502: Dear You: To my Aspie Sisters and Brothers

Dear You,

If you are reading this, please know you are not alone.

I know at times it feels that way—really feels that way; so much so, that even your keen logic cannot convince you otherwise. The voices will tell you are unloving, unworthy, undesirable. But the voices are lies. You are love. You are worthy. You are desire.

I have been in the dark place more times than I can count; it comes, the bleakness, spontaneously in huge volcanic ruptures. The pain itself tears at my heart and my soul and leaves me breathless and weak. It is then in the black that I cannot find solutions. When I believe I have no one. And that all about the world is my enemy.

But that is not truth, even as it seems very much truth. It isn’t. I know it isn’t. I know because I have witnessed our beauty in the countless people I have encountered on the autistic spectrum. Their truth and love are evident, their souls transparent.

Please know that by being here, you are making a difference. You are making a difference to me. Your pain is my pain. Your story my story, and we share a lifetime of similarities. I understand you; I truly do, just as you understand me. If we were to sit alone in a quiet place and talk, you would know me and I, you. We are sisters and brothers. We are one in our quest for truth, justice, and love.

I know how you suffer in your silence, and how you too suffer in your immeasurable thoughts. I know how you have to always balance what is inside with what you display on the outside. I know this extreme burden, the heaviness, the endless weary mind. How exhausting that task remains, day in and day out, night after night, in what seems a thousand lifetimes wrapped into one.

I understand how you see beyond the illusion of what is indoctrination, and beyond the falsehoods of societal norms. I know. And I know what isolation comes from our being. I know what it is to be ostracized, questioned, blamed, persecuted, attacked, and made victim. I know. And I stand tall still, more so for you than for my own self. For I will not stop. I will not shut out my light to please an enemy that moves against me. I will remain here. I will remain strong. I will remain whole in my determination to rise above the chaos that is this world. I will continue to seek out kindred souls, who not only understand me but understand the necessity for the demolishment of mediocrity. I will be here, waiting, always. Welcoming through my threshold truth seekers and the like.

I honor you, and our family, each individual who remains afraid but nonetheless holds steadfast to the value of authenticity. No. You are not alone. Not anymore. There are thousands of us here, much more alike than different. And even as we suffer at times in our isolation, in the end we are surrounded by circles and circles of friends on the same path.

Please understand that I think of you daily. Please know that I count my blessings with you included as a star in my night sky. Without you, I wouldn’t know where to stand or how to be. With you I remember my light. I remember me.

Much, much love.
Stay strong.
Stay true.
Your friend,
Sam

501: The Isolation of Aspergers

Sometimes having Aspergers is the scariest thing in the world—not the name, or label, or stigmatism the word brings, not even the essence of Aspergers itself, but what it represents in my soul.

No matter how many friends I have, or people I confide in or reach out to, no matter how far I go in my search of self or how many ways I accomplish goals for relief, I end up back at the starting line. Facing forward with the force of the world against me.

Only someone with Aspergers will know what I mean; people not on the spectrum will think they can understand; they will look at their own depth, take in what they know, decipher their inventory, but with all of me I know it is impossible to understand the pain of Aspergers unless you have directly experienced it.

There is nothing more isolating than knowing myself completely, understanding fully the mind and the way in which I act and respond, and still being helpless to alter how I am. It’s not that I want to change me, but I do long for relief and a mild form of adaptation, minor assimilation, something that makes me feel I have made progress, even as I know I have nothing to progress from.

I am entirely an anomaly, in all ways, and in all forms. In fact, I am beginning to think I am the essence, the exact symbolism for yin/yang. For I cannot go out to one extreme of the pendulum without going full swing to the other side, in regards to emotions, experience, outlook, opinion, even circumstances.

To know so much is disheartening. To see so much, to be able to pick apart my mind piece by piece, and understand my inner-workings, and still remain what seems to be helpless is maddening. I can’t cease to think nor stop my methods of multi-faceted interpretation. My mind, some giant mechanism that grinds and grates to piece things together—every thing—including complex analysis of my own thoughts, emotions, and renderings.

