This little girl who lives inside me was crying today.
And through the tears, I started punishing myself saying, “This is ego; don’t go feeling sorry for yourself.”
Until I remembered that by focusing on ego, I simultaneous give ego power!
One of the things weighing heavy on my mind is this chameleon presto-chango act I do.
As chameleon, I have perfected several degrees of metamorphosis. I do this by mimicking someone else (real), a character (tv), or the stereotypical characteristics of a specific role (detective/when I was 8).
I’m quite good at imitation; I can pretty much take on any role to perfection.
It’s like a hidden talent. A type of hidden talent that seems like it would come in handy, like double-agent-Jacquelyn-Smith-from-Charlie’s-Angels handy. But it doesn’t. It just pretty much sucks.
Case in point, when I first moved to the state of Washington, two and a half years ago, I meet a spiritual teacher I admired.
Bingo! Bingo! Bingo! Some part of my subconscious brain screamed, upon the acquaintance of this lady; and then, without telling me, some part of me set about to transform. Not to be her exactly. I mean I didn’t want to live in her house or steal her husband; that’s kind of loony, fatal-attraction-psycho-scary. But a piece of me did mean to clone her using my body. Hmmmmm.
In regards to this one woman, I learned how to mimic her voice, how to dress like her, and then studied to become a spiritual counselor, just like her! Surprise. Turns out I make a pretty good spiritual counselor. And, even after I tossed her persona out, I kept her cool, mellow voice. Bonus!
I think this self-discovery of self acting out a role that is not actually true self, has to be one of the oddest sensations known to mankind. And you can't really debate me, unless you've experienced this; and if you have experienced this taking on of roles without your conscious knowledge, then I am certain you would agree with me about the oddness factor, anyhow.
For all you non-chameleon types, the presto-chango experience is akin to being possessed by another life form or like being in a drunken spell for several months, and wondering what you did during those black out moments. Only you never black out completely, just a part of your awareness does. Maybe it's like waking up and finding out you have had a third hand for a few months but didn't even see it or know you were using it.
How, with my keen observation and analytical skills, I could not see my very own self doing something so obvious confuses me.
I imagine, beyond my ability to see, somewhere inside of me is a tug-of-war, where the participants are fighting: This way; be like her, be like her! No this way; be like her, be like that!
Which leads me to today.
Lately,I have been having a lot of spiritual experiences.
I am woken about three in the morning to vivid spiritual lessons. I am still half-asleep, but very aware that the lessons are occurring. But before I awake fully, most of everything is erased. Sometimes it’s poetry, other times images, sometimes Biblical verse. Also, I have been having powerful prose just pour out of me. And I have felt grand moments of serenity, peace, and healing. All of this is divine, in and of itself; the only trouble is that a part of me, that subconscious part, has been latching on to a new role; that of guru, or seer, or prophet, or even martyr. And it doesn’t help that my mom, who is always overly proud of me, bless her heart, is sending me links to saints!
And it all kind of sucks big time. Because that role of a seer, unlike suburban bimbo bunko player, is super serious and frankly no fun at all. And yes, I did the suburban bimbo bunko player part well, until I realized the acting had just about crushed the whole of me.
Oh, poo poo, crap, yuck-o!I so don’t want to drive down another road of roles again! “No way!” she exclaims. She being me, and flipping off ego, to boot.
To get sucked down the hairy drainpipe of yet another role will kill me. And this one role of the perfect seer is just too much.
I was already too serious (INFJ, Idealist, Cancerian, Only child, Aspie)…label Queen I be. How could I get more serious?
Crap! Where am I?
Damn it! (ahhhhhhh)
I’m tired of this role playing. I’m just plain tired. I’m turning in my costumes for good. I don’t care if the rest of me protests. I just can’t live anymore pretending. And if my brain won’t listen to me, then I’ll just have to take measures into my own hands.
Today was a step in the right direction. I figured out what I’d been doing, again. And then did something to symbolically stake my claim for change. I am happy. I am relieved. And I am excited… Unless, of course I am a seer channeling Shirley Temple and perfecting the role of a twelve-year-old, which is pretty darn possible.
And just to think two days ago, I was wondering if since I’ve been married and had kids, if I could still join a nunnery, and if my kids could live there, too, and my husband could have those special type of visits. I figured, likely not.
