hope

413: The Silly Bear in No Underwear: Thoughts from the Penguin Matrix

| Aspergers Girls

For Aspie Chicks and other Cool People
(This is PG-rated because mention of penises….followed by outbursts of giggles.)

For those of you who don’t believe me when I tell you I am twelve inside, this ought to do the trick.

I saw a polar bear post a poster on a social network wall; he was all in my face about this and that. About how to talk, and how to think, and what to think. I mean he was acting like he was all that. As if polar bears know how to live!

And all these other polar bears are like: Yes! Oh right on, brother! Yep, you be all on top of that truth!

And me, as penguin, I am thinking none of that seems efficient, accurate, or correct in my bowl of wisdom. But hey, to each his own. But I’d prefer you not shove it in my face you fluffy butt.

I say, as penguin of the matrix: Make your own poster about how to be. Chuck out everything you’ve been told, you’ve learned and registered, and all that you shall be told. Forget the postings that tell you junk about being. You are already in a state of ‘being.’

All those rules and ways and silly fingers (paws) pointing direction don’t show the path to the inner you. And that’s where the true joy is. Right inside of you. Release all that nonsense. The how-to-be’s, the where-to-be’s, the who-to-be-withs. You know who made those rules up to begin with? People. That’s right. Aren’t you a people, ‘cause you certainly ain’t a penguin? Why borrow some other person’s thoughts and ideas, when you are uniquely you? Make your own poster! Then can I borrow it and paste it on polar bear’s face?

And please, please, please: Listen to YOUR inner voice.

I had a friend in high school. Yes, penguins go to school, and she taped up nude men in her clothes closet. Not real men, but cut out men from those ‘dirty’ magazines from the liquor store. She hung them all fancy and organized like, in the way back, where she thought no one with grown up eyes could see. A lot of times most of the body was missing and it was just pin-up-penises. (That was almost the title of this post. But I totally knew those polar bear types would be all over me with their truth-hoods. The wieners.)

We used to be all secret and sneaky and stare at those pinups and giggle. But the truth is naked penises in full color on magazine glossy got kind of boring after a while. Even with the whole mystery of the wardrobe genre thing going on. I mean they did nothing. Not a thing. And I would go home and find much more pleasure in staring at the unicorn posters in my room. At least I could picture those galloping through the magical forest. Penises…not so much.

I know what you’re thinking: I didn’t know penguins liked unicorns! I know. It’s strange but true!

So here’s what I am suggesting, as penguin of the matrix, is to think about these posters in my friend’s closet. A bunch of cut out penises; and think about hanging those inside of you, like as your inner poster child. Does that make sense to you? Well maybe it does… but let’s pretend for a second you aren’t a middle-aged woman laughing at me and embracing the penis poster like last year’s hidden stash of chocolate rediscovered; let’s pretend that your poster ought not be a penis poster. Your poster ought to represent you and no one else’s poster.

Might I suggest to you that when you paste other people’s views of you, news of you, and truth of you inside your mind and heart, it’s like plastering penis posters all over. You are just taking in what someone else chooses to hang up and see. And people generally see what they are! Think about that for a second. That makes them Richard’s nickname, I suppose. I don’t know about you, but I’d rather be like a princess or a warrior or a cool ninja-elven dynamo penguin than a penis head.

My point is: BE YOU!

If you want to use penises as an analogy because it’s the first time in your adult life you can type the word without shame, then do it. If writing penis still makes you feel like a blushing teenager secretly staring into your friend’s closet and busting up in pure guilty pleasure, but you do it anyway, then more power to you! If you know that feasibly by writing the word penis over and over that people will judge you, but you know where your heart is and that you are pure and good and kind, then yay you!

I just hope it doesn’t turn out to be like that time I drew penis pictures in sixth grade with the names of one boy I had a crush on and one boy I didn’t have a crush on below the detailed sketchings. Because that note was found and passed around school. And the boy that I didn’t have a crush on, he didn’t much care for the length of my drawing.

I say as penguin of the matrix: Embrace the ‘me’ you call by name. Not me, but the me in you. Not me in you, but you in you…you know what I mean.

Do you have penis envy? Do you want to write penis over and over on a blog post and feel good about yourself, so much that other people’s opinions truly do not affect your inner truth. Then do it!

Embrace that inner you and hug her like she’s the bestest thing ever. Because you know what? She is.