Everything I am and everything I do, is adamantly dissected, without choice, including everything I watch, like some giant intertwined web spinning past my mind’s eye. It appears at times I am thinking three times over; that my mind is somehow capable of deciphering the immediate now, the effects of the immediate now, and the thought processes of the two previous aforementioned, and even the predictable outcome and by-product of the thinking process itself. I cannot help but become overtaken and mind-boggled, drowning in a perplexity of images and thoughts, some speaking over the other, some repeating, some making complete sense, and some the markings of a crazed woman.

Add this to the noise inside my head of all the rules I have been taught, (or more so taken in as truth), and I become cluttered with an endless echo of noise: my thoughts, my thoughts about thoughts, and their thoughts, as well as my analysis of all of these thoughts. I become so lost in myself, and this is only the first layer of a multi-dimensional sponge cake of mayhem.

Next comes the bombardment of guilt. The ways I should be, should act, the tools I ought use, the ways in which I ‘should’ think. The world is full of norms for the neurotypical, even full of remedies and concoctions for recovery and sanity, all of which do not work on me. I can’t go to therapy, as I know more than any therapist I have met, and can psychoanalyze them within the first moments of the first meeting—seeing straight into their insecurities, power-struggles and attachments.
I have proved doctors wrong, too, time and time again, based on my gift of keen research and self-awareness. I know myself inside and out; I know my body inside and out. And as a result of my intellectual and instinctual capacity, all the places ‘typical’ people seek out for comfort do me no good. In this there is no relief. There is no refuge. There is ultimately nowhere to go.

The only way is through it. Through the bleakness and drudgery. Through the hellish thoughts. Over and over through, until I come out returned.

No friends can help, definitely no foe. I don’t need foes. I punish myself enough. I shall never be good enough, kind enough, or loving enough. It’s not a matter of perfectionism. As I have said, the ways of the ‘typical’ aren’t my way. I am that dichotomy again, as I know I am good, I know I am enough, I know I am love, but then I know naught. There is that perpetual swinging, of self too, from one view to the next, never stagnant and never truly grounded.

Belief systems, religions, rituals, magic, or what have you, those don’t work either. Temporary bandages or bondages, considering the source, until I analyze them and their happenings to no end and find the loop holes, the questions, the reality behind the illusion.

I often wish I was more blinded to the ways of world, a bit more oblivious, a bit less aware, that I believed there was a something or someone out there in which to seek refuge. This isn’t to mean I don’t have faith, as I am sure some will conclude so, based on their perceptions and rigid belief systems. The truth is I have a faith, a blind faith, and that is what leads me to write, and teaches me the vulnerability of truth heals. Still, there is an overbearing loneliness in the rawness of truth.

The isolation is evident on all planes. I had for the stretch of most of my life sought out priests, reverends, psychologists, psychiatrists, spiritual healers, astrologists, herbalists, shamans, teachers, professors, energy workers, and the like. Over and over they saw in me what they wanted to see, and nothing beyond. No one could penetrate me and get through me. No one could truly see me. In the end, my search accentuated my isolation, only added to my fever for connection and knowing.

I live my life questioning truth: the truth of everything. And then reaching the conclusion and revelation of the lack of valid truth, I spin back into the oblivion of not knowing. I live my life questioning if I am truthful enough. I worry about the slight chance of accidental manipulation on my part that might occur based on my own want and desire. I don’t even like to wish. Who am I to wish? I worry about being self-focused. I worry about being me. And everywhere, in vast unwavering quantity, is this judgment, these unspoken rules; these people being who they are and questioning who I am. And I am ransacked by their ways. I hide, I escape, I try to be nowhere and be no thing, but then the isolation is magnified and brought up to jet speed, and I long for the company again. I take strangers and their judging eyes over nothing.

I am intense. I am remarkably smart. I am keenly aware. I am often misunderstood, misinterpreted, and misjudged. My only saving grace is in having learned to love others unconditionally. I see past it all—every preconceived notion and every label. I don’t care what you are or who you are. I just love. It doesn’t matter to me your job, your race, your creed, your habits, your ways. I just love. And I long to be loved that way in return, to be looked upon with the grace of the all-knowing, and to be penetrated with complete acceptance.