Here’s what I did today! So twelve and so loving it!
Who am I, this mystery before me, both below and outward, both inside and beneath reason?
Who am I, this single dancer in a circus line of creatures mistaken as self, whilst all about this singular is nowhere?
Who am I, this bewildered child screaming out of the darkness, whilst light is everywhere, immersing my doubt in the seeded-bed of nutriment.
Am I but my shadow, the edges of me formed by the objective angle, by the instrumental being of sun at play with madness?
Am I but marionette set to strings or the more: this twisted master puppeteer snarling and snapping from up above, laughing at the ownership of chance?
Am I the singer tethered inside shell, severed voice blocked and thusly returned by thine own harbored walls?
Am I this rice, this grain, this planted web, tangled beneath the soil of enrichment, begging within a beating substance to escape the depths from where breath labors?
Am I a blinded legless one, slithering through the streets of reason, slipping through skin in regeneration, hoping passerby will collect the shed of what’s been?
Am I the monk with cymbals, clanging-metal-smile-creator, discontented-sorrow-seeker placating the rebel masses, born into appeasement?
Am I the voice without time, the rhythm without cause, the ocean without water, the mountain without foundation? Am I merely floating in a nonsensical nonexistence, wading and wavering through that which is naught and cannot be found?
Am I dropped here, a foreigner, with all the ripened senses plucked out of me, so I may spend eternity searching for the one I once was?
Helpless at my very seams, I am.
The most of all not mended, not fixed, not finished, left to wander with the stuffing jumping outside into teasing freedom, my insides deserting captain, torn empty, this incomplete form.
I am this.
I am this universal measure in incompletion, steadying myself on untrained legs in an untrained world. Jumping through hoops that neither exist or appear, but manage to bruise the very essence from where I gather semblance and substance and order.
Hollowed I am, in the shape of the corner of the mind, bleached by the external force of unknown, blanched and then blanketed in a knowing of unknowing, taught of the presence of presence, and moment within moment, but then tortured by the possibilities that endlessly speak of nowhere.
I am this vulture starved of the carrion, starved of the self, starved of what would be me inside the mirror, if image appeared. And yet I am meant to be in some way here, as if here was evermore spoken.
And thusly I clamber and shake, my own boots too big for the climbing, my own answers too heavy to be held in the limited chambers of thought’s engine.
And I trumpet, one part bleeding out to the other parts, to prove a lingering hypothesis of ever expansion. Until the weariness speaks louder than the want. Until release beckons like the child’s grave that speaks out to broken mother. Unbendable matters beckoning forth from somewhere bleak but lacking bleakness, formed of unspoken words and erased images that never were.
Here is where the artist’s invisible and imagined heart is purged, here in the incremental sewing of the energetic threads of the absence of self.
Here I exist: as the pudding poured out from the sharpening of nothing.
I Adore Myself so Much I Could Hug and Kiss ME All Over
Aspie: Why I am So Awesome?
Take a Chance on Me…PLEASE!!!
~~~~~
Why I Adore ME:
1) My super-sized brain that enables me to be in anytime and anyplace with the blink of my pretty eye.
2) The capacity I have to entertain myself in thought over the most seemingly simplistic ideas, such as how well do I actually know the back of my hand, and am I the only one that isn’t familiar with the back of their hand, and am I more familiar with the lens of my eyeball from which I see, even though I can’t see my eyeball when I’m looking out in the world, and is my eyeball invisible? How can I see straight through my eyeball without seeing any of it at all?
3) My intense humor that makes my internal organs giggle, while producing this devious, I-am-so-radical-and-fantastic grin across my blushing face.
4) My ability to laugh at myself, over and over and over again, and my ability to point out my bazar weirdness so my friend, or neighbor, or complete stranger can laugh about me, too. Even though I know secretly they are laughing at themselves, because I am a reflection of them. And if I point that out, I like to watch their faces turn sheet white.
5) My huge empathy for everyone and everything. My urge to get out of my van and find out why the man crossing the road is homeless and to fix him all up, like in the movies. And to turn him into a freakishly charming prince, and ride off in his shopping cart into the distant sunset, all in a matter of moments, inside my brain, while stopped at the downtown stoplight.
