hope

Day 141: Living to my Desire

| Aspergers Girls

Rose Tears

I am but a rose

Set upon your place

Of non-existence

Of non-reality

Only an image, a ghostly apparition

Made up and invented

I am thornless

Or I am piercing

I am red

Or I am blue

Whispered sweetness

Or casual nonsense

Truth

Or lies

They live if you speak so

I am nothing

I am everything

And you swim in me

All at once

Whether I exist or not

Matters not

Only where you put me

This invisible drifting light

Manifested from your mind’s breath

by Sam

This morning I had a very healing chat with a sweet friend over tea at a local coffee house. She brought me a lovely bouquet from her house, and a red bandana to wipe my tears.

I am an abundance of wavering emotions. In the center is this deep gratitude for having the capacity to connect to beautiful beings of light, and to see my beauty reflected in their souls. I traveled a long road to get where I now stand, capable of seeing my own worth, and in turn, to see the intense magnificence of others’ spirits.

The experience of seeing another as pure light and radiating love is nothing short of a miracle. Everyone seems to have come alive, much like the perineal flower bursting anew after long winter’s snow. With everyone I touch, with each person that touches me, I am finding these beautiful mirrors of beauty, a thousand times a thousand opportunities to embrace the radiance within both myself and another. Along with this journey, comes this continual overwhelming of emotions.

I am much a splintered dam with waters rushing through. I know not what to expect or what to make of what is happening in my reality. But I know enough to stop the mind’s wonderings and questions. I know enough that in speaking my truth, that in honoring my authentic self, authentic needs and desires, that I have opened up to a world of rich opportunity, love, and grand joy. And with the joy, equal sorrow. I continue to swim and swim in my walk, as if above the ground below, and dog-paddling forward in an energy of purity.

I do not long to impress, convince, prove, or pretend.

Pretending was the first robe I shed.

Convincing another or longing to prove my point of view, that garment came off next.

And the third to disappear, the yearning to impress.

I no longer long for approval.

I am enough.

And I know this readily because you are enough.

The tears keep coming, the soldiers and troops from eons ago that gathered by the river preparing to march onward but never heard the bugle’s call. They come now, at my spirit’s beckoning, leading me onward, lifting me up beyond where I’d been.

I see more now. Perhaps because my true eyes are at last open.

And I trust more now.

I trust the unpredictability of the universe, the absence of knowing, the inability to plan, to expect, to will.

I have found the freedom in releasing.

I have finally understood the concept of “letting go,” in understanding nothing and no one is or ever will be mine.

I trust in the guiding light, whatever form one imagines this source or lack of source to be.

I just entirely trust.

The continued signs, continued recognitions and awakenings, remind me I am moving.

Not up or down, backwards or forward—but moving just the same.  I only need to be. No more. No less.

I am living to my desire.

Day 136: I am Beauty. I am Beast.

| Aspergers Girls

Photo on 2012-05-31 at 09.30

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.

I hold each animal and weep

And then at the very bottom of the box

Find a Beauty and the Beast CD

And I cry harder

In the knowing

Spirit is with me

In knowing I am enough

That I am beauty despite the beast

And beast despite the beauty

That I am courageous

A source of light

Walking in divine timing

Blessed in grace

This Beauty

This Beast

Both equally powerful in message and truth

And I weep again

For I am

And will always be

Nothing Less

Than Perfect

Thank you my dear precious friend

Thank you dear precious spirit

http://onceuponatime.wikia.com/

Day 113: Goodbye Dead Man’s Beach

| Aspergers Girls

Goodbye Dead Man’s Beach

In the late spring of a bitter windy day, I wiped the grits of sand from my face and stared down below to the foggy beach. This would be the first time I’d see flaccid bodies all lined up in a row, bloated and an almost-blue.  I hadn’t wanted to watch or even glance a little.  I’d wished to run away or at least close my eyes, but I had to see.  This was another coming of a dream.  Some seven days had passed, seven long days of waiting and wondering who would drown.  I knew enough from my past and the way my dreams played out to realize death would be arriving on a Saturday—on a cold, cold Saturday.

