life

388: Keepers of the Light

| Aspergers Girls

I invite you to listen to this song first.

I started singing You Light Up My Life, around the age of eleven. I think it was the only song I wrote down the lyrics to and memorized. That, and Away in a Manger. I used to sing songs at the tippy-top of my lungs, squeaking and squealing to anyone that would listen, including my downstairs duplex-landlords, who sometimes brought me indoors for cookies. I could tell when I sang, by looking in the observers’ eyes, that people didn’t think I sang super well or close to on key. I could tell they thought I was a lonely child searching for attention. I could tell that they were smiling in an attempt to help me feel accepted. But I couldn’t say all that. I didn’t think to say it. I didn’t know that everyone else, or most everyone else, didn’t think like me. I figured we all knew what was being unspoken. That we all just pretended we didn’t.

When I sang my heart out, I slipped into a fantasy world. I leaped across time and stood on stage. I imagined refuge in a bountiful light. I imagined being lifted and protected and seen. The song itself didn’t free me; nor did the audience observing. What freed me was the freedom I was—the capacity to be me. What trapped me was the realization that all about me others weren’t free.

There was a time where people approached me for my light. They were drawn to me. Something about me pulled them in. I know now it was and has always been Spirit. Then I did not know, and I didn’t wonder; I thought everyone had this; I thought everyone heard God and could see through people.

I remember going to the church around the corner, a Catholic cathedral where I never once attended mass. I was drawn there, at times, the little girl I was, with her un-brushed hair and with her big searching eyes. I would swing on the monkey bars in the church playground over and over, until my hands blistered. Then, if I hadn’t already entered, I’d walk quietly into the empty church and just breathe. I felt safe there. I felt connection. But I didn’t know why. The candles, the light of the candles, they spoke to me, as did the colors of the glass windows and the movement of sunlight through the grand space. I wasn’t frightened. I wasn’t alone. I wasn’t anywhere. I just was. Sometimes time stopped and I traveled into the future where I would walk in as full-grown woman and be, with the others, I would be.

I wasn’t a religious child. I wasn’t even spiritual. I was magical. I believed in magic everywhere. I believed everything, each and everything. I believed in everyone around me. And I loved everyone. I trusted them. I gave myself freely: my attention, my time, my love. I had an over-flowing abundance of love. And I was me. There wasn’t anything about me that I had created. I radiated from within.

Something about me, or perhaps something within me, gave me the incapacity to be anyone but me. This gift of being authentic was beautiful. But because I trusted and believed others so greatly and so freely, when they told me what they thought, I believed them. Because if they were beautiful and I loved them and they were perfect, then they must know, they must have the answers.

I believed when they, the others, told me that I was just a child and didn’t know things. I believed them when they said life was hard. I believed them when they cried and cursed what was wrong and unjust. I believed it all. And I began to see that I lived in a world entirely complex in its simplicity. I began to see that I held all the secrets of love and joy, but that none could see them. I knew how to laugh and how to make other people laugh; and I did so without intention or want; I just was joy.

Then came the passing of days, when I learned my joy was not enough. When I learned that my heart, no matter how big, could not make a difference—at least I thought. Soon as my friends grew older, they changed. Their views became more broken and fragmented, their opinions stronger, their hatred taking shape. Divisions were made, as I watched, fingers pointed, sometimes at me, but mostly at others. And everyone started playing this part that didn’t make any sense; except that their ways kept people, for the most part, in an imaginary role of control.

I began to see that love was divided and measured. I began to see that love came and went, as did people. I learned that love didn’t mean love; what some called love actually meant conditions and fleeting moments of spiked emotions of some sort that didn’t feel or look like love at all. I learned that whatever shape I took, I could receive part of this love, that wasn’t love. But since I couldn’t find the other love anymore, the one I held in the backyard during slumber parties and collected, as the others laughed with me, without cause or pause for judgment; since I couldn’t find that love anymore, I took what I could. It never felt right. It felt false from the start. It was false love created by my want for connection and the growing emptiness I had inside.

My actions seemed to define me. I seemed to become who people thought I was. It didn’t matter how much goodness I had inside me; no one could see it, unless they chose to. No one. And when they did think to see the goodness, it was because I emulated them; I showed them a part of themselves they liked, or wished to like. I showed a commonality or I complimented them by my presence or in my spoken words. I collected false-love this way: pretending to be who they wanted me to be in an attempt to connect. To say I played, would be false, as there was no joy in this. To say I fought, would be false, as there was no friction. It was a space and place that I am incapable of defining or marking. For how can I define a place in which everything was false—the only thing real my want to fill the emptiness of falsehood?

This falsehood permeated much of my life, far into adulthood. A falsehood that eventually blinded me as well, to my own inner light. I had to snuff my light to continue to exist. I was given no choice.

I had to extinguish who I was, if I ever wanted hope of connecting. At least this is what I conditioned myself to think. I learned to track the actions of another to determine my next move. I could tell from every flinch, every switch of voice, every motion. Responses were my indicators. Reactions my compass. I stopped feeling inside my own body. I became numb to my needs; everything was masked in my effort to predetermine how to respond to the responders. For I could see in their eyes the judgment, the dislike, the wondering. I could see so much that they wouldn’t ever say. Particularly their thoughts about me, or about the way they perceived me. I knew they thought what they dare not say. I knew there were all these connections going on just in seeing me. I was being categorized and dissected and figured out. It’s not that I thought I was that important, it was that I thought they were. I think all along I knew they were a reflection of me or at least a mirror to my own experiences. I knew we were one and the same, but didn’t know how to define the feeling. And so I would watch, until I laughed and joked, trying to squeeze the joy out of someone whom had seemed to forgotten where he or she put it.

Mine, my joy, was always there, right in me, never gone. Even with all the poured in sorrow, I had this joy. It was always growing and blooming. There was always hope. It seemed no matter how much the others responded in a way that carried the potentiality to sting like thorns, that I still kept my hope. There was this unstoppable faith. Something in that song about the light through the window, about the light itself; I knew this. I saw the light n my dreams and I heard light in the whispers. I knew my destiny. I knew my calling. But this too, I was often told was wrong. I was made in form divinely perfect, but undoubtedly I frightened people. And this brought me to a place of confusion, so very great, I dare not venture there even in thoughts and rememberings.

For how could I, one held by the angels and light, have been so terribly flawed? And why did all around me seem to be such blindness? I searched and searched as a child—in the trees, under the school buses, in the grassy fields—for reprieve. I slipped into my imagination. I hid in the shrubbery and shadows documenting my own thoughts. And I came to the conclusion I was someone made wrong; though even this, deep down I knew to be untrue.

In time, I learned to conform. I learned to tuck away the voice of truth and the rays of light. For I believed the misery of disconnection to be far worse than hiding my light. And so I hid, for a very long time. And though I was a keeper of the light, it dimmed.

