365: What’s Working for this Aspie Super Hero!

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“In respect to anger, he is only a visitor in fleeting moments, like a painter’s brush that passes through my soul and leaves behind a wonderous view of causation; his visit absent of judgment or need, the open door left ajar to futher awareness.” ~ Sam

Look! It’s post 365…..well, I actually forgot one post somewhere in the 100 range, and deleted another post… so it’s really post 363, and that means I can keep writing forever and ever. I have no idea when I will stop this blog, but number 365 was always a big goal-number for me, as it represents a year and all; even though the year I began blogging was a leap year—this my son with Aspergers was sure to point out when I began my daily writings.

I cannot believe how much self-growth I have encountered in the last “year” of posts. Truly amazing it is; and except for my nasty bout with the long term, miserable bronchitis (6 weeks of being couch-bound), I kept up my writings fairly well. I started in February and here it is only early April of the following year. Wow…over a year of writing. And all-in-all likely some 450 pages plus. (Some posts were “long.” Euphemism for went on and on and on and on.)

What I really like about blogging is meeting such a fine community of people. So much kindness and sincerity of heart; putting myself out there wasn’t easy, but the people I came in contact with offered such support and love. I am truly grateful. What I learned the most, thus far, is that I am not normal, and that no one else is, and that I am perfectly fine with that. I also learned I can write, I am a poet, I can paint, I can ramble, I can joke, I can be very serious and melancholic, and that I am consistently a kind and gentle person. I learned too that many of my followers/readers have many awesome abilities and talents.
Now for the other stuff…..

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What’s working for this Aspie Superhero!

1) I know myself. I know myself inside and out. I spent three years writing out my life story. The first draft led me to much pain and sadness. The second draft caused me anger and rage. By the third draft I was able to forgive and let go. This was a long, gruesome process in which I not only learned how to write, but also learned how to spell! Dyslexia take that…slash, slash, slash. I underwent years of psychotherapy, small group therapy, individual counseling, couple counseling…basically the works. You name it, I likely tried it… within limits of course. I read every self-help book and spiritual book I could get my hands on. Once during an obsessive fixation phase in my early twenties, and again during another phase about two years ago. I be ready to break free, I tells ya!

2) I let go of myself. After all the intense studying of said-self and after undergoing years, albeit decades of self-discovery, I was pretty attached the concept of ME. I still disliked me. Shoot, I despised me, most of the time. I knew a lot about myself though! It wasn’t until I started shedding off everything I’d learned about myself and focusing (and praying ) about releasing myself from myself (letting go of ego attachment) that I was able to start liking myself. It was a weird scenario. First dig deep into emotions, feel emotions, recognize self, acknowledge self, and then stare at self and think: “Hmmm, now what?” So at that time I surrendered. I have my own faith, my own feelings of whom my maker is, so I surrendered to this source I choose to call God. Something I learned from the numerous 12-step programs I used to partake in. Upon release I began to see change. It was slow going at first, but it surfaced readily and things started shifting in me.

3) Forgiveness Stage…. Blahh. Hardest year of my life. Well two and a half years, honestly. Reading a dozen Buddhist books helped. So did books on cds about forgiveness. I had to grieve and grieve and grieve, and I had to spill out to strangers. That would be you, the blog followers. Strangers in the “thank you so fricken much” sense. I had to spill out the sewage and retardant that was still seeping and sticking to me. Not fun. Not easy. But so very much worth the angst and effort.
I remember thinking I’d never be able to forgive one particular person. I practiced active visualization, sound therapy, meditation, yoga, anything and practically everything to push them mean old thoughts out of my head. Yuck; it was like throwing up at times. Sometimes, it was painstakingly heartbreaking. But the more I forgave, the more miracles happened in my life. Unexpected gifts, wonderful “coincidences,” and more and more friendships. The more I let go and released, the more came back to me, gifts wrapped in beneficial love and goodness. No more icky stuff. I can honestly say today there is not one person I dislike, hold a grudge against, or haven’t forgiven…including me!

