I knew we were one and the same, but didn’t know how to define the feeling. And so I would watch, until I laughed and joked, trying to squeeze the joy out of someone whom had seemed to forgotten where he or she put it.
Mine, my joy, was always there, right in me, never gone. Even with all the poured in sorrow, I had this joy. It was always growing and blooming. There was always hope. It seemed no matter how much the others responded in a way that carried the potentiality to sting like thorns, that I still kept my hope. There was this unstoppable faith. Something in that song about the light through the window, about the light itself; I knew this. I saw the light n my dreams and I heard light in the whispers. I knew my destiny. I knew my calling. But this too, I was often told was wrong. I was made in form divinely perfect, but undoubtedly I frightened people. And this brought me to a place of confusion, so very great, I dare not venture there even in thoughts and rememberings.
For how could I, one held by the angels and light, have been so terribly flawed? And why did all around me seem to be such blindness? I searched and searched as a child—in the trees, under the school buses, in the grassy fields—for reprieve. I slipped into my imagination. I hid in the shrubbery and shadows documenting my own thoughts. And I came to the conclusion I was someone made wrong; though even this, deep down I knew to be untrue.
In time, I learned to conform. I learned to tuck away the voice of truth and the rays of light. For I believed the misery of disconnection to be far worse than hiding my light. And so I hid, for a very long time. And though I was a keeper of the light, it dimmed.
And here the dark found me. So very freely, as if beckoned by the very ache of my soul. I walked forsaken to my self for decades. I learned, through my mind, to hear the lies before the truth. I heard the negative talk, and I collected this, for if I did not believe them, I could not be with them, and then I would have to be alone. In order to connect, I had to believe what others said about me. If I believed in my light and my angels, and in my very soul, than I would be without the company of humans. I would only have the invisibility of my hope and joy—and alone whom would I share anything with?
Eventually, the lies became my truth. My whole truth. I was what others created me to be. And then a shift happened, in which they were what I created them to be. I began to see like other people. I began to believe the lies. I began to think that yes, only my point of view counted. That yes, I am in control of my world. And yes, I am the most important and special. I began to be a love-leech collecting falsehoods. Love, love, love ME! I demanded. Love me through validation. Love me through listening. Love me through answering back how I expect and want you to respond. Outcomes became my life. Hope became my misery. I latched onto the yellow brick road of illusion. I thought, if I was just good enough, and right enough, and had all the answers I would WIN! I would be LOVED! This is what I was taught. This is what was walloped into me. This is what I ATE because nothing else was offered.
Until the pain of emptiness became so great that I knew I was wrong. I knew that life was not meant to be like this. I knew somewhere inside my little girl protecting the light was dying to come out.
For me this has been my greatest gift: my affliction.
My very agonizing pain was what set me free. The very discomfort that kept shouting within of the falsehood was my greatest joy. I was given a lantern since birth. And I walked four-decades pretending I was not, in hopes of gaining false love.
And now, as I step back, very much the little girl I was, with my lantern bright, I see I kept this light hidden for a purpose. I suffered for a reason. I suffered because everyone else was suffering. I didn’t retreat because I was so different after all. I just retreated a bit later along my path. I just retreated knowing I was retreating. There wasn’t anything different about me, except I was born awake. I was born with the affliction that is both my teacher and my cross to bear. I was gifted the wisdom at a young age, and through this affliction I was formed and made, through this affliction my lantern was fueled. I see this clearly, more clearly each moment I am here.
I see that we each have these lanterns, and that for some of us it hurts more to hide them. But we all have them. For some of us we know we are hiding them: this is the affliction.
I see now that I am struggling to turn up the lanterns of all, when all I need do is turn on my own.
In so many ways, in every way, I am that little girl, with her joy, with her lantern strong, standing on the hillside and beckoning my friends onward. Only this time I can see. I can truly see. I know now my once perceived greatest weakness is my greatest comforter. I know my need to be love, my need to shine, my need to be free is the only need I ever choose. I know that in my affliction I am made whole. I know that in my wholeness I honor each and every soul. For in the embracing of what has always been and shall ever be, I have embraced the world. I have embraced the light.
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