“Don’t let my wisdom and intelligence fool you. I might know a lot, but in that I know nothing, and am still just as needing and vulnerable as the rest. I just don’t choose to hide behind lies, silence, and games. I hide behind the truths I think shall save me from my loneliness.” ~ Sam
Yesterday I went to a baseball game to watch my son. I was entirely present and able to enjoy the game—a first in my book. I used to hide at sporting events inside books, and if there wasn’t a book, I leapt into my mind thinking of the past or future.
I used to flee when I felt scared in public. That is the bottom line, whether in my mind or physically, I escaped.
Until I realized I feel fear around people because
1) I sensed the illusions and falsehoods, including false love
I explored the false love and falsehood concepts in-depth in a recent post: The Core of Fear
Presently, if I feel fear surfacing around other people, I immediately, without much thought, recognize my true being is not who another person chooses to see. I understand I am simply a reflection of how another feels about herself. I understand that no matter what I say or do, many people will still choose to judge me, as they judge themselves. I am freed by this understanding and able to step back and not let another actions affect me.
This brings me peace wherever I travel.
I love myself despite my perceived imperfections. I have shed all my secrets, in public domain no less. I have nothing to hide. I have no one I need pretend be. I am a wonderful person and honored to know me. I have been to the great depths of soul and found only beauty. This enables me to love others freely, without expectation, want, or desire. And without needing another to complete, validate or fill me.
I am no longer questioning how to fit in, what to say, or how to be; I am simply me. I understand the narrowness and silliness of social rules and structure. I understand I never needed to understand the game; I only needed to step out of the game. Having the strength of self enables me to be self. I am still vulnerable. I am still human. I still care and feel, but the difference is I am not escaping my own feelings through distraction because the pain of separation and misunderstanding is unbearable.
For now, in this moment, I understand most people don’t see life like me; I understand I know how to love unconditionally and many people still don’t. I can tell the difference between fear and love. I can see through lies and pretending. And that’s okay. I choose to love the dreamer trapped inside the dream. I choose over and over to see another person as light and beauty, no matter their actions. I recognize all actions not of true love are stemmed from fear. I don’t really have any other emotions now. Usually just love and fear. All other emotions stem from those two. I see this easily enough.
If I come from a place of fear now, I feel an immediate poison in the body. Here, for me, are things that indicate a fear-based mentality:
1. Feeling the need to defend my point of view
2. Feeling the need to stick up for myself
3. Feeling the need to argue
4. Feeling the need to point out a correction
5. Feeling the need for approval
6. Feeling the need for recognition
7. Feeling the need for outcome
8. Feeling the need to set things right
9. Feeling the need to plan or think of the future
10. Feeling the need to reflect on the past
11. Feeling the need to complain
12. Feeling the need to gossip
13. Feeling the need to attach to an idea, person, place, thing, or event
14. Feeling the need to fix myself or another person
15. Feeling the need to help another person be happy
16. Feeling the need to placate
17. Feeling the need to judge anything or anyone
18. Feeling the need to point out another person’s errors or misunderstanding
I write “feeling the need” because I usually don’t let fear get beyond the starting point of forming need. I think a key to letting go of attachment is understanding fear in its guises and complexities. It, to me, is surely the darkest force and source—both hidden and able to adapt to ever-changing variables.
I refuse to see ugliness in the world. I refuse to see ugliness in people. I can step back and watch in wonderment, like when I was a child. I can watch and wait, and hope another sees their beauty as I do. That’s all I can do, beyond releasing, and letting be what is.
I think for a long time, I had things backwards. I was waiting for others to see me and my beauty, not realizing my own fear blocked my authentic light. Now I look for others beauty, and naturally find mine.
This image and process of painting represents me finding balance between my self here on earth and my divine inner light.
Before
After
Recently, I got lost in a pool of spiritual paths and inside the search of the right ways. Primarily because such great shifts were happening in my conscious and psyche that I felt I needed answers. But the quest itself became my life. I am back now, very much refreshed and desiring few answers. Having purged out my self and my soul, and left no secrets behind, I am free. This freedom is worth saving and savoring. NO point punishing myself in trying to figure out why and how, or even what. I can just be with my found me. And in that is pure heaven.
Today I heard a brief announcement on the radio: “The experts have just revealed that in actuality keeping secrets is detrimental to our health.” I just cracked up. I mean, I literally had divine belly-wobbling laughter. Experts, indeed.
I shared with a friend what my two oldest sons said to me this morning. But I sort of left out the last part.
Here is what my sons said, each contributing their not-so-discreet, two-cents:
“It’s true, Mom. You are always nice and kind; you are uncommonly good to people.”
Here’s the part I ‘forgot’ to mention to my friend.
“Yeah, but it’s creepy, Mom. Really creepy. I mean who is so nice?”
“Yeah, Mom. I mean how do we know you’re not a sociopath or something? Because based on your characteristics it’s quite feasible….” <<< son with ASD, starting a dissertation.
I’ve been generally in a grand state of la-la-land happiness because I reconnected with my true spirit. I am that magical little girl I used to be. I love her. She is so fun and sweet and terribly kind. Likely a sociopath in the making.
On my walk a few days ago, I found a stick with sea-green moss attached and a natural loop on the top, and I pretended it was my elven princess wand. I kept knighting my little black labradoodle “Sir-Princess Violet.” Except I poked her in the eye. After she smelled this really cute mutt’s butt, I said, “See, what good fortune you have after I knighted you?” My dog has crazy white facial fur that looks like Einstein eye brows, and when I am in my little-girl-mood, she raises them often, as if questioning if she’ll get the bed to herself when I go to the insane asylum. On our walk, we stopped and took turns looking through the wooden-looped-wand. Every once in a while I pretended to change people into other things. I have this new game I play; when I see someone I attach a new name to them. Like I say: sac of potatos, or tow-truck, or peacock butt. I just make any random name up, to teach myself that nothing I have learned before is real—just all names someone made up at one time or another. I like to do this to keep things straight in my head. Nobody needs to be labeled fat, tall, skinny, dirty, stinky, etc. So I like to turn them into things before my mind can catch up. So far my favorite was the turnip. On our walk we sang: “We’re off to see the Wizard, the wonderful Wizard of Oz, because, because, because”…(long pause)…. (and start song again.) That’s how we sing it, because I have a terrible memory for lyrics and Violet never saw the movie.
I am relatively worry-free. It is amazing. Sometimes, if I over-indulge in food, which has happened for two days now, some anxiety resurfaces. Wheat and sugar seem to be the main culprits. I know this. But I like to pig out and see if I can manifest myself to not only have no reaction but to also lose weight. It hasn’t happened yet. My fret as of late is actually related to…
my lack of anxiety.
