“Don’t tell me to smile. Don’t tell me to be happy. Don’t tell me what thoughts I should have and what thoughts I should not have. Don’t give me a list of ten ways to be better, to know better, to live better. Don’t point me to the right or left. To the star or to the saint. Just love me. Better yet, love yourself. All I need is a heart, eyes that are awake, and a place to rest the ways of the world that are not me. I am not taken in by who I am supposed to be in someone else’s eyes. I am taken in by the beauty that is me. I am already everything and All. If everyone could see they are too, there would be nothing of truths to tell.” ~ Everyday Aspergers
The Echo
A me that slips behind the scene knew this would be…
He watches with calm interest as I make my way down the river, less driftwood than pioneer on a raft with beating paddle.
I can see him, this undone one of none, the way he stands back and lets me be, watches as this illusioned I meanders from this truth to another; his kindly grin in the bleakest moments of darkness; his hands strong.
A cradle awaits.
Still this determination that bleeds out righteousness.
This will momentarily unbearable in its strength and stellar.
A hankering, this lingering, this potent folly of not being able to shake self from self.
To describe would do injustice, and to not describe would cause further agonizing despair.
For how to tell what I am, through I am, seems to produce jeopardy—two battled two, then four, and then more.
Swordsmen swift, many in count, each timber for the maker, each wood to be chopped, each, once tree, now distant edges merging into their own shadow.
A labyrinth of the huntsman, the hunter and the hunted same;
Each a mirror staring down a mirror, and each unnerved and brought up for game.
I is sliced and rendered empty.
Slaughtered and sacrificed.
And still this ever present, ever changing presence remains.
The one cannot help but think I am illusion.
How could I be anything else?
And even illusion, being something, is transformed into the thought of nothing, by the floating mind that reasons further in invisible plundering.
To move in such a distinct rhythm of naught.
Being here, then being gone, then being here much changed.
Tinkering toys of this world, and smile, the child’s smile— teeth wide and unburdened, stomach growing, fed upon canary two-fold.
To eat away at this place I thinks I is.
To eat away at what I think be sight.
To make morsel out of fantasy.
To understand the doctrines inside the explicit words of absence.
And bite into the existence of others’ thoughts, when their thoughts are built upon the ponds of nothing.
How and where to find the start of truth is ceasing to appear explicitly lost before found.
The maker dead before rendering wholeness.
The absoluteness evaporated before finalized.
All these trumpeting warriors blended into the background of reclaiming selves before first step is made on a path where footsteps are not held.
A witness to the soldiers before these carved eyes, in their bleakness and plight, screaming out for the way that never comes, through shadows of soul-bled sorrow.
How can so many exist and still further emerge, and where do they walk if not upon some very beating spirit?
I know not what I do or who I am, and this is insignificant compared to the ghosts I watch, to the empty places I thought were one, to the solidness dissipating, and to the rules clinging to the mass of nothing, as choking vine.
Only to be dismissed by the thousand witnesses birthed.
Still she comes, this form, this lost victimless one of none.
For no victim remains when foe is banished.
Yet, she cries holding the thousands of deaths in full arms, the one after the other burdened and unquenchable.
The captain in charge of the mourning, of the dissipation of one phantom begotten onto another.
Goodbye, she whispers, her hand gauntly and appetite diminished, her mind wavering between a place of no thought and every thought.
Her emptiness dismissed by her want and need for explanation, in a land that whispers without voice and forethought: there exists no need.
But if all that she is be need, then what is she?
Again she dies upon self, self-inflicted no more, pierced by the echo of evergreen.
How can she be this ghost of unraveling;
Her death made known to no one and no thing?
Her heart pierced by what ifs and circumstance that never need rise, since all is fallen.
She walks in the forest, a demon twisted into raven, a plastered wall onto herself, lost between the space leading from one room to another.
Until all rooms explode and the house is hovering in the existence of space.
And still the house crumbles and woman bled dry remains, withered and emptied of soul.
And here she wavers, a distant shell.
The only passerby another illusioned being that hears the self’s whisper of ocean wave gone.
A distant calling centered at the dolphin’s heart—he too swimming in a pool of imaginings.
It has been going on several weeks now that I carry with me an inner calm. I have moments of traveling in thought to the past or future, and moments of fear, but when this happens a gentle voice pulls me back to the moment, to the present. I am practicing being in the now continually, and feel a presence about me the full of the day. I have a strong desire to be outside and in nature—to touch nature, to breathe in nature, to be one with the beauty of the world.
