spiritual

Day 71: I Had a Dream

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What has happened to me in the last five years. What goes on in my head.

Thank you for being part of my journey. You will never know how much you have healed me. Bless you.

As always, this is my journey and I am not trying to push my experience or belief system onto any person. Click here to see my thoughts on spirituality.

I Had a Dream

The Spring of 2005

Except for the light from the slivered moon the road was black.  My foot hit the pedal and I sped up faster and faster towards the tracks.   Mangled is what I wanted.  But I wouldn’t have the nerve to stop, to wait for a train.  There would have to be another way.  Perhaps a motel off the interstate, perhaps some pills and a forever sleep.  I shook away the thought and breathed a prayer.  “Please, help me.”

The ache of the past had become my own Siamese twin.  So much so, I didn’t know where my pain stopped and my true self began.  I was pain.  I was the past.  We shared the same blood.  Everything and anyone could conjure up bitter memories, especially certain sounds and smells.  Everyday was yet another rerun of all the misery I’d viewed before.  The scenery and characters might change, but the plot and outcome never altered.  I knew all the psychological jargon, the self-talk, the imaging, meditation, and so on; and they served as my air so to speak, the invisible space which kept me temporarily afloat as I waved back and forth in a stormy sea clinging to an inflatable raft filled with holes…

The rest of this story is in the book Everyday Aspergers

 

© Everyday Aspergers, 2012. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. https://aspergersgirls.wordpress.com

Day 58: Angel and Mary

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By StrawberryIndigo “My Life In Color” Click on image

Sometimes I get afraid to write. I’m afraid I won’t write the correct message, won’t express myself in the right light, won’t use my words adequately to express the deeper meaning. That I will get prideful, that I will depend on others’ input too much, that I will weep at criticism, that I will offend or scare some away. Such fears keep me from shining. Such fears stop me from trusting.I know innately there is no right or correct way to communicate. I know ultimately there is no failure, and that my words’ power and energy are not dependent upon others’ opinions or reaction. What matters is being honest and true to myself. What matters is trusting who I am. What matters is moving forward with beneficial light and kindness.

I want to begin sharing another part of my journey, experiences that long to be shared to such a degree that an essence knocks at my inner door calling over and over to be opened.

Today I open the door.

The first experience I will share with you is what I would deem remarkable. It was a long time ago, but begs to be shared. Why now, at this exact moment and on this day, I do not know.

Angel and Mary

Written by Samantha Craft on March 27, 2012

Long ago, in the fall of 1990, during a time in my life when I was still training to be a teacher and trapped within the vice of a romantic relationship that left me tormented and lonely, I questioned my place in this world.

I remember vividly sitting up in bed, under my father’s roof, in my bedclothes. I remember staring at my own reflection in the mirrored-closet doors and wailing to God. I was begging, asking for forgiveness, demanding to see a sign, so I would know, without a doubt, that everything would be all right.

It was then, as I was screaming at the top of my lungs for mercy, I heard a voice. A small voice from somewhere, possibly from within, possibly from beyond. A still voice that was so very light and freeing. This would be the first night in my life that I would sleep soundly and free of nightmares. This would be the first night that before drifting into a deep slumber, I would be filled with a soothing energy, a wordless lullaby that moved my entire being in the shape of a figure eight, shifting my neck and back in a peaceful swaying motion.

The voice I heard before I drifted to sleep, whispered only one word—the word Colfax.

During this time, my last years in college, I’d found a friend in Angela, an open-minded, spirited gal who sat beside me in my teaching preparation classes. When I awoke the next morning after hearing the voice, I contacted Angela and explained to her the events of the night.

Trusting my experience, she said, that like me, she believed that something was going to happen with this word Colfax, something powerful. Angela anxiously set about researching the word Colfax in the library. I remember her telling me in class, the next day, that she’d found several places named Colfax in America, and that one such place was located about fifty miles north of us.

I began doodling the word Colfax on my notebook. Colfax was all I could think about. The lady sitting next to me in class, a fellow student named Maryanne, upon seeing my doodles, asked me quietly, “Is that where you are from? Because that’s where I live.”

I soon found out that Maryanne had lived in Colfax for quite some time. I explained to her that I had never heard of the town of Colfax before a few days ago, and that I had a distinct feeling that there was something having to do with Colfax that I was supposed to discover. Maryanne kindly invited me to drive up over the weekend and visit her.