4) Analyzing Pride. Oh my. What a huge stepping stone, like the most biggest gigantic step imaginable. I always considered myself decently humble and lacking much pride until the vultures came and attacked…or at least did what I perceived as an attack. Up until a couple months ago, I had the hardest time with put downs, criticism, or anyone not agreeing with me. Hmmm, seems ego plays a big part in that. That ego-release is an ongoing journey; one which fortunately gets easier with practice. I thought I was just a sweet sensitive thing. But in truth I was too wrapped up in myself to see that what people thought of me or said about me, first of all was none of my business. and second of all didn’t change whom I was one bit. I never wanted to be one of those people who say: I don’t care what people think of me. And I am not. I do care. I care that others find the capacity to love unconditionally and see the good in all, because that makes this world a better place for everyone. But now, today, and all my tomorrows I pray, I can say: How people perceive me does not change me, make me, or define me. I am who I am. And I choose to see myself as a beneficial loving being. I really digged what my angels showed me. They taught me that if I choose to build myself up by other people’s praises of me, then at the same instant I am choosing to knock myself down when people criticize me. And I was able to release. Now I remain fairly balanced and equal. Along with this letting go of what other people think of me came a bonus super-size-me package. Yes, a bonus! Now that I wasn’t letting myself be affected by the ups and downs of what others said about me, I also wasn’t able to get angry or mad anymore… Basically, I lost my ability to get defensive and reactive around others! Even my husband! Yes, ladies, even my spouse! Now if I am angry at all it is for one minute, and then a flash of knowledge comes and teaches me in minutes all of the reasons why I am angry. And then I can’t be angry anymore. The anger just vanishes.

5) Begging for Humility (on bended knee, no less). I sometimes slip into the opposite zone of selflessness and become overly concerned about humility, and worried what the big party in the sky thinks of me. It’s like my spirit has an ego, too! Now that I think about it, maybe I need to get my soul into ego-begone-rehab. I pray all the time for humility. Actually I found a couple things that work well for me. Number one is: I know, accept, and acknowledge my gifts and abilities do not come from me, and that I am a vessel; what I create pours through me from source. This I believe with all of my heart and this frees me from feeling bad about feeling good—a strange dichotomy that I think many a people can relate to. Number two is: I kneel in the shower sobbing for forgiveness and my angels laugh at me. Yes, they do. They didn’t used to, but now they see my actions as redundant and a bit hysterical, leaning towards ridiculous. But I still cry and kneel anyhow. Seems to keep me humble enough, even with their chuckles. They love me, too, and remind me that the whole worrying about being humble and “good” enough is okay; and not to dwell on the process or I just will sink deeper into the quick sand of self.

6) Analyzing my fear. I became acutely aware of my thoughts associated with fear, and realized I was living a life (lie) based on fear. Anyone who says you need a little fear, it’s good for you, or healthy for you, I say nonsense. (Actually in a Zen way I nod and smile and say nothing.) I have come to terms with the fact that the only thing that is “good” for me is love. That’s it. Nothing else. No fear has ever helped me in any way. I can logically prepare myself for events or happenings without fear. And yes, my adrenaline might rev up when I am in danger and my biological body may enter a state of fear for protection from possible threat, but my mind doesn’t have to follow. I can step out, be the observer, breathe and calm my own being. It is amazing and so entirely freeing. I can watch the loops, the cycles, the anxiety spin, and simply whisper: Hello fear. Hello fear. Hello fear. By acknowledging fear, I learn from fear. And he becomes my teacher and friend. Soon I love fear so much, he has enough confidence to leave me and find a new friend! I like to build fear up through analytical discussions, dissection, and gentle release. Lately, I can feel a slight tingle in my body and recognize fear instantly. And as soon as I recognize him, within seconds he dissipates. He just doesn’t have so much fun with me anymore now that I don’t partake in long games of hide-and-seek. And I don’t lie or hold things back either. And fear, he likes when his friends withhold and tell falsehoods—he thrives on that. Also, I don’t believe in him, really. I think he is an illusion; and that belief kind of makes him vanish. Overall, fear comes for a visit every once and awhile, but the door is always open for his quick exist; and he gets tired of me sharing about him with the rest of the world, too. He likes to be kept in secret; that’s where he strives. Me, and my aspie brain and fever for writing—well he figures his days are numbered anyhow. (My thoughts on fear.)

