The new theme for my life, I have decided, is breaking free. Breaking free of rigid restrictions I set upon myself. Breaking free of old tapes that replay messages that no longer serve a purpose in my growth. Breaking free of the box I put myself into in order to avoid living and feeling. Breaking free of fear. And breaking free of secrets.
Today I decided to break free of this idea that I can only post once a day. I notice that us poets sometimes need to post more. It’s our hearts, I gather, exploding with passion and angst, and this surging creativity that seemingly is rebirthed daily.
Sometimes I wait until the magic hour of midnight to post; just so I can post twice in a day, but I don’t really count that as posting twice. Turns out I’m about twelve days ahead of myself…my blog is living in the future. And I kind of wonder how I will catch up. Wonder what Sam is doing ahead of me.
I’m quite tired of living by structure and rules, especially my own. Tired of routine, expectations, and people-pleasing. Realizing I want to please myself—to honor my desires, wants, and dreams. And thusly, I’m posting again. And breaking free.
My ten-year-old son just handed me this sweet story he wrote.
Bunny
Turtle loved to play with his buddy fish. But one day a stranger came up to them while they were playing splash. “Hi. My name is Bunny can I play, too?”
“Yea. You can play.”
They were all playing but when they started to play under the water hide-and-go-seek, Bunny couldn’t breathe. Bunny asked if he could play another game.
“Can we play a different game?” he asked.
“No. We can’t. We like to play this game.”
Bunny came home that day very sad. His mom asked what was the matter. “Well, I was playing with some kids and they were playing a game I can’t play. So I asked it we could play a different game and they said, ‘no.'”
“Well, that wasn’t the nice thing to do,” his mom said.
“What’s nice, Mommy?”
“Well nice is being kind and caring and being polite.”
“Oh. Okay, But what do I do about it?”
“Find new friends that are nice to you. Okay?”
The next morning the bunny was hopping around and found the squirrel. “Hi. Want to play?”
“Yes. Let’s play!”
And they did, all day long.
When bunny got home, he was so happy.
His mom asked him, “Where were you?”
“Playing with squirrel!”
“Great. You found a new friend.”
“Yes. And he’s cool. Thank you, Mom.”
~ Robert C 2012
Thanks for being my new friend and being so flippin cool ~ Sam 🙂
I talk to my higher power a lot. All day really. I talk to my angels, Jesus, nature, God, my guardians of light, people who have passed on. And I continually examine my mind, my thoughts, my actions—all the time. I don’t know how to breathe without focusing on the light, on my journey, on my life’s calling.
But I am human. I falter. I stumble. I become fixated and obsessed. I worry. I forget. I forget my purpose and the gifts I carry.
Then the guilt comes. The analysis. The fret and worry. And I am engulfed in should and should nots. How I could be better, more perfect, less human. My mind spins in review of all the reasons I am not enough. All the sources I turn to instead of light—the things, the people. I make validation my idol. I make love of self my goal. I forget why I am here. I forget to release expectations. I forget I am love. I am perfection. I am pure light.
My gift is in my message. In my story. In my words. In my ability to share my truth from the depths of me.
But I forget.
Sometimes I realize that I am writing for my own interest.
Sometimes I write only to be heard or seen by one special person, a friend, a lover.
Sometimes I write in hopes of discovery.
Sometimes I write so someone, anyone, will take note.
Sometimes I write to count the number of like buttons hit on my blog.
Sometimes I write in hopes of the perfect comment from a reader.
Sometimes I write because if I do not I will absolutely explode.
I think of these reasons. And I weep.
I think these are wrong. I think I am wrong.
I cry and beg for forgiveness. For forgiveness for being human.
I plea to be led back to source. For release from my selfish ways.
I weep and weep.
I beat myself up.
My light dims.
Until spirit gently answers.
Like he always does.
In the kindest of ways.
In the form of a gift sent by a distant friend.
A box
that opens
To bubble wrap
Filled with
A mini-zoo of plastic animals
Each animal with a small uplifting handwritten note attached
Like the rhino ~ stamina, solidity, a creature of substance and expansive power.
Each with a special message for my spirit
Like the Polar Bear ~ The embodiment of the spirit of the north–one who holds ancient wisdom and shamanic powers.