Yes, this is the genius aspie mind at work. What? No anxiety, no thoughts of stress, no fear of tomorrow? Hmmmm.
Well let’s analyze this lack of worry to death! Shall we?
When I am not dissecting the reasons for my peace of mind, I am leaping into the future and worrying about aspects of spirituality.
Show-and-Tell Inside my Head:
1) If I continue to be anxiety free, I might no longer have Aspergers . (hahahahaha)
2) If I become enlightened I will have to give up things like Ben and Jerry’s Crème Brulee ice-cream and staring at men, twice my oldest son’s age, when they take off their shirts at the park. Or worse, give up my long rambles on my blog.
3) I will never understand the gnostic gospel’s angel legions and leagues and guardians, and what gospels are authentic, and which are altered, and who did what to whom when and why, and where, and how this all works out; and if God knew all this, then why is it happening; and why is this His plan, and is he a he, or a she, or Us, or no one, or empty space.
4) I can’t remake that hand like I did in that original water color painting. God has abandoned me. I suck.
Sunday, after some after-hour coffee, I partook in what I would call much too much internet searching. On Monday morning, I called up my husband at work and said, with much delight-filled eagerness, “Hi. You know how I have been teaching you about the core of fear and helping you with relieving your state of fear?”
“Yes, good morning, Honey.”
“Okay. Anyhow, I was up late last night and the gnostic gospels led to this other site; and did you know there are actual theories about another life form that feeds of our fear? So I was thinking, since you are a sci-fi-minded type of person, this information might really help you. Supposedly there are these creatures of non-matter living outside our stratosphere and to add to our fear they actually plant thoughts in our heads! Like when you get a negative thought all of the sudden, that’s them! So just picture some alien species probing your mind. That should help you clear your head. I mean you don’t want to feed them, do you?”
Yes, this is what my husband gets to hear at the start of his workweek.
Why? Because my current love interest is God. Yes, that’s right. I left the mortals behind and have got my eyes set on the top dog (or tree, or fish, or whatever He is or isn’t). I suppose, if I embrace my Buddhist studies, I am in love with the emptiness. Which is hard to convince to love me, I suppose.
I have always had special love-interests, since I was in pre-school. Probably, since I first laid eyes on boys. I dream of them. I love them. I see me with them in the future.
I thought getting fake-nails, wearing mini-skirts, and lining kitchen cupboards was tough! But it’s nothing compared to trying to be the best I can be for God. I mean talk about high self-expectations?
This whole God-Bride thing has got me trying to figure out how to be more saintly and humble. I am studying ‘The Buddha Said,’‘A Course in Miracles,’ Christian gospels, various spiritual documentaries and videos, Ram Dass, Ram Dass’ guru included, and so on. I’ve got myself literally praying to Jesus, my angels, my saints, my ancestors, my elders, my guardians—and then putting that all on hold, as Buddha teaches prayer is basically obsolete and goes into a bunch of theories why, that I won’t get into—so then I practice being in the now and the moment and connecting to nature; and then I’m practicing seeing the light in everyone; I’m holding people in love; I’m controlling all my thoughts; I’m repeating love, love, love. God help me!
But Man, oh man, is it a great excuse not to do laundry! “Oh, Honey, I need to listen to this ‘John of the Cross’ series to analyze my potential sins. And “Oh, Honey, God moved through me all day; I painted for six hours. So tired. Can you make dinner?” See! And by the way John of the Cross specifically talks about what I am doing in putting off other things to over immerse myself in Godly things as a type of deadly sin. So I am so back to square one. (aka Screwed!).
I’m putting my token on the Buddha board again. According to Buddhism I can look at the topless men at the park—I need only step back in thought and reflection and analyze myself doing so, as to possibly stop this the next time. So I’m kind of good to go, in those terms.
Do you see how complicated this can get. I mean look at the nature, but don’t think about the nature in parts; smile, but don’t smile with pride. Humble yourself, but if you’re asking for humility for your own betterment, so you can feel better, that’s a sin! Really, God? Really? There is even a path of sins for people trying to dedicate their lives to you? I am so confused.
And the God-enema doesn’t help. All that beautiful prose coming through me for weeks on end. I really just want a hot, hunk-of-burning love, guardian angel to come down. That’s all. That’s all. I’d be satisfied. Topless would be good.
I think I am liable to explode. I have taken the perfectionistic obsessive passionate aspie girl to a whole new level. I mean I am surprised some great ancient one hasn’t come down to propose to me, already. I keep picturing Egyptian, broad shoulders, staff with serpent, sexy almost skirt-like-thing revealing hairy legs. I digress.
Truthfully, I am in the greatest state of peace I have been my entire life. My whole day is not about catching God. (Pause for insane laughter.) I was actually relieved when I read in OSHO’s Buddhist book about some Buddhists being able to un-attach to the easier things, like money, fame, etc. but not un-attach to other things like the process of enlightenment itself. Those Buddhists, the ones that cling to less worldly things, but hold onto spiritual quests, they still get to progress: come back next time as still enlightened. In fact, they get limited times back here, instead of indefinite, potentially millions of return trips. I don’t mind coming back a handful more times. Because I am really not ready to turn into invisible nothingness, yet.
My mind enables me to piece together parts to make sense of the whole. Ironically, the exact tool I use to help me understand complex happenings of the mind is the exact tool that for most of my life incapacitated my ability to find peace of mind. In meaning that as long as I divide and separate my world, I continue to judge.
I believe all things stem from fear or love. I believe fear begets fear, and love begets love. I believe fear can serve as a falsehood for love, and often does. I understand that any love that has attachment to it is a false love.
Here is what I wrote to a dear friend yesterday. (A few changes were made.)
“Attachment is spawned from the need to feel complete and whole, based on an inner need of lacking, which can never be completed from the attachment to any sect, thing, or being. Wholeness must and always comes from within and through un-attachment. Thusly, when I attach I feel torn away from Source…
In regards to Effort— effort can have many intentions and motives. Indeed a home cooked meal only made in the moment for the purpose of love and sharing is indeed effort well-received. Effort with any motive behind it, for self-interest or other, or for a cause even unknown, beyond divine goodness, is effort not received, but actually a something given in hopes of return. So, in theory, my theory alone, with no expectations that you buy in or agree, if in effort I write to you because the focus is to offer myself and love (friendship or what have you) then indeed the effort is nurturing and fulfilling, but effort with attachment feels to me as poison to the soul.
