There wasn’t any reason to hide, at least not at first. But I crawled inside my tiny closet anyhow, me and my red plastic piggybank. Inside the squared-space that was layered in frilly dresses and the smell of cedar sticks, I would hold tight to my piggy and pretend.
At first I could imagine Father was back; and not just once or twice, but all the time. In my thoughts he’d hold me tight, bounce me up and down on his knee; and then he’d stand up, grab hold of my hands, and twirl me so fast I’d fly up off my feet. And we’d laugh, giggle so hard the tears would pearl at the corner of our matching oval eyes, his with the amber light, mine with the deep ebony.
Inside the dark of the cramped space, I’d travel back to my silver-haired nana’s adobe-style house, the one with the red-clay roof tiles and the white stucco face, that sat on a steep hill on Washington Street, a one mile hike up from the barking sea lions basking on the rocks at Fisherman’s Warf in Monterey. I’d breathe in and remember a time before, a time before I understood how homes, and heads, and hearts could break.
There in my memories, my petite nana scooped me up effortlessly and dotted me in tangerine-orange kisses, while my smiling Aunt Rose Marie squished and rearranged my cheeks. And stout Nano, after leaning over and flashing his bald spot, winked and pulled on my earlobe, offering out a kindly, “We love you, Little Sam.”
Father was there, too, moving in his own cautious way, inching forward and offering everyone his one-arm embrace. I’d tried to make him different in pretending, make him hug me tight and kiss my cheeks, but the truth always had a way of winning out.
I’d see us all napkin-bibbed at our seafood feast, so that it seemed with the salty air we were all fisherman sailing the ocean waves. As we cracked open crab legs and peeled tiger-shrimp, Nano stitched together grand fisherman tales in an Italian accent as thick and refreshing as homespun ice-cream. Afterwards, with bellies filled, we all helped with the dishes, me with my very own floral dishtowel, and my wide smile still swathed in pizza sauce.
Nano took his leave soon, snuck out to the back porch with a big platter of scraps. Two minutes later, when Nano reentered the house with a lick-cleaned plate, looking more satisfied than he let on, he muttered, “Damn cats. I hate cats,” and then held onto his belly, gave me a wink, and chuckled.
Sometime after seven, when all the plates were stacked neatly back in cupboards, the plastic tablecloth wiped clean, and the eight-track tape of Italian music drifting through the room, we gathered round the table for a game of penny poker. Holding the cards proved somewhat cumbersome, but somehow I managed to win every single hand, and in doing so compiled a stack of pennies: ten-high and ten-long.
“One hundred pennies; look how great you did,” Aunt Rose Marie would laugh.
I smiled with eyes of pride, and then reached down and yanked at my stockings. It was possible, I found out, to stack the pennies the height of my mug of hot chocolate before they tumbled down. Nana leaned over and braced herself against the edge of the table, saying softly to my father, “You need to bring her more often. We miss her. And we miss you.” Then she looked over at me. “We have a surprise.”
My dark-haired aunt came forward carrying a plastic piggybank loaded with coins. Though it was only a smidgen bigger than the palm of my little hand, I was amazed. For the next several minutes everyone watched, as I cradled the plastic piggy.
“Now you save that. It’s not to open. Put it in a special spot.” Nana turned from me, pulled down her silver-framed glasses, and eyed her son. “You’ll bring her again soon, won’t you?”
Father nodded and stood up to retrieve my small wool coat from the back of my chair. “Yes, I’ll bring her soon,” he answered, as I slid into my coat, holding my piggy tighter.
Mother would arrive long after supper, all done up—the fair Audrey Hepburn—her curves hugged by a linen suit of strawberry-milkshake. “Hello, Beautiful,” she would say, fussing over my blue-silk hair ribbons. I would gaze up at Mother, then, with my deep brown eyes and tug on my braid. I savored the word beautiful much like I did Nana’s hard taffy candies which left my tongue all purple and sweet.