And here the dark found me. So very freely, as if beckoned by the very ache of my soul. I walked forsaken to my self for decades. I learned, through my mind, to hear the lies before the truth. I heard the negative talk, and I collected this, for if I did not believe them, I could not be with them, and then I would have to be alone. In order to connect, I had to believe what others said about me. If I believed in my light and my angels, and in my very soul, than I would be without the company of humans. I would only have the invisibility of my hope and joy—and alone whom would I share anything with?

Eventually, the lies became my truth. My whole truth. I was what others created me to be. And then a shift happened, in which they were what I created them to be. I began to see like other people. I began to believe the lies. I began to think that yes, only my point of view counted. That yes, I am in control of my world. And yes, I am the most important and special. I began to be a love-leech collecting falsehoods. Love, love, love ME! I demanded. Love me through validation. Love me through listening. Love me through answering back how I expect and want you to respond. Outcomes became my life. Hope became my misery. I latched onto the yellow brick road of illusion. I thought, if I was just good enough, and right enough, and had all the answers I would WIN! I would be LOVED! This is what I was taught. This is what was walloped into me. This is what I ATE because nothing else was offered.

Until the pain of emptiness became so great that I knew I was wrong. I knew that life was not meant to be like this. I knew somewhere inside my little girl protecting the light was dying to come out.

For me this has been my greatest gift: my affliction.

My very agonizing pain was what set me free. The very discomfort that kept shouting within of the falsehood was my greatest joy. I was given a lantern since birth. And I walked four-decades pretending I was not, in hopes of gaining false love.

And now, as I step back, very much the little girl I was, with my lantern bright, I see I kept this light hidden for a purpose. I suffered for a reason. I suffered because everyone else was suffering. I didn’t retreat because I was so different after all. I just retreated a bit later along my path. I just retreated knowing I was retreating. There wasn’t anything different about me, except I was born awake. I was born with the affliction that is both my teacher and my cross to bear. I was gifted the wisdom at a young age, and through this affliction I was formed and made, through this affliction my lantern was fueled. I see this clearly, more clearly each moment I am here.

I see that we each have these lanterns, and that for some of us it hurts more to hide them. But we all have them. For some of us we know we are hiding them: this is the affliction.

I see now that I am struggling to turn up the lanterns of all, when all I need do is turn on my own.

In so many ways, in every way, I am that little girl, with her joy, with her lantern strong, standing on the hillside and beckoning my friends onward. Only this time I can see. I can truly see. I know now my once perceived greatest weakness is my greatest comforter. I know my need to be love, my need to shine, my need to be free is the only need I ever choose. I know that in my affliction I am made whole. I know that in my wholeness I honor each and every soul. For in the embracing of what has always been and shall ever be, I have embraced the world. I have embraced the light.

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Related Post: Behind the Curtain

387: Pop Goes the Angel

| Aspergers Girls

authentic

seattle Chorus
This is ME (the little one) so happy and in a state of pure grace, surrounded by some of the many excellent talent of the Seattle’s Men Chorus

While taking a shower, something came over me like a wave. No, not the water.

The shower seems to be one of my places of deepest intuition; a place where we all intermingle in our thoughts and knowings; a place where I am somehow singled-out as the one to share the knowings to the world. Did someone say: scapegoat?

I think somewhere, if you allow me to get all imaginary-Catholic on you for a moment, there is an angel team of spirits, and I am standing there in line for selection and not being picked for the softball team, again, and I am the last little angel. And some recruiter guy, who likely looks like a cross between Cary Grant and George Clooney, with beckoning eyes like my childhood dog, Justice, well he saunters by and seeing me in my meekness says: Do I have a job for you. Let me beam you down to earth and you can play for that team! A whole world!

I was not the brightest of angels, indeed.

Nonetheless, hearing the voice of angels, or not, I still ghastly despise the whole entire process of showering. Just seems a waste of time and requires a lot of effort. I like when I am all warm and cozy back in my clothes though, and the fact I can no longer locate the lingering stench. My dog is a built in shower-time-for-mom monitor because she begins to really like to be around me, like I am radiating with Eau de Parfum Pooch.

I am thankful for my shower moments with Spirit. Not that they are very much different from my typical minute now. Naked or not, pretty much wherever I am, I am bombarded with intense revelations. Bombarded isn’t truly how it feels. But I am having some issues regarding the whole recruitment process before I was beamed down.

If I am not an angel reject then I want a quantum-phantom-super-hero cape that is baby-sky-blue and sea-foam-green with tints of royal-purple around the edges.

I should have known I was different when in Kindergarten after it was my turn to share my favorite color, everyone squished up their face and said: Magenta? WTF…. Last part added for effect; they didn’t text back then.

When the revelations come, (aka: when the dust mites scream as they are drowning in the shower and I mistake them as angels), a little sweet girl part of me springs out and squeals in delight. She literally jumps up and down in glee. “Oh, thank you. Oh, thank you,” she says.

(I don’t jump up and down, just this invisible little-girl-me does. My earthly vehicle (body) has been a victim to the illusion of gravity. Jump = unsightly risk.)

Isn’t that grand, a semi-saint who is in touch with her human frailties! My angels are applauding… Oh no, that’s not my angels… that’s EGO. Hello, EGO. Everyone wave; that’s what he wants, but when we are super obvious about his clingy-neediness, he kind of freaks and disappears for a bit. So wave super big, like you are at a sports event and part of the crowd. Go! EGO!

Phew, that was a close one!

You totally want me for your Guru, don’t you? (Oh, crap, he’s back…)

As I was saying, I had this kind of powerful revelation in the shower. My little girl me was super happy and then panicked. The sense of urgency rushed in and I was quickly reminded by observer-of-self that urgency = fear. And so I embraced the little girl, and she whispered. Well actually who am I kidding? She is an aspie little girl, therefor she shouted her fear in great amorous jubilee! She couldn’t even sit still, for goodness sake. With her face all in a knot, and her cute cheeks all a-puffed, she fretted, “What if I can’t remember this? I wish I wasn’t in the shower… and EWwwwwww so naked, old and wrinkly!”

Okay, so she didn’t really say that last part; luckily she is blind.

Having a team in my head is quite remarkable. This team is with me when I am not in my complete state of grace. I can hear my angels, and they like to join in, whenever my ears are open. I have lids on them, I suppose, my ears, not my angels. But that is a funny, funny thought: little angels in tin canisters. I could pop them up when I needed them like Jack-in-the-Box. My angels have a grand sense of humor, but I can imagine them now debating about this one, and thinking I have perhaps crossed some imaginary line. Let me check….. dialing… dialing… (WE don’t text.)

Oh, we’re good. They are taking turns hiding in different blue tin canisters. When they pop up, it’s hysterical, like a great combination meal of spirit: A little bit of angel and a little bit of popup ghost. Boooooooooooo. Pop goes the angel.