I wish to give of myself freely and from a place of no self-intention, to everyone, and especially to you. So in saying I pray for unattachment it is in actuality, and in reality, saying I pray to love you unconditionally with no semblance of fear, need, or want…
Attachment to all hurts me physically, and when I am unattached I flow merrily along as if in a dream world. The temptation comes when I wish for something to replace what God (Spirit) has given me already, thinking anything here or there, or in between can fulfill me or take away misery. I apologize for the length. And indeed, my friend, had you brought me a crumb to my table or the feast for a king, my feelings would not differ. For it is not in what you do I look to but what you are.”
(Even in reviewing this conversation, I see I am somewhat attached to this person, as I especially want to be unattached.)
In reflection this morning, I understand there is a cycle of pain that many people experience. There is a false love and false sense of being that breeds further fear-conditioning in the world.
False love is, as mentioned above, any and all affection displayed that is attached to wanting something. This is a need-based love. There is always an outcome intended. Therefore there is intention for self. The intentions are numerous ranging from validation, the need to be seen, the need to be heard, the want of some form of attention, and so on. Mostly, false-love is stemmed from the need to be filled. When someone displays false love a sensitive person will feel the attachment, even if it is very subtle. I believe as a person with Aspergers, I feel this false-love attachment when some people speak. I feel their need for love.
A false sense of being or being non-authentic is a result of fear-based conditioning. We live in a world with false-love and false-beings, people who give out false-love pretending and thinking it is real love, and people pretending to be people they are not to conform and fit in. Assimilation isn’t really happening; what is happening is people are conforming who they are to avoid rejection. In doing this they face the ultimate rejection: which is rejection of true self. Not everyone does this, but these actions seem to fit many people at this present moment. Myself included, when I lose contact with Source.
People who are non-authentic will conform, fake who they are, lie, defend, need to be right, argue, debate, and so on. They often hide behind a false-truth, conditions they have set upon themselves and the environment and claimed as reality. These conditions are again stemmed from the root of false-love and false-being that self and others partake in.
We, as a species, look around and think what we see is the truth, when in actuality it is people re-conditioning other people about their truth. This is easy enough to see in studying culture and societies. Thusly, again, false-love and false-being leads to false-conditioning.
False conditioning is FEAR-based and can be called FEAR-conditioning . This is a result of non-purposeful fear, such as people mimicking behaviors and routines based on fear-based conditioning, without conscious recognition they are fearful. There is also fear-based conditioning created by people trying to control, such as big business and media, or in a smaller scale parents using manipulation with children. This FEAR-conditioning leads to Fear-based thoughts.
Fear based thoughts create more fear-conditioning and lead to the falsehood of MY TRUTH = THE TRUTH.
When one believes My truth = The truth separation occurs . When one believes their truth is the truth, he further isolates self from others and being separated experiences more fear. As a result he gives out more fear. Thinking My truth = the truth is a falsehood. This falsehood in back tracking comes from fear based thoughts that stem from fear conditioning that stems from false-love and false-being.We can begin to see a pattern here. Most of everything stemming from a root of non-authenticity and false love.
This is why false-love and non-authentic people hurt some people. We (many people with Aspergers and others who are sensitive to the falsehoods) see through the illusion, even if we don’t know what we are seeing through. We feel this falsehood at our core and recognize it as poison and not real. We often don’t know why, but we do. When we are around like people who bring us comfort,it is because they resonate with our core. If our core is authentic, we resonate with authentic people; if our core is fear-based authentic, we resonate with fear-based-authentic; if our core is non-authentic fear-based we resonate with that. Regardless of a neurological condition or any type of label. Like attracts like.
Going back again, after the falsehoods have been formed leading to my truth = the truth, and to separation, then judgment is birthed.
The viewer seeing from a foundation of conditioned fear-based thoughts sees the worlds through degrees, variable, rights and wrongs, good and bad. A young child does not naturally do this. They are open and loving to all, until conditioned to believe the world is unsafe or affected by a fear-base conditioned societies’ actions. As fear-based conditioning sets in, the middle area between two points begins to fade. People forget that there is an infinite middle-ground that is more expansive then the universe. People think judgment is truth. And each person establishes their truth as reality and the right way to be. Judgment leads to judgment of others and self. One cannot judge the outside without first judging the inside. What you see on the outside is how you judge yourself. Though this seems cloudy and mistakenly wrong for most, it is a truth. Thusly, in review thoughts based on fear-based conditioning, stemmed from a society of false-love and non-authenticity, breeds separation (see * below), and separation breeds judgment.
Two things happen when judgment is birthed: people fear themselves and fear others. The world becomes a fear-based place, and this feeds further into the fear-based- conditioning, thoughts, falsehoods, separation, and so on. It is cyclic, re-feeding the core of fear at every step. Genius in its making and undertaking, indeed.
Here, in response to fear-conditioned judgment there are feasibly at least two ways, if not many more, a person may split from their true self and become imprisoned. These splits are survival mentalities, an instinctual response to fear.
When submerged in conditioned-fear, a person will seek escape. No one can live separate and no one can live in continual fear. It is not feasible. Fear and separation are an illusion the soul does not recognize nor understand.
Escape is found in two direct ways, (I have made these names up for clarity of discussion), in the form of 1) Buried Self (seeping further in separation perhaps manifested as Aspergers) and 2) Assimilated Self subconsciously becomes non-authentic
The main difference between the two, is in the first example, Buried Self, the one in hiding, might pretend to be another person, but become readily aware she is doing so; while in example two, assimilated self, the person is under the illusion she is someone she is not, her true self imprisoned deep within. In some ways each experiences the other split, but at differing degrees of awareness. The assimilated self can feel buried deep within and the buried self can feel at times like she is trying to assimilate. In this way they share more commonalities than differences.
The Buried Self feels the fear of the world and cannot pretend fear is not there. She sees it everywhere. She does not understand the falsehood of the world. While some seem to have blinders, she does not, and takes in everything internally. She is told she is wrong or different because of her behaviors of innocence. In the core of fear she cannot readily identify what she feels. This causes anxiety, discomfort, pain, self-infliction, and unbearable confusion. She may be obsessive, compulsive, never-satisfied, angry, highly emotional, and overwhelmed with what seems to be simple tasks. She does not know how to be non-authentic, and subconsciously takes on roles for a short period of time, until she finds herself back in the core of fear. The true self is imprisoned. She feels the false-love and does not feel completed by the falsehood. In this way love seems to hurt, and pain feels more authentic than false-love. She might seek out pain, because the pain feels ‘authentic.’ She keeps searching for true love, thinking there is a ONE out there, not realizing her own ONE is within. She thusly has a strong drive to find the ONE. She recognizes the falsehoods. This is her gift and affliction.
