spiritual

272: To Be Home

| Aspergers Girls

It has been said that people who have Aspergers are deep thinkers and poets. I think for me this is a definite truth.

Sometimes I just sit and write whatever pours out of me….well often I do. I see pictures and images, and see a story created in my mind, and I also hear the words. I feel the rhythm of each word and syllable. It is smooth, unless I write the “wrong” word, and then I feel a huge stop, or barrier in the whole of me. This selection I wrote this morning in about fifteen minute, or however long it took to type. It is, to me, the longing for connection, for another, for the missing piece to be filled, for the agape of the creator or completion of the lover, though lover in essence is not completion. It is the heart’s cry to crawl out of the illusion of one and the isolation of desired recognition, the want to be seen and to be unified and brought back to the place of whole. To be blanketed in everlasting love. To be home.

Today I have this monster of angst and unsettled sensation stirring and grumbling inside of me. Like an emptied stomach craving a food it cannot imagine, cannot picture, cannot name. Only he roars nonetheless, told by another unidentified form that he is hungry, though he knows not the essence or meaning of hunger.

Today I have the demon of demise wrapped upon me, sitting on my lap unopened and uncared for, his hauntingly spirit enticing my delight. I long to reach into the unopened and explore, but know too well the finger shall be ripped and torn, and I, left to bleed, will weep for what was touched without end.

Today I snore in silence, my trumpeting sounds of slumber unheard, and thusly unmatched, unconquered and unquenched. I am territory that lays barren, untraveled and unclaimed. I wait, this land I am, for victim to unravel and unfold upon me; so I may, too, unravel and unfold and sleep beside, a spoon to spoon, a treasure to hold and keep; until the sun comes and I am but shadow upon shadow, a vision of myself in the coming light.

Today I spawn and spin, dazzled by your substance, which I cannot touch or breathe, but in your name. And words alone do not fill me, only deplete, so I am hallowed once more, deeper and deeper into self with only your thought. I cannot dance with you; I cannot bend myself into the latitude or longitude of where you stand. Though my desire deceives me, I wish upon the star of you like no other, and long with every scaffold of my lingering heart to climb upon you and feel the ever pounding of your being.

Today you are a vision dressed in the white of memory, unreachable and distinguished, high upon high; so distant that the thought of you still flies with broken wing to find where you begin. I cannot think upon you without being pulled back and hidden behind a barrier. I cannot envision you without seeing the bleakness and black and torrential rain. All about the dancing birds sing, and yet their calls are as the demon’s last meal, broken into bones and crushed in misery of the masses.

Today I scale the mountain of my own desire and stand face-to-face with what I have thusly named you. And how you stare at me through a tunnel within a tunnel, carved out of stone of the Gods. I hear them calling you back to them, and yet I remain screaming, as if my name, my place, my stance could pull you back against the darkness that pulls your thicker and thicker into the spinning weight of now.

Today no name, no wish, no answer is found, because all about you have climaxed and advanced, beyond the space of my imagined time. You are but whisper, hidden ghost between the sheets and layered curtains of nonexistence. You haunt me with your beauty and majestic ways; you entice me time and time again, an ocean rising at the peak of me, my lady parts, and then departing like a serpent eating through my soul. My organs bleed, my skin opens, your darkness enters and feeds again, and I am left less victim than willing participant in the horror that seems home.

Today I beseech you king of mastery, the pillar of my mind that falls as domino sweetly planned, the steep and valley set upon a table for child’s play. Knock me down, one by one, a mountain crumbled upon itself, the pieces separate but together, clanging and tumbling in a makeshift play created by the creator. Watch as the stumbling begins, as the one upon the next beats down to the final destiny of end.

For Today, at the end point you shall find me. The last to be fallen. The last alone. The singular hitting stone, when all else hit each other. Oh to be the starting point, the first, the beginning touched by your grazing hand. Though slapped, and forgotten and used for your design only, to still be shaken by your very hand, least the last dying domino in a line of soldiers forgotten.