6) My urge to save the world with my ever-building (secret hidden) super powers.
7) My butt. It’s just plain cute.
8) My need to talk to safe-looking strangers, and to compliment them, so I can see them smile and their eyes light up. The expressions I magically produce on others’ faces when my compliment is unexpected and downright odd. “Oh your house is so big and lavish and fantastic. Is this your dream house? Is this your dream come true? I wish I had a house like this. It’s so perfect. Did it cost a lot of money?” pause… “Oh, did I forget to introduce myself.”
9) My ability to have simultaneous sensations. While this isn’t the best: sticky, bitter taste in mouth, jagged bottom tooth puncturing tongue, hard chair penetrating butt, shoulders stinging from typing, throat a bit scratchy, ears hurting from hum of fridge, airplane flying overhead, clock ticking….This is fantastic: moss the brightest magical green on trees, leaves dancing and spinning in front of me as they float off the branches, spider web glistening and singing in beauty, dog smiling at me, feet crunching the leaves, rain tickling tongue, birds singing in unison: a mystical choir, flapping of wings, insects leaping, squirrels pitter-pattering and playing hide-and-seek, wind lapping hair, warmth of wool hat, heaviness of thick winter coat, comfort of wool socks, swishing of pants, the sound of my own song, the sigh, the deep breath, the inhale of fresh crisp forest air, my pulse, my heart, my stomach, my skin, my being, my total beauty connected with the world.
10) My ability to be remarkably insecure and overly confident at the exact same instant. Especially concerning my wit, charm, intelligence, and hair.
11) My need for approval while constantly denying the need for approval, as you simply don’t exist outside of my limited perception and this created illusion.
12) My bouncy spirit. No matter how low or how high, I’m always bouncing inside with the thought of getting to know you and be your friend, and learn everything about you, once you have read my blog and can recite my entire life story, so you can relate everything about you back to me, and thusly keep me the center of attention, so I know I exist somewhere inside the illusion you’ve created, because the thought of being an invisible empty space, as is clearly feasible when considering the vast universe between my spinning molecules, puts me into a state of hyper-awareness of the need to validate my existence.
13) The fact that I’m uncommon and could never ever be common and ordinary, as hard as I tried, except for the fact that Nerd and Geek are coming into the mainstream fashion; so I might feasibly become the norm, my non-ordinariness becoming ordinary; that leads me to believe I need to create another part of me so I can maintain my uniqueness before society tries to suck it out of me. Perhaps I will sprout wings or let my antennae grow…or reveal my secret lizard tongue!
14) My want to use made up words that make sense to me, and the knowledge that every word has been invented by someone, so that no words are real anyhows.
15) My ability to see patterns everywhere, to solve complex riddles while I’m sleeping, and to wake in the middle of the night with an entire script in my head that I know without a doubt I have to share with the world or I will have not fulfilled my mission on earth!
16) The ability to be entirely ME, and to see that ME is constantly in transition, that ME is subjective.
17) The way coffee turns me into an unstoppable engine of achievement (inside my head.)
18) The way I can open the number of my chocolate advent calendar in December, eat the chocolate, feel the smooth tingle go down my throat and chill of pleasure up my spine, sigh deeply, and feel like I’ve actually accomplished something for the day.
19) How I can predict and time my bodily functions and hormones. “Bitch today; check in tomorrow.”
20) Just the grandness of knowing there are other people who get me, and the giddiness I am able to feel in knowing that we are all so fricken insane that it brings saneness back into the ball field, all redressed in the ultimate coolness of different.
^^^ The song I danced to in the sauna over and over today, while I was staring at my goldfish, and thinking I’m on the other side of glass just like them; I wonder if they think I am a fish. Maybe I am a fish. Then I clucked like a chicken for absolutely no reason at all.
I have not had the chance to ask my husband if this is socially acceptable or not. So I will take a chance and make a disclaimer: My gigantic over-sized lizard tongue is not meant to be sexual in any way.
The following message came to me yesterday afternoon in the form of a vision during a James Bond action movie at the local theater. Not the best time, I say while laughing. Nonetheless, I took in as much as possible. I believe I do not do the visions justice as they come through a channel I cannot duplicate with words.