When my little girl comes out with her urgency, and my observer holds her manifested fear, and then the angels enter, Spirit says, “There is nothing to fear, and you will remember what you will remember.” And then little girls is calmed and I am returned to a semi-state of grace.

This happens a lot. The whole cyclic process. Message of revelation downloaded, little girl excited, little girl fears, observer pops out, fear is embraced, fear speaks, Spirit enters, fear released, and presto I am back. I am like a drop in the ocean being collected for rain, then poured down on the flowers, then dribbled down a ditch, and then released into a stream, then evaporated back into the big sky; it’s kind of super cool, and super easy, and so much FASTER than it used to be. Sometimes so fast I don’t recognize it has even happened. And I don’t much care for the ditch.

This gets me back to the vision I saw, or heard, or felt, or something or another. It was simple, but if I tap into my angels they shall go on and on and on in complicated verse, as the main speaker of the lot OBVIOUSLY doesn’t realize what century we are all living in.

Suffice to say, the main message, that I could feasibly scribe two to three pages about, (angels are laughing), was…. WAIT!
Actually, I don’t want to be bothered with it; some things are best unspoken.

Secret space created away from angels. Shhhhh:
(I am going to share. But don’t tell. I am sharing now, because each and every day I am approaching a greater and greater state of peace, and I sooooo know I am not supposed to teach or preach, and just be, and let the miracles happen; so before I get to that next place in my evolution, I need to regurgitate and spill, before I get caught by the angel patrol, and they stuff me in a tin can. Whose great BIG idea was it to awaken an Aspie anyhow? Seriously… blahhhhhhh)

This is kind of what they were saying to me… but without judgment, ego, self-righteousness or accusation… theirs is always la-de-da-loviliness… which makes me feel like a miserable earthling… which is kind of my point. I already have my angels up above as the God-appointed-Holy-knowing-spread-love-beings, I don’t need humans here doing the same. It actually doesn’t bother me though, anymore. I just understand it more, as the angels poured the knowledge in my head while I was attempting to wash away the Eau de Pooch.

When someone comes from a place of preaching about being “positive” or “grateful;” you know the type; you likely have been one yourself at some time or another. Me, I was voted MOST SPIRITED in high school. I was a cheerleader. I played the Positive game… follow me to the land of la-la-la… even though deep inside I am miserable. (past me) Present me = HAPPY.

First off ( < ego-phrase), if a person is entirely Mrs. Happy Pants, free of negative thoughts and such, then she’d be a guru, and she’d know better than to spill her knowledge out and share stuff, because no one hears anyhow and it’s not her place to share.

That is why I shall never be a guru or a complete Buddhist. That is why I attach semi to my name. (Too bad I wasn’t named Truck.) I am half-baked, incomplete, almost finished, and I always will be. Because once I think I’m not, I am so back to square one. Plus who doesn’t like cookies when they are almost done, but not quite. I’m gooey! The good stuffs in the goo!

Plus I lack the ability to close my mouth. That is why there needs to be a new spiritual practice for Aspies. The Aspergerian Path to Enlightenment written by a half-backed Aspie. I elect YOU! Someone suggested The Church of Sam; I am good with that; it’s not my real name to begin with.

Oh…. Quick side story, that is entirely unrelated to the main point:

A few days ago I talked about the church gathering (smathering <<<smothered and lathered in the ickiness so I shall never go back). And during the small group time someone asked me about the pen-name Samantha Craft. Well, conveniently, as it was a church and such, I was in a state of grace; I was able to speak from a depth of great love. I explained “Craft” was a last name that belonged to a woman who was like a mother to me and who was a strong woman of faith and took me under her wing and that she had died of a brain tumor at the age of 50 and I had chosen her name to honor her and because of her spirit. (I like all the ands and I am keeping them.) Everyone, the eight or nine women sitting in a circle watching me, were very solemn and calm as I said this. And then I heard, “And what about the name Samantha?” Oh…..well then the little girl in me, she popped up and said, giddily, “From Bewitched!”

This sums up why I confuse people. This half-cooked, combo-me. That is why I shall forever be a semi-saint and never earn my wings. I am much like the angel in It’s a Wonderful Life (best movie on earth), except I haven’t found my George Bailey. I confuse people, because I have this deep prophetic spirit filled with catacombs of endless love and I have this little girl who totally wants to be a witch from a sitcom. (Who has always wanted to have a nose that wiggles and does magic.) People can’t figure out who or what I am, and can’t place me; so they try to judge me to ease their own mind of discomfort. And then I watch, just sit back and watch as their faces get all disfigured and wacko, and watch as their bodies turn away. And I smile bigger thinking: You have NO Fricken idea who you are, do you?

Before I go, I recognize I don’t think I really completed a point. Isn’t that refreshing? I mean who wants to be preached upon by a self-righteous know it all. (<< ego, the observer of self says.) I am the first to admit: I KNOW NOTHING.

If I could say something to you…oh wait my angels are back at their game of tin-can hide-and-seek; quick, listen up:

Dig up your stuff. Spread it out to the world, and in this way you are the TRUTH. You are already the LIGHT and LOVE, and really you are already the TRUTH. But most of us, according to Spirit, don’t know this, so we spend a bunch of time in the illusion thinking if we just talk the walk or walk the talk or whatever, we shall magically transform. Won’t happen. There is nothing to transform.

Keep spreading LOVE and the Light shall come. But don’t spread through preaching. (Like I am right now; unless you spend two pages first humbling yourself.) We are love. We spread love by doing absolutely nothing but being. (And we aren’t even really being either).

What happens is someone attempts to spread their “BE-Happy” thoughts (or other jargon, advice, help, fixing stuff) and then the person who is already not happy feels worse. (sad face) And the person who is already happy, doesn’t really care, because she or he is already happy, and momentarily thinks she knows it all. NEVER SHARE when you are super confident and think you know it all. Undoubtedly, you will wake up and will have made a fool of yourself! Promise. You know nothing. Absolutely nothing. I guarantee. You are a reflection of me. If you doubt your lack of knowing, just reread what you just wrote.

Ohhhh, Pop-Goes-the-Angel…. I better go. Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!
Semi-Saint out!

seattle chrous 2

Be Authentic. Be Free. Be Who You WERE made to be! xo

"10 Ways to Love Yourself": Numbers 1 through 10: Stop making lists about how to do what you already are! ♥ xo ~ Sam the half-baked semi-saint.

* For clarification, when my angels speak it is always positive and I don’t feel anything but good. And I never really played softball in heaven.<3

386: Reluctant Mystic

| Aspergers Girls

Reluctant Mystic

WE are all mystics. This truth frees me.