On Saturday, Maryanne, as promised, drove me about the small country town of Colfax. We stopped at a restaurant, a park, and a few other places. All the while Maryanne asked: “Do you sense something?”

I left in the evening discouraged and saddened. I’d sensed nothing, felt foolish, and worried for my sanity and reputation.

These unsettling feelings stayed with me, until a few days later in class, the day Angela came bursting through the door of our classroom.

That day, Angela sat down at my side, caught her breath, and said to me: “I have something to tell you.  Something you’re not going to believe!”

I waited.

She continued: “You know about Colfax? Well, it is all over the news this morning! People from all over, as far as Texas, are traveling to Colfax, near where Maryanne lives, to see a vision in St. Dominic’s Catholic Church, some reflection through the stained glass window which looks like the outline of the Virgin Mary.”

Angela scooted in closer.  Streaks of her black hair reflected beneath the fluorescent lights.  “You were right,” she whispered. “You were right.”

I shook my head and tried to smile, still processing all that Angela had reported.

“What are you going to do?” Angela asked.  “Are you going to go back? You knew something important was going to happen there, and it did. It really did. Remember at first, you thought that Colfax was a person or a far away place?  And here it is, right up the hill from us!” Angela shook her head.  “Isn’t it strange that you’ve already been there, before all of these people? Are you going to go?”

“No,” was all I could think to answer. “I’ve already been.”

It wasn’t until some twenty years later, I realized a profound truth, the fact that the two people involved in my search of the meaning of Colfax, the only two people I confided in and trusted, were named Angela (Angel) and Maryanne (Mary).

Small Article relating to event.

Day 45: The Land Of Grand: A Story of Hope

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“I pray for a time when we each shine in our own uniqueness and authenticity. When the idleness of conforming has transformed into an active celebration of the masses’ manifestation of love, acceptance, and peace. “ ~ Sam Craft

The Land of Grand:

There once was a kingdom in a make-believe land, so beautiful and lovely it was named: The Land of Grand. Until one day, when the King fell ill, from a terrible fall on a terrible spill. From that day forward, he rest in bed, with a gigantic lump upon his head. And as much as they tried, the people of the court, all of their remedies and cures fell short.

Thus the poor king remained dormant and sad, in his chamber all day, while the kingdom grew mad. The fields started to whither, the people the same, as they stuck to their homes, and played no more games. The laughter it ceased, the echoes grew dim, where once there was joy, a gloom had moved in.

This is to be turned into a children’s story: 2021 update

© Everyday Aspergers, 2012. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. https://aspergersgirls.wordpress.com

Day Forty-Two: On Leadership

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I wrote this in (2010) Heard in one sitting. I wrote what I heard.

On Leadership

To lead is to forge the field. You (as leader) are no less responsible for beauty than the farmer who plants the seed. For he is useless is he not, without the sun beating down on the hearth of earth, the weed gently departing as worm spirals onward, the Cheshire Cat of yesterday* breaking way for formidable weather, as rain trickles down in her gentleness, neither drying or erasing.

For the farmer is a necessity, a part of the cyclic process of rebirth, but neither the ultimate piece nor the entire piece. For what is a garden without seed, without proper care?

Who is to care for the crops once they are bloomed? Again the farmer gathers and cleanses, again he replants. But what is it that he doth replant? Is it not the miracle of seed? The tiny element created within creation?

You are not but a worthy planter, less these seeds are worthy. You are not a true caller of spirit, less spirit is provided. The farmer no less provides the seed, as the sea bird the ocean. Still he dives to the depths of darkness and retrieves great beauty and nourishment, knowing not from which this beauty grew or was born. So a farmer is less a farmer, and more a grower.

A leader is a grower, an incubator nurturing the gift of living element and caretaking as the hen to warm the haven until arrival.

Your role is vital. All roles are vital. But lead first with the gentleness of the angels. Spread your wings and protect before climbing the mountain from valley to preach. Seat not yourself center or first, or either behind. Seat yourself in the position most needed, ever shifting to meet the requirements of the seekers, who lead themselves, a multitude of seeds waiting to blossom and enrich, and even say forthright ignite thy world.

When you ask of leadership on how to lead, and the right way to lead: you lead by example first. In how gently you remember your place; that is that your place is not at the head of the table or the back of the room, but in the center of hearts where you justly belong.