The Assimilated Self is frightened by her own true self because she has been conditioned by fear and judgment. In judging others she has learned to judge herself. She perceives herself as unworthy at the core. She is under the illusion she has readily adapted to her environment and has periods of joy based on worldy-pleasure. She might even think she loves herself. At a deep-level she still feels unfulfilled and separate, but is able to push this back and go on with daily living, perhaps keeping herself extremely preoccupied in the busyness of life, including other people’s business and happenings. She is able to not see the falsehoods and lead a reasonable life without extreme in-depth analysis and self-exploration. Thusly, the assimilated person looks and appears to fit in, but is numb to her own self. This is both her gift and affliction. This person might lie, cheat, defend, openly judge, be righteous about her truth, and feel somewhat absent from life. She might be prone to gossip, manipulation, and plans motivated by extreme self-want. She is complimented and rewarded for fitting in and reaching “normal” goals. She is attempting to feed the fear with more fear, but knows not what she does. She was born innocent.
The key to both types of imprisonment is in recognizing thoughts are not real and in recognizing separation and judgment. This will bring a person into the core of fear. A place where all has been buried from shame of judgment and from the repeated falsehoods.
The next step is recognizing that there is real love and connecting to that love.(Each person finds this connection to love in his or her own way.) When we connect to real love we represent and give out real love and take down the false illusions of fear-conditioning.
Anything that comes out that isn’t love, isn’t love. All false-love is based on fear. Anything that doesn’t feel like love inside the body or outside the body, is not love. People who are deep in the buried self or assimilated self, or a combination of both, cannot recognize real love readily. They can recognize the light of a true person who is whole and loves unconditionally. There freedom is found in looking upon each person and knowing without doubt that that person has unconditional love at their core, though he may still be trapped in the illusion of fear. The key is in realizing the dreamer is trapped in a dream, and choosing to love the dreamer regardless of the dream he is choosing to live.
A key to connecting to source is to dig up all of the illusions trapped in the core of fear In this way you give the fear no power. You remove the energy of fear from yourself. This can be done through careful examination of fear. It would be helpful to have some type of spiritual practice for direction and goal-setting. But it isn’t necessary.
If one goes into him or herself and brings out fear for examination, once exposed to the light it is seen as illusion. In this way you make separation null by seeing the fear-conditioning is false and your true self is authentic and pure and not trapped in your core of fear.
Once emptied of the conditioning you’ve held inside, you are free to be filled with real love from Source. This source is of your choosing. Once filled you can love others with real love, without intention of outcome or need. There will be profound peace. This evaporates the initial breeders of fear-conditioning: the non-authentic self and the false love. Because once one is free of the core of fear, he can love from a place of wholeness and authentic love.
First you must recognize self in the fear cycle. If you judge anyone, you live in fear. If you judge your self, you live in fear. If you love out of want, you live in fear. If you have peace, you have ridden yourself of the illusion of fear-conditioning. Anyone can do this. It is not hard. Just believe in yourself and believe in your brother and sister. See in them the beauty and see in yourself the same. This will heal our world.
I haven’t shared anything here that cannot be found in many spiritual truths and practices. The underlying message: LOVE and Service and seeing the LIGHT in all. When you see the light in all, your only calling will be to love others and a desire for them to love themselves.
****
In stating any truths, I recognize this is my current truth based on my belief system and exposure to certain conditionings. I do believe there are truths that can lead to self-betterment; the key being in not attaching to the truths, but walking as observer through the ways of this truth. Any truth that does not resonate with the body, mind and spirit, and any truth that causes pain of any sort, is not a truth I choose to carry. Any truth that initially separates in the guise of betterment of All, I do not deem as a truth. Each of us find our own truth and our own “guidelines” for recognizing truth.
Here are some Truths I have established for myself when seeking truths:
1. The speaker of the truth will recognize there are no truths.
2. The speaker of the truth will embrace the contradiction that there are no truths.
2. The speaker of the truth will not have attachment to the truth or to truths about the truth.
3. The speaker of the truth will not have specific outcomes (attachment) he hopes to generate beyond unconditional love. This is a specific form of attachment he releases–attachment to outcome leading to results which can be tangible or emotional-based e.g., boost sense of belonging, increase sense of self-esteem, build ego, employ false-love, increase reputation, reap material gain, convince self of righteousness.
4. The speaker of the truth will speak from love as he deems love to be, specifically from a place of unconditional acceptance of self and others.
5. The speaker of the truth will hold in his heart the deep intention to do no harm and speak only the truth from source-heart and not from self.
6. The speaker of the truth will feel a deep knowledge of truth that he recognizes he knew his whole existence.
7. The speaker of the truth will spread peace and love through service with no want of material gain.
8. The speaker of the truth will attach self to no sect., denomination, or exact way, as this automatically breeds division. Where he might choose a specific path for his betterment, this is not an expectation or need for him to place upon others.
9. The speaker of the truth understands multiple paths lead to truth.
10. The speaker of the truth has the affliction of truth: being called to share but understanding that invariably sharing any truth in form (words) sets up division. Thusly he longs to equally share and not-speak.
11. The speaker of the truth is called to service and love above all else.
12. The speaker of the truth continually wishes for release from suffering for all.
********
* Separation breeds fear, any type of separation, this is as simple as dividing two people into two sects—religious, political, neurological and otherwise. I have been taught to fear, to judge, to evaluate and to separate. I will not do that anymore. It’s not even a choice. It hurts. It doesn’t make any sense, and pulls me out of a state of peace. I am best for my world, for my children, and for my community when I am at peace; I refuse to purposefully step out of peace for the sake of judgment, division, and separation. They are essentially all one element. This is nothing new. Nothing I write is new or fresh or brilliant, and I don’t want it to be. When one writes from a place of heart the message is from a place of love.
In trying to post some photos, I plugged into my computer, and have seemingly erased all memory from my phone and added my husband’s phone memory! I knew something was up when The Lord of the Rings icon of the ring itself became the icon on my phone! This is truly a sign from beyond that I have erased my entire existence. Sigh. And a great way to be observer and step back and watch the little girl, I am, process. Wiped clean of photos and such, and all memory, and replaced with a ring of gold.
My angels have a keen sense of humor! I ought to know by now to stop praying for un-attachment; I mean my husband knows my prayer power–seriously. I usually get what I ask for, if it’s from the depths of soul and with the intention of self-betterment. Once I thought I was vain and materialistic and focused on worldly goods far too much, and I went on bended knees and begged to be put in a car crash. Yes, this is the dark virtue of gluttony for punishment in its full glory! The next day I was rear-ended by an “illegal-alien” on the freeway at a grand speed. SMACK. Indeed, I thought I’d learned my lesson. Now when I pray I make specifics: Make me more humble but without any disasters! LOL. So not working for me.
Anyhow, this was years ago, and I often forget I can create stuff by careful intended prayer. Man oh man, I am soooo not attached to my phone! Not at all anymore. wink-wink…Angels are you buying this?