I was on the quest of a middle-aged penguin sworn to metamorphoses into the great beyond of being. I tried it all. Well most of it. Now that I think about it, perhaps I should have done cut out glossies. I have a very long closet.

Meditation, grace, release, prayer, relaxation, connection, nirvana…whatever one wants to label the space of peace…you will find it when you are ready to find it. That’s it. No joke. No mystery.

Truth is, the more you hunt, the more your self hides. Really. It’s when you just stop and rest that the true doe (as in female deer) of you comes out. Before that, sticking with the doe analogy, your self is just kind of frozen with a dumb look on her face thinking: If I am still long enough and don’t move, no one will ever see me!

So here’s your choice. Keep very still to avoid certain death. Or just get the death thing over with. Let yourself be shot, and reshot, and reshot, and reshot. And you know what? Soon you realize that the hunter wasn’t out there to begin with. It was only YOU! And you realize you are far too spectacular to remain frozen in oblivion for all eternity.

Tonight I have an inner penguin. Maybe I am in a letter P mood. And perhaps you have something other than a doe, like a banana slug or sloth. But no matter, when you finally let go of trying to find the inner you; and you stop trying to stop people from hurting you, shaming you, and hanging penis posters inside of you; when you give up all you are and all you have and just be; when you realize this, the IT everyone is talking about is yours! And you shine so dang lovely with all your loveliness that you about melt the ice caps by just being.

Peace is easier than it sounds, and no book, or person, or penguin, self-righteous polar bear, or penis is going to open up the truth for you. (giggles at where your mind is.)

The truth is inside of your heart. You’ve got to dive there. I can’t reach your truth. Only you can. And any penguin or polar bear or weirdo person who thinks he has the key to your inner light and truth, well he ain’t playing with a full deck of sardines.

Just release the quest and trust yourself. You have all you need. Right there. Right inside.

Some people are preaching backwards, and saying just change your thoughts. With your huge gifted brain, telling you to stop your thoughts cold penguin is just plain nutz-o! The thoughts will change when you ARE your inner you. When you reclaim your true beauty. It doesn’t work the other way around. The thoughts stem from you, not the reverse. You are not your thoughts.

So here’s what you do: Ignore polar bear’s preaching, and all the other nutters that have gone and jumped pantless out of the butter and who seem to be streaking their truth across your path, and just giggle at them.

Just laugh and think: There’s another nutter thinks he knows the way, so he’s showing me his way.

And PLEASE laugh at the penguin in me, too. And at the new glossies in my closet.

That silly bear in no underwear! That silly penguin with the penis posters. That’s what you say.

You just shake your head, your mind, and your heart, and you tell yourself, with cute sweet finger pointing to cute sweet you: The truth’s in here sugar bear. The truth’s in here.

***
My New Blog

412: How to Create a Female with Aspergers

| Aspergers Girls

How to create a female with Aspergers

Gather unworldly ingredients selected from the finest of giving spirits
Place the all into a one-of-a-kind crystal bowl of beauty
Sprinkle in lots and lots and lots of unconditional love
Add a dash of spunk and assertiveness
Blend in gigantic masses of insight, perspective, energy and focus
Layer in aspects of divinity, forethought, accomplishment and inner-truth
Add sliced and diced reality
Stir in heightened awareness with a spoon smothered in wholesome goodness
Taste for the pure sweetness
Crack open the shell of authentic being and let the light drip into the blessed mixture
Whisk with wit and wisdom
Inhale the aroma of tender-hearted empathy
Embrace the healing sunshine in soothing hands
Form into cute balls of reasonable gratitude, generosity and forgiveness
Let the happiness of service and angel-kisses tickle the senses
Peek at the forming essence of angelic eyes of knowing
Watch the dough rise with the delicate rays of understanding, freedom and creativity
Bring into the creation the nurturing warmth of spirit
Divide and blend into the form of one cherished being
Baste with opportunity, benefit and connection
Cook until tender but firm in belief, integrity, and strength
Set wings upon her hopes and dreams
Place her on the window of soul-knowledge
And in joyous celebration let her flight be a light to the world

~ Samantha Craft, Everyday Aspergers

403: Perpetual Freedom

| Aspergers Girls

Perpetual Freedom

It has been going on several weeks now that I carry with me an inner calm. I have moments of traveling in thought to the past or future, and moments of fear, but when this happens a gentle voice pulls me back to the moment, to the present. I am practicing being in the now continually, and feel a presence about me the full of the day. I have a strong desire to be outside and in nature—to touch nature, to breathe in nature, to be one with the beauty of the world.