I have been undergoing deep spiritual wisdom and I am joy-filled. I find I am in a state of grace, in which I experience no fear, no anxiety, a sublime inner peace, deep compassion, and a sense of union with all. I have been experiencing this peace for about eight or nine days now. Sometimes for a minute or two, and sometimes from early morning until late afternoon.

I wrote this to a new friend:

“I rarely fear what others will perceive me to mean or how they will see me; what I feel now is an actual bodily sensation and energetic blockage if I share something that does not fit my perfect peace and demonstrate my state of being; it is as if I contradict my higher self, and am pulled back from this place of well being; I struggle to explain it; it is no longer fear of representation of self, something I struggled with my entire life, but an uncomfortableness that reminds me I no longer walk that way in the world and in touching down in those “old” shoes I am left blistered. There is no judgment of self or regret, only a calm serene recognition; I no longer aspire to please any one but the Spirit that dwells within, and this is divine and sublime freedom; when I speak with His voice all thoughts are banished and I am in a state of pure grace; when I do not, it is better to keep my mouth closed and to connect again to His kingdom, as I know not what I do. In having removed the blindfolds, I can no longer, in comfort, walk blinded; and thusly, I see myself stepping further back from what I once knew as truth and time, and all else. It is interesting indeed, yet, divinely peaceful, as if the thoughts of before and beyond have all been swept out of my head; I cannot think beyond the moment in most instances; as when i do I slip into a place of discomfort; here I look at the pain and illusion and release gently, and am instantly back to peace.”

Most days a truth seems to be radiating from within. In these moments there is an underlying unity with no ego. It doesn’t feel like something that I obtained or ever tried to receive. It comes upon me without effort, yet I am aware and can control the process, as in moving myself out of the state, if I wish it so.

Throughout the day my hands vibrate to a degree that my husband can feel the sensation. It is a definite non-conceptual experience and union with alternate reality. I feel not as a separate I anymore and luminous with no boundaries. I have become unattached and uninterested in many external things. Time seems to stop and even physical areas seem to shift. I can understand complex readings of spiritual texts with little effort and Holy readings seem very familiar and resonate deeply within. There are multiple synchronicities and miracles in my life.

Each message I am given from spirit has a depth like a well. Perhaps I am a transcendent being outside of time. Perhaps inside of time, or beyond time.

The easement out of this state is becoming easier, as I am learning to recognize and accept all aspects of myself. In the state I am ever thankful, and all seems as it is meant to be. When I am out of the state, I am learning to let go of over-analysis, finding the “rules,” the “right” way to act about this experience, or to find answers.

Regardless of my state of mind, it is hard for me to write anything anymore with outcome in mind.

If fear strikes at all, outside the state of grace, it is very short lived; and interestingly, the fear usually is associated with aspects of how to serve for the betterment of all. I am reminded to just be, and then this fear is too lifted.

I continue to have extreme peace about everything and everyone in my life. I continue to feel the radiating sensation throughout my body, especially in my spine, scalp, hands, and feet. I hear my angels regularly; and beyond when I am writing, I hear few thoughts in my head anymore.

I have a deep heartfelt desire to relieve suffering of others and continually recognize the union of us all. And can think of little beyond my God and Holy Spirit, and my love for others. Even the daily routines no longer take center stage. I seem to be able to see my children and husband for the first time. I have a new fondness for everyone. I don’t think about the future much, and when I do the contemplation seems to almost hurt. The past seems to fade and melt with today.

When thoughts arrive, I can be observer and release the thoughts. My mind has never been so peaceful. To me this is a miracle.

I am finding much comfort in reading spiritual works and listening to the recordings of mystics. Even out of the state of grace my anxiety seems to be almost invisible. This is extremely fascinating. I have a hard time planning anything or want for planning. I have a hard time even trying to worry, beyond when I am processing through something, and then, through processing all worry is released.

I notice that a heavy amount of food will transition me out of the state of grace.

The visions still keep coming at three in the morning, beautiful scriptures of poetic love. I know I am being taught at a subconscious level and I slip in and out of consciousness.

This month I did not experience the mood shifts that normally accompany my PMS/PMDD; I did experience physical pain, and still am, but this is the first time in over a decade that I do and did not feel sorry about being in pain. Sometimes my pain even feels good, as odd as that sounds. I was told by Spirit to write to avoid the emotional pains that come with PMS. I did, and did not have any depression, sense of inadequacy, or fear about my life. I had no fear or doubts about my appearance. For the first time I have little to no fear in crowded places. I am less concerned with what people think of me. I don’t feel like all eyes are judging me. I don’t feel the center of the world anymore; I do not long to be. I have never had so much peace in my life. The only peace I don’t have is when I step out and try to figure anything out.

I hold much peace and love for everyone and the love appears to be an equal love. I feel I am nothing and everything. Regardless of my physical state or circumstances, I remain centered and balanced. If emotions come, a part steps back and remains the constant kind observer, balanced and at peace.

I don’t have the need to process with other people, beyond demonstrating my thought processes to help others.

If I am stuck or stagnant, this sensation happens when I get caught up in what rules I am supposed to be following, e.g., which sect. which spiritual practice, which religion to guide me through this divine process. I am leaning on Biblical teachings and my understanding of Buddhism, and on semblances of other aspects that feel like “truths” to me. I have become less concerned with the right path and have been embracing my path. I love myself completely. I rarely have even a moment of feeling low about who I am as a being.

My life feels entirely meaningful and I feel fulfilled. I feel authentic. I feel like me. And I like me. I feel blessed with abundance and with gratitude.

I feel I am transitioning more each moment.

I understand this is beyond what my mind can grasp or comprehend. I understand peace is within and I understand I have found it.

I understand the concept of: I don’t know.

I am accepting I likely will never know.

***

This was written this morning while in a state of prayer. It has no purpose, except what the reader chooses to interpret. Blessings and Love ~ Sam

There is a subtle difference in the application of peaceful measures. One who speaks from the true foundation of peace is therein filled readily with peace. When word is released from ego, both the receiver and taker (person talking), are in opposite; that is to say the receiver, being the one interpreting word, and the taker, the one who believes to be giving word, are both reversed.

The one who believes to be giver is in the act of giving from ego, in actuality (beyond illusion) is taking from the ears that beget his fallen words, wherein the receiver, sheep for the taking, is made lesser to a degree judged in the blindness of gift.
When one speaks of truth from the foundation of truth, he shall beyond measure be rewarded, and when one speaks of truth from the foundation of ego, truth turned inward to shine the light on the illusion of ego then only the fear of illusion shall be fed.

All truths given for the taker, (all the times the person talks to only give back to himself) thusly meaning all takers whom mask themselves as equal taker as giver, or beyond this degree move self into giver in order to receive, are undoubtedly partaking in the making of illusion. All making of illusion turns the blight into the fight and the wanderer is further decreed lost by the observer of no self.