Today, I bid you farewell, buried beneath the whole of me, siphoned and forgotten; and with each goodbye that comes and goes, resurfaces like the endless tides, I bid again, in dying breath; my last words the echo of my discernment wept and lost, my judgment buried, that which rests beneath shadow of hope, the darkened space forgotten where dreams die in the dungeon of invisible.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________

A short poem written before the previous selection, this morning; my first attempt to remove the angst inside. This is about confusion of emotions, of the confusion of being, of the not wanting to be seen and shaped by others as something I am not. It is about physical and mental pain. Before today, I didn’t say what my writing is supposed to be about. I think it is beneficial for the reader to take what they want from words and leave the rest. But for some reason, I needed to explain today. I don’t know why. I just do. Perhaps to make this life seem more real, and you more connected to me. I haven’t edited any part of this or changed it. It is a poem of thoughts and processing.

I’m on my couch, laptop in lap, a redundancy

I’m on the couch, hands hurting, as they do, with the onset of any suspicion

The body is up to something, some little bug or minor fixing

And thusly I am made captive to the lingering pain

Not right, not on, not balanced, and my frail substance bleeds

Calling out for the memory of form

The memory of childhood wholeness

I’m on the couch, and the clock ticks, his neighbor black fridge hums

A scent carries from somewhere and everywhere

Something stale, something clean, something cooked

Scraping of my bones matches the pale scraping of my eyes

As the lashes clash and sting, their delight in the dancing dust

I am a vision to behold onto myself

When all about the world spins and I am left as prisoner freed

On tiny island

Where river no longer rushes through, but salt of air tears in between the blue

Feed me your sanity

Feed my your joy

Pour the essence of what is right and just into the soul of me

I cry out to the universal prose

The poet that hides inside the caverns of my hallowed grave of sorrow

Chase me down to the corners where I weep

Come find me, lost and barren

The babe of my youth sucked out with the tentacles of divine crucified

By hungry mouths that feed off of pain and badgered sorrow

I am but child fed upon by the worldly ways

Nibbled piece by piece

Dissected and set out to dry in chunks of unsettled misery

And you, are victim doubled

Your shattered dreams set upon the wind

As if the substance of nothing will blow back to you

In the absence of time

For there is nothing good

Nothing real

But the vision of the love I carry

And too, you needle this out of me

Siphon upon serpent siphon

And sting me once again

With the wicked ways of me

Tear down your mirror

Tear down this reflection you pounce upon me

Chisel me whole again

Excavate my ruins

Bring me out of the hidden mass

And revere, behold, befuddled me

Make me into the man I am

Before turning me into the demon you demand

——–

Samantha Craft, December 2012

271: Faucet Thoughts: The Psychic Vending Machine

| Aspergers Girls

Twelve Year Old Trivia: ^ I like to dance half-naked half-dressed with a pink hairbrush-microphone to this song. ^

Now the Serious Stuff…… Faucet Thoughts….

I need a brain drain, a faucet at the tip of one of my lobes that I can twist on and off (preferably without pain or damage), as to allow the excess energy splattering and bouncing about my mind to exit.

I imagine a thick flood of information all rushing down a canal and then rapidly caravanning into the corners, until at last, having entirely flooded the space, a small light appears in the distance, and all blabbering-goop charges forth in eager fashion in hopes of being the first to plunge out of a narrow pipe.

Alas, I have no faucet and no pipe…and so the faucet takes its form in the way of words: agreed upon symbols thrown together in distinct and exact order in an attempt to convey random images of the mind.

It’s not an easy task, using words. They are so limiting, yet so utterly delightful. I could eat them at times, some words, for their pure delicacy and taste, their richness, their potential, their rhythm, their purpose.

Other words I’d rather grind into the ground with spiked high-heeled shoes—red shoes preferably; though I have no idea why.

People trigger my thoughts.

I suppose I’m like a soul detective of sorts.

I sense things about my environment and people and animals to an extreme degree.

I can readily tell, within minutes of meeting someone, about that person’s worries, challenges, and battles. I can see the hidden secrets and sense the front a person puts on to protect him or herself. Sometimes people have a thick shield around them. Sometimes I sense an actual guard. When dealing with addiction, especially alcohol, there is sometimes no shield at all, but a pretend peek inside, where everything is perfect with no troubles.

Upon meeting a friend of a friend, I might tell my friend my first impressions of her friend, not in a gossiping or mean way, but strictly as analysis. Even after a two-minute conversation and a handshake, I can usually (so far always) give an accurate description of the person.

I can tell right away about the energy of a commenter on my blog, only through their words. I feel and hear their energy, and I hear messages , such as: sad, lonely, wanting, curious, angry, etc. I feel the sensations in my body at times. Sometimes I can’t shake the energy off of me.