Seek not position of fortitude, or strength in numbers, seek position of greatness of heart and mind, and fortitude of the millennium, drawing from the well of knowledge for greatest understanding, and comparing this not to others who draw closer carrying their own buckets, however burdensome or heavy.

Keep your bucket light, so to fill it again and again, reviewing the process of discovery as a fresh student, excited and renewed. To carry a heavy bucket is a burden to the soul. To fill and fill without wanting to stop to rest is to bend your body into a position to be broken. Rest my child and refill the bucket when you are thirsty. Seek forth knowledge, as you seek for water, enough to quench your thirst, but not too much to bloat and stop the process from reaching its beneficial potential.

Think you not on the bloated bodies on the beach**, think you on the rain clouds that fill and fill and then down pour. They reach a point when the water must fall, when the truth must drip down to a different dimension. And so is with us, as to you. Fill and then spill down thy truth. In this way you will remained balanced and fulfilled, if not re-filled.

Speak again, We on leadership. Judge not the leaders before you. They are as unique as each sunset, as brilliant and welcoming as each sunrise.

Judge no one and nothing, as you know each and every is a teacher in guise for your betterment.

It is true you will see in the mirror which is most relevant to present itself, but do not gaze into the mirror for long periods of time, a glance is enough to indicate inner change. Glance with lingering eyes and run the risk of the desire for change of what you see, when in truth you see nothing but your own self-created image. So in this way, view the mirror in passing, take what is needed, and thusly adjust. No more, no less.

Leadership in your eyes is a priority, as you were built for leadership, in the way you were raised in the desires We planted in your heart.

But there is not a leader that you will emulate or you will find, for you are uniquely you, and in this way you will (do) lead like a joy-filled child, skipping down the hill to the clear, and welcoming values of gratitude and hope.

Lead them not so much to the waters or the valley, as to the welcoming spirit that waits inside them each.

You will remain child-like for every, as long as you choose to walk this path on this earth, and in this way you will be trusted and welcomed by many.

You shall not lose you humility, passion, want, and need for love—and in this way, as a child you shall remain entirely human, carrying with you the divine perfection in the eyes of your youth.

Do not emulate another’s softness of character, the quietness of creature, or the one who does not laugh as heartily, for your laughter is a key, a vibrational key to break open rifts and so called blockages. Just as your tears shall open gates, so shall your child-like laughter. Do not seek to become serious and unattainable, for you will become all that you seek.

The innocent shall seek you, for they shall see the innocent untouched spirit within you. You and yours shall see many blessings as you follow this calling that we know has not and is not always perceived as this word easy.

Lead first and foremost with your heart. Listen to the beat of reason less and the calling of your need to heal more. Fix less. Help more.

In leading you will gently release your need to know how to lead, for you will become, and embody leadership through a natural process.

We will guide you and you need (as always) not fear. There is nothing fearful in leading the innocent and guiding them to reclaim their voice. No one can hurt the one who is guarded by a legion of angels. So rest in the comfort we are with you, and whomever you touch we shall gather in our wings and let quietly sleep in the knowledge of peace.

Remember who you are, and in remembering you will forget the shadows called fear.

* The cat’s grin remained suspended in air even after the whole of the cat disappeared. Yesterday is smiling upon us and remains, even though we cannot see this yesterday (cat).

** Dead bodies on a beach are from  Sam’s past experience.

The word every is used in replacement of every-one

Day Twenty-Three: A Sliver of My Sacred Hours

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Everyday that I sit to write, usually between the Pacific Coast hours of 9:00 and 11:00 a.m., is a sacred journey for me. Whether I am coming off a black tea caffeine-high, and spicing my ramblings with humorous prose, or sharing a profound recollection or excerpt from past journals, I honor this time as a part of my spiritual passage. And for being here, and sharing in this journey, I thank you. My hope is that you leave with something of value, though I understand your experience is your experience, and out of my control. Still, my intention is to connect and share, to never preach or persuade. I hope you can sense my intention.

I feel guided by a higher spirit during my revered two hours. I try not to plan what I am going to write, because when I do plan, the words never match my idea of what I’d thought to type. Usually, the prose is at a dynamic polar opposite of my original preset plan.

I believe in a higher power but choose not to let my belief system affect my open heart and mind—I wish to remain available to life and avoid rigidness and dogmatic viewpoints. Obviously, in someway, my belief system will always define, minimally at a subconscious level, how I perceive life.