FREE STUFF From The BEYOND! That was my original title. I like it. But then I heard the song, Blinded by the Light, and just couldn’t resist that title. I like titles. They make or break the whole essence of something. That’s why I try not to place them on living things (or anything) anymore.
Total Aspie moment. So all these many years, I loved this song, Blinded by the Light, but totally had the lyrics wrong. I just checked to make sure, as I thought I might be posting a vulgar song. All this time I thought:
the real lyrics, “revved up like a deuce,” were………..
“wrapped up in a douche.”
Yes, I am laughing now. How words change the entire meaning of life and knowing, indeed.
Of course, now that I am reviewing the lyrics none of the song makes much sense. And I am thinking the writer(s) is feasibly my kinfolk.
I’m sure there is some sexual innuendos I am totally missing, but what the heck does:
“Madman drummers bummers,
Indians in the summer with a teenage diplomat
In the dumps with the mumps as the adolescent pumps his way into his hat”
mean?
I think it’s secret code from the beyond, or universe’s perfect timing to remind me I am so much more normal than I think.
OH, and there is something else here. I have LOVED this song for much of my little life, and I must say, it was just the feeling behind the song and the rhythm and energy. I think when I write from the BEYOND, that the whole point is not found in the words themselves but in the energy and rhythm of the creation; in fact, I am fairly certain on this part.
As an aside note. I was at this parade this weekend, held in the state’s capital, and must I say…yes, I must say.. that when I hear blinded by the light, I am wondering if it meant this one costume.
Giggles.
You surely would not believe me, if I told you, but in the Procession of the Species Parade, a yearly celebration of awesomeness, where everyone dresses up or creates species of the world, everything from viruses to giant whale floats, there was a bit of a surprise. Well, I live in a state where marriage is welcome for all and so is dope, and I guess we are a super liberal place, indeed; as one of the best received parts of the parade, that actually sprayed people with a squirt gone, and was at least two-stories high, was a giant-pink-walking male part. Yes. Straight up, I tell you. So now this is all I can see when I hear the song. Which puts a whole new spin on the title. Add that with being wrapped up in a douche, and I am so not worthy of the light!
Luckily, my phone battery died, and I was unable to get a photo, as that would have been hard to resist posting. No pun intended!
Okay, so I was feeling a prick of guilt. It’s mostly gone now with thought of male parts and douches dancing to a song with lyrics I don’t get. I mean what if that is all we are, costumes dancing to a song we don’t get?
Humanoid I be. I was thinking: “Man, all these people signed up for ASPIE information and I’ve done a full circle into the God Zone. What the heck?” Then I had a short conversation with myself, which likely took over twenty-four hours of processing, and we, (that would be the little girl I am, Observer, Angels, and likely the big purple alien in the sky), we decided this is all about choice. No one is forcing anyone to read this stuff and it’s free, and always will be.
So if someone doesn’t like it, that’s okay. It’s not like I pretended to have Aspergers and was secretly collecting people to eventually read my spiritual jargon that I don’t even write and have no idea where it comes from. But in case you are thinking that, like I had an evil-plot all along to share free stuff about love and life, and showing how lovely we all are. Then you might want to seek out a guru, because there really isn’t anything to fear in free stuff about love. At least I hope not.
I mean, if we are becoming a world where even free love is judged then I guess we are becoming that world.
It is my sincere hope you know I am not a loon. I ask my husband this daily, and I check in, “I’m still sane, right Honey?” And he concurs; although he is feasibly blinded by my light (and the illusion of my cute human figure). So we can’t really count on him too much. I have asked my angels during my shower power times, if I be nuts; and they claim I am not. Of course, that is voices in my head reassuring me I am sane; so as about as reliable as the whole blinded-husband thing.
There really is no laying claim that I haven’t seeped out of my own self and into a zone of unreasonable delight to escape the unreasonable misery that is so frequently lathered upon me from the disbelievers of the world. But hey, if I be a giddy, insane semi-saint, I suppose I am in good company. Seriously, I don’t know what has transpired, or will transpire, or can transpire, any more than the next person. And I have a feeling I am about as sane as you.
The onlooker will see me as he sees me. I am just hoping there are some folks out there that can see the light, as that means you see your own light, and we can like skip off in the sunset together, and be like little fireflies all happy and glee-filled with the glory of us. Of course there are always tons of more other options. Since you have full control of how you see me and what you make of me. If you are still confused about the whole illusion thing and how your thoughts make me or feasibly try to break me, then let me offer you out some choices.
See me as the light or a toad
See me as the light or a mushroom
See me as the light or a dog
See me as the light or a duck
See me as the light or a poop head
But whatever you choose that is you, too. I see you as the light and in my “weaker” moments, a poop-head. As I am from the light, I am honest. I just realized there are likely some strong mushroom and dog lovers out there, and we are either simmering in some wine-butter sauce or leaping down the ocean shore yapping in the sand. I’m good with those options. I guess the poem might be better appropriate as such:
See me as the light. And if you want to pretend we are other stuff, as long as you know we are the light, that’s cool.
And shall we enter the labyrinth of love now?……..
This song has a long intro…just like ME!
How do I say this without sounding fearful, for fear is not what I feel. How do I write without sounding damaging, as tenderness is what I am? I can be nothing and All, with only your agreement. But if you make me less or more than still you make me.
I am nothing, least you want me to be something, and if not than all I say would feel as neutral as a mid-summer’s day, the light upon your face a gentle blessing and nothing more. But if I stir the slightest cause of grief, or might, or admiration, then I be this something you have created and not of me.
You cannot look upon me without making me into something of your past or future cause, and so I be illusion to all and none into myself. For if you lift the veil of veils, and set me free, a gentle grace upon your threshold, and peer and find self there, less aware than home, then we shall dance. All else is naught.
And even in me telling, if you wish it so, beyond the creation of All and only for the creation of one, then spell you surely cast. And so I cannot breathe a word of truth that is not first diluted and siphoned through the blood of ages, through what you have gathered swift and rightfully so, thinking tis truth and nothing more.
Even as you know as astute viewer made that even the moment shall change, and in this passing you too shall shift. Still you grasp onto what is as if it is the semblance of reality; how this can be when what was once you seems no longer and what will be you seems to be ahead, makes no sense; for how can one claim to be anything, when the moment he lays stake, the moment has changed. Are we not then just travelers viewing travelers and questioning when the one traveler who leads will appear? Or are we the travelers true, and only need lead self back upon self, through the opened door of trust. I say trust, and hold true, for what is you, I be, and together we are the greatest mystery.