Whether this message breathes from a corner of my mind, the collective unconscious, my angels, or other, I make no claim; I only share what I see. I found this fascinating myself, and the process has freed up much stagnant energy in me.
Interestingly enough, I have processed through many relationships and “gunk” these past couple weeks at high intensity, and this processing has freed up much space inside of me.
The more I process, the more rapidly information collects within me, and the more I process out. This current post led to a deep philosophical discussion between my husband and myself, which inevitably led to more healing and recognition.
I currently like how things are rolling; though painfully gut-wrenching in experience at moments, the joy I feel is equal in measure. Thank you for being part of this journey. I count you as a true blessing.
In addition, I would like to share, that after writing post 261, I was able to release a lot of frustration and lost hope, and see and hold the individual mentioned in the post with more love and forgiveness. So something is working; I’d rather not dwell on the source of my continuing emotional and physical healing, but rather embrace the occurrence and give thanks.
I’d thought about deleting post 261, as my nature is not to spew harmful intention or words of any sort, and I know the vibration of the words are not of my typical writing. Yet, I chose to keep the post, as I am part of the human condition that endures times of deep suffering and doubt, and don’t want to present myself without flaws and confusion at time. Again, I chuckle, as this whole blog seems to be one big blemish exposed to the world. In peace ~ Sam
Falsehoods and Truth
Some say I am crazy, a magical thinker, a dreamer, a pretender, someone to avoid and beware.
This is a falsehood.
Some say I am an attention-seeker, self-centered, someone with too much inside my own head, someone to correct and humble.
This is a falsehood.
Some say I am fooling myself, I have created this calling, I am trying too hard, someone who lacked love in youth trying to compensate through sacrifice.
This is a falsehood.
Some say I should paint these pages with images and quotes of their prophet, savior, or deity, that I am someone misguided, misinformed, not awaken.
This is a falsehood.
Some say I am ugly, big-nosed, big-eared, and old, someone to be fixed, repaired, or enhanced.
This is a falsehood.
Some say I am an example, living truth of light and goodness, someone to be adored, someone to aspire to be.
This is a falsehood.
Some say I am loving and sweet and kind, and adorable, someone to cherish, and hold, and uplift
This is a falsehood.
Some say I am wise, beyond my years, selfless, giving, someone who can prophesize and help others.
This is a falsehood.
For when I accept one truth, I must too accept the rest.
I cannot pick what I choose from the collection of illusions and discard the rest. The rest remain.
When I accept others’ perceptions of me that I deem beneficial, then I must also accept others’ perceptions of me that I deem non-beneficial.
I do not have the power within me to decipher others’ views and decide which are real and which are false.
I do not have the pride in me to take what I value as uplifting, and ignore the rest.
In truth, every word whispered is alive, and in so being a truth of its own form.
In truth, every thought born is alive, and in so being a truth of its own form.
I have not the capacity, nor want, to siphon through a multitude of endless words and thoughts focused upon me to decide which is real and which is fantasy—which is accurate and which is false as applies to my worth and identity.
All are false and all are true.
All are a falsehood, and in being so all are a truth.
They speak of the illusion I am.
They speak of the mystery that cloaks my true self.
That beneath these layers of illusion of word and thought, at my core is where I breathe.
I can only be sensed in silence, at another’s very soul.
And there, I rest, love upon love, the essence of another.
And so, today, as every day forward, I recognize the falsehoods as truth unfolded as illusion.
I recognize every thought of judgment I too hold, every evaluation my mind makes from habit and survival, is mere illusion.
That as I am love: As are you.
And I release the demands I have placed upon your soul to form you into something other than love.
I release the need to lessen you, to build me.
I release the need to build you to make my reflection brighter.
I release, and rerelease, over and over, with the still voice of love whispering: Illusion.
~~~~~~~~~~~
The Apple Tree
There grows an apple tree, in the valley, upon a hill, and there the people gather, one by one; they collect the apples green and ripe, still hanging from the tree, or nearly fallen; if still good, even a semblance of good, they gather
In other ways and times and places the apples appear golden, red, or mixed between; still they are gathered in the same manner, as people set about to gather what is deemed salvageable and decent.
Yet, on the ground remains the rejected, the left, the abandoned, stepped on and forgotten. Some overlooked, some lifted and dropped, some bitten into and spit out with distaste.