7) Being in my body. I spent so much time outside of my body. With the sensory overload, the tension around strangers, the past humiliations and traumas, and with my wicked imagination and fantasy life, it was far easier for me to exist outside of my body than inside. I was almost entirely absent for many of my adult years. I couldn’t readily identify how I felt emotionally or physically beyond scared, tired, and anxious. Now I practice grounding myself, feeling my body, checking in with my physical-being and with my emotional-being. I let myself be present. I practice returning to self fully. I am still working on recognizing my breathing, but this too will come. It is nice to be home again, back in my body where I belong. I still allow myself to drift, especially when I need escape from emotional stress. But I give myself permission: I might daydream, paint, write, or partake in a task, and let myself float out momentarily. However I am aware of the freedom I am granting myself and in full control of my actions. I like being in me again. I like feeling again. And emotions, after I looked at them long enough, they aren’t that scary after all. (related poem)

8) Asking to be filled with spirit and have the capacity for unconditional love. This one was an easy one. Likely because I have a direct line to my (sometimes obnoxious) angels now, and because I’d done so many years of groundwork purging out toxic emotions. I was taught, through visions and meditation, that I first had to love myself and see the light in myself in order to love others. I can call this learning to love the self or I can call this learning to love the light. Actually the names and order of loving don’t matter, as I don’t believe I could have learned to love myself without loving the whole of the universe first. Once I was able to see the miracles of the world, to connect with nature, and with life in general, I was able to see beauty everywhere. I don’t know how this happened or transpired. I know there was a lot of trust involved on my part, a lot of prayer, and a lot of hope and faith. Also, a big part of my healing happened because I followed my heart and desire to serve others. That’s all I have ever wanted to do: to love and serve; and so when this blog indirectly led to an opportunity to give back, I was amazed and embraced the opportunity. There is something very healing and powerful about finding one’s soul print, discovering that way to walk in the world that honors your gifts and truly allows you to be happy in your authenticity. I guess in the beginning, I would have had to have made a deal to be entirely forthcoming and real, and to be authentic, in order for the vocation to come to me, instead of me to it. So that too, is part of this, the being real, not being afraid to be who I was meant to be.

9) Giving back without intention. My angels taught me months and months ago not to make my writing about self-intention. I was not to write for anyone. I was to write for one purpose: to heal myself and others. I was to make this my healing journey and in return others would be healed. I saw this clearly in vision after vision, starting fourteen years ago. I didn’t know at the time this was the venue they were referring to, but as I started connecting I was reminded by spirit to be nothing but authentic, honest, and real. I was not to try to win anyone over, try to impress, or try to get “published.” I was taught that if I attached my own self-interest to my writings the energy would change and that I wouldn’t heal and others wouldn’t be afforded the opportunity to heal. So I released and trusted. I took away my selfish desires, and along with that I practiced releasing envy, jealousy, want, and need in relation to my works. It was crucial for me to be able to release fear and be in my body. Because once connected to my emotions, I could release the want to be special, noticed, or succeed. One of the best feelings for me ever was when I reached the point where I no longer cared about outcomes. That was huge. I am no longer outcome centered or focused, and now, for most areas of my life I can sit back and enjoy without worrying about the end goal. I recognize the present is the present, the journey is the gift, and the end is illusion.

10) Finding a place to be me. Throughout this journey it was essential for me to establish safe places where I could say and do anything and others would love me unconditionally. Having online friends has been important. I have turned time and time again to people with Aspergers and people without Aspergers for advice, comfort, or simply to process and talk. Without these people I would not have gained the confidence and trust in self to continue on my journey. This includes the people who commented on my blog and in other social networks. Their words kept me going and kept me moving. In addition, I found that the more I let myself be me that others were granted the freedom to be themselves. This was a double-bonus which brought and continues to bring me feelings of joy and peace. I am at a stage in my life where I am entirely comfortable with my humanness and my world. I understand I will experience ups and downs, that I will still have moments of doubts, that I will still cry and sometimes allow fear to be my imagined teacher, but I carry with me the strength of a thousand other people, who have stood with me in this journey and proven to me time and time again the beauty and magnificence of the human spirit. It was in being in the companty of many, I learned to trust again. Today I am a super hero only because you are one, endowed with your super capacity to love. Thank you.