Yesterday, I sat outside and imagined the world of trees, how life might be as a tree. I was drawn into the green edges, the outlines, and pulled further in at the imaginary line where the green of the tree meets the blue of the sky. Such a lovely, lovely day it was, the blue of the sky the richest of colors. I sat there, in wonder, my mouth agape at the swirling colors that are between where the tree and sky meet, realizing they don’t actually meet at all, as there is no separation. I watched the beauty, recognizing all that I have been taught in how to see the world is being undone.
So much of who I am is the little child I used to be. Found again is the youthful innocent wisdom; as if effortlessly I’ve opened up a honeypot of yesterdays, all the knowledge I’ve collected through the centuries trickling down upon me. The blunders, the pillaging, the fallings, the woes—all of it pouring through, and with this, the stickiness itself, scouring and collecting the final residue within.
I cannot express this brilliance of being, nor will I attempt to do so. Yet, I have a strong impression I shall never be bored again. All around me the world appears reborn and renewed, and the presents that have always been present at last opened.
I no longer have extreme emotions. I no longer have lingering emotions, indeed. For as soon as they spike in degree, the observer I am, watching this mysterious play of life, steps in and erases the experience with a calmness divine. I now understand in depth most, if not all, of my journey, and am treated to painted images of grace-filled lessons throughout my waking and sleeping hours. There is no heightened need or want, or desire for anything. Outcomes are ceasing to exist. For with the coming of goals, or longing of any magnitude, I slip momentarily back into a state of pain, and recognize readily the need I once had for what would be leads only to the recognition of a finality that no longer exists.
My days are spent in gratitude. Everyone I meet a gift onto self—a self I know less and less about. A self that with each further step released, a new step is found. My need is for naught, my wishes for All. In this I have the calmness and stillness of the pond at the sunrise, the ripples evident of a spring day’s passing of gentleness and of wind asleep. I am the ripples and I am the pond, and all about the pond—the insects, the rocks, even the litter—for all seems purposeful and meaningful, and if not necessary, then accepted.
The calmness exists in my body. My being naturally following the rest. One blended into the next. The sound of hymns, the beauty of art, the eyes of a beloved, the start of a divine dip into nature, all leave me spellbound. Though, equally present. I am child returned onto master, and master retreated into the woods of before. Resting, as higher self, in some greater plane of non-necessity; the once imagined presence less displaced than returned to the phantom warehouse.
I understand why I was the way I was, and in thinking back, I hurt. In that when I travel here or there, or anywhere not directly now, my body is aware of the alignment shifted, and leaps back to the moment with such degree I am bolted or jolted, or at minimum steered with the reminder of what is.
I am at peace when I am not wondering in thought. I am at peace when I connect to what feels as source: a collective rush of pool of nothingness birthed somethingness. I am at peace when the voices I hear, that I have always heard, hush my thoughts to rest with the gentle: shhhhhhhh. I am at peace as the lessons are glided through me, as the gentle wind through the limbs of the willow. How I sway in the knowing, and reclaim my own lovely substance in the submission to the natural flow.
Tomorrow is no longer my concern, and to venture there seems illusion upon illusion. And the past equally thusly so. A past splattered in disarray and guessing, so thoroughly shifted from one reality to the next, that it is but phantom ghost revisited through phantom eyes. The queries of what is or what brings seems little of substance; the questions themselves somewhat wrapped in the outcome of nothing. I bend in this way, to the invisible of invisible, no less certain than determined, no less able than unable.
I am. And that is all. And beyond that, need I be erased, and all my trappings set free, then so be it. For I have collected nothing but imaginings: event upon event of interpretation and judgment.
I have been the scout of fantasy and mistress of pain.
I have placed my needs above All, and then watched as I crumbled in uncertainty and failure.
I have danced to be proclaimed, and then watched as my invisible dust scattered in non-recognition.
I have been this and that a billion times, each effort daunted, each need uncovered and devoured.
All I have been is for naught.
Everything done in an attempt to claim what is un-claimable.
All done in an attempt to unravel a beauty that was long forgotten.
Indeed, I was an empty present, with legs sprouted, and mind controlled, a zombie beyond zombie, unable to feed off of anything beyond the self-invented clinging-self.
I ate away at my own being in an attempt to be loved and cherished.
And here is where the pain came most truly: in the need to circumvent my own life to present myself as worthy.
How silly it seems now, that this distant traveler, brought down from the eons beyond reason, should think herself worthy in her dutiful neediness.
I was but siphon recognizing my invented self in another—all her frailties, her darkness, her unlit ways. I was the judge, the serpent, the demon made ripe, the inventor of my own game, and the gatekeeper to misery. I created a world in which I turned all against the one I be, trapped in a child’s game attempting to create the one I am not, into something grand and distinguishable.
How silly I be; how silly I am. Still clinging to some substance that breathes in the air of thankfulness.