This is to mean, if one is to give of self for the causation of recognition, he is no less giving than taking, and if one is to receive from this masked-illusion, he is no less relieved than suffered in degree of variable actions. Causation breeds reaction. Therefor what is spoken from fear breeds hatchlings of fear.

There is no turnabout in illusion; the fancy ways are amazing in breadth and depth, unless lifted into the light and vanquished from the spirit’s taking. How then one proceeds is with cautionary measure without caution; for if one is to remain in a state of caution and pretension, motivation spurred in fear, then one is dutifully fully trapped.

In this way caution is found in circumstance alone. Each piece presented as the measuring degree of the puzzle-master. Picture thee thusly so: A master of thy own collection. See in this way scattered images, each broken by the observer, and in perceived need of mending; search out the broken and the broken comes; search out the whole and the whole arrives.

Circumvent your awareness through the deliverance of whole; speaking thusly from a place of wholeness beyond broken. As each member devours his place, taking in what is before him, each member takes in what is illusion. In seeking the pieces the whole is forgotten, in beckoning the whole, the whole is remembered.

Various means are available for finding the whole, in this is determined by the state of illusion; if one desires to merge forward, one shall; if one desires to slip to a state which resembles stepping behind, one will; for with each step, though alluded into believing the traveler moves, he justly stands upright in a state of non-motion, neither ending or beginning what he is thought out to do.

There for being in a state of peace, the believer no longer desires to step, as he recognizes in so doing he is slipped into a stream of nonexistence. Better to stand in observation than to make plans for a stagnant stance to move ahead or below, or hither to any corner, as the stagnant one recognizes the truth comes from beyond and within, before the movement is created.
Still we variably dance, to and fro, gathering our collections, as to be a part of this world, until we step and with each step our body is met with the resistance of naught. Then in the making of whole, the traveler knows that to step, whether in taking or in full measure of claiming, is to both untie and tie the body in knots; that is to say the body becomes less warrior and fighter, than dreamer trapped in submission of naught.

He has no place to move and in so seeing this stagnation he sets his burden down and simply ceases to move. This can be seen as submission, though in truth no submission is required; to imply the need of submission, is to imply there is something to give or release; when one is moving in illusion the illusion is fabricated and carries no body of self or other tangible attributes; therein if one perceives self to be in a state of submission, he sees self as releasing something; this is an impossibility, as nothing is birthed from illusion, and therefore no gifts of illusion are brought forward in recognition.

Here in this state of unburdening of illusion the body is unwound and loosened of much pain; for in laying the burden down the space left open from the freedom state is now siphoned full with the Spirit. Here in this state of not being, the peace is found, and from here the peace of foundation is spoken.

All else, whether broken and collected from the onlooker or pieced together by the collective masses is falsehood; for one who speaks for anything other than the eternity poured within speaks of nothing; for the one filled with illusion speaks illusion. This is not to say the speaker is false, or judged solely in the wrong; for no judge is present and thusly no judgment feasible; this is to say, one dances with the ghost of reason, illusion garbed in multi-colored garments.

The one who dances in peace is the one who has replaced illusion with silence. To move forward through the silence, is to move. In this way stagnation is relieved from the secondary illusion and all is brought back to fullness; the heart made ready for reception and filled with the inhabitance of substance.

Before this is made true, the avenue is made weary, the road made ghastly, and the inhabitance echoed ghosts of torment; here in this state, the one, wanting escape, gathers the pieces and creates puzzle after puzzle, only to form false illusion; in this state he at last submits to the chaos of unstructured and establishes within and about self that the answer must remain somewhere other than outside in the missing and detested pieces.

Here he begins to journey away from the images, and wearily traces his fingers back to soul print, to the journey marked out within, in the blueprint of awareness. Before this awakening he will choose many falsehood, each markedly different than the other; there will be a thought of ascension, of reaching the ready point of rapture, of climbing to the mountain peak, of almost reaching; but this is an impossibility for one does not reach or aspire to reach that which is already given within.

No man is made without the marking of destiny; each soul marked with the dissension and ready-ment. All who heed the call ascend to the outer region of self, which is both inside and without self; the two elements of illusion designed to inspire and create a house of Light that in its infiniteness is feasibly inoperable in means of expressing the divinity; therefore as physician of the world, the layman is set in the house of self, a representation of the house of all, to do deeds of upbringing and de-service; the counter of service, as all reflected in the light serves not of one but all.

In speaking the term service is used; except in definition alone the entire concept is not one of service but of miracle-making. Therefor the musicians of merriment, whether named angels or walking spirits of life force, or the variety of doldrums that can be applied to something so magnificent are representations of spirit in true form, a reflection of the very window of self, no less, no more.

Blinded in the walking, many do not see this as justly so; but when mercy rises, for mercy sake alone, from the foundation of peace, from the one unfilled and refilled with Spirit and His calling, then salvation is formed by the spirit of awakening, walking not in a state of pieces, or uplifted from the misery of the variable world, but in a state of emptiness, filled only with the grace instilled from the filtered waters of most high.

382: SAMANTHA CRAFT WAKE UP

| Aspergers Girls

My son just told me he is only wearing his retainer (for his teeth) at night! He is supposed to wear it all day and night for a year!!! Oh, noooo; he is breaking a rule! I watched myself in the mini-van spin into a semi-state of hysteria. Just when I thought I had this “rule thing” all figured out, I lost it. However, I was able to step back enough to watch, as the observer, as I “scolded” my son. “Do you know how much we invested in your teeth? What do you mean you are not wearing it all day? How could you do that?” By the tone of my voice, and the racing of my heart, I’d have thought, in reflection, I’d just found out that my eldest son robbed the mini-market down the road. Oh, my gosh! Freak out. Total freak out. This is so wonderfully awesome, to be a witness to my humanness.

I just apologized. “You kind of over reacted,” my teenage son responded. “I know I did. I know I did,” I said, the words floating inward to my core.

Something shook me; I don’t know what, but something. I am thinking my reaction is two-fold, this mini-freak out. Part one is my close adherence to manmade rules, the second is my immediate embracing of fear (in this case the loss of all the time and money in fixing his teeth). The fear part, I think I am getting a huge grasp of. I can talk myself through, and as observer sit back and take a sip through a straw of cool iced-tea and watch the other me spin. I know she’ll come back; it’s just so weird to watch.

I recognize this is part of my learning and growth. Right when I think I’ve got this “me” under control, something comes out of the woodwork to remind me that first of all I do not have control of anything, and second of all, I don’t need to focus on this “control.” I am me. This is me. This is how I currently walk in the world, and that is okay.