Yesterday, I sat outside and imagined the world of trees, how life might be as a tree. I was drawn into the green edges, the outlines, and pulled further in at the imaginary line where the green of the tree meets the blue of the sky. Such a lovely, lovely day it was, the blue of the sky the richest of colors. I sat there, in wonder, my mouth agape at the swirling colors that are between where the tree and sky meet, realizing they don’t actually meet at all, as there is no separation. I watched the beauty, recognizing all that I have been taught in how to see the world is being undone.

So much of who I am is the little child I used to be. Found again is the youthful innocent wisdom; as if effortlessly I’ve opened up a honeypot of yesterdays, all the knowledge I’ve collected through the centuries trickling down upon me. The blunders, the pillaging, the fallings, the woes—all of it pouring through, and with this, the stickiness itself, scouring and collecting the final residue within.

I cannot express this brilliance of being, nor will I attempt to do so. Yet, I have a strong impression I shall never be bored again. All around me the world appears reborn and renewed, and the presents that have always been present at last opened.

I no longer have extreme emotions. I no longer have lingering emotions, indeed. For as soon as they spike in degree, the observer I am, watching this mysterious play of life, steps in and erases the experience with a calmness divine. I now understand in depth most, if not all, of my journey, and am treated to painted images of grace-filled lessons throughout my waking and sleeping hours. There is no heightened need or want, or desire for anything. Outcomes are ceasing to exist. For with the coming of goals, or longing of any magnitude, I slip momentarily back into a state of pain, and recognize readily the need I once had for what would be leads only to the recognition of a finality that no longer exists.

My days are spent in gratitude. Everyone I meet a gift onto self—a self I know less and less about. A self that with each further step released, a new step is found. My need is for naught, my wishes for All. In this I have the calmness and stillness of the pond at the sunrise, the ripples evident of a spring day’s passing of gentleness and of wind asleep. I am the ripples and I am the pond, and all about the pond—the insects, the rocks, even the litter—for all seems purposeful and meaningful, and if not necessary, then accepted.

The calmness exists in my body. My being naturally following the rest. One blended into the next. The sound of hymns, the beauty of art, the eyes of a beloved, the start of a divine dip into nature, all leave me spellbound. Though, equally present. I am child returned onto master, and master retreated into the woods of before. Resting, as higher self, in some greater plane of non-necessity; the once imagined presence less displaced than returned to the phantom warehouse.

I understand why I was the way I was, and in thinking back, I hurt. In that when I travel here or there, or anywhere not directly now, my body is aware of the alignment shifted, and leaps back to the moment with such degree I am bolted or jolted, or at minimum steered with the reminder of what is.

I am at peace when I am not wondering in thought. I am at peace when I connect to what feels as source: a collective rush of pool of nothingness birthed somethingness. I am at peace when the voices I hear, that I have always heard, hush my thoughts to rest with the gentle: shhhhhhhh. I am at peace as the lessons are glided through me, as the gentle wind through the limbs of the willow. How I sway in the knowing, and reclaim my own lovely substance in the submission to the natural flow.

Tomorrow is no longer my concern, and to venture there seems illusion upon illusion. And the past equally thusly so. A past splattered in disarray and guessing, so thoroughly shifted from one reality to the next, that it is but phantom ghost revisited through phantom eyes. The queries of what is or what brings seems little of substance; the questions themselves somewhat wrapped in the outcome of nothing. I bend in this way, to the invisible of invisible, no less certain than determined, no less able than unable.

I am. And that is all. And beyond that, need I be erased, and all my trappings set free, then so be it. For I have collected nothing but imaginings: event upon event of interpretation and judgment.

I have been the scout of fantasy and mistress of pain.

I have placed my needs above All, and then watched as I crumbled in uncertainty and failure.

I have danced to be proclaimed, and then watched as my invisible dust scattered in non-recognition.

I have been this and that a billion times, each effort daunted, each need uncovered and devoured.

All I have been is for naught.

Everything done in an attempt to claim what is un-claimable.

All done in an attempt to unravel a beauty that was long forgotten.

Indeed, I was an empty present, with legs sprouted, and mind controlled, a zombie beyond zombie, unable to feed off of anything beyond the self-invented clinging-self.