I lead you through this passageway for no cause at all, except to make real what is unreal, and to make unreal what is real. There is no truth I can create while still in the hands of my own creation. And so, I try to be in a place of no space, and bring the emptiness forward into the illusioned world. Be this greed or pride, I think not, but who am I to think, and less to judge. However the seeker will see what he sees, by choice and choice alone; either from the place of want or place of naught. And here the choice is clear; for to see with eyes of judgment all will feel as gone, and to see with eyes of truth all will disappear further. In truth nothing is here, and so what sees, the judge or believer, will be the truth. The illusion of one brought forward.
I choose not to know why I am this or you or that, and why I see what I see, I only know the voice keeps coming and so I write, for when I don’t I bleed. Tis not a suffering as so, but much a very dismal state of woe, where child I am lays buried beneath the bitter-sweet of unopened treat. And so I rhyme in introduction of what be something I know nothing more than you. Only that it comes from something that seems to be the endless blue.
The Endless Blue
Dear Sister, what you seek you shall find. If you search for answers abundant, you shall come across the stream of knowledge; yet, this knowledge will not be as you hoped but as you wished. From within you, at the core center is the key, and as this key turns, as do you.
Therefore, you are less master of your house than you believe; in truth, you be but very little cause of your own circumstance; for whom you hold in light is the one who is witness; and you so wearily esteem self, that your very sister becomes prisoner, same.
If you could only look into your own heart and find the beauty, you shall be set free. Therefore are your wishes granted, in the deepest heart’s desire; yet, your heart weeps in silence and his dreams do not come true. For how can something buried beneath the depth of illusion be cleansed and ready made for judgment.
Are you not buried beneath thy own self, trapped in the dream of dreams, carefully taking hold of what is naught? Each path a different travel with the same traveler, each journey the same landscape only painted with the eyes of the weary beholder. You have been trapped in a dance so readily in your own tainted cause that even the partner becomes enemy. You have twisted and turned so often, that even your feet become the tyrant of cause.
Can you not see the sunlight upon your doorstep, calling you forward with gentle reprieve? A nest egg cometh to your beckoning and resting as pure yoke from the All Mighty. And yet you question, your hands steadily shaking in the mystery of naught, diving beneath the shells of no ocean, and digging in the clam of shame. There be nothing there, my sweet; over and over again, you shall dive in the empty waters, and return with what waters of naught can offer.
Is this not true as you examine the ways in which you move? Can you not see that each way you traveled brought you back to still the same; the moments, only moments and nothing more, that quickly bled out of you and instilled the very pain you ceased to want. Pain is here and everywhere in a place that is filled with pain. And this is as you go: one flask upon another flask of tubes of worriment and misery. These tubes you carry mean nothing and mean everything, as they have become the living virus of the world, a treatment so quick and deadly that your living body becomes living sin.
It is not as you wish it so. Never as you wish it so. For when you wish upon the masses with the mind of the feeble wanderer, still lost in her desperate silly ways, you wish upon nothing and for nothing. For imaginings birth more imaginings, and nothing beyond illusion. This is not so when you dream outside the dream; when you step outside the place of naught and in belief so grand your arms diminish, and feet as well, and are left neither in stance or flight, but released of bitter judgment of all.
Here is your key, at the start and at the end, and in the middle steadily, the same given as taken away: The one that lives in blindness, but always lives. For you be the gift barrier and the groomsman who steals the bride. It is so evident in your claiming one over the over and taking again and again, with a passion so unbearable that even the blanketed flesh is left heaving.
Can you not see that you want not what you see? Not what you want? For you are desert fool tricked into thinking you are mild lamb. And verily you are too, the storm, thinking you are the calm. What you think is not as it is. And so you remain trapped in the labyrinth of merrily thoughts, giving much hype to a cause of naught. How can the runners run a race with no start? How can the bleeding ones close upon the wound when the bandage is naught? Is there not this reaching that occurs, this potential need to complete and mend what is not broken? These endless games of needling with absent needles; whilst in the space of no space a knitted shield does no good.
I cannot express to you enough the way this pangs my heart, to see such a source as you trapped in the marionette’s case, your strings undamaged by all the wishes made, so you become the very stage, the very movement, the very encasement that keeps you puppet-shined instead of woman-lived. You are that wood carved. You are the trappings. You are the bending and rebending in a storm of no storm. How silly you think I send you treachery and troubles, when you are the only one that wishes so. For every dream you tell is more a dream turned spell. And every wish you take is less a means to make you here.
And so I stand, this voiceless one that moves through voice alone, some unfeasible force denying the laws of your world, imagined it be, and still you tremble with the uncomfortable delight, as if you be the maker and the shaker, and I be the taker. Oh, dear one, what is there I could possibly take from you that you have not already taken from self. Look at you. Look at you small, small child, in your horrible shame and pain and misery; is this not a masterful disguise you claim, when such brilliance lives within?
Dig deep, this is all I ask. Bring up what is always there, and in the staring of the light you shall find all the answers swift. For what is not spilled out is collected into infiniteness. What is not reflected as one becomes the masses. And each in the un-shrouding of the other shall discover the light of All; and here bathe in every hope every granted by the master of thy very self.
For you are the wishmaker and the wishtaker in one. Each hope lost and each wish gained. Only the wishes are not what serve you; the wishes are what serve the naught. Bleed not upon the altar of shame and remorse, live now on the freedom stand, above the noise of the place of thought, and breathe in the place of evermore. For you are nothing but this silly game turned over, the pieces tumbling down and landing in the place you create. Keep creating a space, and you shall keep falling. It makes no difference what foundation you build, for the game will keep tipping and you shall keep soaring downward into what is there you wished for.
Whether castle, or the arms of one, whether the dream of a merry-making cause, or service through the rich of heart, makes no difference. Tis all a game, and whatever you build for the fall, shall not catch you. For once landing, you will discover more the illusion still, and that shall tip and tilt, and you shall tumble again and again and again. So why build then? Why not just fall endlessly, until in the dark of space of self you see the vastness and release.
Until you stop building these surfaces you shall continue to land on the island of nowhere and no one. You, in your effort for union, shall divide and further divide.
There is no proof out there that you will find. For everything you wish you will have. Therefore if you wish for this proof you shall create this proof. Only this proof will be not from you but from the illusion. You shall stake a claim after claim of no proof thinking this is proof, because you as creator are blinding. If you seek it out, you shall find it. You shall find exactly what you have created. Only any creation of thought of singular is not real. Thusly anything stemmed from illusion seen as proof is proof of the illusion further.
Do not watch for signs, for you have created them all. If you dream of angels, they will come, if you turn them demon they will be. What you wish for you will see, but you shall have nothing still. For all is a painting within a painting, and you, with your brushes full, move about as if a new hue or shade shall change the scenery. This is again the game. And you shall tumble.