Had you asked me two hours ago, how I was, I’d tell you Aspergers, at least the fear and anxiety part, was behind me; this is troubling, as I now walk half of my day in extreme peace and solitude, and a large portion of the rest smack back down in the earth zone. I feel like a gladiator that retreats to pray in the chapel each morning and then is thrown into the arena with the beasts. Truth is, I am a champion; I continually destroy the beasts; problem is I’ve gotten all these bites on me now, like giant-mosquito-wasp-mutant-beaver-teethed-ghosts keep buzzing about and chomping. Flesh is literally at my feet!

I am never going to be perfect! Never, ever, ever, ever. And that kind of sucks; but it’s good, too; because I don’t think there are many people who want to hang out with a floating semi-saint. I mean, I would totally miss sipping a hard pear cider and drowning myself in garlic-cheese fries, (with freshly grated parmesan.) Can you sort of tell that I am having some trouble navigating life? I love, love, love the floaty, ethereal part of being connected with my higher source; I seriously glow. But all that floating, it has a price. Coming out of that state makes me hit bottom hard. I imagine the process of drifting down is much like coming off a high of a shroom or some drug, like LSD.

As case and point, semi-saint speaks below:

“I am walking through a tunnel, the tunnel of attachment to enlightenment. I am attached to the enlightenment. But soon this tunnel shall be lifted, and I shall see a million tunnels before me, all the levels of attachment lifted. And then I shall be in that space above the tunnels and blessing the tunnels one by one; my life an endless bliss of thanking every single thing that brought me suffering. Soon I will see beyond the tunnels into the space of nothing. Then I will be filled with the divine laughter at the seat of my soul; then the imaginary tunnels as they float in front of me will bring me nothing but joy as they explode and burst into butterflies.”

***

I mean who in their fricken mind talks like that? Well, supposedly I do! Surprise. All the sudden all these aspects of me are emerging full force, like this confidence I have reclaimed has in and of itself called out all the parts of me and declared: “Share who you are with the world. We are free!!!” I can hear the trumpets. I can see the dancing. I can see the naked guru fluttering down the street: I am butterfly. I am butterfly. I am butterfly.

What if that is my next state? What if I am morphing into a street streaker? That is possible you know! I could manifest it, or some person out there might be manifesting it right now!

Of course, this would draw an increasing number of people to my blog. So there is that.

I was contemplating, the other night, after my husband’s classic quote: “I keep thinking to myself, how do you do that? I mean who’s got that much shit to say,” that perhaps the book title I have been searching for is truly: Shit, my wife says. I mean that would draw the other half of the population in that isn’t in it for the streaking.

What do you think? We (you and me—as you are automatically my best friend by reading this)..we could insert “aspie” right before the word “wife,” so the search engine could find it better, or I suppose “Asperger’s.” We could indeed insert several adjectives of interest there. Hmmm. Let us change the subject.

Here is some more of myself this morning. There has to be a middle ground, between this shaking-her-head-at-sad-little-wanna-be-guru-half-me (who is typing now) and the sad-little-wanna-be-guru-peon (who is writing below.) There just has gotta be!

***

“I find myself slipping back into self, into a place I cannot see; it is as if I am there and watching, experiencing the whole thing, but then when I try to look back, it appears I wasn’t there to begin with; as I cannot remember walking through life, or breathing, or even thinking. The process is similar to when I write my spiritual prose, in which I hear this delicate woven oneness throughout my being, and from somewhere deep that isn’t deep at all; this lovely-joy emerges without emerging. There seems to be no door opened or closed, just a stream within a stream within a stream. And I am swept up into the images of where I am not, but am; perhaps this is grace or being touched by the divine. Whether this is manifested, an embrace from beyond self, or an embrace by myself alone, makes no matter, for in the “teachings” which are more akin to remembering, I know without boundary and outside the numerical representation of percentages, that there is no right or wrong, or any answers.”

Photo on 4-19-13 at 11.58 AM #2

I inserted the photo so you would think the post was over. hehehehehe

Sounds like she is drugged, yes? Come on, come on, be truthful. If you are an Aspie, I can count on your for that.

And I go on, and on, and on….like my experience is the make or break of me. Like if I don’t share this insight, I shall have died inside for not fulfilling my destiny. Please. Cut out the crap, princess-semi-saint!

She continues:

“As I have mentioned before, I recognize this is my experience; I don’t expect anyone to get “me,” or understand “me,” or even want anyone to accept “me.” There is an inner peace I have come to find and any moment I experience attachment, the serenity seemingly vanishes. Thusly, it is far more freeing to release what I want than to release the serenity. It is simple to me. Really. I am on this other side of nowhere, in this space, and I have no desire to slip back to the other space, even though I know all is space. Isn’t that a silly thing? Yes, indeed this all is. That is why I laughed so deeply this morning, uncontrollable spiritual laughing. I chuckled so deeply that the only thing I can compare the intensity to is the extreme polar opposite beyond opposite of weeping deeply. The experience was reminiscent of the moments I have sobbed on my knees or in the fetal position inside my closet begging for rescue from my own self; except, and in this joy-filled weeping of love…”

***

Pausing to sigh, and laugh, and remind you that I (the fun-loving gal) am still here. Hold on, it gets better:

“….I felt so deeply and fully that it far surpasses the deepest I have ever wept. For once the measure of my pain did not equally match my joy. My joy reached tremendous glorious heights. And there in a moment, all of it, all of my life made so much sense. I saw everything, like I had died, but what was flashing before me was instant knowing of the comical joke of being lost for so long. And there wasn’t any sadness or remorse or regret; nothing that didn’t fit into the ring of sublime love and joy. I was a giddy guru celebrating the entire journey of me. All of time stopped and I slipped through my own mind, outside of somewhere of nowhere. I just was. And in this intense being and what felt to be connection, I felt nowhere and everywhere at once. I understood so much so fast, as if a person had lifted open a box to find me and He or She or It was peering down at me with glorious kind eyes and laughing.”
***

YES, it’s me SAM CRAFT…and I have come with a club to smack you on the head!

And she goes on more:

“The remarkable part of the divine laughter was I found myself unable to be afraid of the experience. I was able to ask questions and have answers before the questions were entirely formed. I knew what was happening was from the divine and I knew all was well. I laughed harder, as I thought: “What if I never stop?!” I now understand clearly that I don’t have to endure suffering to connect with my higher power.”

***

You see? Come on, who would you rather sit with at a pub? This me writing, or that me above, who literally is above, floating two-feet off of her stool. I think you would enjoy the other emerging (barging out me), but she gets boring, and stiff, and old so fast. You’d be begging me to stop, like if I have a switch or something. I don’t. Of course you’d likely learn a lot because I have grand flashes of knowing! You’d learn that it hurts when you yawn so much; you’d learn that my face has a freakish way of not being able to stop smiling. You’d learn that it is indeed not an act and that I am either in some trance, taken over by aliens, or, filled with something or another. (Port wine?)

Then I would drone on more. Here, stick some fries in your ears.

