We can heal our collective trauma. 1 18 23 am #Journaling #ActuallyAutistic #AssessmentProcessing #ASD #CCPTSD

H​umans and I have a hard time getting along sometimes. The irony of the fact that I am in a human form does not escape me. In fact, it has been the single most prevalent source of suffering in this life. For I am wired to belong, to need, to look to peers for confirmation of identity, and also, I am drawn incompatibly. I just don’t agree with most of the story lines most people tell most of the time. They seem untrue and asinine, much of the time.

I​ don’t wonder why people move away from me, more and more avoid me, or offer me places in the conformity box. Those who feel they love me the most or want ‘what is best for me’ would destroy me completely, ‘for my own good’. Free thinking and willingness to try new things is an unwelcome trait among beaten down, weak, cowering servitudes.

T​he assessment process has highlighted, demonstrated, reminded me, all the reasons I have CCPTSD. My poor body, put in danger, at risk, required to lie, to go against my own nature, to hide who and what and why I really am in order to survive.

I​ reflect on my mother’s lack of capacity and how it served me. She loves the wild in me, even as she fears it, like most humans. She birthed this magic wonder that is me and allowed me to live wildly, supported and fed and cleaned me to the best of her ability. She taught me to laugh and play and plant seeds. She taught me that people are not honest to themselves, so they can’t be honest with me.

C​ountless times I have concluded what I come to conclude again. I can work on my own mind. The chatter is not serving me optimally. Sharing or conversing with ‘genpop’ is not advisable for me. I miss that feeling of having someone I trust enough to share mornings with. I am grateful I have had enough of it to appreciate it enough to miss. I know not everyone gets that. I have had a lot. I am indeed, uber privileged, and also, I suffer with the rest. We are in this together, and also, separate.

I​ have gleaned great value from the non duality channel lately. I try to stay focused and not let my mind buck and argue. “GNarr” my ‘drunk uncle Gary-type narrator, the incessant monkey mind chatterer, which I unwittingly allowed to grow itself quite large and unruly, is a frequent disruptor and distractor. Anti traction. I used to love spinning my wheels and just splattering mud everywhere, so I guess it is in part how I am drawn. I see that this story is mine to navigate and narrate, and more than half my life has likely slipped by…or half, even if I do it optimally, which, to be fair, well, it’s difficult to have a perspective. The institutions we have, while founded on good intentions, are, as many things well intending, fatally flawed, and defeating their own purposes.

A​gain. Focus is my super power. I have have it. Clear the rest.

W​ellness. Gardening. I posted an unscripted successful livestream yesterday. Hardly anyone saw it but that is alright. I also posted a pic of one of my menstrual blood paintings. I wish it looked better and I am proud of it. Proud of myself, for standing up for myself, celebrating myself, being willing to be present.

I​t’s chilly today, and I have a final pod call with coach Matthew, whom I sent in another complaint about today…I have a lot of mixed feelings about that, and so many other things. So many things I want to do, and all hinge on me making at least enough money to pay my mortgage–over due yesterday, and, yeah, a lot of other things. Onwards then. Focus. Fucking sell some things. Get it.

W​alkabout and belong to the day, the present, the wind, the sky, the earth. Then, and then, and then… ..

W​hat I’ve learned the most so far, that is of most value, is really how blind I am to so many things. In that realization, I can see how blind other people around me, and it becomes easier to forgive them, forgive me, learn, grow, carry on.

P​S Also, a lot of people seem to enjoy being told what to do more than I do.

T​he systems we co-create are founded on good intentions, mostly, and we do not all feel the same way about things. It’s an exercise in complexity, and to a large degree, futility.

Being seen, witnessed, and accepted, is all it takes, most of the time, to dissolve shame, blame, punishment…trauma.

K​eep up.

I have a dream and the dream has me #speech #IHaveADreamSpeech #DreamSpeech #Unity #Equality #Wellness #BringBackMyGarden 1 14 23pm

I​ have a dream, or rather, more precisely, this dream has me. It’s a fantastic dream that many women and men have had and been had by before me, and with any luck, many more humans will be captured by and hold this dream, long after you and I are dead and gone.

T​his dream also lives in you, I daresay, and it lives in all our ancestors and potential future offspring too. At least, a tiny shiny speck of it must.

T​his dream is one of belonging, of wellness, of connection, and of healing. This is a dream about becoming and being vibrant, buoyant, and joyful. It’s a dream full of abundance and laughter and humans sharing treasures, gifts, sorrows, and stories.

T​his is a dream magnificent enough to carry us all into the unknown future. It is a dream wise enough to heal deep wounds, treacherous betrayals, and unthinkable trespasses. This is the dream that creates our fantastic futures.

T​his dream lives in fertile soils, in human connections, in loving touch, and in forgiving smiles. It lives in flowers and cycles and rising above things to gain a better perspective. It lives in getting our hands dirty, rolling up our sleeves, maybe even taking off our shirts. This dream lives in open hearts that are yours and mine. This dream lives in hard-working hands and free-thinking minds steeped in courage, curiosity, and community. This dream lives in mutual respect, in listening without judgment, and in changing our minds sometimes.

I​ have a dream, and this dream has me. In this dream, you and I and they are All WE. In this dream, wellness and compassion and nourishment are the foundations for a pleasure-filled creative co-existence in which wellness and abundance is more than a possibility. It is an inevitability. I know this because this dream has more than me, and you, and them, it has ALL, it has WE, and together, we are more than the sum of all our beautiful individual souls. Together, we make this dream a reality, collectively and individually. Together, we can and will make this dream always coming true.

I am ALL in. How about you?

Hope Returns, Friday the 13th, 2023, 1 13 23 #Hope #ActuallyAutistic #CCPTSD #Trauma #Healing #Wellness #WellnessGardens #WellnessGardeners

F​riday the 13th has an interesting history. In my life it has always been more lucky than unlucky, and today was no exception. I am grateful that I can still feel the power of my feminine precense among groups of men, and also increasingly aware of how much ‘leeway’ is given and even encouraged of women in that…I suppose the purpose of that is to boost testosterone in men and progesterone or estrogen in women…perhaps…in any case, as I age I find there is more incentive to get more precise with my language, timing, tone, and all the rest. For a few fleeting moments now and then I almost lament not having needed to be more precise in my 20’s and 30’s but then I find that is not necessarily accurate or useful, so I do my best to change the subject in my head.