Sometimes I don’t think the issue at hand is coming to terms with accepting myself or knowing myself completely. Sometimes I don’t think it is about anything at all, beyond coming to terms with the fact that most people will never see my value and uniqueness because they are too blinded by their own disillusionment of fear.

This post is dedicated to my dear friend Pascal. We will miss you.

499: Sometimes

Sometimes

Sometimes I will be emotional, sentimental, sappy and lovey-dovey
Sometimes overly
Sometimes I will wonder about myself in regards to you
Sometimes I will wonder about you in regards to me
And sometimes I will get the two of us confused

Sometimes I will be giving, accepting, forgiving and supportive
Sometimes exceptionally
Sometimes I will create chaos out of something to distract from something else
Sometimes I will do this to avoid the potentiality of a deeper something
Sometimes I will undoubtedly face the hurt

Sometimes I will over-talk, over-share, over-think and over-process
Sometimes is an understatement
Sometimes I will wish you could dive into my heart and see how much I adore you
Sometimes I will attempt to dive into your heart so I can rest there in your light
Sometimes I imagine this is the safest place on earth

Sometimes I will review, reevaluate, revisit and readdress
Sometimes to exhaustion
Sometimes I will focus too much on us or me, or a combination
Sometimes I will forget to take a breath and look at the situation with clarity
Sometimes I will need your guiding hand to show me reality

Sometimes I will second-guess, request, demand and need
Sometimes like a child
Sometimes I will surprise you with my insight and knowing, my intuitiveness and my honesty
Sometimes I will need reminders that I am good and kind and loving
Sometimes I forget who I am

Sometimes I will be my own worst critic, my worst enemy and my worst villain
Sometimes I will collapse inside
Sometimes I will need you to pull me up, lift me and set me straight
Sometime I will do the same for you
Sometimes I will think you are an angel sent just for me

Sometimes I will cry openly, weep deeply, share freely and cover my face in tears
Sometimes I will not be able to stop
Sometimes I will look at you and think you are the world, the divine, the answer, the one
Sometimes I will know you are
Sometimes I will use every ounce of my soul to thank God for you

Sometimes I will be a pain in the butt, stubborn, irrational and panicky
Sometimes I will not like this about myself
Sometimes I will apologize for being me even as I love me
Sometimes I will love me even as I apologize for being
Sometimes I will not be able to tell if I love my life or hate it

Sometimes I will be the warm shelter you require, the most loyal friend, the sweetest confidant and greatest lover
Sometimes I will smile at this part of who I am
Sometimes I will love you with the deepest love imaginable
Sometimes I will love you even more than that
Sometimes I will sacrifice myself for you

Sometimes I will be tender and open, soft and gentle, feminine and submissive
Sometimes I will seem stronger than fathomable
Sometimes I will be magical, whimsical, youthful and wholesome
Sometimes I will bring you into my fairyland and mystical dreamscapes
Sometimes I will think you are the sweetest dream of all

Sometimes I will be silent, retreat into isolation, run away and hide
Sometimes I will wish for you to find me
Sometimes I will think I am not enough for you
Sometimes I will want to show you myself more fully
Sometimes, almost every living moment, I will think I am the luckiest person alive to have found you

493: circumstantial

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To make sense of the trail of breadcrumbs I’ve left behind, I trace back, in intricate steps, to where I have been and what I have done. Remembering less than recalling. Bringing in what was seen, especially to recount to the mirage of cluttered self.

I am what I am continually; though to me this ‘I’ seems to weave in and out, sporadically, in childlike spurts. Evaporating parts bleeding out with last breath into another mirror of something else. I remain less grounded, and more adrift, from the constant state of limbo that is.

Circumstantial, or not, something or another has twisted me into a form that neither has structure or defining markings. I am that blob of sorts, that almost-liquid blue that slips between the bewildered child’s fingers. And I grasp, too, attempting to take a hold of what exists.