Love and Light,
Sam

https://soundcloud.com/#ramdass/8-how-to-deal-with-fear (to release fear) 🙂

318: The Third Door

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sam

Someone once told me that there are three doors to self:

One door you willingly open and show the world. A second door you open to some. And a third door that usually remains closed, a place where you hold the deepest hurts, secrets that if exposed might make you crumble.

In February of 2012, I opened the third door.

Through a series of events, including the discovering of my Asperger’s Syndrome, my necessary exiting from a university counseling program, and my beloved dog’s death, I spiraled into a place of deep depression.

Having been told by a licensed mental health practitioner that indeed she had no doubts I had Aspergers, a massive vault of inner self was opened. It was as if I’d been carrying around a phantom secret my entire life, teetering on a finite point of self-knowledge, but never quite touching down to the answers.

And now I stood, feet firmly planted in the muck and guck of all the places I’d traveled, both externally and internally, faced with all the years of wondering and searching, from priest to psychiatrist, mountain after mountain climbed, in hopes of figuring out essentially “what was wrong with me.”

I knew from a young age that I viewed the world differently. I am an observer of sorts, always an observer, analyzing and picking apart the pieces that intermingle about me, in the spaces between thought and reason, in the middle point where the black and white merge to form something beyond grey.

I see in pictures, vivid images. As I write now, the words are first filtered, almost simultaneously with first thought, into a stream of expression, each word carrying its own color, rhythm and vibration. And the world, my world, is like this too: everything, everywhere, something moving and carrying its own awareness, as if screaming to be seen.

My world is a constant mystery, a present to be opened time and time again, each new day a new beginning. I cannot help this. This is who I am and whom I have always been.

I don’t understand rules and customs, not because I lack the ability to see what is happening, or to read between the lines, but because I see the infinite possibilities of other choices and options, of other paths, so to speak.

I don’t understand dogma and criticism and rights and wrongs, as it seems there is always another side, another way, and in this way, somewhere a victim struggling to be heard.

A passion so deep, runs through me, a river of sorts, that twists and turns and carries a truth I understand, even if no one else does. In a sense I need no confirmation or validation, it is as it is, and just who I be.

Yet, to live in this world, to walk where I walk, there is this way about me, this way I am supposed to be—some societal-imposed rules of conduct and expected behavior that confuses me; for since a child, I was left to wonder, who are the inventors of these rules, and why do they invent?

I was left to wonder why the others, who weren’t me, but seemed an extension of me, behaved in predictable patterns determined by some unknown structure, endowed with the gifts of evidentally knowing when there is nothing to be known, at least nothing to be feasibly discovered in the infiniteness of variables of truth.

I discovered early on that my only solace was in my faith, that being, by my choosing, and my choosing alone, a universal maker that I call God. In here, inside my faith, and only here, I found answers. I began to see the scope of the world as so narrow, at least when viewed through the eyes of so many lost travelers. I began to see that I too was lost with them, in this collective of nonsense recreating games in an attempt be seen.

I stepped out. I removed myself from the game, and was immediately ostracized and shunned, repeatedly corrected for not being as everyone else; even as I watched and knew that all about me was imaginary, people filling in the holes with their ways, when they weren’t really their ways at all.

For to be inside me, is to be inside complexity. Everything mixed and unmuted, painted and swirled with endless possibilities. But it appeared that to be inside of another, at least most of another, was limiting and restricted, honed in by self-inflicted leashes.

I was isolation.

I was what the experience of isolation encompasses: the observer knowing she is different, not knowing why, and forced without reason or cause to walk outside of the line.

I was a loner; though I stood alongside my peers, I was always alone.