Now, I hope you do all know that I have Aspergers. With Aspergers sometimes comes this naive spirit (in a wonderful way) and sometimes (in my case: often times) a tendency to not understand sexual connotations. Well, luckily I ran this post by someone (my husband). He kindly pointed out that having the topic, learning to self-massage, as one of my It List’s items might be a little risqué. I didn’t understand why learning to massage my hands and feet with lotion would be inappropriate.
When I was still a youngster, in my early twenties, my mother took me to see her psychic. I was told that I would first have two children, much like twins, and everyone would think they were twins at first—this happened. I was told that I would live to be 86 and that at the half-point (age 43) my life would shift and be happier—happening (at least the age 43 happy part). I was also told that I was a French nun in my past life and brought a lot of that mindset to this lifetime, and carried around a bunch of Catholic guilt and felt I was always sinning with my very thoughts! SO NOT HAPPENING anymore….
I’ve been a prude for the first half of my life. For the second half, I’m going to be sexy. Of course last year at this time, I was going to be a Buddhist monk, and was seriously considering growing my hair out all grey, never ever wearing makeup again, and going braless. So, really, we don’t know what to expect from me. As you can tell by looking over my last two posts, where I went from exceedingly on top of all the universes, to basically, and literally, cry me a river.
But, despite my track record, I’d thought I’d give this sexy thing a shot, and at least make a list, since I love lists anyhow. And thusly, I’ve included my ten goals for the next eight months, that leads us into February 2013, and day 366 (leap year, remember).
Prude to SEXY!
My IT List for Sexy
The High SEXY boots
1. High Boots. A must. With a short skirt and leggings, and a powerful cat walk.
A small sexy ankle tattoo. Perhaps a tiny sun or a tiger symbol.
2. Must have a small, sexy ankle tattoo. A permanent stamp that says the prude is gone and to banish the nun in me.
3. Study sexy action. Study sexy poses, sexy movies, and sexy singing.
kimdehaan.wordpress.com
4. Classic Guitar and Lessons. Preferably taught by a dark, gorgeous hunk of burning love.
5. Bikini on the beach. Yes, bikini.
Maui 2012
6. Lots and lots of submerging in water. River walking. Hit the beach. Swim in the pool. Soak in hot tub. Go to hot springs. Bubble baths.
kayakingtours.com
7. Kayaking tour and buying a kayak and wetsuit.
wikipedia.org
8. Belly dancing in this dress. Ooh la la!
Where I walk in Washington State
9. Nature
Trees and more trees. And hugging trees. Hiking. State parks. Forests. Resting on the grass by the lake. Sitting on the bench and watching the birds. Breathing in the air. Breathing.
kundalinishaktidance.com/
10. Kundalini Yoga
Got to keep the second chakra fed, or I’ll never pose for that photo of me at the water’s edge, posing sexy in a bikini, donning a belly pierce and one high boot, with the other foot bare, as to show of my ankle tattoo, all while strumming a guitar in a kayak and mouthing “I love you.”
I’ve started this post three times. First about the state of Washington, then about my dog Justice Black, then a poem about faith. But I think what I really need is someone to hold me and sing this song to me.
Having the spirit I do, I am constantly flooded with emotion. I do not know what to expect. Not that any humans do on this earth. But a part of me would like to think that I know what is ahead of me. When in truth, the only thing for certain is this very moment. This very moment that I am crying with such depth. All these feelings. All coming up from long ago; they feel so distant like they are from centuries ago—life times ago. So much grief and happiness, all mixed together.
I am crying so loudly, knowing I am born to be this being, but not always knowing how to comfort this spirit that I am. Knowing so much, so fast, and in such profound ways is overwhelming. Being who I am is overwhelming. Ever since I was a child I have dreamt of the future, I have known things before other people, I have had people visit me in their dreams and tell me of their joys and pain, I have seen angels, spirits, and the dark, I have had answers to prayers, I have seen miracles, I have seen so very much.
I have been called to leadership my entire life, when this gentle, fragile part of me, longs to only be sheltered and protected, to be swept up in a special one’s arms and told that I am safe, that I am found, that I am truth, that I am love. To be told that someone else is fighting for me, someone else not letting go. I am always the one holding on the tightest…..to everyone and everything. The passion in me is so intense at times that I do not know what to do with myself.