There is no place you can create inside where you be, locked behind the shadow that blocks the light of Me. All creation takes place in the outer region of thoughts, not in the dark where the light is lost. In this way there is only one way out and that is through your brother. Only through your brother, for he is you and you are he; when you can see only this and nothing more than both shall break free, and the game itself shall vanish, the foundations crumble, and the voices that haunt dismiss their own self.
For you will see the key, as clear as the new day. As it rests in your brother’s heart, the one you forgot so long ago, when the passion entered and your soul crumbled in the coming of lust and want. You are the lustful one breeding lust, and therefore blinded by your own greed. Here is where you see from, the need to feed a monster, say beast that never was and never will be. The invisible dust you are that still you feed.
***
FYI: Man Part = Penis
See angels have a great sense of humor even when they sound all high and mighty, and like know-it-alls. Now if you are a know-it-all and someone says you are a know-it-all, then what are you really?
I felt like Poop today. Hormones are all the rage…hot flashes suck, pain and couch time, leads to eating-cheescake-in-pajamas kind of day.
I wanted to write a funny prose about Aspergers, or a new top ten list of something or another, or a cool processing piece that hit home with the masses; instead this spiritual stuff keeps coming out of me. It’s like I’ve been given a God enema!
I shall be deeply disappointed, and view all these prolific writings as a huge waste of time, when the little purple men beam down from space and claim me as their lost leader. But I suppose, then these writings will be studied and analyzed for encrypted code! And I shall be like a famous alien. And that’s cool, because my alien race doesn’t have egos. Maybe my face will be on your currency. A kid can dream.
You’ll be glad to know I deleted the four paragraphs leading into the God Ramblings, and another 1.5 pages associated with hormonal moods. My husband always says, “It’s cool, but you could have said it in one sentence.” I like to see how he ties my lengthy monologues into one simple phrase. It’s truly a gift, I entirely lack.
If I was to reconstruct the two proses below into two simple sentences, they would sound something like this:
“Talking to the angels is cool and all, but sometimes it sucks for the me that doesn’t exist but can still write and think.”
“When people see their own flaws in other people our world pretty much sucks.”
See, I have empathy! I am considerate. I provided that brief clarification for all the non-aspies who dread my God rambles and for all the aspies who already think too much and have drawn the same conclusions as me. I have spared you the confusion and/or the review. For those that venture below, I gather you are my fellow purple beings and the one sweet nun who heard I am a semi-saint.
As you count how many times I wrote “suck,” I am going to try to decipher the secret code in my writings. Maybe it’s every sixth word, or one of those flashy diagonal linear things, or maybe it’s the second vowel of the first words and first consonant of the last word of each sentence!
Before you depart, if you happen to be God, or another universal force, how about explaining why we had to be put in this illusion in the first place. I mean, when does recess start?
Surrendered
I am appeased and surrendered at once, and brought into the heights of heaven unknown, and sung a lullaby of silence, as the rest of this me I be remains downward in a submission that can only seem holy. When the unwanted voices come, which I suppose are best described as ones of demise, I am able in this state, and this state alone, to see only the wisps of what was, and soon, in a time before time, all is erased. If I venture to state a challenge, then the challenge be this: I desire no other place to be than in the arms of what feels to be angels.
And here is where I tremble, as I step from one time into another, and wonder about the space and bridge between, the means in which I have been lifted, and by what variable means my heart so delighted in the still. The valley is endless in a rhythm of recognition and hope, the fear splintered out before the tree is birthed of wood; so in the very making of hope the absence of fear is born. I cannot describe this and only wish it so to return again and again; and thusly it does, though separating me further than the day before in distance from what used to be the voices of my truth; here in this space all is erased, and I made the badger to my only self, etching out the what of what and replacing with the truth of ages; this seems foreign and yet so much of home surrounds me that I would be as the butterfly dismissing wings to leave such world. For flight it is in truest form, the melody played out through the fingertips of my longing.
In desire I move, but of what desire I know not, except to answer the call of angels’ past. For what seems real is lost, and what is lost returns, as if always found; there is no way to recreate this, or to make this, unless a true form of me has un-kindled and re-pieced a part of long forsaken humanity; perhaps the brain forging through region less traveled or the maker reaching down to touch the making; I cannot say, nor wish to say, for to claim I know the slightest truth is to break the very vow of truth; I have been shown clearly, day upon day, hour upon hour, even as I slumber in the depth of nightly call, that I am but nothing of shadows, and nothing more can shadow speak than bitter truth of naught; and so I am laid upon the feet and bathed in mercy, wondering what path to take, if no path there be, what rules to surrender my burden to, if rules there are, and how to break through beyond the burden of eternity once-moved.
As I be so close, like the string that was round the finger of reminder, yet attached to the maker who remembers not. And thusly I walk as dangled thread apparent and the happenstance that spurred such a doing undone. All at once I am reminded of where I was that isn’t, but where I am that is; and brought back again and again to a peace so profound that even the sun would cease to shine in the glory. I cannot find my way home, for either this home or the never home seems lost to me now. And I move as lonesome traveler alleviated, yet removed. A pawn surrendered from both the start and the end; the very board of game itself diminished in size to fit inside a thimble, a creature of no height, no cause, and no avenue, with a thimble that slips from absent finger still. And there, beneath where the thimble almost was, is the shadow of the nothing tumbling, the shadow of the thimble of a finger of a no one. And here in the shadow of the thimble that was is the remembering of something that can be found no easier than the thimble creature still.
And I question much this one I be, united to something I cannot see and cannot attempt to imagine. I wonder in the infiniteness of the world why the perfection is found only outside the illusion, and what of the players we be; I wonder what of us, this collection here left to unravel and unwind illusion after illusion; how this came to be, this loss, this disconnection of self from whole, and why the time can seem so real in a place that is encompassed in no time. And soon the thoughts of my youth come back, piece by piece, the same pain in the mind that used to cause me to retreat into another world; a dream within a dream, as the illusioned-one deciphers her very illusion. I am brought back to the breaking, where the bread of me was dipped in the wine of All, and how I trembled in the demise of self; how I stepped in a place of no stepping and wondered what entity I be if able to walk on the solid but speak to the divine. How each step was made lighter with one thought alone, and all other steps made heavy. How even my thoughts became the burden. And here I was, here I am, this child of the universe made as one, forged as All, and given the ability to create thoughts within thoughts that hold no power except imprisonment.