I experience the following on a daily basis:

clairvoyance (clear seeing)

clairaudience (clear hearing)

clairempathy (sensing of emotional experience of others)

claircognizance (clear knowing or psychic knowing)

clairsentience (clear feeling)  “Clairsentience relates to the sense of touch. It is the ability to perceive energy fields through physical sensations using Psychic senses. This includes auras, vibrations, and the presence of entities. When you get a “gut feeling” about something, you are using your clairsentience. What you’re doing is using your second chakra, the spleen center, to sense things on an emotional level. Clairsentience can pick up what other people are feeling. Clairsentience often works with another ability called precognition. Precognition is the ability to know what is going to happen in advance.” Source http://www.theintuitpathway.com/temple/claires.htm

Through clairaudience I hear my angels. They are a singular voice, primarily, the sound of my own inner voice. However the words are always uplifting, nonjudgmental, supportive and encouraging. Ultimately, they are my cheerleaders, advocates, protectors and validators. So far they have always been right. They laugh when I debate or try to change their ways. I am stubborn with them, and they treat me with unconditional respect and love. They remind me of my divine worth, but above all my equality with all, how I am no lesser and no greater. They tease me about my constant request for humility, and my constant worry I am not worthy enough in their eyes. They remind me I am human and to release the guilt and shame. They remind me that anything can change and that all transitions.

I have grown a lot in the understanding of my abilities in just the last few weeks. I understand  that sometimes the worries and anxiety I have are simply not my own.  Some of the images I see that I think are dread and fear of my own manifestation are actually a future flashing before my eyes. When I feel certain pains in my body, sometimes the pain is not my own. I am becoming more fine-tuned with my abilities, and as I tune in and analyze what is happening, I am finding more peace of mind.

I am now keenly aware of some of the knowings I have during my day.  In just twenty-four hours I saw through visions and through sensing in my body the following events:

a person having a cold that involved continually dripping of the eyes and drainage of the nose, with the inability to stop the dripping; I saw this as a vision throughout the day of a person’s face with lines pouring out of the eyes and nose. (The person in question was a close friend’s daughter falling ill the next day. Because she has special needs, she is challenged by the task of nose blowing. Her eyes were also watering a lot.)

a person having a lump under their left armpit. I sensed this while standing at a mirror. I had the urge to feel beneath my left armpit for a lump; something I do not do and hadn’t done in years. (My good friend called me the next morning and said: “I just wanted to make sure you aren’t picking up on me and my energy, as I found a lump under my left arm, and I know how you worry and think it is your own body.”)

a sharp pulling and tugging and pain of my left arm, enough to make me gasp and take a pain reliever. A pain I hadn’t experienced in years and that went away by the next day. (A lost dog appeared at my door, moments after posting my cats and dogs post, who had an injured front left leg and was being pulled on a leash by a person searching for the dog’s home. My pain diminished in half upon seeing the dog.)

an  inner voice saying I needed to buy a bath brush, and the actual bath brush visually popping out at me in the store aisle, as if glowing and calling my name. (I never buy bath brushes. When I got home my husband said he wanted a bath brush for Christmas; we’ve never owned one and he’s never requested one before.)

a vision of a flood of water near an electrical cord, a panicked feeling of electrocution. (Moments later I went upstairs to find a large puddle of water on the kitchen counter, a result of a spill, with an electrical cord in the center.) {In the past I would have thought I was being paranoid or overly fearful; now I recognize my feelings as a vision, as precognition.}

Sometimes I ask my angels for signs. This week, as I am quirky, I wanted to see the shape of an apple in an odd place. I was thinking like a walking, man-sized mascot apple or something like that. An unpredictable image that signified a certain relationship was safe and beneficial. My angels have the most remarkable sense of humor; as I was eating corn chips, I noticed the entire center of one chip was missing, except for an outline, and the missing piece was in the exact shape of an apple.

Yesterday, while in my sauna, I asked to see a sign of something flying outside my window. Not a butterfly, but something small and lovely. I have a very limited view from where I sit inside my sauna, but I can see the upper half of a tall pine tree. As I sat resting, I spotted a humming bird flying between the branches of the pine tree. It’s the first humming bird I’ve seen during the winters here.