I feel the pain of those from thousands of miles away; I feel their joy, too. Energies attach to me, and I can’t distinguish mine from others. Thoughts of others reach me. And I have never been able to stop this, with all the teachers I have sought, I have found limited answers. And many times, longing to be student, I have in turn become teacher. I have looked for my teacher my entire life. Someone who sees more than me. Someone who knows more than I know innately. And I have yet to find him.
I have battled with the voice of demons daily, telling me why I am not of light, when I know I am. I have seen terrible visions in dreams, as if someone is trying to stop me. But I keep fighting.
I embrace light everyday. I am as honest and whole and authentic as I can be. But then, I am raw on the outside, made vulnerable to everything and everyone.
I can do nothing without feeling. I cannot eat without being directly affected by the food. Each food affects my physical body and mind differently. It is easier not to eat. I am affected by weather patterns, by the sun, by the lack of sun. I am affected by chemicals, by environmental toxins—a little bird in the coal mine. I am affected by every vibration of every word I read. I feel through words. I feel energy. I see images. I know others’ pain. I see other’s pain. I know without knowing how. And I cry for them, as much as me. I don’t understand why I was born with such extreme sensitivity. Why I understand concepts at great, great depth. Why I cannot stop thinking about certain people. Why they are like angels to me. I don’t understand why I still feel so isolated when I am surrounded in love.
I don’t understand the voices of guidance I hear. I don’t understand how I can hear such knowledge, and why, in some ways, I have been chosen to shine my light. I feel so unworthy to do so. I feel so inadequate and ill prepared, as if I will never be strong enough to stand upright when I carry the burdens of the world.
But then a gentle voice whispers.
He says I am loved immensely.
I am right where I am supposed to be.
That I have chosen to be a voice.
That I am so very strong and brave to have endured so very much.
And that he holds me.
That he loves me above all else.
And that he is so very sorry that I have to feel such depths of pain.
But that in return he has given me great depths of joy.
A joy so many cannot and will not ever know.
He reminds me of how good and pure I am.
How beneficial to the world I am.
That I am a gift.
He reminds me that all is okay.
That I am sheltered each and every second.
That I will not fall.
That I will not die.
That I will live on.
That my light and my substance, my innocence will live on.
Nothing and no one will snuff my light.
Nothing and no one will stop me from shining.
And I weep louder.
And I understand.
Like I have understood since I was a tiny little girl crying alone in the dark.
This song says it all. I’ve been living inside the melody and words. And for those of you who say this was before your time, I stick my tongue out at you!
I have at least eight people I would consider very close friends, and two powerful friendships that are just forming. Some close friends I have known for decades and others a couple of years. My close friends, I can honestly say, feel the same about me, as I do for them. I’m not “blessed” with friendship. I worked darn hard to have my friendships—I studied relationships through books, movies, and even took courses. I learned how to be a good friend; more importantly, I learned how to be ME!
I found out a few years back that I’d rather have one true friend, to be in a relationship in which I am entirely authentic, than to have hundreds of superficial relationships. Years back, when I had a major crisis in my life, I found out who my true friends were, and learned the hard way, through emotional agony, that just because someone attends your social gatherings and chats you up in public, does not mean they truly care about you as a person. I am pleased to say, I have a circle of loved ones that care about me for me. And I, too, love them for them. Once I have a friend, there is pretty much nothing that friend could do to pull me away, or make me stop loving them. My friendship just keeps growing; unless, the relationship is unhealthy and deemed non-beneficial in my eyes; then of course, it is time for me to say goodbye, and be thankful for the bond we had.
Maui 2012
This post is not about ends, though. This post is about the beginnings of friendship.