I wondered as the workers desperately pressed and pumped on the already dying flesh, why life, or God, or whatever essence gave me these glimpses of future events, wouldn’t also go one step further and allow me to serve some purpose and exist as more than a detached helpless onlooker.   Had I had a magic button to stop the dreams, I thought at the time I would have.  But then I thought I would have missed the dreams in the way I would have missed my arm, or leg, or eye; the dreams were so much a part of me, a needed part, something I’d been born with which had served me in some sense; even though I couldn’t comprehend the reason, even though I cursed the visions and the following reality, I knew enough, innately or perhaps spiritually, to know the dreams were necessary.

The dreams would serve a higher purpose someday, I was told.  Not directly, but in whispers, gentle reminders to be patient, to be watchful, and to wait.  I would cry then, in my teens, in the same way I cry now, when the weight of the world is so heavy upon my shoulders that I wish for nothing but silence and the unknowing, to be like the mother across the street satisfied with her scrapbooking and classroom volunteering, and yearning for nothing more than the simple.

That’s what I longed for:  the sweet simple.

Those dead bodies below on the beach had been a family, the emptied vessels now covered in black bags on the sands below had been minutes before living tourists who hadn’t heeded the warnings posted at Dead Man’s Beach about the dangers of the ocean currents and under-tow.  One boy had fallen in off the rocks, and in response, each family member had leapt to their own death.

I have been terrified of the ocean, ever since the tragedy at Dead Man’s Beach. Add this to the horrific flesh-eating fish dreams I’ve had since I was three, and the time my mother’s boyfriend saw a shark take a chunk out of his best friend. (His friend died.) And I’ve been able to justify not going in the ocean for about twenty-five years.

Yesterday, I overcame my great fear of the sea. As I paddled out into the ocean on my surfboard, I was terrified. I trembled. I almost cried. I almost turned back. But I paddled onward.

I wasn’t planning on surfing at all while visiting Maui. But there I was, regardless of all my fears and misgivings, flat on my belly, in a borrowed, rather-stinky surf shirt, paddling over the waves. And I got up on my surfboard, not once, but at least five times and rode the waves.

They may have looked like little waves to the observer. But to me they were the biggest darn waves of my life.

I’ve realized I have spent much of my forty-some years living on my own Dead Man’s Beach. I’ve been counting my days. Worrying about lurking dangers. Terrified to be happy.

This evening, as I sat in a local bar having yet another fruity rum drink (a new thing for me), the musician played Here Comes the Sun, and I was brought back to a summer day in Oregon, when at the age of nine I was riding in the back of a pickup truck listening to that song. I remember at that age I had an intense feeling of happiness and freedom. It was one of the last times I remember feeling so elated.

Yesterday, when I rode the waves, I returned to that sunny day in the back of the truck. I walked off of Dead Man’s Beach and I found my sun again.

A wise man once told me that he asks everyday: “How can life get any better?”

Day 110: Falling In Love

| Aspergers Girls

Falling In Love

I’m falling in love.

I’m falling in love with the sensation of wet ocean sand squishing between my toes and lathering the soles of my feet.

I’m falling in love with my feet; how my little toe is smaller than his neighbor, how my feet are the perfect size and perfect shape.

I’m falling in love with floating my entire body in the healing, salt-rich sea, kicking and splashing my way from beachside to beachside.

I’m falling in love with my body: the softness of my skin, the curves, the beautiful imperfections that make me entirely me.

I’m falling in love with fruity-drinks with rum and fancy umbrellas, with the foam that tickles my lips and the buzz that tickles my view.

I’m falling in love with my view, in how I see the world, how I see people, and how my heart is big enough to embrace the entirety of the universe.

I’m falling in love with crème brulee served in minature pineapple-bowls, and garnished with large juicy strawberries and fresh whipped cream.

I’m falling in love with the little girl in me who fancies sweet treats and surprises, who wants to share her treats with a stranger, who wants to tell everyone she meets about tiny pineapple bowls.

I’m falling in love with the sun setting over the ocean while the wind blows through my blonde-streaked, windblown hair.

I’m falling in love with my capacity to love nature, the depth of my awe, the appreciation of all glorious works of this planet.

I’m falling in love with hiking down ocean cliffs to the sound of the roaring waves and wading in the warm natural sea pools with hundreds of little fish.

I’m falling in love with my courage to try new things and my appreciation of my bravery and risk taking.

I’m falling in love with catching up with my old friends, I adore, and learning about new friends, I adore.

I’m falling in love with my personality, the way I truly love people, and hold them daily in my heart and thoughts.