I cannot express in words so limiting, and time so fleeting, how recognizable I am to self. How unrecognizable I am to no-self. How funny I seem in this garment called me, and how equally foolish in my tethered-thinking. To think I could feasibly know anything more than nothing, when I am nothing. I am nothing upon nothing upon nothing. And in this nothing is my perpetual freedom.
This is my current truth, nothing less, nothing more.
I believe presently Aspergers is an affliction of the human condition. I do not believe people with Aspergers are any different than the ‘typical’ person. I believe the person with Aspergers is in a heightened state of awareness. He or she is more aware of the inner makings of the mind and thoughts, and in thusly so, trapped in the pre-awakened state.
Wherein, many individuals can walk around without analyzing each and every decision, people still do. They are still thinking the same thoughts and reaching the same conclusions as a person with Aspergers; they are just less aware that they are doing so. By less, I do not mean worse or to a lesser degree; to me this is as if we are each looking through a window from the depths of our internal self. We each have the same window, the same beauty, the same ability and capacity, but some windows are covered with deeper films. Does this make the one seeing more clearly or less clearly any less? No. The window is still the window. And behind the window is still the ever-shining light.
This is not to say that only people with Aspergers have a keener view, only to say those with Aspergers seem to have a natural tendency to understand the inner workings of complex thoughts and reasonings, enabling them to venture into the intricate makings of philosophy, communication, and the “ways” of the world. How or why isn’t important at this time, whether a cosmic chance, a genetic variation, a spiritual affliction, or something else, doesn’t matter. What matters is that this is occurring.
In stating this, I understand that Aspergers is clearly a label, and nothing more: a manmade word that attempts to explain a cluster of behavioral, intellectual, and emotional attributes; a manmade word that has already reached the brink of extinction in man’s needling to make something of nothing. That is: to turn what already has been found and claimed, into another something to fit the maze of reasoning man has attempted to establish. To mix and fit a pre-established made up condition into another newly established seems the work of idle thinkers, but I make no judgment so, only to point out the audacity of their cause and how making one into another by name, does not make the person change in circumstance or personhood.
In stating this, too, I understand that many, many people are also at the edge of awakening, and having Aspergers is no less prerequisite than any other label man has invented, be that: female, male, Jewish, Christian, Muslim, Buddhist, Agnostic, or what have you. But I do agree, within myself, and self alone, that what I have experienced as of late, demonstrates the potentiality of Aspergers to be more of a spiritual affliction of inner trappings than anything else. Perhaps it is the mind that makes this so, or something more; no difference. Whether one grasps onto the mind as the reason or the spirit, the end result is the same; at least for me, Aspergers felt as affliction—a wrought iron affliction it be.
In seeing this, the conclusion I have recently reached through the surfacing of my own relief from said affliction, I recognize there is absolutely no need for one to find relief through religion, or even spiritual refuge. The only relief I found, and was able to continue to bask in, is in the coming into my own self. That is to say digging back through where I had buried me, and finding her there weak, filling her with her own goodness found in self and others, and then purging with her all the unanswered hopes and dreams. Here together we worked through the labyrinth of lies of society and the game-makers, and the game-players we stared down steadily, each a harbor for the other, each adding to the armor we forbade. I cannot explain this process, even as I attempted to do in writing after writings, as I know only the eyes that look upon my words are the judge and decipherer, and no variable amount of steering or recollection one obtains will lead the one in the direction of my own thoughts. I have recognized, I am as ghost to the world, no more visible than the air one breathes, less so, in actuality, as one must feed off the air, and no one need feed off of me.
So alas, I am in this state of relief, having no roadmap to offer, except the words that pour out of me from a place of self so distant, yet so clear, that the offerings feel secure in their rendering, though funny they sound, indeed, even to the scriber who writes as witness with rising smile. I cannot say how I have found these things, or how I know these things, but the words I have let leak upon the past page upon page in the aforementioned works are my inner testimony. Whether I be mad woman, gifted genius, or something of another nature and finding, I know not, and I no longer struggle to understand something so unfamiliar and familiar to self all at once. I only know to love who this is that is this me, and to love who it is that is this you, and the rest makes no difference whatsoever in any measure. And so, from here, I can pour out from a place of love, wrung dry of all fear. The purpose only to be and nothing more, to pour out what is this me from vessel to substance, so I too can breathe in the absence of day.
In knowing Aspergers is an affliction, I state this not to negate the condition, to make it less, or wrong, or even sparse; I state this in hopes, if hope there be, in bringing further clarity to the viewer who takes in the ramblings of this twisted mind. I hope that in doing so the person can turn inward and find where she last stood, rediscover her lost hope and be who she is without pre-thought or want or need. That she can find her beauty locked behind the window bright.