I was alone in my creation of different selves in an attempt to move through a world that made no sense. I was alone in my attempt after attempt to be like that which I did not understand. I was alone in my compassion to want to touch another at a level they were uncomfortable touching. I was a traveler who knew not where she touched down and knew not with whom she was supposed to meet.

I was alone.

I was alone until I reached out, not to another, but into the deepest corridors of self. I was alone until I sat within the inner makings of what rested behind my door number three. Until I purged out all of the demons and hauntings and broken pieces of self, and set about to reform the being I truly was.

And then, as I began to see me, unleashed from the fear that had once buried me, others began to see me too; for it was in my true self that they recognized a part of their own true selves. It was in the opening of my third door that others were freed to open theirs.

Together, myself intertwined with others who knew of me and who understood the axe of isolation and disconnection, we began to emerge—one door upon the next, opening and reopening.

And with this opening, we began to see we were no longer alone.

We began to see beauty.

We began to heal.

For finally someone could see us.

Finally we were no longer invisible.

Finally we were understood.

And this is my door number three, these words I have shared, above and below, and out there, in the circling space of energy; not because I needed to find another, but because I needed to be free.

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315: My Aspie Friend Rocks!

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This post is dedicated to the little girl who made this drawing. I do not know her and I do not know her mother. We only just connected online today. I was sent this drawing as a gift, and what a gift it is. The picture is called: Asperger Children in Winter The daughter’s words speak volumes: “I know Mommy, who can be my best friend, somebody who has the same syndrome as me; then he could be kind with me and understand me better; I’m so sure about that.”

I couldn’t help but to cry. If you are comfortable, please say a prayer for her. Hold her in light. I cannot wait for her to meet her special friend. I cannot wait for her friend to behold her beautiful heart.
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marcelle

First off I have to say at a recent Super Bowl gathering, one in which I only broke out in one hive, I was totally myself. So much so, that I had to private message a new “friend” after the party to say, “I am sorry I talked so much. I usually do that when I like someone. I am not very good at parties.” Fortunately, she messaged right back saying, “I like you, too.”

I felt like such a grade-schooler, but so relieved.

I don’t want you to think in the past couple days I have been depressed; I have not been. My vitamin D levels are freakishly low again, and that adds to my pool of spurts of melancholy, but all-in-all I am doing quite well. Miraculously, I walked through a valley of darkness, being plucked by vultures and all, and came out unscathed and rather well-lifted in faith. And as of late, I have been pouring my heart out to my higher power, whom I choose to call Jesus (and choose to not push on anyone else), and we have really hit it off.

I’m not sure what’s up with all my prophetic and spiritual writing, but I seem to be tapping into something, and my God seems to be the conduit. It is healing, remarkable, scary, and peaceful all at once, like a giant ball of chocolate flying through the air at dart-speed about to land in my mouth. I savor it, though the impact can be quite overwhelming.

Back to that party… Something funny happened. There was a lady there, a mother of the hostess, never did get her name, forgot to ask. But we sat near each other a good stretch of the game, particularly during the power outage (super-boring-sportscasters-don’t-know-what-they-are-doing-part). We were chatting a bit. Well, I was mostly giggling and cracking myself up, as is my protocol at first-time gatherings; that and stuffing my face with food.

Anyhow, we were talking about the Superbowl commercials, and I said something to the tune of, “So far the best commercial is the one with the older people.” I was careful how I worded my sentence. I didn’t want to say “senior citizen” because there was one sitting right next to me. I looked over after I made my statement relieved I’d dodged a bullet.

But then I kind of blabbered. Not being able to stop myself, I added, “Did you notice how I didn’t use the words senior citizens.” I paused to giggle.

Then more poured out to substantiate what had leaked out. “I was careful, as you are sitting here.”
I blushed.

Time to regroup and repair, I added more, “Two of my best friends are senior citizens. I like senior citizens. I really do.”

But nooooo, that wasn’t enough. I laughed again. “Oh, man,” I said, my face aflame. “That sounded so bad. Like saying I like black people, two of my best friends are black.”