I ate away at my own being in an attempt to be loved and cherished.

And here is where the pain came most truly: in the need to circumvent my own life to present myself as worthy.

How silly it seems now, that this distant traveler, brought down from the eons beyond reason, should think herself worthy in her dutiful neediness.

I was but siphon recognizing my invented self in another—all her frailties, her darkness, her unlit ways. I was the judge, the serpent, the demon made ripe, the inventor of my own game, and the gatekeeper to misery. I created a world in which I turned all against the one I be, trapped in a child’s game attempting to create the one I am not, into something grand and distinguishable.

How silly I be; how silly I am. Still clinging to some substance that breathes in the air of thankfulness.

I cannot express in words so limiting, and time so fleeting, how recognizable I am to self. How unrecognizable I am to no-self. How funny I seem in this garment called me, and how equally foolish in my tethered-thinking. To think I could feasibly know anything more than nothing, when I am nothing. I am nothing upon nothing upon nothing. And in this nothing is my perpetual freedom.

400: Entered

| Aspergers Girls

Where you stand, I enter. My sunlight opened in the ray of you. Where you are, I be, nestled between the edges of your making. I am the sugar sprinkled cross the sunrise desert, the frosting dipped beneath and within, yellow-dancing in the outskirts of my thoughts. Where I travel, you are, carried upon my shoulders, the lightest of feathers, blanketing me, my shield of angels splendor. I spin, come round each wake, reborn in your giving and eternal goodness. I rise; the angelic force instilled gently like the wind through the meadow spring. I bubble and wrap in the bluest-blue, the stillness awoken in your cleansing waters.

Where you stand, I enter. My darling lover of the fallen night, the darkness dripped away as canvas cleansed with the brushes wet; each color washed over with newness and new day. A caravan of awakening upon awakening, surprises always there but never seen. You move, and I follow, the drapery of your kindness a trail of delight, smoothing past the garden’s gaiety as candle wax of brevity. I drip, you drip. I bleed, you bleed. Connected we are in the tumbling of my being. Unspun and rewoven into the kaleidoscope of me within me, the light swollen as the woman with child, birthing and rebirthing the newfound hope.

Where you stand, I enter. I glide, the child on your coattail, following a form I neither see nor want, but desire, my rain to the petal wept, my seed to the fallen bird. I soar, the embers of my mind cascading down to the soil of naught, and slipping into the oceans that be, sailing once and then again, into the mystery of time. Sprouting in the eternalness of river led to mouth, and mouth led to sky. I am this. I am this drumbeat of the earth, the willow tree that touches down in gratitude and meets the tender grasses with her open hands. I am this. The weathered-breast of soldier fought, bowing down in remission and remembrance to echoes of the battlefield. I have retreated to the highest ground that leads to nowhere but to thy very self. And here, in the chambers still, I watch, my eyes as falcon born, dreaming of the ways I traveled. For I am dreamer yet, trapped in the window of my memory.

Where you stand, I enter. I hear you as I hear my very voice. The rhythm feeds my withered bones, the dauntless eyes erased, the gauntlets tossed empty. Here is where I sparkle, my soul leaped forward from the place of behind to the place of entrance. Here where I stand, you enter, taking my tethered thoughts and bleeding them out to the world. My sacrifice, your sacrifice. My heart, your heart. My enemy made clear in the taking of circumstance of my liking, when bitter liking it be. And thusly, I am sweetened, made as bread to the master, ripened in the cream and butter nut of goodness. So that when I look upon the thoughts that were, I see the emptiness of cause, the fawning ways in which I walked. How with danger I froze, the deer-dove I was, with wings of no service in the state of fear.

Where you stand, I enter. I know not what I do or what I do, who I am or what I be. I know nothing of your kindness or your glory. I know not face or name of maker. I know not if exist exists. And in this I know not if my voice is but rising to thy very own chambers of light and there made feed for the mass of me. None other but I, listening to the merry voice of reason lost. No more than this, my empty vessels feeding upon the nibbles of hope. Yet, here I rest, in the serenity of uncertainty. For no matter the form, or shape, or even the distance from the dwelling to the home of home, if I be not home already, then the waiting is of peace. The waiting is of necessity lost and freedom found. I care not what you be or how you be, or what layman’s ways I set upon your threshold, for it matters not to me the way in which you came, only that you entered so.

398: Watching the Wheels

| Aspergers Girls

“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.

Before
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After
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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.