I don’t know where I am headed, anymore, in vocation, in love, in life, and that terrifies me with a numbness so surreal I am left stagnant in thought, even as a million pieces of recollection spin through. It is as if I am this tiny creature locked in a corner shelf, desperately seeking but having not the sight nor knowhow to find what it is needed; and atop this imprisonment, even what I desire seems an anomaly.

I suppose the other half of me was lost in some torrential storm, ions ago, before I even found this earth, or rather it found me. I suppose I was beamed down not of my own accord; and if this journey had been choice, then hungry for erotic adventure, I must have been. For to be subjected, by my own doing, to this world, would surely be the mark of a madman. And still the beauty surrounds me everywhere: ravenous hope.

This tinkered-love again arises as thief in the night, stealing rationality from the place it harbors, deep within the torn regions of heart. I dare not say I understand anything anymore; in that I be more a victim to my own secret wishes than the bystander to the robber. Tis truth, as I set out knowingly to be excavated by prying, wanting hands. Yet, nothing I desire, all at once, but to be devoured.

And here is where the journey seems mindfully stealth, exceedingly mockery-bathed, dipped in the jester’s own naivety. The dancing fool I be.

483: The Void

Somewhere out there you are lonely. I see you. I feel you.
You have this compassionate void within, a great abyss, massive in girth and depth.
There is no end to it: your beacon home.
You grasp at straws, at significant concrete ideas, thoughts, and concepts, even people, in an attempt to understand this absence, this missing, this grand emptiness.
So grand is your space of void that you long to fill it with whatever comes.
Sometimes the comings are tragic, sometimes wild, sometimes fulfilling, sometimes long-lasting, but they always dissipate.
You are left with memories slathered in pain, no matter the causation. You are left abandoned to yourself and your doings, in a state of query and mishap, shaken and made awake. Further awake.
This happens again and again, this searching out with your great capacity, an opening of self to what is there.
You take into you this, this substance, whatever the measure.
And you embrace it there, in your deepest self, twisting and turning the angles, figuring out in your limitation what could be, and forgetting what is.
There is a dichotomy inside of you, in which you love yourself, the innate you, yet also punish yourself for false failings.
You long to be someone else, as you embrace who you are.
Deep within you honor and respect your light, your goodness.
But beyond that you become confused in this world, isolated, alone, burdened.
This is your journey, and my journey, lost in a way, and found just the same.
There exists an ache so substantial that you live to alleviate the agony.
Day in and day out such intense longing.
We mistake this longing for love, for future hope, for him or her, for this or that.
The craving is the loving search for source, for truth, for light.
And in here we bathe.
Reach not for what is there, but for what is within, and your answers remain, as always, readily attainable.
Turn not to another, for the other is not the way.
You are this ‘way’ in your effervescent glow.
I cannot remove such suffering, even as I try ten-fold to release myself.
The suffering stays, and only grows greater.
What I can do is speak my voice, my truth, and seek harbor in the safety of awakened awareness.
I can go to the core of self and bring up what is there beyond the mask.
This is your calling, too. This is the void.
To embrace yourself fully in all your perceived failings. To love yourself in completion, and in turn give to the world what you have found within your being.
Purge, die, renew your essence, and give back your true light.
I wait for you on the other side, my burden heavy, my heart pierced, my enemy awake.
I wait and wait and wait, until a thousand deaths fall upon me.
And then I shall rise, with us in the horizon, with us in the rising sun.
You are my answer and I am yours.
We must awaken to the dream that is us, and begin to live the dream that is now.