The senior citizen, well she just started busting up.

Me, in the meantime, I’m wondering who the heck is controlling the mechanism between my brain, thought, and speech.

After that mishap, I set about to chat my new “friend’s” ear off. I think I basically told her every ghost experience and psychic experience I ever had in my entire life! And boy, I really didn’t know I had enough eerie moments to fill up well over an hour!

Luckily, when this oh so patient and kind lady wrote me back later that night, she also added to her message: “It’s nice to talk to someone who doesn’t think I’m weird.”

Now that there… that is just gem-talk, I tell you, pure gem-talk.

It is nice to talk to someone who thinks they are weird. So refreshing!

I love weird people. They get me, and they are typically so dang interesting.

My favorite weird person (and that is a high-ranking compliment from the planet she comes from) would have to be my super-fabulous friend Alienhippy. We met through blogging. I checked her out and studied her blog before I started mine. I don’t know if she knows I used her as a prototype. Don’t think I’ve told her that, yet. But I’ve pretty much told her everything else about me that she could find here on the pages of this blog. We talk every single day, from where she is in England and where I be on the Northwest coast of USA.

I love her so much that my husband just said, “Looks like are next family trip will have to be to England, then.” Of course, I adamantly concurred and set about to wonder how I’d feasibly survive that flight.

Alienhippy (that’s not her real name, in case you are that one percent wondering) is a dynamo of a friend. And this is why:

My Aspie Friend Rocks

1. She never says: “I am fine or I am okay.” When I ask her how she is feeling, she tells me straight up how she is, inside and out, how her physical body feels, her spirit, and mind. I don’t have to wonder, or guess, or pry, and there is such freedom in the realness of the experience of knowing. I won’t get into details, but I even know about her bowel movements!

2. She always, without fail, tells me she loves me so much. She used to say she loves me too much, but I told her that wasn’t healthy, as I be who I be. And now she just says she loves me so much and just enough. She tells me over and over, almost each time we touch base. She loves me so much that I feel this syrupy liquid of protective jell all about me all day long.

3. She has no hidden motives and is real. My friend she just tells me her heart and her soul. She tells me of her faith, her trials, her children, her life. She doesn’t hold back anything. Any subject is open for discussion. And I mean anything! You name it, and we’ve probably talked about it. And I never feel embarrassed or shamed or stupid for sharing. She gives me the freedom to be completely me, because she is completely herself. We laugh so hard and have invented our own secret code words. And we make up names for each other. I like to call her banana slug. Don’t ask me why. Because I have no idea.

4. She loves me no matter what. She would love me if I was green and slimy; she said so. I would love her no matter what size or shape, no matter what species, no matter what! She is just the bees knees and so wonderful. Her heart is as big as the universe and my heart fits right inside hers. I tease her that if she had a “package” I would totally own her. You see, we can talk like that.

5. She doesn’t lie. She’s like me: lying feels like we are dying inside. We have no choice but to spill our beans and be truthful, and because of this we have this unbreakable trust. We know we are what you see. We know we have no curtains hiding secrets. We know we won’t tell, won’t shame, and won’t break our trust. We have like an unspoken truce. We have a code of honor. And everything I say is taken to heart.

6. She reads me. She can tell when I am holding back and not saying everything. She can tell when I am sad, feeling broken or lost. And she not only reads me but helps me. She gets me. She knows my pains and understands how it feels. That’s how she can read me. She knows when to ask: Are you okay? And she knows when to say: You are beautiful inside and out. She even knows how to comfort me when I am looping and spinning in my head.

7. She is a reflection of me. She is so dang beautiful that I just feel so lucky to be her friend, and she loves me so much that I know I must be that dang beautiful. I am so very honored to know her. The compassion she carries for others is out of this world. And she wears her heart on her sleeve. She is the best mother and a very honest wife. We like to tease about our husbands, as they are so alike in their ways. And even are sons have the same name and ASD.

8. She gets my brain! Praise the heavens. I don’t have to explain anything to her. She understands my fixations, my breakdowns, my panic attacks, my insecurities, my passions, my obsessions. She’s been there and done that, and is still doing it. I don’t feel like I’m a loner traveling through a strange planet anymore. In her I found my people!