“Last night I noticed, as I was playing catch up with responding to lovely souls who leave words for me to delight in,”

***

lol…. I am sorry… but can’t she just say “people”? Okay, carry on….

“I didn’t feel what I used to feel when people responded to me. There wasn’t any evaluation of them or me, of their words, of their intended meaning, of their intention. I just saw beauty. That is it. Just lovely beauty. And I thought how kind of them to reach out and connect; how very kind.”

***

Someone tell SAM she doesn’t have to share EVERYTHING. I already deleted like 30% of her ramble. And still she babbles on and on and on. I bow down to you, oh enlightened all-mighty one.

Again…..

“This morning when I read a few new comments, I found myself at a distinct crossroad. I stepped back and watched myself process. At first I thought, “Well that doesn’t fit what I was feeling when I wrote it.” And then I played out all these ways in which I would have responded to self in the past and to another in the past. I would have wanted to plead or prove my point, or explain, or re-explain, or justify or point out. I would have wanted to prove who I was and how I was. But then with a flash, and a great relief of both physical and spiritual pressure, I realized, yet again, there is NOTHING to prove to me or anyone! I am who I am and that is all. I am a reflection of the person viewing my words and the being I weave within these words. What a person chooses to see is how he or she sees the path before him or her. Not me. It’s not about ME! It’s about everyone else.

(Not me! What a relief.) << that's non-semi-saint talking.

I could then just reflect back to the self inside self or outside self or no self at all…(you see the confusion, and how I still blunder within-hahaha)…that what is written for me, carries NO message at all in the words beyond the emotions and experience I choose to have when I read the message. Each word is my teacher. And then all is reversed. It is me reading their words and choosing what I see to be the path in front of me. They become my teacher. In releasing the judgment, the discernment, the questions, I simply let them teach me. And so I take in the vibration of their words now quite differently, or what seems differently than before. I smile, with this smile that just never seems to fade, and think: “Ah, so that is how you see yourself? And, ah, so this is how you teach me, with your blessings of being.

When I am out in the world, something else has “transitioned.” I had finally received another person fully. There are no questions, only a gentle acceptance. Thoughts of: What a kind person. What a beautiful light. What a dream. What a love.

I have also released attachment to words. I see how every word, no matter the word, can be loved for the word itself and nothing more. Words have no implications on me or the world or anyone. I have the only implication upon self. If a word doesn’t resonate with me, I just sit with the word and what it carries, and I listen to the experience, opening as I am taught. That is all. This is no trick of the mind or game, it just is; like the salmon in the stream, I just move as I am called, up or down or around, with no fear of my destination, but still following the course that either drives me or moves me.

I have been spending quiet time daily, studying different spiritual texts, my favorite at the moment being the gnostic Christian gospels, the Catholic Saints, and Buddhist texts. I also have been listening to my angels throughout the day. I am practicing being in the moment without effort or strain. I am learning more and more about where I am and where I have been without asking or yearning. I have let go of the thoughts of attachments, to need, to anything that is not matched exactly to the serene peace my higher power brings."

***

Photo on 4-19-13 at 3.42 PM

(not over yet…she ain’t! I think I just did a mini-barf! Tastes like garlic)

“I understand fully that my path is my path, and that anyone and everyone chooses their own path. I have no judgment in how one walks, in how they choose to see me, how they choose to see the choices I am making. I know I am not leading the way. I know each person is his or her own leader. There is no judgment I place on my own journey. I know without doubt that I am a living example of the LIGHT, and in this way, I am the key, just as everyone else is a key. I now view this word Aspergers as a symbolic representation of the cycle of everything. I see the connections within the connections.

I had to latch on and attach to Aspergers. I just had to. Any attempt to pull me out the immersion of Aspergers was met in fierce defense. I am wondering if Aspergers is not indeed a state of limbo. A state of being half-awakened, the beginning of recognizing the illusion of conversation, the illusions of the games people play, the illusion of rules, the illusion of everything. And if perhaps this Aspergers, with this sometimes intense anguish it brings, is not the hugest blessing of all; at least to me, because it thrust me into so much confusion and discomfort that I had the choice to live in fear and pain or to find the answer.

I found the answer in attachment. I was giving the ability to fixate and attach to things. And so I attached to me and my mind and my pain. And I went through it all. I sifted through it. I made a pledge to come out on the other side a transformed person; I did this through attachment. Much like I attached to the word Aspergers. I had to attach to self. I couldn’t bypass this step. I sank into the depth of self, and while doing this took my greatest risks. I risked being exposed, being judged, being wrong, being not liked. I risked all the things in which Aspergers had “made” me fear. I faced my fear.”

*****
Intermission…. in case you need to pee.

*****

Continue:

“This journey has been two-fold, one of embracing Aspergers and of diving into self. I was brave and I conquered the dark night of the soul. The trick is, I didn’t know what I was doing. The entire time I just did. I just let go and did. I allowed myself to be authentic and whole, no matter what state I was in….”

(so true….look at her go)

“… no matter how the other person might perceive me. In this there was torturous hell, repeated doubts, and endless fear. But in this there was freedom, for having faced my demons, they no longer exist. Whether gifts are found in living with the Holy Spirit, walking the path of the Buddhist, connecting to the divine being, or in other elements from the variety of paths to the Light, I see that in Aspergers, or more so specifically, in the traits that make up the manmade concept of Aspergers, I have:

A heart like a child
A longing for the truth
A longing to be gentle and kind
A desire to be the best person I can
The ability to see through games
The ability to step back and be observer of self
The huge capacity for intense studies of any subject of interest
The want to be the best person I can be
The lack of wanting to hurt anyone, to manipulate, or to lie
Compassion for all living things (some objects, too)
An ability to love easily and forgive easily

Indeed, I believe that Aspergers is and was my path to freedom. I also understand fully that attachment and non-attachment are twins. I see a doorway for each and everything I have attached my energy to. I see millions of doors. I see how I had to attach to many things, like “love” interests, and fear, and food, and so on, in order to reach non-attachment, just as I had to attach to Aspergers and myself to un-attach from both. There is a door of attachment. I open the door. I experience actions, emotions, or waking trials/challenges and walk through the tunnel of this specific fear. The tunnel is dark and scary. And as I am walking through this tunnel I face the demons. But I keep walking, keep trudging forward. I do reach the end. I open the closed-door and I am back in the light on non-attachment.

In this way attachment is my tunnel. In this way attachment is my greatest teacher. All along I thought that I had to first release and let go to heal, but what I had to do was let go enough only to face my fear. Now I go through the tunnel in an instant; the dark comes and then the huge light. In taking in the dark and holding the fear, I am simultaneously embraced by the light. Soon the dark is such a small sliver that the light just keeps coming and coming. But My hope now is nothing. I realize I don’t have to keep forcing myself to not attach; instead I allow myself the freedom to attach to anything and everything and watch as I pull my own tentacles off of what I am embracing. It has become so evident that feeding off of a desire is painful and standing in the light is intensely freeing. I can no longer rest as a giant octopus sucking upon the dark side of an underwater rock. I just can’t. It doesn’t resonate. I see myself instantly and think, “No, thanks. Been there, done that. Give me the light.” ”

*****

I forgot to mention, I just paid a fortune for my new retainer, as my teeth shifted back, because I never got a retainer as a teenager and didn’t have an Aspie mom.