T​he morning was a bit off, not at first, but shortly after hold cold shower, mantras, getting dressed for a FunFast Friday snow play day, I swallowed a bunch of vitamins, started drinking my smoothie and writing, and got suddenly sick. No real warning, no queasiness, out of the ordinary. I threw up all the purple banana berry celery ginger smoothie with so many great powders added to it, and had to take off my snow pants because my belly swelled and I am already sitting 20 pounds heavier than ideal, which is fine, of course, because it is an indication that I live a really fucking good life.

S​o I canceled on my snowbuddy, and sat down to chill and had a toke. Felt better within half and hour and so texted my buddy back, and we were on track. We didn’t get to the slopes till nearly 2:30 I think we only got in 5-6 runs, but it was still totally worth it, really goody, best yet this season. The snow was thin though, and the air is notably warm for this time of year, compared to what we are used to, which is obviously completely askew from any real or relevant truth. Another reason I canceled is a burning aching fire of a pain in my right side, kidney area though it could be referred, and now I think it might be a twisted rib head, except I don’t feel it when I–oh, yes I do. Everything is tender though, most likely from more than one questionable decision in a row yesterday, so I am just drinking plenty of water, taking it easy, doing what I can to minimize stress and stay focused on progress. I am more sensitive than I used to be…or…well, I am recovering from allowing another round of deep wounding.

A​ decade ago I could manage a lot of more things more easily, it seems. I am not sure if that is true or if that is a shit story my brain is telling me. It does seem like when I look back through my life that my brain has been telling shit stories a lot of the time, throughout it. Blaming the mother and the father archetypes and individuals is convenient, but not very effective or useful. It also seems like I have been through some exceptionally dark periods and like I am coming out of one of them. It feels good, and I am grateful. I am aware a lot of it is hormonal. It’s complex.

SnowboarderScott and I stopped in to chat n hang through the spectacular sunset with the back parking lot crew on our way out. Most of them remember me now which is nice and I met a few new ones too. That is a nice group of humans to hang with. So many of the same archetypes play out. I am attracted to one of them but can’t tell if he has a partner and can tell he is not particularly into me, but a flirt and friendly with everyone, as I also like to be. He thinks about things and plays a lot, which is something I aim to do more of and be around more of, so I take note and gain proximity where I can. Now and then he connects with me, and he is perceptive in a way that catches my eyes. I still think perhaps we will do something together in the future, work or art or snow related I don’t know. He also has a nice truck. I aim to get one of those (a nice truck, that is).

Mothers and aging and cats came up there too. Life is really fucking excellent, it’s true. I am a lucky girl, despite and sometimes because of my struggles. I am excited about more healing and maybe some bodywork for touch again. I am excited about the Wellness Garden Project and Wellness Gardeners United Group and Intensive Support Group–not sure about that name but just trying it on. Also trying on Gabrielle, the Gardening Goddess. I like it so far. I see how it could weave into the Unity Play and campground ideas I am having too. Still leaning into Aunty Angel on YouTube, maybe leaning into trauma, healing, wellness…well…that’s what I am always leaning into I think. Apparently I still have trouble choosing and hence wind up a bit confusing and confused. It’s alright. I don’t mind most of the time.

I​t is so fucking excellent to have hope again. I really did feel I lost it, or nearly all of it for a time, but I feel it firmly back. I still have plenty of doubt and fear too, but I can navigate and work with those, so long as I have hope. Hope moves us forward. Hope gives a spark of possibility to the unknown.

Let’s GO!

https://www.facebook.com/groups/3416588505227066

Darkness Before Dawn 1 11 23

D​awn is still an hour or so away. I woke at 4am after going to bed too early. I marvel at how some people sleep 8 or even 10 hours regularly and then still claim they are behind on sleep. Juxtaposed with theories of how necessary sleep is to organize our thoughts and beliefs, and considering my struggles with my own mind and emotions lately, I conclude it is what it is. I am glad I don’t need 8 hours of sleep, as even 6 hurts my body. 5 is perfect for me, generally, and usually a sign my energy is good. I passed a period by recently, and now that I wrote that, it is still likely to arrive late. Frustratingly, I can’t find last month/year’s calendar, and can only guess at the dates, though I remember the last few months were regular. Ah–sifting through journals I see my last start was December 19, so I am not late yet after all. Confusing the full and new moon is an accurate summation of how out of tune I am overall. Overall, most or many humans seem to be detached from our natural cycles, or, neurotically attached. So I am 5 days out, and probably last week is the best I can expect to feel, hormonally, most of this month. That doesn’t satisfy, so I put plenty of space around it.

6​:11am I feel that predawn chill and darkness coming on. I hear a dog.

I​ am proud of myself for trying to get help, and also proud of myself for realizing that there is no help to be had from decrepit systems and wounded humans. I will do my best to hold myself up, stay strong, stay healthy, plant good seeds. Climate change is threatening major changes, and the pharma wars are ramping up. Podcasting is my target, but I still don’t know how to earn a living and live alive at the same time. I am determined to figure it out. I am grateful for the clarity from the humans I thought were friends and family. I see they are scared and weak and not interested in playing with me. That’s good to understand. I will stop wasting so much energy trying to be understood or liked or make sense or be organized in the context of what is already obsolete.

M​y body is soft and weak as well, and toxically flooded. My sweat stinks. My eyes burn. I can barely see. Still, this body is incredible and offers to carry me farther. I don’t know how far. I think I need to be getting rid of things. I’ll get to lightening up. Strengthening. Stretching. I think I should give up on trusting anyone but myself, again again again, and this could use some help after trying to help other humans who only scorn, shun, and take me for granted or worse. Fuck all of them. Kindly. I wish them all well. They do not care for me and they are not aiming for freedom or communication or thriving. They are less interested in living alive than in belonging to a dead system. I am grateful for my perspective, and for the perspective shared by others online. I am not sure how long I will survive this next part.

L​ive alive. Die well. Die alive? Die dead? Live half alive?

I​ know which one I choose. I know what I’m going to do. Get it. Send it. Go!

(after the sun rises)

6​:37 and still fucking dark and chilly. I am aware I would be wise to get to working on some grand plan to get my financial feet back under me. I reflect on so many times in my life that I believed so much in my own abilities, when I knew people were good and mostly aiming for the same sort of peaceful coexistence. When vibrance and wellness and doing things was ‘all the rage’ among humans. Now they are afraid. They are asleep. They don’t speak freely. They are forgetting how to think.