This song says it all. I’ve been living inside the melody and words. And for those of you who say this was before your time, I stick my tongue out at you!
I have at least eight people I would consider very close friends, and two powerful friendships that are just forming. Some close friends I have known for decades and others a couple of years. My close friends, I can honestly say, feel the same about me, as I do for them. I’m not “blessed” with friendship. I worked darn hard to have my friendships—I studied relationships through books, movies, and even took courses. I learned how to be a good friend; more importantly, I learned how to be ME!
I found out a few years back that I’d rather have one true friend, to be in a relationship in which I am entirely authentic, than to have hundreds of superficial relationships. Years back, when I had a major crisis in my life, I found out who my true friends were, and learned the hard way, through emotional agony, that just because someone attends your social gatherings and chats you up in public, does not mean they truly care about you as a person. I am pleased to say, I have a circle of loved ones that care about me for me. And I, too, love them for them. Once I have a friend, there is pretty much nothing that friend could do to pull me away, or make me stop loving them. My friendship just keeps growing; unless, the relationship is unhealthy and deemed non-beneficial in my eyes; then of course, it is time for me to say goodbye, and be thankful for the bond we had.
Maui 2012
This post is not about ends, though. This post is about the beginnings of friendship.
I know now, through much trial and error, that ultimately, if I am not true to me, and walking a path of authenticity that I am ultimately being accepted for someone I am not and be rejected by ME. I know my light. I know my beauty. I see this reflected in the mirrors of my friendships. And in this beauty I have extreme confidence that I am a worthy person, loving, and actually pretty darn cool to have around. Of course, I am highly aware of my quirks and intensity. My eyes are wide open as far as my personhood and spirithood is considered. I understand, too, that only some are able to be my friend, those with the capacity to cup in their hands my true, very bright light. I used to adjust my light to fit the person. I’d dim as to not be so bright—in essence self-implode and crawl into the darkness to appease. I don’t do that anymore. If anything, I turn my light up higher when I enjoy someone. I have learned that I would rather face a million rejections than to be loved for someone I am not. For ultimately, if someone loves me for a shadow of myself, they love only the air beyond the light. I want to be loved for me. Amazingly, I found out, this attribute of shining my true colors is a quality many people appreciate. Don’t get me wrong, I still get hurt. I still get rejected. But the beauty of being me makes up for the passing ache and pain of loss or misunderstanding. I long to be me. I am me. And I adore me.
However, being the light that I am…sigh…sometimes the feelings I have for someone are so very intense that I know not what to do with myself. Usually the intensity is brought on by a definite knowing and soul-connection. Sometimes the other person feels the same, which generally leads to an easy and wonderful relationship. Other times, a person does not understand the heart of me, doesn’t see me for me, and then the experience is less easy. It is then I feel somewhat isolated in my experience, like I’m a two-man act standing alone or perhaps dragging my friend along the yellow-brick road when she would much rather be at home.
Lately, my feelings are on overdrive. I don’t know what has been happening to me at a soul-level, precisely. I can feel what is happening, but I can’t describe the sensation with accuracy. It’s akin to trying to describe the feeling of giving birth to a child, that feeling when I first saw my child’s face. I can’t describe the experience, except to say I feel like I am staring into a part of me, a beautiful part of me.
Maui 2012
I wrote this last night. It sums up how I’m feeling somewhat:
“I am turned on by love. I can’t help it. Everytime someone says the word or writes the words love, I get this erotic sensation all over! It’s crazy making, in a good way. I am turned on by love songs. I am actually eating the songs for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I have no want or desire for food! I’m only eating to keep healthy and fit. Not for pleasure. I long to write poetry and prose all day, to take photos of nature and people, especially older people with stories etched across their face. I long to be a part of the water, to be in the water, to paddle across and feel myself move on the ripples. I long for connection. I want to read people’s stories, to hear their truth, to comfort, to connect, to love.
What have I missed all these years with my eyes and heart closed; some slave to fear—some scared cat clawing at her own fur before another could attack? I’ve missed thirty years. Not completely, but entirely; in the sense that my heart has been encased in some large trap with large teeth and large angry eyes. Made prisoner for decades; three to be exact. Never before until today, did I know what it felt like to sit by the water and just be. To be one with nature. To watch the birds, to understand why people watch birds! Even the lake water sang out to me—the ripples an erotic symphony of sensual pleasure. The trees are greener. The air fresher. I am breathing for real. Taking in air and filling my lungs with the sensation.