481: Sit with Me

Photo on 3-3-14 at 1.59 PM

I don’t mean to scare you, but I know I do sometimes. Or maybe I don’t scare you, maybe I cause you concern or frustration. I don’t mean to do that either. I try to stay out of people’s way and just be me. But being me, well, that action tends to get in the way sometimes. Maybe you are numb to me entirely, kind of shut me off like you do the rest of the world; perhaps even more than the rest, because I am a bit different. That’s all okay, perfectly okay. I just wish you could sit with me long enough to see me. However long that might take. An eternity is fine, if you need that. You see I would stay with you that long. That’s the type of person I am: steadfast, loyal, loving. I am endless love. That is why at times I seem giddy and childlike, and I run loops around you, in conversation, in thought, in silly ways in which I move about. I cannot help who I am. In the sense, I cannot help but to be me. I can take measures, certainly, to provide you comfort, and if that means adjusting something in my approach towards you, I am open to listening to suggestions. But at my heart, at the core of my being, I cannot, nor do I wish to, change. I am who I am. And I rather adore myself. I love the way I see the world and accept the world and don’t focus on the pain of people. I focus on the heart. And in this way, everywhere I look is true beauty. That is why I got so very excited when I met you. To me, I had found yet another remarkable heart, another remarkable universe. And yours, my darling, had to have housed the biggest depths of them all. So enchanting, so filled with mystery and multi-dimensions. You see, I could jump into you right away. Straight into the depths of your very soul. I tend to grasp reality this way, by measuring life by the potency of souls. I cannot explain, nor feel the need to explain, but I know I can see you. Way down deep inside, in those places you hide, and in those places you shine. It’s bright in there, and I love you so. I see this and I want to celebrate. I want to shout: Look at you! And sometimes I do. Only it comes out in funny ways that perhaps aren’t so charming, and perhaps seem deliberately askew. Yet, I am trying. I am just trying to find a way to convey to you how much I love you all at once because I recognize your light. Because I know you. Because I see us as one in the same, in sharing so much distinction and awe. I peer inside of you, and I dance there. And here you show me images of before and after, and even of tomorrow. I learn of your heart-trials, of your passion, of your faith, and I learn of your devastating wounds. And I want to heal them, much like the mother to her pup. Only I can’t. There is nothing I can do but watch and take in you in all of your penetrating beauty. And I spin again, into someone you know not. Wanting to pull you into the all that is before me. Wanting you to see how much I love you.

465: Unconditional Love

I love you.
When you are lost, when you are alone, when you are driven away from me by some unknown force.
I love you.
When you are forsaken by your own self and thoughts. When you twist reality into a fantasy that is dark and bleeds of isolation.
I love you.
When you go, I will watch and wait until the nightmares subside and the light beckons. I will wait at the end of the tunnel, at the entrance, at the exit, at the only place you will eventually arrive.
I am here for you; not because you beckoned, not because you desire, not because I expect a single thing.
I am here because I love you.
I love you in a thousand upon a thousand ways.
I love you for your beauty, your deep etched soul, the sunlight that slips through your fingers and glistens on your skin, of happiness to come.
I love the hope that is you; for whenever you falter and fall, you return. You retrace your steps and return.
I watch you without fear of abandonment. Your actions do not make me. Your ways do not change me.
I am you and you are me; yet, we are separate in our choices and visions.
I know who I am, where my seams connect, making me whole, my parts intermingled to form true divinity. And I view you the same. Ever so splendidly made.
In your presence I become more real than I imagined possible; all of me expands and implodes, building contrasting caverns of existence.
When you do not have faith in yourself, I will have faith in you. When you do not have faith in us, I will have faith in our togetherness.
If ever I grow frustrated or worried, know it is the burden I hold, the lasting longing I carry to behold your sorrow erased and your joy sprung anew.
I shall wait outside your threshold through the depths of time.
I shall remain full in my attempt to exist as a stronghold onto myself.
And in this way, I will have done my best.
I will not stand between you and your dreams, you and your freedom, you and your happiness.
I will always abide by your wishes, whatever they be, as I trust your decisions and the makings of your mind. I trust that you have the answers.
I kneel for you, as you kneel for me, both as suitor and servant.
I stand beside you, cheerfully enchanted, cheerfully grateful for your victorious days.
If ever I take you for granted, it is merely my shadow resurfaced, feeding off the illusion of fear. If ever I fail you, it is merely a part of myself forgetting the beauty we are.
Know, if I had to live this life again, and start anew, my hope would be to have you the same. Just as you are. In your gleaming perfection.
I love. I love you. And whatever you choose to do, or be, or say. Whatever you choose to represent as your own existence and truth.
I love you.