9. She is so smart it’s scary. Oh my goodness. I’ve never met a wiser woman in my life. The things that come out of her mouth, you’d think she was a senior citizen, a super smart one whose been around the block and inside the mind of brilliance. She just knows how to untangle things and find new angles and read between the lines. Her analytical mind coupled with her heart is just amazing.

10. She is unique. In all her aspieness, she is still a uniquely divine and gifted woman. Her aspie qualities just enhance who she already is naturally, a gift to me and this world. She has longed for a friendship like ours for years, and I have longed for a connection like I have with her for years. God matched us up, me and her, to show us our inherent goodness; for me I am her forever friend, the one she would swing with under the big tree in her childhood dreams and wish for, and for me she is my earth angel. In fact I know she is my earth angel, as last week when I was crying and at the end of my rope, I pleaded up to God, and I asked, “Why have you given me so much without assistance, without a sign, without hope?” And he kindly and adamantly replied, in a curt and matter-of-fact way only my God can, “I gave you Alienhippy, didn’t I?”

If you are an adult female touched by Aspergers looking for friends, do I have the group for you! You’ll be loved like a rock… though I’m not sure what that means. :))))

https://www.facebook.com/#!/groups/261412237267413/

Day 221: Smile

Smile.

Smile for as long as you can.

Smile like you have a little secret.

Smile with your eyes.

Smile with your lips.

Let your whole body smile an I-just-baked-you-a-cake smile.

Puff up your cheeks and curl your nose.

Add some sparkle and sunshine.

Smile through the weather and circumstance.

When another approaches, think: You are beautiful.

And hear: You are love. You are love. You are love.

Let the outside fade away.

See only light.

See a light that lives the best way light can live.

Smile.

Smile because inside you are peace and knowing.

Smile because you have released.

Smile because you are truth.

Smile at the miracles.

Smile for opportunity.

Smile and smile again.

Imagine the smile the lungs of the collective souls.

Smile so we can breathe.

~ Sam Craft, August 2012

I can now smile a full hour straight while walking in public! Can you?

Day 214: Because I Am

I know who I am.

I have self-awareness. I see myself clearly. I accept myself.

I understand myself, as wild as I might be.

I know I am “good.”

I know I am light.

I know I have a purpose and a drive. I have a calling. I know my calling. And I follow my calling.

I know the difference between authenticity and pretending.

I know genuineness and pureness of heart.

I know suffering, deep suffering; and because I know deep suffering, I know your deep suffering.

I understand your pain because I have been in pain. I understand your joy, because I have known grand joy.

I do not feel separate from you or different; I feel as you; both of us souls on a journey of discovery.

I am light and can only love what is inherent beauty.

I see the light in everyone. I see it everywhere. And this adds to my sadness as it adds to my joy.

I see people walking in spirit. I see past the flesh and past the games that are invented by the lonely, lost man. I see past the visions that others paint in front of them in an attempt to hide. I see beyond their fears and happenstance, their intentions, motivations, and at times intended and unintended manipulation.

I see into the heart of man; and if I have to suffer to see so, then I suffer.

My mind is a miracle, a glorious miracle, and my heart even grander.

I love who I am in every aspect.

I have faced my shadows. I have faced the demons, the voices, the hauntings of mind and ghosts.

I have dreamed of the future and watched it unfold, and in so doing, stood in awe of the universe.

I have experienced life in the deepest capacity, at the deepest levels. I have lived.

I have watched my wishes come true. I have treaded through the darkest of days and come out stronger and self-sufficient. I am supported by myself. I have a companion in my own being. And I am supported by the angels, or spirits, or whatever is beyond our capacity to sense.

I feel energy around me from everything and everyone. I understand others in a way many do not yet understand.

I am humble. I recognize the pride in me and face this pride and gently release. I am insecure and recognize this too, embracing my beauty further, so insecurity may have a place to rest.

I am not ashamed of any part of me. I can speak my mind fully, my thoughts fully, and not wonder if I am being true to me. I am always true to me.