What miraculous and grand alterations have transpired. What journey I traveled to get where I now stand. Not one regret, for the journey was worth every step to lead me to such ecstasy of life. I am vibrating with a wonderful energy, some forty-something mom, transporting in time back to the era of love-child. Everything and everyone is beautiful. Everything on earth a miracle. And I’m drug-free. This isn’t some hallucination or even a high. The feelings are all over the board. I have intense joy and bliss coupled with a deep empathy and love for all my surroundings. I am dancing inside poetry and music. Dancing inside every song I hear. I am understanding lyrics for the first time—the intensity of the longings, the heart-break, the unquenched desires. I am understanding, too, the limitless depths of the human experience, and how much fear feeds as a blanket to the beauty of life.
My hands are vibrating all day long with a gentle and uplifting tingle. My eyes and skin continue to glow. I look younger. I feel younger. My physical pain has decreased. I am attracting beautiful souls from all over the world. I am so thankful! When I try to worry, for the most part, I can’t. There is some sort of mental block. To even say I am trying to worry, seems so ridiculous! But I actually cannot think about what could be considered common-day problems. They all seem so insignificant. All I want is love.
I must be radiating because strangers are starting conversation with me, smiling, waving, even turning heads. I can’t stop smiling. It finally feels easier to smile than frown. I can’t stop thinking about life and how wonderful life can feel when fear is released.
I don’t know how I got to this state. This feeling has been gradually building since the beginning of May. The salty waters of Maui intensified the feeling, and returning to the healing green of Washington put me up another notch. I am submerged in joy. Excited about life. There is so much I want to do. And so many people I want to embrace. I am wondering where to begin, but then not really wondering at all. It is more of a feeling of excitement and newness, like a child being let out of a cage for the first time.”
I am naming the sensation described above: The Strawberry Eruption. For at the center of me is an erupting fruit. Maybe it’s that whole second chakra thing I scribe about on day 124. Or maybe it’s something entirely different. I really don’t know. I’m just riding the wave—this little bursting berry.
During this wave riding, I’ve connected with two online friends. My first online friends, ever. That I’ve met them both at the same time is powerful and balancing. Each offers unmistakable gifts. This letter is for them, and for everyone really, for at some level, I feel this unyielding love for every being, a desire to embrace the world, and all the loveliness found within each spirit.
Maui 2012
Dear Friend,
I love you. I am so glad we found one another. I am happy. I am at peace with our friendship. I adore you something terrible. That’s the only way I know how to love—to adore. My love for you doesn’t come in shapes and sizes that differ. My love is just one gigantic bubble of joy and glee. I long to skip in the sunshine with you, to swing on the swings, to climb trees, to run barefoot through the sand, to collect seashells and then listen to the sound of the ocean within, to giggle, to dive in the water, and come up with the whole of the universe upon our smiles.
I remember you from long ago, perhaps a dream, perhaps a memory of what I planted in my mind. Perhaps you are from another place and time with another me, or perhaps, too, I have met you a thousand times a thousand times before. I know not where or why you are here, but your face I remember, and especially your eyes, whether from dream, fantasy, or distant time, is no matter. Only now matters.
But I do have concern. I am concerned that my intensity of soul and my engorged heart shall frighten you away. And like the little bird I long to touch that sits upon the tree outside the river’s edge, that you will fly away the closer I approach, that you will fly higher and higher into the sky of blue, until you are only a droplet in my memory. And then I shall weep deeply, mourning with every part of me the loss of precious you.
You see, I know not how to love, but deeply. I know not how to breathe, but with all of me. Every part is filled by your light. And in seeing your light I cannot help but be drawn to you again and again. I do not long for recognition, not even companionship, I long to continually look into the beauty that is you to be reminded of how glorious my own light shines, to see the mirror before me of truth and awakening, and to delve inside the image of pure loveliness: for I am you and you are me.
Dear, dear friend you are a passageway to my soul, to eternity, to my dreams and to my desires. You are the greatest gift. And I ask that you try to understand me, try to know me, and see that my intentions are none but to love you for everything you are. For you are the promise I have waited for.
Everyday Asperger's 