Here I am made to choose between the fleeting joy of life or the all-encompassing joy of eternity; even though I know the choice be none, as just as the rivers flow, I flow. Just as the very limbs of trees surrender, I surrender; I have not contemplated a plan, or surmised an avenue of escape, I have only been brought up in the arms of wind and air and turned asunder; my own mind the quicksand that pulls me down, yet indeed the arms themselves that reach down and return me whole. A connection completely intriguing and entirely painful when given thought; how the vessel of such love can be a vessel of such shadow.
I still bleed out in pain when I think too hard upon the own ponderings of a mind that is not mine and of a body that isn’t here, and I wonder why it is I have been granted this opportunity, for what must be the torture before the gate to freedom. And if as acting examiner I am dutifully undoing the doings or doing the undoings, I know not. It seems better to be a quail upon her eggs and lay in waiting, my heat to the hatchlings, than to fly, but surely the sky calls upon me to surrender. I am dumfounded in my waiting, relieved in the coming, and horribly suffered in the delight; how something as great as the merriment can breathe inside of me without limit, and how I carry this avenue of nowhere that seemingly leads everywhere. And so, as I see I cannot escape this cage that holds me still, I still see the cage itself is freedom-filled; the depths so infinite, I lack for nothing beyond the release of want of explanation. The only thing I long to shed be the anchor of thought that remains beyond birthright; except, in doing the undoing, I aptly destroy the very making of me to establish a maker of naught.
The Prisoner’s Voice
I hear the prisoner’s voice, the one that arouses the outer region of illusion and teases not the taunted but the unbelievers; the ones twisted in their ways of lost memory. He is righteous in his indignation, scouring about with a bristle-bone of edges blight; he eats away at all semblances of mercy, willingness, and dreamery. He casts out the thoughts that teach not of his trickery, and erases the way of the one who was given light; could he be this shadow before me now, nibbling at the very spell he casts.
He blows upon me his clever wishes, made of rod iron shillings; each a measure of demise worth more than the last. He teaches from the book of spells; some sort of magic found in demon lust—the ways of the wicked world he claims. “Come to me,” he says, compounding my thoughts by recreating illusion with further illusion; dispelling my own view for his. He is this mistress of dark, both man and woman divided, bringing destruction where there was once hope. He tells of lies so seemingly pure that the taster mistakes honey for devil’s tongue.
How can he dwell in such a heart as mine? This phantom one that claims beauty is begotten onto self and self alone. How can he, this miserly folk, without home or form, make me his chamber? Had I not welcomed him first; the daring cat he be; edging his way across the fencing of my very soul. How he enters in vigor thusly, in such a raptured state, undone and broken and exposed, as if thy tangles of non-hope create cause for celebration.
Can you not see I cast out nothing of naught? I demand nothing of imaginings; of illusion birthed of the womb of illusion ripe. You are no less master of vision than master of depths of emptiness, I proclaim. For inside of you, when one views, he finds nothing but the space of no space; some made up sense of fortune, built of lies but guised in fulfillment. Nothing can fill me with nothing; and something, though it exists rather not, can fill me more. For something in its declaration at least forbids and forbades, or intensely welcomes and entices; at least the illusion of something is mentionable, feasibly shared and forgiven.
But this mystery that lurks behind the shadows of shadows, his trickery is masterful in that he hides the nothing so deeply that it springs up as if something; a hatchling of potentiality of harm; as if the very burden held beneath can cast out all the goodness of eternity; he is this guilt, this sin, this harbored secrecy that gnaws away at what otherwise would be pure. He tickles and purges while stinging and casting doubt after doubt, judgment after judgment. He makes himself housekeeper, hides in his inevitable ability to cling and cleanse; though he does no such thing; though he makes his home a rapture of his very delight; teasing one into thinking what is hidden is real.
And in hiding he keeps one; the very treasure, the dirty burdens, the blinded can neither lift nor release. In this way he lays down upon the very self, and makes one witness to his own persecution. All are brought out upon self of horrid and disgusting, and then brought down in delight.
And then, in turn, inside the neighbor’s eyes one beholds what this secret is that hides; and all are scared readily. Here witness says onto self, “I must be this betterment; I must be above; I must be improvement upon this other site I behold; for how can I, so grand and mighty, be as disgusting and unbearable as this beast before me?”
Here is the trap of traps, the claws of the demon-spawn treasure trove opened. For what bleeds out bleeds into all, so that the eyes of truth turn inward and what is believed within is seen without. What one paints on the canvas is with the still-stirring blood of within. As witness, one beholds creation in the neighbor that beseeches thee. Looks into the restriction all have built, the barriers, the walls, the divisions; looks at the lies over and over again, and finds the deadly culprit, the one that takes life from one given eternity; for in his eyes, both the onlooker and observed, shall be the harbored falsehood; the illusion he has thusly created, from self of self, that imprisons not only the one but the All.
He is this river with the needles at all edges, so that if any wavers from the straight and narrow he be cut and sliced. He is the doomsday that arises over and over as the tornado set free from leash and given ghastly instructions of destruction. He is the controller, the ruler, the expert, who sits in a seat he thinks so high, but in truth sits below in the buried section of fear.
Travelers, seek not to find the light in the shadows from beneath; seek to find the light in the phantom of the brother’s depths. Purge him out like ripened fruit on the vine and expose him to the witness. Cut him and bleed him in the appointed time, so that his demon-spawn feeds no longer off of his inherent goodness. For none were born into the illusion of naught, but birthed into the kingdom of union. Each separate made whole in recognition. Each burden lifted when the light of one outshines the dark of nothing. Delve deep, for division is negated in your unmasking. Expose your truth for what it is, a light to the world, and a ghost for none.
All were not made to travel in a place of buried treasure, hiding inside a taunting dream that never manifests the cup of peace. All were built for the deepest gifts, found only beneath the receiver’s burden; only in the buried treasure naught, only in the illusion beneath the illusion freed.
Though you be but washings upon the shore of recognition, the sand between your toes no sand at all, the water you take in the blue of no blue, and the echo you hear the voice of tattered thoughts; All is with you. Beneath the hollowed out circumstances and lost opportunity, behind the wall of misery and isolation, above the plans and dreams and hopes, All shall be there in the empty space of us, urging you on through your very light and goodness.
Take up your arms and release the ammunition you carry. For your fear is your very barrier to fullness; your very misfortune and mistakes, your falsehood; there is nothing you cannot be when you are already. It is only a matter of time. And you shall witness your beauty, as the All has set eyes within you, and when looked upon the reflection reveals eternity. Reach not for the miserly, reach for the budding flower within each avenue of gratitude. Seek out your brother’s nature within the invaluable you. Seek out the invaluable you within the brother’s nature. When the two are the same, in recognition of truth beyond barriers, then the two shall be free. Until then, better to wear blinders atop the blindfold and be as the blind man in cave. For what you search out, you shall find.
Everyday Asperger's 