Also, sometimes I ask for messages in the form of written word, and will open a book to find an answer to my soul’s desire. I recently was comforted by a passage from a Buddhist text. The message in summary said that although you are centered in self with acute awareness of life and energy, you are human and will still experience extremes of emotions.

I needed to know that my emotions were okay. I needed to be reminded that I am human.

I’m not quite sure why I’m sharing all of this today. I think I am being called to explore my abilities more, and to perhaps rekindle the vocation I began two years ago.

I’ve learned in the past couple of months to trust my body’s intuition. For instance, I focus on an idea for my future vocation or question a feasible goal, and then sense how these thoughts cause me to feel inside my body. I’ve learned to side-step logic and trust in my inner feelings. This has greatly reduced the pressure I place on myself mentally to make a decision. I have read and studied an abundant of works, and as a result have floating inside of me constant variants on what is the correct and incorrect way to respond, behave and choose. I have found that relying on all the endless data that feeds and scaffolds off of itself, is much more wearisome and exhausting than simply pausing, breathing in a thought, and then gently feeling how this thought feels. If the thought feels comforting without any degree of resistance, I then have a knowing that I am balanced and at peace in the decision. If I feel resistance of any form, I let the thought go with the intention of revisiting the thought, if and when needed, in the future. For the present I let my body remained balanced.

As of late, I have also noticed I have little to no anger for anyone, anything, or any event. I have moments of frustration, but usually that is once a day, if at all. I have no anger for myself, either.  I have no worries about me as a person, beyond finding balance between my gifts and daily functioning. And even this is not so much a worry, but a careful observation.

I’ve also seemed to have developed, or rather awakened, a form of medical intuitiveness. A dear friend recently confided in me about her diagnosis of lupus. (I had a vision of lupus moments before she called me.) After a few conversations about the subject, I had a clear knowing. I informed her that during her upcoming appointment that the specialist would tell her that the blood tests were wrong and that she did not have lupus. I also told her that what concerned me most was her past diagnosis of Hepatitis C and that I believed that was either a wrong diagnosis or had disappeared. I would soon find that I was correct on both accounts.

My friend called, relieved, and said: “You should be a doctor.” I had to laugh and remind her that the doctors were the ones that were wrong to begin with.

And one last thought. I used to have a terrible time with criticism and rejection. Now I often do not react if I am “attacked” by words. In fact, just this week, twice I was able to step back from what I would deem mean statements and spend very little time and energy on the matter.

I am a reflection of light and love.

I have an inner core of purity, peace and goodwill.

How someone else choses to see me is their business, and their business alone.

I choose to keep my eyes focused on beauty.

~~~~

As I’m sitting in my bathtub, soaking up the dead sea salts and listening to a visualization sound-therapy selection on my I-Pod, and thinking how awesomely good the acoustics are in my bathroom, and floating somewhat out of my body, I realized: No wonder I’m fricken tired all the time….on top of having Aspie traits, I’m a non-stop psychic vending machine. 

~~~~

This morning I was sitting on the couch, partaking in an intensely deep conversation with my significant other, regarding my complex logical perception of love. I am having eloquent revelations and profound understandings, and expressing myself with humility and clarity. Aglow with knowledge and inner light, I sit basking in the element of essence. Wow, connecting with spirit is awesome!

“Ding-Dong,” the doorbell rings. I jump off of the couch in fear, taking a defensive pose, crouching and speeding to the staircase, while screeching and giggling, “I have to run downstairs and hide!”

I love me.

268: The Union

| Aspergers Girls

She entered gently, the kissing sunshine on her shoulders sweet, a baroness of beckoning light within my dimly lit threshold

I greeted her, the door man shy, and took my place at fair lady’s feet, the honey-milk of her scent upon me

My awakening came slowly, as the crimson rose blooms beyond time, opening bud after bud to her glory

She whispered, her words a chisel of feather soft, her eyes the ebony of compassion, her hand upon my surrendered shoulder

Touched, I wept, the tears inside cleansing wounds of sword, fractures of youth’s mourned merriment

My every cell moved, beholding this adorned child dressed in blue, the ocean maiden of the distant ages

Streams of aqua reborn, merged forward, pushing the heart of past into the baptismal of present, a forest of water at my door

Quaked, my very existence stood tall, quaked, the foundation of all truth and valor collapsed without fall, the boundaries dripping as honey, disappearing into the depths of hope