I can openly say when I am scared or frightened.

I am in totality. I am me.

I will be the first to say sorry and have no regret in doing so. I will be the first to say I love you with no intention but to say the words.

I don’t follow a guidebook to feel real. I follow my own book. And I get to write the present each moment.

I am genuine in my intentions. I constantly seek to be truth, to speak truth, to resonate truth.

I do not hunger for fame or attention. I do not hunger for success or material gain. I only hunger for peace and serenity.

I am truly gifted. I am gifted in my ability to live each moment as if it were my very testimony of being. I am gifted in my continual thoughts to be the most beneficial being on this plane of existence that I can be. I am gifted because I have no curtain. There is nothing to pull back and see. Nothing I hide. Nothing to take, expose, or corrupt.

I am hiding no secrets. And without secrets, there is no weapon anyone can use against me.

I embrace love, peace and serenity, and nearby is the continual quest for growth. I am growing.

I am worthy simply because I am.

Day 79: Behold, I Am

Image by artist Vian Sora
Transformation
Click to see more lovely paintings

This poem, I scribed this morning, is for all of you who resonate with my journey. Thank you for your hearts. ~ Sam

Behold, I Am

You are my whisper

A gentle hello

I know

I am you

You are my wind

A glorious push

Behind or ahead

I Follow

You are the sunrays

A bold truth

Within

I live

You are the breaking waves

A gift bearer

Behold

Believe

You are the song in the trees

A minstrel’s longing

Come hither

Come dance

You are the moonlight

A luminous glow

Led

Through darkness

You are the raindrops

A tumbling thirst

Quenched

Echoed breaths

You are reason

An answered wish

Alive

Beside

You are beauty

A wavering reflection

Behold

I am

 

By Samantha Craft  April 16, 2012

This is piano music. The Youtube is labeled wrong. The music is soothing and lovely.

Day 76: The Blind Woman

I returned to the lab this morning to get my blood work done. Yesterday, I was turned away, because I’d not realized I needed to fast. Yesterday the lab’s waiting room had been crowded.

Today when I entered the room, there was no person in the waiting area but me.

Shortly after I sat down, a young lady escorted an elderly Chinese woman inside. I immediately noticed the elderly woman’s eyes. They were shut closed. The young woman led the blind woman to a chair, before she quickly exited to park the car.

For the time, it was only me and the blind woman. The woman was seated across from me about six-feet away. As I smiled out at her, I realized she did not know I was in the room.

I hesitated to speak. But I was compelled to make my presence known. Leaning forward in my chair, I offered the woman a gentle good morning. Then I wondered what had caused her blindness. Wondered why she had to have blood work done. And wondered, too, why her lids were so tightly sealed together.

There was only seconds between the time I said good morning and the time the woman took to respond. Upon hearing my words, she searched for me, her head slightly turning my direction. Again, I wondered.

“Good morning,” the old woman answered, with an inflection and spirit liken to a young person. And then, without pause, she continued. “I so, so, scared,” she said in broken English. “I so, so, scared,” she said again.

She placed her aged hand over her chest and flapped her hand repeatedly. “I no like when they put the point in me,” she confessed. She attempted a smile. Without the use of her eyes for expression, the rest of her—arms, mouth, head, wrinkles, shoulders—they all played their part.

She curled into herself and then used her hand to demonstrate a beating heart again. “I been here many times. No make difference. I still get so scared. I can’t help. I don’t like be here. So, so scared.”

I tried my best to offer her some comfort through my words. I don’t think she understood anything I said. But she smiled just the same. To be heard—she only needed to be heard.

Soon the young escort returned, and I was called in for my blood draw.

This blind woman was a wonderful gift.

In the few moments this woman had shared her truth, I had stood beside her in spirit. And as I stood by, I had recognized my own self in her. With my recognition, my own fears were temporarily lessened. In viewing our likeness, my own misgivings were decreased.

In being there, hearing her voice, and  recognizing our shared humanity, I understood this:

In an often obscured world we are each, in our own way, waiting for our voice to be heard.