Photo on 4-19-13 at 4.08 PM

SEEEEEEEE I told you, she’s a talker. She is so virtuous and good and loving and kind. Oh, NO!! Am I experiencing split personality??? Stopping myself from looking up characteristics of such a condition.

You know what totally sucks about semi-saint is the fact that she will never ever say one bad thing about me. She won’t even use the word “bad” without something in parenthesis editing her own dull verbiage. Crap! Fricken Crap. I am always going to be the bad guy, without her ever pointing it out! Until she crushes me, or I crush her. And I won’t see her coming, she’ll be so charming and loving and truth-filled and radiating love that I will be wooed by her, just like my husband. I will wag my imaginary tail, shaking my bootie back and forth and just give in. I’ll just slip away.

Is this enlightenment? Because it royally sucks!

This is ALL my teacher’s fault: The Buddhist monk, or nun, or mountain man who lives in the cave, (he is hot and in a flannel shirt; hot as in sexy hot), or whomever was supposed to beam down and help me through this process.

I give up. My hands are in the air. This off-her-rocker-elven-princess who morphs into semi-saint-wannabe needs a proxy-teacher. Anyone up for the job? Anyone? Anyone?

(thank you to the person who shared this song, today!)

379: I am very saddened by the state of the world

| Aspergers Girls

shaman

I am very saddened by the state of the world. While I can only speak of the nation I occupy, I gather enough from others that similar events are happening globally.

No matter how long I live on this earth, I am continually confused by many people’s behaviors and actions. Manipulations, lies, and false-intentions aside, I am dumbfounded by the angry-hearts and finger-pointing souls.

It seems so obvious to me: don’t judge another until you have entirely looked at your complete self and accepted who you are, learned to love yourself, and made a vow to be the best person you can be.

And hopefully, by the way of nature, having been through that process, the ability to judge simply ceases. Therefore, I find myself in a quandary, as what I feel within borders much on judgment, though I hope it resembles in form more of a heartfelt discernment.

I watch all around, in this place I find myself a part of, and see people acting out of spite and bitterness. To me, this seems as children at play, individuals who have somehow never gained what some of us were naturally born with. So many walking blindly, a victim of their self-created unbridled passion, set upon a path of feeding the darkness more dark.

I am at a crossroad of self, in many ways looking back at where I have been, without harboring much thought or even intention. Neither am I looking forward. I have tossed away the childish ways of dwelling anywhere other than I am, but still the present lingers here and penetrates my being, reminding me of why, in the past, I so often chose the route of escape over living. And I cannot help but think that the gentle souls of the world continue to choose the same, to slip back into a part of self, where the light is pure and the surroundings safe.

My hope lies in the minority. For in them I see this endless river of kindness, acceptance, and genuineness. And there is where I choose to see my own reflection, in the soul inhabiting this lost planet, which continues to shine despite the glaring dark broadcasted by the deceitful and righteous ones.

I am by no means a religious scholar, but I have had my share of studies in theology. What strikes me as evident is that many religions and spiritual paths have the answers; they speak of not judging, not lying, not cheating, not stealing; they speak of detachment, release of the desire for material ways, and unconditional love. Yet, it seems, that still most of society is buzzing all around, hounded by some beasts, corralled in like sleeping sheep, and made to behave in ways that may not be notorious but are as equally damaging.

It seems I am made, as I be, to walk in this world half-blinded to the ways of the majority, left outside of the fenced-in and blinded, and watching from a hilltop wishing for my brothers and sisters to join me and step out of the illusion of hatred. I am made this forever minority, for separation seems the only prize over entrapment of soul.

Today, I do not choose to celebrate tragedy or turn a disaster into a false idol. I will not choose to share grotesque images, nor to splatter hearsay and falsehoods. I see no benefit.

Have we become a united people whom can only feel close when disaster strikes? If so, what then will keep the disaster from repeatedly happening? What if there was silence upon disaster? What if there was just support, love, protection and safety; and the rest, the disastrous aftershock of tragedy, the spawned pods of evil, were left behind—just dropped, just forgotten, or at minimum ignored. What would the dark broadcast then, and what would we hold onto?

There is a part of me that knows I would be better to release this, to let go of this pain, as I do the rest, to detach from the horrors before my eyes—the dark aftermath of disaster. To close my eyes as the wolves circle in tighter and tighter, the false prophets, of modern day, spinning their webs of deceit; our neighbors joining in the game of hatred and rebel, or perhaps shedding their own tears in the spotlight. See me—notice me—love me. Why not just claim you need attention without the façade of displaying a tragedy to bring you forward? And why spread images of hope or horror based on tragedy with your name stamped upon the photo; how obvious that this is a way of profiting from suffering, whether for self-attention or material gains.

I don’t understand how people can be blinded to their own motives and own intentions. How they cannot feel what they are doing. See how they are acting. And if they are aware, how they can continue forward. Who are these people, as I do not belong to them?

And for the ones gently retreating, doing their part to help in silent fashion, without want of recognition, without need to scream, what of their dear, dear hearts? Who are these ones who humbly serve? How I wish to join you in prayer or meditation, and walk in the light at your side.

I do not understand this world or my place in it. Existing here seems like living on a giant stage of fools, with everyone rushing to be seen and be recognized, everyone in this giant game of Monopoly.

I am deeply saddened, today. I am not sad entirely because of the events of the original disaster—I hurt for the families and the loved ones—but at the same time I recognize disasters happen all over the world. People die in horrific ways all the time. People suffer. People are beaten, tortured, enslaved, persecuted, starving, and so on. There is no shock to me when disaster comes—the only shock is when I see what should by now be familiar, the clamoring for attention, resurfacing of the dark feeding upon the dark, ways and means that remind me of how far we’ve yet to come.

I am sad mostly because I live in a society that has been in essence brainwashed, a place where people are bombarded with negativity and bred to believe in lacking, and behave as if in desperate need. If the world were a spinning top, and I were still child, I would halt the toy entirely, and just let the earth breathe, let the people step out of self and watch. How I wish people could see they are love, they are light, and not these false illusions they have claimed.

I sit here very much isolated, unable and unwilling to share in the masses way of being, unable to take part in a celebration of the darkness. It is like being made to sit in the coliseum of ancient Rome, whilst crying, when all about people are cheering. It is like, this agonizing grief, a singular one watching from a singular window, waiting for the world to stop.