I know now, through much trial and error, that ultimately, if I am not true to me, and walking a path of authenticity that I am ultimately being accepted for someone I am not and be rejected by ME. I know my light. I know my beauty. I see this reflected in the mirrors of my friendships. And in this beauty I have extreme confidence that I am a worthy person, loving, and actually pretty darn cool to have around. Of course, I am highly aware of my quirks and intensity. My eyes are wide open as far as my personhood and spirithood is considered. I understand, too, that only some are able to be my friend, those with the capacity to cup in their hands my true, very bright light. I used to adjust my light to fit the person. I’d dim as to not be so bright—in essence self-implode and crawl into the darkness to appease. I don’t do that anymore. If anything, I turn my light up higher when I enjoy someone. I have learned that I would rather face a million rejections than to be loved for someone I am not. For ultimately, if someone loves me for a shadow of myself, they love only the air beyond the light. I want to be loved for me. Amazingly, I found out, this attribute of shining my true colors is a quality many people appreciate. Don’t get me wrong, I still get hurt. I still get rejected. But the beauty of being me makes up for the passing ache and pain of loss or misunderstanding. I long to be me. I am me. And I adore me.
However, being the light that I am…sigh…sometimes the feelings I have for someone are so very intense that I know not what to do with myself. Usually the intensity is brought on by a definite knowing and soul-connection. Sometimes the other person feels the same, which generally leads to an easy and wonderful relationship. Other times, a person does not understand the heart of me, doesn’t see me for me, and then the experience is less easy. It is then I feel somewhat isolated in my experience, like I’m a two-man act standing alone or perhaps dragging my friend along the yellow-brick road when she would much rather be at home.
Lately, my feelings are on overdrive. I don’t know what has been happening to me at a soul-level, precisely. I can feel what is happening, but I can’t describe the sensation with accuracy. It’s akin to trying to describe the feeling of giving birth to a child, that feeling when I first saw my child’s face. I can’t describe the experience, except to say I feel like I am staring into a part of me, a beautiful part of me.
Maui 2012
I wrote this last night. It sums up how I’m feeling somewhat:
“I am turned on by love. I can’t help it. Everytime someone says the word or writes the words love, I get this erotic sensation all over! It’s crazy making, in a good way. I am turned on by love songs. I am actually eating the songs for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I have no want or desire for food! I’m only eating to keep healthy and fit. Not for pleasure. I long to write poetry and prose all day, to take photos of nature and people, especially older people with stories etched across their face. I long to be a part of the water, to be in the water, to paddle across and feel myself move on the ripples. I long for connection. I want to read people’s stories, to hear their truth, to comfort, to connect, to love.
What have I missed all these years with my eyes and heart closed; some slave to fear—some scared cat clawing at her own fur before another could attack? I’ve missed thirty years. Not completely, but entirely; in the sense that my heart has been encased in some large trap with large teeth and large angry eyes. Made prisoner for decades; three to be exact. Never before until today, did I know what it felt like to sit by the water and just be. To be one with nature. To watch the birds, to understand why people watch birds! Even the lake water sang out to me—the ripples an erotic symphony of sensual pleasure. The trees are greener. The air fresher. I am breathing for real. Taking in air and filling my lungs with the sensation.
What miraculous and grand alterations have transpired. What journey I traveled to get where I now stand. Not one regret, for the journey was worth every step to lead me to such ecstasy of life. I am vibrating with a wonderful energy, some forty-something mom, transporting in time back to the era of love-child. Everything and everyone is beautiful. Everything on earth a miracle. And I’m drug-free. This isn’t some hallucination or even a high. The feelings are all over the board. I have intense joy and bliss coupled with a deep empathy and love for all my surroundings. I am dancing inside poetry and music. Dancing inside every song I hear. I am understanding lyrics for the first time—the intensity of the longings, the heart-break, the unquenched desires. I am understanding, too, the limitless depths of the human experience, and how much fear feeds as a blanket to the beauty of life.
My hands are vibrating all day long with a gentle and uplifting tingle. My eyes and skin continue to glow. I look younger. I feel younger. My physical pain has decreased. I am attracting beautiful souls from all over the world. I am so thankful! When I try to worry, for the most part, I can’t. There is some sort of mental block. To even say I am trying to worry, seems so ridiculous! But I actually cannot think about what could be considered common-day problems. They all seem so insignificant. All I want is love.