~ Samantha Craft, December 2013

love R

455: Love and Loops

I have been trying really hard to not loop, to not spin, to not take something that is nothing and turn it into a monster. The largest portion of this sense of self is lost in doing so, in succumbing to the voice of fear and believing what I hear. The greatest part of spirit knows that fear is all but illusion, and only love exists—prevails beyond the illusion of naught. Still I get lost in the murky waters of falsehoods, daily, if not hourly, trapped in a labyrinth beyond human logic.

Because I am vulnerable, I lose sight of my purpose. Because I succumb to this falsehood, I lose sight of the all. I become a pawn in some minions’ game of discourse and confusion as I stumble down endless reasonings leading nowhere.

I have watched myself as the observer and taken soul-notes, or more so delve through time for answers, and if not answers than at least a glimmer of insight. I have listened to my heart-mind, and focused on the powers that rest beyond intellect. And in so doing, I have found some peace. I have found some recourse beyond the dilly-dallying of the mind, beyond state of anguish.

I have discovered, with full vitality, a remedy beyond this place I am. I have seen a solution that is far more reaching than letting the pain play out to the end. I have seen: It is not that I need to seek the meaning and find the solution, but that I need to release the need for solution.

Before I believed this meant releasing to the process—to allow or give permission for my mind to go through the torment. Now I view the occurrence with new eyes. There is no need for me to wallow in this state of pain day in and day out. The truth of the mystery of release is found in not releasing, not focusing, not trying, but simply replacing.

Releasing through replacement is my remedy. And not replacing with the tools of busyness or distraction. For though they be sweet, the intermingling of heart-mind into a daunting or thusly thrilling task or adventure, they too come to a conclusion, an end that certainly leaves me back on the dock of gloomy comings. A place where I am once again triggered by an invisible made visible.

I’ve come to see that what I am sensing is not so much an intellectual attack as a spiritual attack. A dark nature of my own doing or another’s, I know not. A creation brought on by self-manifestation or a power beyond, I know not enough to ponder. But whatever the affliction, rather karmic, energetic, or simply part of my journey into greater peace, the affliction exists. A pain so palatable I can taste it—hold it in my mouth and bite down. It’s thick and dirty, and filled with deception. Trickery of what is and what isn’t. And mask upon mask of who I am.

In the end, at the bottom of all the lies is this desperation, this clinging, that makes my mind scream out. A lost woman forlorn and in destitute wondering about from that which she came.

To experience is to remember. To experience again is to cry so deeply in recognition of the unraveling loss of control that the tears become the enemy. The shell of self emptied too, so despite the remnants of what I thought I was, who I thought I was, I become something entirely altered, different even within the mirror I reflect upon. Wherein even the home in which I sought rescue and escape is shattered—no place to crawl back into, no matter if it be demolished or in disarray—no shell exists. I am left out in the open barren space of nowhere searching for a way back home to nothing.

And so I have put into practice a new approach, scouring over the teachings I have collected in my mind, and surrendering a gentle submission of knowing not enough to conquer this affliction. Instead, I retreat into a place in which I connect my heart and mind, and I give to myself the gentleness of love.

I let into my mind only one word: LOVE

And I repeat this over and over and over: Love, love, love

Love, love, love
Love, love, love
Love, love, love

That is all.
That is the all.

And here I rest, unable to untangle my own mind with any other words, unable to be the puzzle solver or mender. Unable to recollect what brought me here again—for one solution inevitably leads to further spinning and descending into the abyss.

Instead, instead of anything else in existence, I choose love.

And there I rest, repeating the source of light over and over, until the healing waters come, and I realize whatever or whomever it was that afflicted me, be it self, illusion, or other, I am whole still. Returned to the womb of discovery. Returned to the self complete and renewed.