I​ am not sure why so many great ideas flitter flutter by and don’t get made…then again, I do, because making things takes time and energy and having ideas is passive…is it? I am not sure. I want to create, and I want to be secure. I leave society to its own demise to the degree I can. Stop trying to be of any service or do some good, as that only finds me resentful when other humans use me and despise me at the same time. Get clear on boundaries. I no longer make time for liars. I no longer make time for humans who are not at least trying to be alive, online, as in, really here, now, in space-time. Maybe that is an illusion. Maybe it’s a false light. Maybe it’s a lie too. Nothing matters, still. I want to write fantastic inspiring stories. I want to know myself and love myself. I want to leave good examples for those I love and those I will never know. I want to be a good human a good woman a good entrepreneur a good mother a good friend a good artist a good author a good snowboarder…

R​ide It Out. Merch. Boxes? Fucking figure this out. I know I am so lucky to have the resources, strength, clarity I do. I know not everyone has this, and also, some others do. I know my body would do better with more dancing, more loving, less stress, struggle, isolation–that is tricky, because it is around or mentally juxtaposed to people that I often feel the most isolated.

I​ am absolutely clear I do NOT want to sell people the way so many do. It feels so fucking yucky when people do that to me, I can’t fathom the thought of creating a business that requires me to do that to people. Manipulative and dishonest. This is what is destroying us, from my perspective, so I absolutely cannot do that. That doesn’t mean I can’t sell the way the EPM course keeps trying to push me to do, I just need to figure out what the fuck I have to offer that is of any use to anyone…I think everything is turning free, and even though I appreciate how paying creates commitment and increases the value of investments, I also appreciate that most value is relative and everything is shifting so rapidly, it is difficult to put value on information. So time, energy, attention–a fucking coach or therapist–these are services that help me, and I pay for, yet, not quite in the straightforward way other humans seem to get things to work. They just don’t work that way for me.

I​’ve reflected a lot on the items-story test that I went through last week at the autism specialists place–the only one in the state, maybe, and completely overwhelmed, underfunded probably, and insufficiently networked. The objects the tester personified and then made a story out of seemed to me to be less creative, but I see how humans are generally blinded by human interactions, and unable to see things for what they actually are. This is a big aspect of incompatibility between ‘the engineering brain’ and those of what seem to me to be brains of ‘lesser capacity’. I could make up a dumb meaningless story about the objects being people and acting out some inane, meaningless, stupid human scenario, or I could get creative and imagine personifying the objects, or creating a story to explain how the objects got where they are or what they are doing together. The story the assessor told seemed very dumb and was essentially unrelated to the objects, unless he really did know a girl named Susan who looks like a yellow sponge.

I​ncredible spread of hate available from anyone claiming to have good advice. You’ve got to add sugar, salt, spice, space to all of it. Judging others as toxic, shaming others for lying, comparing my level of chaos to yours…that all seems like an exercise in futility.

8​:52a

L​istening to replays of authors talk about narcissism, and I am struck again by how my last partner was/is obviously some twisted version of this, and so am I…I have read that autism gets misinterpreted as narcissism, and I guess I can maybe make a distinction, but I am not sure. Speaking for myself, I definitely care, deeply, greatly, about others. I also have a capacity to be hard, or to close off parts of myself, as a matter of preservation, and do hard things. This is what makes a great leader. My last partner had many of these traits as well, perhaps to a greater degree, or perhaps just differently. Much of what I hear from psychology is to ‘cut off/out’ narcissistic people, which I guess makes sense of why I have few people in my life, except those who really understand me, and/or those who don’t fear me, even if they don’t understand me.

Y​esterday that was Bo, and Joe, and by extension Susan, Spirit, Jules, John. I am super grateful for those. My son and I had a great conversation during our weekly supper meeting, about honesty, lying, gender, public personas, and my autism assessments. He said he would certainly tell a story about the objects themselves also. Then he shared something he hadn’t shared before, about his high school experience. It felt like one of those significant tiny steps of progress. I love those. Those are the moments that make life worth living, that give me hope, that give the whole thing meaning.

W​oman’s search for meaning varies from that of man’s, but it does have in common the aspect of being all made up at the beginnings and ends.

T​he sun is up and clouds are gathering, though no moisture is in sight around here. That is of future concern, but today it makes it more likely I might get to fixing my car. I think I know what I am doing…that’s just how it’s going to be.

First Principle Rituals

H​umans need ritual in our lives for at least a few reasons. Throughout our history, and no doubt well beyond, humans have used a variety of rituals to help us process, punctuate, add meaning and significance to our lives. All the religions use rituals, to help bring clarity and order to the follower’s lives, and though they vary in detail, they have some commonalities I have gathered.

1. W​e want to be witnessed, and anoymous. (Daily, weekly, monthly, yearly, ongoingly…)

2​. We need a reset button sometimes for a complete renewal. (annually?)

3​. We do well to have regular cleansing routines. (daily)

4​. We need to pause and reflect. (2-3 times daily)

5​. We need complete removal of rules in a safe container now and then (annually, seasonally, every 7-10 years?)

B​egin again

1​. Cycles of things, rituals, habits, relationships, processes

2​. Ancient to Modern History–various religions, earliest signs, modern examples, usefulness, risks

3​. What Serves Me? (and other great questions to frequently ask) how to evaluate the usefulness of specific rituals in your current life, what is practical, what do you desire?

4​. Examples, Templates, Permission to get it ‘wrong’, digging a bit deeper into psychology, formulas and templates with examples of variations, and assignment to create one of your own*

5​. What is it’s purpose? Reflective process after implementation, early, mid, when to habitualize the ritual? practical uses, ceremony

6​. Life by your own design. create your ideal day, week, season, year, life plans with rituals and ceremony pencilled/colored in.

Note to self: REMEMBER the State is a Heartless Mindless Unconscious Machine that eats human flesh and Does NOT have my best interest in mind #Journaling #External #Internal #Processing #Assessment #ActuallyAutistic #CCPTSD

I​ subjected myself to a series of completely fucked up assessments last week. It took 8 months for the appointment and no one communicated sufficiently with me about any of it. I made the appointments in a desperate attempt to find someone to talk to. I knew it was unlikely to result in positive ends, as desperate acts rarely do. I guess I am tired of people accusing me of not trying, of not being willing to try, of not accepting the ‘help that’s available’. I don’t think there is any help available. It is up to me to save myself, care for myself, heal myself, love myself, support myself, make whatever I can of myself.

Probably just playing that stupid unconscious human game I call the “look what you made me do game”. I keep doing despite my attempts not to. I only see it in hindsight. Turn it around then. Flip it. Look at it another way.