I faltered in thought, recalling my place, my duty, and traced the outline of her shadow, a maiden with endless treasure, the illusion of end marking entrance to eternity

‘I am home.  I am home,’ the whispers came, a tapping upon the window of heart, an opening to the view of victorious

To have found the mirror of me, the echo of my existence, to have found the palm of palm, and coming of my own dawn

To watch as her sunrise awakens the world beneath my flesh, calling upon the beast to rise and devour with gaunt hunger what is served, dish upon dish

Beyond the cage I sat, wanting and waiting, my crying her own breath, my need fulfilled at the calling of her name

The spoken word, a spell upon my lips, a taste upon my soul, to behold the beauty unwrapped before me

To behold the mistress of my ache, the mistress of my time and making, the sun captured within the capsule of opened spirit

To kneel before the queen of my own mystery and bounty, and melt into the vision as one, my every wish to rest within her endlessly

Beyond captured, I retreat into gentle man’s cave, and even there the darkness dissipates, healing blood pulsating across the caverns

Everywhere is her redness, her sacrifice, her singing love, and I cannot but help to taste her, as the sugar-coated finger to mouth

For she is in me, about me, and beyond, her essence the chalice of my life, and I shall drink and drink until the ocean floor sits alone

The liquid of all siphoned into my open mouth, her jewels my own crown, her all, my answered prayer

‘Come, Sweet Lady,’ I cry, come through my doorway, and stay, rest at my side eternal angel, so I may rise again, complete within this union of you

~ Samantha Craft, December 2012

267: Cats and Dogs and Penis Envy

| Aspergers Girls

I awoke before four in the morning today with words and images twirling nonstop in my mind. I felt like a giant lollipop being dipped in the swirls of sweet wisdom.  Although I was sleepy, and wanting to fall back into a deep slumber, I was made awake, wrapped spiritually in what could essentially be called a lesson review of sorts.

The images and thoughts came swiftly, and with a touch of deliberate humor, ended with memories of my first college course, where I sat a plum-faced, shy freshman girl, surrounded by upper classmen. I had signed up for Psychology of Human Sexuality Course on a whim, having had no clue that the course would actually be about real sex!

I giggled this early morn, as the lesson dancing in my head wrapped up, and I was reminded of the term penis envy, a popular belief back in the early days of my schooling: the thought that many of women’s psychological insecurities are caused by their subconscious desire to have the same package as men.

I chuckled inside at the memory of class, of going around in a circle, and each of us female members of the group describing our degree of envy. Back then, I was so malleable, still am, that any belief system set upon me, I innocently absorbed as truth. Thusly, I went around for many years thinking I wanted to grow male stuff.

Today, in the wee hours of the morn, as the lesson began, with my mind’s eye, I saw numerous dogs and cats posed in various ways in their silly hats and wearing their silly expressions. And then I saw a massive amount of other animals, starting with the more common American pets of snakes, turtles, and hamsters, and ending with pigs and rats, and even monkeys. The debate came to my mind between cat lovers and dog lovers, and then I saw how silly the debate was. I saw that as a society we created these pets as our favorites, and then divided the camps. I thought about why they were our favorites: cuddly, responsive, expressive, fairly clean and predictable, sensitive, and perhaps even thoughtful.

And then I thought that the love of dogs and cats was all by choice, that as a collective we could easily have chosen a pig and a rat as our favorite pets, that instead of cats and dogs that pigs and rats could be there in their place…perhaps in another time or universe.

I began to visualize the various poses of pigs in their holiday wear and with their big eyes, and with captions written across their photos. I could see the rats too, all decked out for the season, with jingle bell vests, and more. It wasn’t such a leap out of our current reality.

In truth, much of what happens is all about what we as a whole choose to make our reality.

Then I realized that the expectations we have upon animals do actually affect the behavior of the overall species. With millions of people thinking dogs are awesomely friendly, no wonder they walk around with goofy grins and wagging tails. I imagine that if the collective believed all natural brunettes were brilliant, fascinating, and someone to aspire to be, I would walk around with my bum shaking a bit too, with goofy smile to boot.

I began to wonder what would happen if we replaced all the cats and dogs (temporarily and in theory only) with two other animals. I visualized the majority of pet owners with a snake at their side, cuddling during a television show, with the turtle tucked under the covers with their owner at bedtime.  And the thoughts didn’t seem so farfetched; for with enough conditioning and collective belief, we have the potential to mold any species’ behavior.