I must be radiating because strangers are starting conversation with me, smiling, waving, even turning heads. I can’t stop smiling. It finally feels easier to smile than frown. I can’t stop thinking about life and how wonderful life can feel when fear is released.
I don’t know how I got to this state. This feeling has been gradually building since the beginning of May. The salty waters of Maui intensified the feeling, and returning to the healing green of Washington put me up another notch. I am submerged in joy. Excited about life. There is so much I want to do. And so many people I want to embrace. I am wondering where to begin, but then not really wondering at all. It is more of a feeling of excitement and newness, like a child being let out of a cage for the first time.”
I am naming the sensation described above: The Strawberry Eruption. For at the center of me is an erupting fruit. Maybe it’s that whole second chakra thing I scribe about on day 124. Or maybe it’s something entirely different. I really don’t know. I’m just riding the wave—this little bursting berry.
During this wave riding, I’ve connected with two online friends. My first online friends, ever. That I’ve met them both at the same time is powerful and balancing. Each offers unmistakable gifts. This letter is for them, and for everyone really, for at some level, I feel this unyielding love for every being, a desire to embrace the world, and all the loveliness found within each spirit.
Maui 2012
Dear Friend,
I love you. I am so glad we found one another. I am happy. I am at peace with our friendship. I adore you something terrible. That’s the only way I know how to love—to adore. My love for you doesn’t come in shapes and sizes that differ. My love is just one gigantic bubble of joy and glee. I long to skip in the sunshine with you, to swing on the swings, to climb trees, to run barefoot through the sand, to collect seashells and then listen to the sound of the ocean within, to giggle, to dive in the water, and come up with the whole of the universe upon our smiles.
I remember you from long ago, perhaps a dream, perhaps a memory of what I planted in my mind. Perhaps you are from another place and time with another me, or perhaps, too, I have met you a thousand times a thousand times before. I know not where or why you are here, but your face I remember, and especially your eyes, whether from dream, fantasy, or distant time, is no matter. Only now matters.
But I do have concern. I am concerned that my intensity of soul and my engorged heart shall frighten you away. And like the little bird I long to touch that sits upon the tree outside the river’s edge, that you will fly away the closer I approach, that you will fly higher and higher into the sky of blue, until you are only a droplet in my memory. And then I shall weep deeply, mourning with every part of me the loss of precious you.
You see, I know not how to love, but deeply. I know not how to breathe, but with all of me. Every part is filled by your light. And in seeing your light I cannot help but be drawn to you again and again. I do not long for recognition, not even companionship, I long to continually look into the beauty that is you to be reminded of how glorious my own light shines, to see the mirror before me of truth and awakening, and to delve inside the image of pure loveliness: for I am you and you are me.
Dear, dear friend you are a passageway to my soul, to eternity, to my dreams and to my desires. You are the greatest gift. And I ask that you try to understand me, try to know me, and see that my intentions are none but to love you for everything you are. For you are the promise I have waited for.
Portland, Oregon —- Reflection of Tree in Window with Words I AM May 2012
I AM
Hidden in window
Waves of reflection
I am
Watching
Helplessly
As he slips through parched fingers
Cool water
Evaporated
Into sky
I am
Longing for his sky
Same world
To break free
If only momentarily
From this prison of glass
by Sam Craft
Maui 2012
Return
Erotic Dancer
Moves like dripping sunlight between sheets
Swaying sensually
In the coming of last summer’s day
Amid the amber warmth of season gone
And fall’s approach
Embraced
In oneness
Scattered crimson crows through open door
A trail of breathing soul
Hopes
Prays
Winged-wind doth carry thee home
To me
by Sam Craft
Sam Craft
Today I weep to the music of the Carpenters, with a depth I’ve never felt before. And I dance, to ABBA, with a glee only known to the Dancing Queen. This is me, today. All over the fricken place!
Everyday Asperger's 