I’ve no idea what will come of them in the long run, as already the information I get and the behaviors of the people involved do not match. I am tired of being reminded that people are fucking liars. Our systems require lying in order to continue grinding forward. I am sorry to my body for putting myself through that. I guess I had to rule out any help options. People like to say fucked up shit like it’s just me not trying hard enough or me not accepting help or not asking for help. That is utter fucking bullshit.

A big part of the problem is that humans and I don’t speak the same language. We use the same letters, form the same words, but come to very different conclusions about what it all means and what we should be doing about any of it. The idea that we should fucking reduce ourselves the least functional, least interesting, most conforming and fucking ill of us just doesn’t add up. We will not survive if we continue in this direction. Of course, everyone dies, and all good things come to an end, so eventually, that is inevitable. It really does seem like we are on the precipice of some critical choices, with climate change and war and IA looming…and also, I remember the story of Chicken Little was written in the 1800’s…so this process is much bigger than me. I just try to make choices that are best for me and mine, not try to save the entire planet…it’s all the same fucking thing.

O​ur systems are set up to serve fewer and fewer of us. If only those with money can navigate it functionally, and those are becoming fewer and fewer of us, then the question looms–are we ‘for the people, by the people’, or are we slaves to puppets who just nom nom nom want to eat their own fat and fluffy tails? Those serving are still fooled into believing there is some hope of being served. Human history tells a sadder story.

M​y ability to communicate is dwindling rapidly. My hope and interest is sputtering–much stronger than it was last year, but also, closer to an end.

T​he assessment process is a great device of deconstruction. There is no follow up. No checks. No guidance. No support. No consistency. No accuracy. No assurance. In fact, voice mail is full and the forms we said we sent you are not anywhere, that’s your fucking problem because obviously you would not have contacted us unless you were incredibly defective and worthless. Just tear you open and throw you on the street. Wait for it….

Oh yeah, the system is also here to remind you of every reason you have to feel inferior and dysfunctional and un loved. Remind you all the ways you are defective. Remind you how unsupported you are and probably have always been. Have you been sad? Let’s sit for some hours and remind you of everything you are incapable of and remove the things you are good at by forcing you to perform under extreme duress. Remind you of every fucking trauma and weakness –tear off all the mask you can stand, and let us have a ridiculous look at you so we can confirm you are defective and wonder how long it will be until you join the suicidal masses we are here to create. Overtly. Covertly. Every fucking way we can. No direction doesn’t get you to fuckitude. You brought that shit on yourself. This is what you get for being born and not caring enough. Not being correct. Being too heavy at birth. Shaming your mother and father and grandfather and uncles and future children with your very existence. Shame shame fucking shame on me for existing. And be very careful not to try to defend yourself or be too defensive. Tell us how fucking angry you are but do not get angry, or we will be a scribbling negative marks in your permanent record. It’s time for lunch around here and you have taken up more than your fair share of our time. Goodbye.

I​ think if humanity is just going to do nothing about, scream and cry and pretend everything is alright while the ship goes down, then I should be singing more. I think guitar and I will spend more quality time together this year. I have a pleasant day of chores, cleaning, and prepping for progress planned. It’s Sunday. The sun is up and the sky is blue. Time to bounce, walk, stand on my head make beds and scrub bathrooms.

M​y mother called yesterday to say she put my phone number into some online solar thing. Talk about fucking manipulative. She refuses to talk about my assessments, only making remarks about her poor friend and brother who have to deal with fucked up offspring with mental and physical health issues. How lucky she is to be fucking blissfully happy. Her strategy of refusing to see anything she does not want to see, anything she doesn’t understand, anything she judges as ‘bad’, which is everyfuckingthing about me.

I​ see how she has unconsciously piled all the guilt and shame of everything onto me, during her pregnancy and ever since. I was the fix. The pill. The karmic reason for what’s wrong. The fucking responsible guilty party who caused such shame to my mother, to humanity, to my ‘family’, who of course, is not my family, because that would make them less. This process is fucking fucked. I think the people putting energy into it would want it to be better, but then I am not sure. I think actually, they would prefer I exterminate myself. Quietly, and clean up my own fucking mess after. I don’t want to die yet. I want to live alive. They don’t ask that and are not interested in how things could be better, as far as I can tell. We are just focused on disease and dysfunction.

I​ need a plan. I need support for myself. I need to not need anything from this system which threatens and offers to destroy me and everything free, everything wild, everything original or nonconforming. I will do what I can to leave inspiration and clues of a mind that was free, that did think and imagine and play and revel in fun, in magic, in love, in music, in creativity. I will not make the mistake of asking the machine for help again, for it has consumed what was left of humanity already. I think I need to get out of the city. I think I need at least one other human I can trust on this earth. Maybe that is what is wounding me. I need to do a better job of taking care of myself and stop expecting anyone else to do anything in my favor unless it is to manipulate me towards their own best ends. I can figure this out. I don’t think I can split myself and function, so that is going to have to be someone else. That feels hopeless so I let it go. Bounce. Eat. Walk. Wash. Fucking do shit. You got this girl, come on.

Our (Utterly Broken?) ‘Mental Health Care System” 1 7 23 #ActuallyAutistic #Trauma #CCPTSD #SystemBroken #DiseaseManagement #Suicide #Healing #Journaling #AntiAngel #AuntyAngel #Processing

1​5 hours in to assessments and I feel more autistic and traumatized and unsupported than ever. I think the system is actually tricking itself, saying the purpose is to help people who are suicidal when actually it is a system that ENHANCES a tendency towards suicide and systematically removes hope, sanity, or coping strategies until you crumble, and then they suck you up through a metaphorical straw, called, ‘life support’. It’s a system of domestication, of disempowerment, of conformity. It’s a system that scorns creativity and scrapes off individuality like fucking crusty barnacles. It’s a system that lies and hides and pretends…what, I am not quite sure. The destination is oddly dead for us all unless we can cooperate, communicate, and appreciate our diversity.

Y​esterday’s ‘interviews’ have left me hyper aware that I am a freak of humanity, that I am considered the worthless and out of line and a threat and just, a meaningless, inaccurate statistic. I am not sure what I hope to get by trying to get help from a system that at best would humanely exterminate me. I guess I see seeds of hope in it. In the humans caught in our own systems built on so many good intentions. This is the closest thing I have to someone to talk to that might undestand me. Fascinating, digital blank pages, filtered through our AI supplanters. The phrasing is designed to be disempowering, disregulating, disorienting. They do say that. Western exam techniques. Eugenics. We are all under construction.