In analyzing my spiritual reckonings, I say today, at this very moment of writing, I haven’t had a choice but to believe in some higher being, collective energy, or presence. A source that remains beyond myself and my limited understanding.  As odd as that may sound—the statment of having had no other option but to believe in a higher source—this remains a fact in my life. I accept this is my current truism, and recollect, that like the flowers through the seasons, I will inevitably transition, possibly into a new state of comprehension. As I explained in my fist post, I conjecture our perception of life is based on multiple factors:

“Our understanding of this life experience is primarily based on our individual genetic makeup, societal influences, family environment and dynamics, adopted belief systems, and the limitation of the five senses. Some would go further and postulate that our experience of this life is based on a collective spiritual, and perhaps even ancestral, journey, and/or that we are living a journey already preordained and set out in an exact blueprint. There is the concept of emptiness. There is the idea of heaven. The thought of the collective unconscious. The faith of a higher power. Some even hold true to the fact that we are living in multiple dimensions, creating infinite destinies with each and every decision, each and every breath. Others believe this life is finite–that the real reward rests beyond.

Each of us holds something to be true about our experience of the world: even if that truth is simply believing no truth exists.”

 I understand this is only my idea of my universe. I choose to not place my view onto others, as I recognize my individual limitations to see the whole of what is before me; if in fact, anything exists before me at all. Within the vastness of my mind, I postulate that my higher source is an energetic love, and whether he or she, or even it, bares the face of a recognized deity, God, spiritual being, or other established truth, serves no baring in my determination of what is momentarily true for me.

Whether or not my higher source is the commonly accepted name of any given society—past, present, remote, distant, or near—is no matter to me. Having clung to and/or embraced multiple belief systems and faiths, I have determined, for myself, and me alone, that whatever the masses proclaim to be the form or name of a higher power, does not substantiate or decrease my belief.

I believe the power behind words, particularly the names of gods or deities, comes from the intention of the people proclaiming said names. When a word is spoken by the masses to represent truth and love, then the word reflects truth and love. And I conjecture the opposite to be true.

Like others before me, I believe words and symbols vibrate with collective energy, and that the level of vibration is determined directly by the belief system applied by the individual writing or speaking the word. Each of us experiences a word’s vibration based on the collected whole’s interpretation and in combination with our own life experience and understanding of the word. Words are simply, or not so simply, symbols transformed into pictures, images created in our minds. What I visualize in my mind is ultimately different from what another pictures in his or her mind. The variance of experience is inevitable, but the power behind a given word remains universal.

In current times, the line between science and religion, and other belief systems, regarding human’s state of existence, is becoming narrower and narrower; the line often appearing to vanish, as one sect’s of accepted truth overlaps with another sect’s of truth. I believe any man (woman) who holds onto his or her truth as the exact and only truth to be an innocent one. Inside the elements of my truth, all of us are innocent: for even when one accepts the limitations of the mind, he or she is still grasping at his or her individualized way of interpreting the world. This is not to say that I do not envision my higher power as a particular embodiment, only to say I understand my mind’s limitations.

In actuality, there is current evidence for an ever-changing world and belief system based on individual perception. The science community continues to postulate, from collected data, that an electron’s movement is directly related to the observer. And man has recorded photographs of water crystals forming exact shapes and form based on the vibration of the written words and/or the intention of one’s thoughts. Reality is being captured by man as a state of perpetual transition based on the observer.

I share this with you as a form of preparation. Not for you so much, but for me. As this aspect of myself is a vital piece of who I am, and how I currently present myself through words. In my walking world, where my physical form is present, I often shy away from topics encompassing my reality of life, but here, where I am shedding light on my experience, I find a necessity, at least for today, to be as real and authentic as possible.

Ironically, I aspire to paint with words a picture of my individual reality, while I know this world is not mine to own or create alone.

I’ve included a substantially complex prose entitled Universal Measurement below, which delves deeper into one’s  perception. In no way do I claim this as anyone’s truth. I’m not even certain the writing is what I know to be true. The words are only words, miraculous letters combined to convey a sliver of a glimpse of what I perceived. I still embrace many aspects of the religion I was raised to know; the main difference now is that I acknowledge my own being’s limitations to ever know the exact truth. In peace and love ~ Sam

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