I had intense laughable visuals of a pet owner holding their ant farm during a movie or even housing a bee’s nest in their home and keeping a window open for free access to the fields. I began to see how anything was possible, if enough people believed or accepted a norm. This is evident from culture to culture, when considering what animals are revered, accepted as pets, or eaten for supper.

These thoughts led to the concept of ownership, and the fact that most domesticated dogs are entirely dependent upon their owner. I imagined what that dependency must feel like for dogs, how they must wonder when the food will come, the fresh water, the walks, the grooming, the holding, the words “good dog.” How they live their lives essentially as a prisoner to their master’s behavior, wherein the pet is entirely dependent on what their owner does.

I began to think that perhaps this dependency could cause some dogs a type of sadness, as I believe was in the case of my Goldendoodle, Scooby. For the first couple years of Scooby’s life, Scoob appeared mostly sad and withdrawn, until we brought home another dog. Then his spirit lit up and he seemed to come alive. But then he fell into another sadness spell, shortly after we moved to Washington, and he had less of a yard for roaming. He began to crave walks, and beg for walks, and on the days there were no walks, he sat in the corner forlorn. Scoob also despised all dog food. Most of his days he set about to steal whatever people food he could from out of the sink or atop the stove—like some grizzly bear at a picnic. He was adorable, but primarily a sad pup. Being empathetic to animals, I always sought to cheer him up, through fur massages and rough housing with a stuffed toy, even dancing to music. Still, he seemed to feel as if he was trapped in a life I ordained for him, that I ran, that I created.

This thought led me to the idea of the human experience, that we, too, as a people, have our own masters: our accepted beliefs; and that in truth, the only thing we can control, as many ancient teachings state, are our thoughts.

I suppose my Scooby didn’t have that capacity—to control his thoughts. Instead all he could see at certain times was missed opportunity. Even on the days we walked, he longed for more. Perhaps he would have been the happiest on a ranch estate. Perhaps if he’d had the capacity to daydream, that is where he went, to the golden fields where he could run until his legs gave out beneath him. I like to think that is where he is now, with a perpetual wet-nosed smile upon his face.

From here my thoughts turned to the social taboos of societies. It was at the age of eighteen, in that human sexuality college course, I first learned about how a society actually creates what is socially acceptable. I remember pondering about the collective creating ideals of rights and wrong, popular and unpopular, and loved and unloved.

The way my professor explained social taboo, forever stayed in my mind. The professor asked the class to visualize a planet in which it was socially unacceptable to eat in front of another person; to imagine a place where you were only allowed to eat in private or with a special significant other, a world in which people ate in the dark of their bedrooms, even under the covers; a place where chewing in public was seen as vulgar and disgusting, and punishable by law. My professor explained about how the body opening of the mouth was only to be used for practical purposes in public: for breathing, drinking, and talking. Laughing was a risk, for the mouth might open too wide.

This other world’s eating taboo he then compared to sexual intercourse and the naked flesh taboos of this world.

I remember then that a light bulb turned on in my mind. It was in that classroom I understood that much of what I was told and much of what was modeled were based on a collective’s culture and belief system, and that I was living in a world with unpredictable and shifting values.

In theory what was a norm that day and what was deemed taboo at the same moment would shift with the passing of time. I remember feeling extreme discomfort. I recall analyzing the current taboos of the time, particularly mixed-race marriage and homosexuality. I concluded that in time people’s views would shift, and as a whole our outlook and perception would change, that the unacceptable would become accepted, or at least move in the direction of the majority accepting.

The reality of the collective establishing truth boggled my mind. I could see clearly how I was a part of the collective and even though I was aware that I lived in a society that created truths and rights and wrongs, that even with my awareness I was continually molded by these created truths. I was in essence powerless.

I wondered where the truth really rested, how I could reach it, and how would I know.

I recognized that at a certain level, beyond conscious awareness, I was affected by what others accepted as truth. I recognized ultimately I was affected by what others thought. Living on this planet, the collective belief system was to a degree always to be a cornerstone of my own belief system—their reality, my reality; their conclusions, my conclusions.