A​nyone who is not suicidal when they start (which is most anyone who is insane to subject themselves that voluntarily, as I am), will certainly be considering it by the end of the day. Reviewing traumas in triplicate, Quadrupilate–put it on a form a bunch of times and then lets talk about it but not actually talk about it, just fucking mention how fucked up it is but stay calm and remember you are being judged and assessed for your obvious unlovable flawed most unlikable aspects. Of course, also, we will insist that everything remain incomplete, in the context of proving yourself incapacitated but also honest, somehow. Just the facts, but not all the facts. Fragments and highlights of the worst, most wounding facts, just pull them, put them on three forms but don’t address them, don’t tally them, don’t actually try to understand or put them in context. Just tear, tear, tear, fucking rip open every fucking wound you can find and then leave, go the fuck away, until maybe we will call you. Our box is full. Our process is inefficient. Young people doing their best to help in a broken system. Overwhelmed and underpaid, no doubt.

T​he few distant friends I had have all distanced themselves rapidly. I don’t have anyone I can talk to, though this has been the case long enough I am okay. I see now how most of my life I have damaged myself, masking, doing my best to be someone people value or like or at least tolerate. It has caused great harm to me, and they only hate and despise me for it.

R​eviewing my fucking fucked up adolescence is a reminder that our society has gone from fucked to fuckeder with regards to intelligence, empathy, communications, community. I see again this society is a facade. It is set up to create slaves and masters. Our consciousness has been hijacked. Autism is a protective mechanism in a way. I still fall into the program, because we are taught and indeed feel, are bred, to feel, that we need to belong to the collective. I don’t know if I should follow through, and also I feel I must, in order to really examine and help improve the system. I don’t think it is a conspiracy, at least, not a conscious conspiracy. It is a conspiracy of unconsciousness. It is shadow. It defeats its own purpose.

M​y body tells me interfacing with the system is very dangerous. Like going in the snake pit with my smelly mouse pelt coat. I think I must, while we are still a little bit alive. As imperfect as our systems are, they are still at least a little bit wild. I am not sure what I thought I might get by trying, other than confirmation of its FUBARness. I try not to overthink, and feel into it. My body. Higher and lower faculties. I do think the shadow is trapped by the light, so to speak…obliteration is the only way out. I am in no hurry, that being the case, ironic to think the impulse to be quick might suddenly shift to an impulse to slow things down. We are easily enslaved through the senses, and taking them back through our higher selves is a key, I think.

T​he ego enslaves the masters. The masters enslave the lower selves of the masses. I am excited to dive into some more of what is at least a beautiful, fantastic story. I see glimmers of next steps, which is all I ever hope for. I see how overthinking, overplanning, overconnecting to the paradigm is too anchored. My desire for more anchoring, is true, is inverse…anchoring to self so we can be more fluid. Less consuming. More creating. More Eros with a capital E. Put hands in soil. Move my body. Embody information and turn it into knowledge.

I​ am tempted to serve the system because I am trained to be good, to please my mother, to protect my mother, and to protect my son. I have an impulse to protect my father as well. My son is the only one of them that really feels that towards me, I think, and only to a slight degree. I am hopeful and that feels good, even though I am feeling raw, open, and a bit defensive still.

T​hinking for myself is something I have practiced a lot, and still fall subject to all the tricks of systems and ego. So it takes shaking it off. Rinse. Soak. Sweat. Dive into real expression and exploration. Stay curious. Question with a light heart. Stay fluid and in more than one world, is the only way I see to stay a little bit free, to not be tethered completely. It’s fucking tricky.

F​ind your own original thoughts. Stop repeating sound bites that have already been said. It’s not about plagiarism exactly, though in some ways it is. The idea of plagiarism gets used against itself, and people use it to quash originality, put rules and parameters around it. The point I think needs to be to be original, unique, in the moment, programmed, unleashed, free thinking.

I​s there such a thing, as free thinking? I remember wondering this at age 3-4, one of many early memories I carry. I am aware I remember them all this time because I retell them to myself. Memories. Programming. It’s fallible. With that we need real time agency. Fluidity. Presence. Realness. Fucking be here, now, and now, and play, dance, sing, create, love…see what happens.

I​ disagree with many people I respect when it comes to hierarchy, which poses a stumble around ideas of divinity, higher and lower selves and that. It is me. All of me. Complete. To learn to love and include and manage the entire ‘ship’ in the entire ‘sea’. I do enjoy documenting my thoughts. It is unclear if I will be helping or hurting, as it is only clear that it is tricky, and certainty is more often than not pinned down and obsolete, even if it was the truth when it was captured. Out of context, it becomes a dusty-winged, dead butterfly exoskeleton. Crumbling, like so many beautiful butterfly cookies, into the ever churning vast and deep sea.

I​ appreciate it all. Angels and Devils. Mountains and Seas. I think my AntiAngel, AuntieAngel identity is a fun prospect, and building itself gracefully. Extra. Better. Ego and Energy. Machine, Mineral, and Light. Imagine what we can be. I am you and you are me, and what we will become remains to be seen. Lightly then, my fellow playmates. Let’s dance lightly now.

I​’m going to walkabout, belong to myself, and then meet a friend online to talk about Big Magic, and how ideas have us, at least as much as we have ideas. How we put our own spin on things.

E​motions such as anger and admiration can be more useful if we learn to work with rather than against them. Ebbs and flows are natural. Pushing and pulling are both ways to get things done. Letting go and going with the flow seems to speed up the ride, which I love but also, just seems to bring things to an end more quickly. Then back to the top of the slide again? Why not splash around, roll around, jump around, walkabout, touch, smile, love, laugh, paint, plant, drive, celebrate? Let’s fucking get to it.

How Selective Is Selective Mutism? 1 5 23 #ActuallyAutistic #UnSelectivelyMute #Mutism #Autism

T​he feeling that we could war and fight and demand our way to a more peaceful, less toxic environment for humans seems like the very one creating more of what it thinks it is fighting. We become the snake eating its own tail. Come on, rise with me. Above that. Higher.

H​ere we can see the patterns, the masks, the underlying currents of things. Riptides and waves. Pushes and pulls. It’s just a great ocean. So learn to ride. Get on top of it. If you go under, relax, trust, let your self tumble and roll, try to pop back up still alive. We got this down most of the time.

T​he unprunned autistic mind, I think, can be so overwhelming it shuts down the nervous system, and then I am disabled. Selectively mute, which I am still digesting as a term, as I realize it gives authority to mutism, or the muteness itself, and says it is the muteness which is selective in when it gives itself to the situation. I used to think it meant that the person had some authority and used it intentionally to a degree, to maintain some sense of control. I think this was largely or somewhat the case with the girl I as an aid for during my TA days working for APS. Now I understand I too have selective mutism, which is the inability to speak at exactly the very worse times, like in an intense conversation with a lover, answering a question in lab, or on stage, singing an original song.