And too, up above, on the branches once full, remain the other fruit, the ones marked by time, or insect, or bite of animal friend. Those as well remain, slipped through fingers and not taken from where they live.
The people, they take the apples, and they create, they divulge, they slice and cook, they dice and dunk, they mix and drink. The apples chosen are greeted mostly with delight. Fed upon. Eaten to the very core. Tossed out when no longer needed. Or perhaps set in bin or yard to decompose into ground. Still they are used. They are gathered. They are wanted.
People do the same with words. People stand outside the tree of words and watch with wonder. They have an ache and need to feed upon the words. To digest the words. To take the words. They stand outside the tree and pick what they want to keep, and pass by what they deem distasteful, rotten, or flawed. They avoid the words of bruises and blemishes. They step upon the words of rotten worms.
What people forget is that the words left, like apples, to fall or stay resting upon the ground, broken and forgotten, do not weep. They rejoice. For they are the nurturers of the earth; the chosen ones to feed the soil and meek and tiny animals of the earth. They are the source of newness, rebirth, delight, and new blossoms of spring. They are the deep seeds that rest in the cold and darkness alone to begin again in light or to be taken away to distant land, by wing of flight or animal travels.
When you gather your words. When you collect your words, to signify who you are as a person, who you are as a soul, you cannot just pick and choose the very best apples. You cannot say: This is me, because she says so or he says so. You cannot just be the desirable apples. You are as one with nature. You, too, are the apple on the ground, stomped on and forgotten, bleed out to the earth to be reborn. You too are the distasteful and unwanted. If you are to collect the highest brightest apples, you must also recognize the fallen and forgotten apples. They are all aspects of yourself. Each and everyone. None greater or lesser. All serving purpose and truth. You are a rotten apple. You feed the earth.
Thoughts on Healers/Leaders
He or she recognizes life is ever-changing, that nothing stays the same, and thusly no list of a true leader can ever exist; that to scribe a list, to produce a list, in actuality goes against their belief system. A belief system that in and of itself shifts based on the release of attachment and widening of awakening.
He or she prays or meditates or visualizes or simply thinks without thinking the potentiality and path of the higher good for all beings, whether this affects his or her current state of serenity.
He or she will recognize a truth that vibrates from the core level of a person. A truth that is sometimes based on fear and false messages to self. He or she will recognize his or her own vibrational level and inner core truth, and help lift the vibration of the seeker to an optimal level through seeing, words, or simply holding the person in thought or light.
He or she will sense the presence of a vibrational force in and throughout the world, in objects, thoughts, and words, as well as what is deemed living and/or breathing. He or she will have a reverence for all thing and people, and strive for unconditional love and acceptance.
He or she will question both his or her actions and choice, until a time comes when action and choice moves freely in open form, embracing and loving without thought or intention.
He or she will accept his or her truth as passing and pliable, easily shifted and reformed. Nothing is deemed stagnant or unmoving, even stagnation in and of itself is seen as a powerful energy, as are all things when seen in particular light.
He or she will have released most, if not all, attachments and will for material gain and recognition, and hold instead the good of all as aspiration and goal. Such goals in and of themselves are offered as release, as well, as attachment to goal is too attachment in form.
He or she will not see things in degrees or categories of right and wrong, or good and bad; instead the meeting point between to concepts deemed opposite shall be sensed as a vast expansive universe onto itself, incapable of comprehension or refinement. In sensing such a vast endless cavern separating two extremes, he or she will thusly understand the varying degrees of separateness of right and wrong are impossible to pinpoint, for there is no place to place a pin in an ever-expanding universe.
He or she will look upon others with kindness reflected in manner, breath, presence, and perception. They will radiate light and love, and be understood as one who heals from near or far.
10. He or she will create a climate for healing through words or thoughts, providing shelter for the weary and searching without pride or condensation, see him or herself as equal, a soldier too, to self and ego, and wanderer indeed, ever-moving and journeying through tides and truths. Yes..all these messages I heard/saw/sensed/felt/experienced during the first scenes of high-speed car chases and train escapes. Isn’t life grand!
And life isn’t all seriousness and such….sometimes it’s about finding the perfect little red dress for an upcoming event…or almost perfect! Still dress hunting….
Everyday Asperger's 