450: The voice of my tears

I have been struggling with issues of the heart, both physical and spiritual. I have been to the emergency room five times and hospitalized for five days. I am still in a state of limbo, waiting to hear back about an appointment with the specialist. In time, I will collect my thoughts, and share more of this ordeal, one of the darkest nights of my soul. For now, I am leaking out bits of my own truisms. Here I have collected a few that have come through the echo of my heart ache. Much love to you. May you know I know your suffering and celebrate the life and light that is you.

I am tired of being misunderstood, seen and then unseen. I don’t know how to walk in this world. I don’t know how to be. Every effort is squashed. When I jump, I jump too far. When I reach, I reach too far. I don’t know how to stop, what I never knew how to start. It seems the only thing I know how to do in this crazy life is fall, to cry, to crumble, to be absolutely demolished despite my efforts, and to then pick myself back up and carry on. Nothing is simple anymore, and never was, and I long for that faraway place beyond complexity, where my mind is still, the ocean my very soul, carrying me in union cross the waters of tears.

*

Do you ever feel like your life is stuck in the second to the last chapter of a novel? You have reached the climax, emotions are on overdrive; you are about to unravel and discover all the truths that came before the foreshadowing, to behold your destiny, and at last reach your conclusion—the hero’s quest complete. When BANG, all the pages are torn out, the words blown away, and you are left hovelled in a puddle of nothing, wondering what happened to your story?

*

I am tired of people loving the parts of me they like, the parts that reflect them, the parts that bring them this self-created false comfort. I want to be loved in fullness, to a degree that has been lost in this world of dictated dangers and frailties. I want to be upheld for my goodness time and time again; not repeatedly told how I should mold and conform for another. I’m so busy trying to understand the complexities of bending for everyone into a shape they need in order to be recognized as worthy, that I get lost in my own self, searching for the light I was born with, a light I want to shine, at all costs, despite the blinding stares from the opposition. Cruel world, stop trying to make me into what suits you and criticizing me for what doesn’t. I have no limitations beyond the reflections pounced upon me.

*

I refuse to be happy when I am not. Covering up what we are in the moment is the cause of the destruction of this world. So much fear of being and feeling the uncomfortable. We have been taught to avoid with all cost the inevitable state of sadness. Sadness is okay. It isn’t scary. It isn’t wrong; and it’s not meant to be celebrated or snuffed out of existence. It just is. This place we call home could be marvelously better, if we each just embraced ourselves as is, in the illusion of flaws and failures; and like the emotion of sadness, if we just let ourselves be at a level state, beyond good and bad, right and wrong, then the whole of us would be free.

*

I love and respect myself in all my emotional states. None is better or worse than the other. All is a sea of me, intermingled and mixed; none is in and of itself, able to be extracted, labeled and classified. Each is a part of the magnificent whole of “We Are.” Each to be celebrated in their unity; reached in their effort; touched for being.

*

And she cried out, “Open your eyes and see, awake to the truth of you;” the only problem being that she no longer existed to convince them that their eyes were closed, no longer desired to point out the illusion of distraction, of trickery, of falsehood; all that she was in totality only wished to be free and wild and open; only the others, the ones with the imaginary views, they trapped her in their ways, making her believe she was the one forever asleep.

*

People aren’t blind. They are satisfied with the view. They forget what rests beyond the horizon. They forget that the eyes can’t cry for what the soul can’t see.

*

I loved you ’till the hollowed part of me emerged, and I saw myself emptied; in recognition of this absence, I wept for my return, only to find that you had filled the last of me; and all that remained was this broken shell of the girl I once was. I stand now, a woman formed in her dignity and gratitude, a woman thankful for whatever life was bled out of her; for in the weeping of red I was torn back into whom I had always been—the strength turned two-fold from what was lost and again found–a warrior rebirthed into existence.

*

Starvation and deprivation are two different things. One can be starved and not recognize the hunger, the pangs masked by preoccupation, but once one recognizes deprivation, a dying thirst erupts that cannot be quenched nor ignored. With starvation the soul slowly withers in unknown solitude. In deprivation the spirit calls out to be filled, to be watered, to have the life waters returned. I have often been starved for love but it was not until I awakened to my own deprivation that I knew what was missing.

(These are all thoughts I have had this morning)