I called it performance anxiety, which I think is still accurate. Extreme paralyzing stage fright. Frustration. The times I have spontaneously started to cry in classes, two instances come to mind, were dominoes in my autism realization. The degree to which I shut down or lost control varies. More often than simply going mute, I usually cry. So then I just seem manipulative or overemotional, and people want to get away from me as quickly as possible. Any way they can. If they have to hurt me they will. If they accidentally hurt me, oh well. I am not a fully deserving equal in their eyes. They justify lying and using me by belittling me, making me less than in their eyes.

I don’t know what to call things anymore. This entire thing has damaged my sense of self, created so much inflammation and new self-destructive patterns, weaving into my attempts to heal, to create new healthier patterns, to figure out how to compartmentalize, what to prune.

R​ise again.

It’s alright. That energy of every thing is alright seems to be my best bet. From there I can fly, I can write more coherently, I can decide and like what I choose. Without that I am a static bit of lost dust blowing in the breeze. Susceptible to the whims of more coherent forces, and the chaos of untethered wind.

I​’m going to pay someone else to do a job I could do, or once would have done, not long ago, but now, am feeling worthy of paying someone else to. I don’t have money to pay bills this month, but I managed to pull through so many similar months, for so many years, and I am much stronger and more well than I was this time last year, so I am not worried. I am grateful. I am calm and coherent.

I​ release all fears and resentments to the Great Mysterious Grand Poo Paw so that I can go through this day with calm clarity and receive insights to help me live as my best self and enjoy my best possible life. So it is. ~GAL

Processing my first Autism Specialist Evaluation Appointment, 1 4 23 #Journaling #ActuallyAutistic #Regulation #Complexity #Simplicity

D​ualistic would be a good word to describe me. I had my first formal autism assessment today, and cried through most of it. I think it went well overall. I can see it is near impossible to tell all those nuances, so many subtle aspects. It was actually comforting to feel I was ‘the subject’, a feeling I have been aware of in a variety of contexts. Noteworthy, to myself, that I don’t think I feel that way in medical settings, and my body felt that way at first, and beforehand, but once I got there, after a half hour or so of adjusting, I was back to weeping in my own story, and less reactionary to the environment. I looked up a couple YouTube videos just before I went, trying to get some calming information to anchor to before I left.

The assessment I had not heard of before yesterday, or had not paid attention to, somehow, probably because it is typically given to children, is called the ADOS, the “gold standard” of assessment before the redefining of autism. He gave me some assurance that my age and sex would not make it a moot point, though I have no way of knowing how true that is.

He gave me some colored blocks, not enough to get creative, and parceled out a few at a time, which left me feeling rote and uncreative. Had he given all of them to me and asked to me to make something interesting the outcome would have been vastly different. I figure there was probably an intention behind that, but I couldn’t figure out what it was. It felt as many things do, like I was being asked to fit myself into a context that is not very well suited for me. Like we are acting out roles and parts that might be good for some but that are clearly not going to do anything but waste everyone’s time.

I had a few waves of relief, as I went off into my story numerous times and felt like I was ‘validating my own experiences through the autism lens, maybe. He asked me questions which strike me similarly as the questions DB asked me in her attempt to sell me her course–another story–asked to separate and rate on a scale, personal and professional felt false and impossible to answer accurately. Actually, today’s questions, ‘What makes you sad/relaxed/happy?” were a bit easier to answer–a lot easier to answer, but I did feel like I am probably answering in an odd way, which I suppose is the point. The last part, was a part that happened to be in a video I watched right before I went to the appt. Of course I recognized it, and wondered if watching that would influence the outcome, but it happened rather quickly, and I don’t think knowing it did.

The (quite young) man assessing me choose 5 objects and recited an obviously well-rehearsed story, giving the objects human names and characters, and then asked me to choose from the remaining objects and tell a story. It felt very unfair, which I only briefly mentioned, and he did admit his story was rehearsed. I knew from the video I watched that he would judge me based on how I imagine the things, and I think given more time and no stress/static in my head, I could come up with dozens of fantastic stories, and would have liked to have been able to try, though probably I still would have done something indicative of an autistic, or engineering mind.

On the spot, shaking and still weeping, I managed a lame story to explain the torn umbrella, with the racecar dropping it, moving by the light of a lantern and guided by a lamppost, boomeranging back to the torn umbrella to check on it. Very autistic. Object oriented. I really would only do it ‘his way’ if he asked me to make the same kind of story as him, which I suppose is meant to be implied by his demonstration. Even after watching the video, my brain did not come up with anything more creative. I felt pressured and put on the spot and judged on a very slim section of self. A very familiar feeling in this life. Also, he took the sponge, block, file, paper parachute, and I can’t remember the other thing, and told a story that had no relation to the objects except for the parachute. He left me with much more concrete/distinguished objects, or maybe a few of each…fewer. I choose the car and lamppost and light and broken umbrella because they were the most ‘objecty’, the rubber band was the only thing I then got a little creative with. Again, different objects, more time, less stress, I think I would have been much more creative. Also, at different point in my life, when I have not been so low and so disregulated so much the last few years, my brain was working much better I think… I will now be cursed to come up with more creative stories about the objects I chose for probably the rest of time (or so–that’s sarcastic sardony–or something–simmer down 😉 )

I felt so lame and it is exactly what does happen so much of the time when I have performance anxiety, in many situations. I become much, much, much less high functioning…the ebbs and flows are every couple minutes as far as I can tell, at least sometimes…maybe other times in hours or even day segments. I am still just barely able to see so many things.

S​teven, my assessor, took down many notes, and we were already aware that a cooking class was waiting for the room we were in, so clearly I took too long. He asked me also if people annoy me or I annoy them. I said yes, definitely. I think maybe my autism is more severe than I thought, after coming away from that, though I also can see I clearly have a lot of trauma rising to the surface and coloring everything else.

O​h yeah, he also asked me to imagine a sink, toothbrush, toothpaste, and teach him to brush his teeth. An activity that seems unfairly skewed for an adult but maybe not. I gave him by best brief description, and then mentioned my Mexican root canal and how it had probably saved my life. I also mentioned last weekend and the accident I caused and cleaned up with my friend, and did manage to summize that I was much more functional when my son was relying on me, in midlife, and have struggled increasingly profoundly since 2017…really before. I mentioned sexual abuse, gullibility, rapes, incarceration, dissolved relationships, accusations by loved ones, uncontrollable weeping and rage.