I’m falling in love with my potential, with my options, and with opportunity.

I’m falling in love with my skillset to seek out whatever I dream.

I’m falling in love with my family, with their humor, with their wit, with their clever observations and deep sensitivity to life and their environment.

I’m falling in love with my mothering, with all that I’ve dedicated and given without second-thought or need.

I’m falling in love with my eyes and their depth, in what they have seen and saved in silence, and what they have seen, and shared in truth.

I’m falling in love with every inch of me and every inch of my life. I am blessed. I am gifted. And I am me.

 Sometimes I think I make my new friends feel like the sheep in the picture above!

Day 109: Bear and the Green Fruit

| Aspergers Girls

Bear and the Green Fruit (A story of friendship)

There once was a big brown bear that lived in a lush green forest. This was a lovely place of songbird, of fresh streams of salmon, and strong trees hosting hives of dripping yummy honey. There was so much beauty about. But the bear spent his days worried.  He worried about the streams, and the trees, and even the yummy honey. He worried about the best passage way in which to enter the stream, the best of the trees to scratch, and the best technique in which to acquire the honey. He worried the stream would run dry, the trees would die, and the honey would disappear. He worried so much that soon he couldn’t even hear the streams, see the trees, or even taste the honey. This made him worry more, until in bear’s eyes everything vanished and in place of beauty only barren land remained.

With everything seemingly gone, the bear grew sadder. His roars shook the foundation. His paws beat at his fury chest. And his big sad eyes, they searched everywhere.

In his sadness, one tree was birthed. It grew tall and strong in the middle of the barren land—a tree with a strange green fruit.

The bear touched the tree in curiosity, patting the bark and peering up at the abundance of fruit. What interesting fruit he thought. He shrugged and moaned, and reached up to pull off a fruit. But his strength was so strong that the fruit instantly burst, sending out green goop in every direction. He watched as the inner seed of the fruit rolled away, and could swear he heard the seed weeping. Again he tried to take the fruit. This time he pulled the fruit with light hand, and the fruit remained whole, but as soon as he sliced the fruit open the seed spilled out, rolled away, and he could swear he heard the seed weeping. Next, he pulled another fruit and stomped on it to release the green inside. The green remained splattered at foot, but bear swore as seed rolled away, he heard seed weeping. At last, with patience, the bear opened fruit gently and lapped up the inside, tasting the sweetness. He was pleased. Except bear was certain that the seed of the fruit rolled away weeping.

Finally the bear took another fruit down, and before doing anything he asked: “Why do you weep so little friend? Were you not made to be eaten and be relished?”

The little green fruit answered: “Yes. It is true. I was made to be eaten and to be relished. But you have forgotten the soul of me. You take what is needed. You fret over how to have your needs met. But you forget that I am more than the sweetness. Inside of me is a seed that much like you is in search of home. Yet, I am continually opened, enjoyed, and then left to roll away unnoticed.”

Bear thought. He thought very hard. He tugged on the fur of his chin and then his deep brown eyes lit up. This time bear opened the fruit slowly, with gentle claw, and before he did anything else he lifted the seed out of the fruit and buried seed in fertile ground. This time the seed giggled and began to grow.

“Oh, thank you, kind Bear,” seed whispered at his side.

With that the bear was at last able to enjoy the fruit. A smile crossed his face. And with smile the sun returned, the forest reappeared, the streams came back, and the honey dripped down. And the one tall fruit tree vanished.

Bear was very thankful. As the bear smiled, he remembered his friend the seed. And with that small thought, a small green fruit sapling appeared at bear’s side.

“Hello, friend,” bear whispered, smiling with honey on his paws.

“Hello, friend,” sapling whispered back.

“You are growing!” Bear sang.

“Oh, yes. I am growing,” sapling said with a smile.

Bear roared in glee admiring all of the beauty around him.

Bear licked his paw and smiled. “Oh, dear friend,” bear said. “Thank you for teaching me happiness is far beyond the solving.”

Sapling whispered in return, “Thank you dear Bear for knowing my longing to be placed in fertile ground. So many have fed upon my sweetness and never had the heart to hear my weeping and know my longing. Because you have known sadness, you saw my truth and I grew. And now because I know happiness, I shall see your truth, and you shall grow.”

With those happy words, the honey dripped from the sky, and bear and sapling sang with the songbirds and danced together in the clear running stream.

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