I innately knew, I wouldn’t be able to fully grasp multi-dimensions, the supernatural, and the magic of the world, until the majority accepted this as a possibility, but that even then, whatever was believed and grasped onto by the whole could and would once again shift.

I was a dependent part of an intricate and mind-blowing mechanism, no less and no more, and entirely unable to escape. In a sense, I was my dog, my Scooby, waiting in my chair to see what the masters did.

It wasn’t until this morning, through all of these aforementioned thoughts that manifested in a span of twenty-minutes, that I recognized what was happening to me with more clarity: a shift was occurring.

More and more people were expanding their awareness and understanding of the illusion of the world and the power of thought, and thusly so was I.

november-walk

266: Husky Men, Butterflies, and Sunshine

| Aspergers Girls

Some early mornings I sit in my van in the driveway and weep deeply. Today was one of those mornings. I listened to a song over and over and let the tears fall.

I’m learning to let my emotions come. And I’m learning to take care of myself. Really take care of me. Because I am precious and lovely.

I took a Dead Sea Salt bath this morning. And I let myself be. This rebalanced me.

I experience extreme emotions, daily. Sometimes they are mine; sometimes I find out that I am experiencing something akin to what a close friend or relative is experiencing.

I’m beginning to understand, to distinguish, the difference between my own emotions and others’. I’m beginning to understand how deeply affected I am by others’ core energy and thoughts—what is their essence, their fears, their joys, their belief and experience….and then beyond that to what is their spirit, the beautiful divine.

My “feelings” take me on great adventures. Often, daily, I spend hours upon hours, as if floating on air. I feel connected to the world, and a profound inner peace. I know without doubt I am surrounded by a fleet of angels, protected, watched and bathed in unyielding love.

There has been a great shift in me the last few weeks; where in I used to be carried away with my extreme emotions, now I am a bystander. I have the ability and capacity to step outside of the experience and become the silent observer offering my inner transitioning self my unconditional support. This other me, this “higher” me, she is constantly content, at peace, and in love with herself, others and life. She isn’t weeping or flying on the air. She just is.

I’ve been “practicing” visualizing what I want in my life. It’s been fun, in that giddy-little-girl way. I keep hearing behind me somewhere, or perhaps from deep within me, to be careful what you wish for, as the universe usually unfolds to give me what my deepest desires are.

I’ve had to reel in some of my own thoughts and needs, and continually pray for the higher good of my self and others, as I have a few fanciful ideas of my own that are only for my pure pleasure.

The other day, actually last week, I wanted to see how this visualizing worked. I wanted something fun and easy. I wanted something light-hearted—something my girlfriends would giggle at.

And so I asked, jokingly, for my angels to make husky (handsome) men in flannel shirts appear all day long. For then I could imagine laughing with my friends at the sudden rugged appearance of flannel-wearing hunks. I carried my friends with me throughout the day. And wouldn’t you know it, at every turn, in the stores shopping, on the streets wheeling out garbage, in cars and trucks and busses, were men in flannels. I wondered what would have happened if I had added the word naked to my list.

The next day I asked for a butterfly, that’s all I wanted. I wanted confirmation from my angels that they hear my prayers. And so, in the dark of winter, I visualized seeing a butterfly in flight. A real butterfly. I was specific. An image wouldn’t do.

I felt inside they would produce this for me. I felt in a few days time I would see a butterfly. And I would know.

Yesterday, we took a trip to a museum. I had no idea or forethought about the exhibits presented there. Turns out there was a huge butterfly exhibit. One where you walk inside, through the humid air and greenery and flowers in bloom, and get to dance within the sweeping butterflies. So many in flight, so many colors, so beautiful. And oh so confirming. I’d like to go back and just sit in the butterfly world for hours upon hours and do nothing but watch them be.

What shall I visualize now?

I visualize your smile, your inner peace, your love, your beauty. And I so wish for you to see how gorgeously lovely you are in every feasible way, in all ways imaginable, the beauty in your richest dearest dreams, and I wish more for you to be lathered in the love of the universe, to be dipped and re-dipped in the goodness that is both you and me. To be overwhelmed with a sense of peace and a knowing you are exactly where you need to be. Bless you and the butterflies. May we all honor our season, whether in cocoon, or nearly set to flight, may we see how divinely brilliant we shine.

May you feel the sunshine on your shoulders, Dearest You!

Even in the smallest events there’s no such thing as coincidence. – Haruki Murakami