H​e told me I am supposed to have another evaluation there, with a speech and language person…that I don’t know anything about yet. Then two evaluations at the psych place on Friday. I tried to see if I could reschedule that, as the paperwork to prepare for that sent me over the edge yesterday. They are booked ten months out now. It was 6-7 months ago when I made these appointments. So, I am keeping the two on Friday. Five hours or so of evaluations. My head already hurts and I feel gratefully out of my body. It is not comfortable. I guess I will go for a walk while I have some daylight, now that I think of it. Ponder how I can make something good, something better, something ‘Extra’, with Grace, out of all of this.

I​ made it to my weekly coaching podcall 2 minutes after I got home, and one of my classmates DB tried to push me into an appointment via a private message. I already messaged her before and she has not responded. At this point, I no longer want to hear more about her offer, as she took a long time and was obviously practicing our lessons on me, but did not acknowledge that, in fact, went so far as to say she was glad I reached out to her, which just isn’t how it went from my perspective. She reached out to me, I thought to practice together, and instead she tried to manipulate me by pretending to be interested but in the end, making it apparent she really wasn’t listening to me. Same fucking lesson, over and over and over again. I did tell Steven that is what bothers me most about humans–they fucking lie all the time.

The irony does not escape me, in the way I post publically while also worrying about privacy especially with regards to government agencies. I guess it seems a risk worth taking, for posterity, humanity, and my own sanity. So I document the process for myself and perhaps others. For worse and better. Hopefully, mostly better.

My word is ‘Grace’, and my direction is ‘Better’. 1 2 23 #ActuallyAutistic #Grace #2023 #BetterLifePlan #BetterLifeProgram #BetterLife #AimForBetter #Journaling #ExternalProcessing #Therapy #SelfCare #Freedom #Free #Trust #Honestly

H​umans’ capacity to use me, ask me to do for them, and then scorn, shun, and wound me continues to catch me off guard. This gullibility is one of the clues that eventually, after only fifty-one years of wondering what-in-the-actual-fuck to various degrees, I figured out is a trait of autism. This is what we are calling open-mindedness in this era. Witches is what we were called about 300 years ago. Freethinking has always been an enemy of ‘the state’. I need to build a better fortress. Protect myself. The trickiest ones use love and kindness to lure me in, get me to do the fucking shit they don’t want to or they believe is beneath them, then rape, scorn, shun, punish me till I break, then laugh and ridicule me, justify their hateful, closed-minded, short-sighted actions.

I​ release all fears and resentments to the Great Mysterious Grand Poo Paw so that I can get through this day with calm clarity and receive insights to help me live as my best possible self, and make this my best possible life. So it is.

I​t’s a new year, and I will be 52 years old soon. It’s starting to show. I feel much less smart or kind or trusting or okay than I remember feeling in my youth, though I often also reflect on the similar patterns that have run me all along. The programming. I remember reflecting on this around age 4, wondering how I could know my own personality from the programming others were instilling in me. My mother’s story continues to permeate me, and I continue to do my best to disentangle her limitations from my own. Her wounds from mine. It all turns to mess if I look at it too closely, so I put a lot of space around it. We give it lifetimes.

It occurs to me, that small voice that I remember speaking to me at age four is the quiet voice many people speak of, as the true self, the highest self..parts of me would lament, mine is so quiet, or overshadowed by egoic defensiveness. It gets muddy. I don’t know if that is an aspect of autism, or if it is an aspect of ‘giftedness’, which is a rapidly disappearing term I used to be endowed with. Now we understand giftedness is just another word for disability. Fine pickle this is.

R​esonance and atunement complicate the mother-child reality. We are separate, and we are woven from one another. We vibrate together. We influence. We need. We feed. We give and take. Ask and tell. Hide and retract.

R​eflecting on my goals, successes, and failures for the last and next years, I am again struck by how much I need to make myself a priority. Let go of the grossly faulty and harmful, self-destructive programming my mother and other ‘caring’ members of society installed in me. Reflecting on so many men, my son included, who have been coddled by mothers so much they don’t have any clue how selfish and inconsiderate they are. They are undestandably defensive and wounded when it gets pointed out, or is in danger of being too obvious. So sensitive. So small and hurt. I suppose that is equally true of women too. It’s easy to blame whatever we perceive as the ‘other side’, the opposition, when really we are two ‘sides’ of a whole, and separation, blame, punishment, silence, dishonesty, and disconnection hurts us all.

S​everal humans who I thought were caring friends have made it clear they do not want me in their lives anymore. Continue to make it clear. I am not one to take a hint easily, as everything is a hint to me, and I have learned humans are not trustworthy, unless you are trusting them to be chaotic and dishonest. You can trust us to be blind and stupid and to think we are well meaning all the while. Humans are resorting, digressing, regressing, contracting, pulling back. I hold myself as best as I can. Human. Open. In eros. Awake, sometimes.

I​ just realized it is yesterday on the calendar I made last night. Off to another turbulent start, but, it’s just after 9, so still plenty of time to get it right. 😉 It’s actually a relatively calm and glorious morning. Sunshine is showing up in the back kitchen now and then, as high winds blow small snowthunder clouds by. The clouds trot and canter and gallop across the plains and then slow and swirl and gather around the mountain range. We sit at the foothills, on the high side of the river basin. It’s a good place to be, geologically. Not super lush. A bit barren. Free.

I​ am aware that I am the common factor in all the patterns I recognize. I do my best to be a better friend, parent, lover, teacher, therapist, health care provider to me. I appreciate all the beautiful people and other animals and plants that exist and dance so colorfully, deliciously, gracefully in my life.

‘B​etter Life Plan’ is the name of the current game. ‘Grace’ is the word that has illuminated itself to me as a good focal point. I did not expect it, and so am delighted to embrace this as a guiding principle this year. I remember a ritual I did in my 20’s perhaps as I began to step into this Trickster Priestess identity, evolve from Warrior Princess. I wrote down the belief I had before then “I am not graceful.”, and I burned it in a ritual fire, transmuting, dissolving, sending that back to the ether, to the Universe, to evolve, grow up, grow into. I am graceful now. I am grace. I give and receive grace.

I​nteresting connections to divinity and ties to religious beliefs, which invite me to untangle the ‘leg meat’ from the shell (new crab analogy vies for dominance over ‘growing corn’, ‘separating the wheat from the chaff’, or ‘getting to the meat’, which is closest…) I had snow crab legs last night for the first time in some years, and reflected again on how crab, shrimp, insects, mushrooms, sprouts, these are probably my most choice nourishing foods…salmon, artichokes, birds…cows and pigs are getting closer to us, and probably better to eat less of…all of it is a grand orchestration of experience. I will give myself grace. I revel in gratitude.

A​pproval. Favor. Mercy. Pardon. Privilege. Reprieve. Charm. Adorn. Embellish. To confer dignity or honor on. Yes, I am gracing my own life with grace. I am graceful. I am an embodiment of grace, gratefully.

1 January, 2023 #Journaling #Autism #CPTSD #Duality #NewYearsEve #WaysWeBleed #Consciousness

M​y head feels a bit wrapped in static. I think that’s residual champagne bubbles, aka, inflammation. Empathetic resonance, perhaps, as I accidentally hurt a friend of mine last night. We were playing, and I chased him in a way he was not accustomed to. We were both drinking, moderately. It was after New Year toast, and the tail end of a pleasant and mellow evening with fire and music and food and a few friends. I am not certain what happened, but I know I catalyzed the fall, and my friend fell hard, face-first into the edge of a cement slab. The fall cut his nose open and goose egged his head over his eyebrow. Of course, I went into triage mode, and took control of the situation as best I could. Stopped bleeding. Got ice. Confirmed awareness. He had signs of a mild concussion. I have had enough of my own to have a good idea of the protocol. My first aid and CPR training is a bit rusty, but well ingrained after many courses. He did not lose consciousness or throw up or go into shock. Bleeding and swelling stopped after 15 minutes or so and then it was managing and assessing panic and continuing to watch for other symptoms. I got him oranges and water. He developed a Goose-Egg indicative of externalized swelling pretty quick. The gash on his nose bled a lot outside, not inside, and his breathing was okay. Pulse slow and steady after bleeding stopped. I didn’t think to check it before that.

Yay for skulls.

H​e said he had never bumped his head before. Never cut his face. A man in his 60’s. This gives me new perspective on his level of fear during the pandemic, and his comfort in asking me to do thing for him to an extreme degree. I have a hard time fathoming a life without frequent trauma, blood, knots, clots, cuts…all of that has been part of my existence as long as I can remember. I think my first few days at home I figured out I would have to be tough to survive with my mother. This explains and colors my perception of so many things. Giving me an odd sense of clarity which is serving me well currently. My friend panicked a few times, mildly, understandably as he was bleeding and we were outside. Our two drunk friends, kin, were both a hindrance and a help. We got through it. I created or escalated a mess, and did my best to clean it up. He will be hurting today. I hope not too terribly. I followed him home after a few hours. Got the drunkest one on a blanket and pillow. Got myself home just before sunrise. My body is still tense and I am being gentle with myself to help dissipate stress and not internalize it.

It was a quick and odd start to the new year, a few hours into it. And I am still feeling a sense of calm strength even with so much familiar dis-ease. Clarity on owning myself. Shaking off approval and disapproval. Though approval still feels nicer. I am comfortable leading in most emergencies, though I am happy to let someone more qualified take that role. Many times no one else does, and I am well-trained to step up, step in, do my best to get a job done. Keep people alive, awake, uplifted, lighthearted.

It’s a delicate dance to not abandon my own needs in the process. I need to be my own best advocate, lover, mother, father, friend. I still am making some room for partnership. Maybe ships. We will see, we will see, we will see… I take the wheel, set the rudder, adjust the sails. Carry, press, pull, push on. Forward. Upward. Easy twirls and gentle swirls. Steady now.

T​he masculine feminine dynamic continues to be highly influential in pretty much all of my interactions. Not in a sexual way, to me, but, in hormonal, pheromonal, unconsciously and biologically preconditioned ways. That whole thing started in part because young Loy was pouring alcohol on top of feelings, mixed in with admiration towards me, and I was showing affection and compassion in a way that sparked some mobius twist jealousy in my friend. I was trying to give him some the attention he was requesting, and overall did beautifully I think. Up to, and perhaps even including knocking him down and then caring for him. A lot of new experience for him…which is again, hard for me to fathom, having had so much trauma, so many many many hard knocks to the head, elbows, knees, and toes.

H​ow much is subconscious? How much is superconscious? How much can my consciousness create positive change? How much does my unconsciousness promote suffering? There’s a lot of nuance to it all, and layers of delicious irony folded throughout.

A​s a woman, I bleed regularly. Pain and confusion and mood swings are a part of my existence, and I mostly ride the waves with a fair degree of grace and style. I try not to try too hard. Now and then I get it right. Mostly I miss. Mostly I keep trying and give up. Everything comes in cycles and waves. Everything is relative to something else. Having a story, a container, a framework, a context to put things in, is everything.

My mission is to help us tell better stories about to and for ourselves.

I​ do well to process ‘out loud’, and ‘on paper’. This is both and neither of those things, ironically.

Tangent:

L​et’s hit the pause button for a spell, and dive more deeply into the meaning of the word irony. IOL factor, I am known to say, which stands for the Irony of Life, is as close to proof of god as I see ‘evidenced’ thereof. There seems to a be divine sense of humor, and it seems to be even grander than me. I am pretty great, an imperfect embodiment of goddessness, no doubt, so things that are grander than me seem worthy of pondering. (Did you catch that? A subtle wiff of irony?)

S​etting aside the relatively unrelated (or is it?…) elemental definition– ‘of or as iron’, I think there are two main understanding of the word, irony I want to dive into. I once had a joyful connection to an Apache man I met at an Eric McFadden show in Taos, NM. We met for a dinner date a week or two later, which turned out to be our first and only. There were a few obvious incompatibilities between us. One of the first clues about some of them was over our conversation about the meaning of the word irony, ironically. He did not agree with my understanding of the word, and told me I was using it wrong. As I just used it, to imply a sort of entertaining, comically twist or play of words or meaning…again, to me, a sense of a grander overarching sense of humor. This relates directly to the other meaning listed, from Greek theatrics, a literary technique of ‘simulated ignorance’. Where the viewer sees the obvious ignorance which the actors pretend to be oblivious to. That conversation continues to find new levels of ironic relevance in my life, along with many, many others.

U​npause.

I​n caring for others, I do learn to care for myself better. In being cared for, we learn to forgive, to surrender, to appreciate…I set fresh intentions to be present with myself. I will continue to cultivate self awareness, be a conduit for creative energy, and for Eros. I will continue to tune myself to the Earth’s cycles, dance the complex and nuanced rhythms of my fellow humans as best as I can. My internal world is what tells the story that matters most to me.