In saying this I have established a roadmap of sorts, though I know nothing until I type, and am just as interested to see what surfaces as the next traveler come.
The makings of Aspergers are distinctively two-fold. In one degree there is the affliction. But this affliction is not brought on by sin or cause or some predestined circumstance. It just is. Whether created by self, or society, or God, or some other act of nature, who is to know, and who is to care. It is what it is at this moment, and nothing more. The first of the makings is the primary cause, what feed the rest, and this is the high-intellect that allows the person of Aspergers to analyze things and events at such depth that the mind can become thy very enemy. Lost in thought the world vanishes, and one lives in a prison, or chamber, depending on the imaginings and denial, and is there for eternity.
She is lost in the inner-workings of all she has brought into herself, all she has been taught, all she has seen and gathered. She is a deep basket, able to carry so much information and ponderings that it is no wonder she becomes lost in the basket itself and forgets that she is not this basket but the collector of self. She forgets she is not these thoughts, this past, this future, and this corresponding fear. She remains trapped in what feels like safety but which is actually a darkness of a forgotten self. She has been told by the many and the masses that she is less than, different, not enough, and to be forgotten. When in truth she is made more than enough, so complex in her thinkings, that the excess becomes her very tool to the victim.
She is making herself more confused in the searching. Responding to the agony of contradictions in two ways: searching out more and burying herself further and/or retreating into a dismal state of lost hope. These are the two paths she sees: One of needing to be more and one of needing to stay as less. Neither path leads to salvation from self.
The only path that I see worthy is through the process of elimination. Where we have been bred to take in more to aid us in dilemma, whether this be through product or wantings, the truth is to be found in taking in less. We have taken in enough already. And there are not answers waiting to be found that will set the afflicted free.
The only way to free oneself is to return to the chamber, say thee prison within, and stay there; and in the waiting find self and bring her into the light, bring her light out to the world. This is a personal and very intense process that can only be done through the very fragile thread of love of humanity. One must see the light in others and thusly find the light in self. One must see the light in all. This is extremely difficult for one so afflicted by what would be perceived as predators, villains, and rightful ones. Even the persecutors themselves play into the affliction. For the very thing that shall save the one, is the one that has in illusion hurt the one. But this is why the female with Aspergers has been given the gift of great emotion and love—all the emotions are two: love or fear. We can therefor turn off the fear and turn on the love. In this way the rest is burned out in the flame of love. It is the only way; there is no other path.
The second of the making is the ability to see between the lines, to decipher that there are no rights or wrongs. There are no rules. There are no reasons. We can clearly take in so many rules of the way to be that we become entirely unwound in ourselves from the reasonings behind the reasonings. From the start of no start. From the man running in some endless game. We see this clearly when we are engaged in conversation and struggling to be who we are to be, but not knowing who this being is. We see this in all we do. This is the affliction, as well, but the greatest of saviors. For how can we stay in such suffering? Endless suffering of seeing through the illusion.
Before we were told, by self, or by another to change, and to become that of what is the game before us. But this is not something that works. We have tried, and in trying we have found our very self retreating in form back into the chamber, hiding away, whether in reality or psyche/spirit, makes no difference. We are hiding. This is the same as the false path. The one of retreating or the one of trying to gather more information—in neither is the rescue found.
One must dive into the illusion and claim it for what it is. This can be done in various ways, but two distinct measures are in announcing your goodness and light to the world through speech, creation, and genuine love of heart. There can be no dismay, no fear, no misery, no blindness, no wanting and no reasoning behind it. This love of self must be rebirthed and then sprouted new, shared with the world. To do so before would cause greater separation of self and outcome, for to have such outcome without the root of love is to set yourself up for predetermined and definite failure. You can only speak from the place of heart—and you will know this place for it will heal you and the world.
You have been gifted all you need to make this excursion; through works or studies; through various outlets in your life; through what draws you in closer and makes you safe; choose these same ways of your avenue to deeper self; do what you must to take out the insides within and lay them out to the world. Cast away doubt that you are unlovable and unworthy and flawed. You have been given this affliction, whether formed by self, nature, or another, for reason, and the reason is for your freedom.
You aren’t trapped in the darkest of chambers; your window is being wiped clean daily, and in this you can see your path more clearly. You only need take the first step and acknowledge the affliction and all shall unfold as intended, and your goodness shall shine out to the world and set us each free, for you are an essential key to the changing of the tide: to pulling out the authentic cord of humanity so we may all sail through the sky in your light. Doubt not what I say, or choose to doubt. There is no choice I can make or perceive. I only say what is in my heart, and bid you do the same deed.
“A human being is part of the whole called by us universe, a part limited in time and space. We experience ourselves, our thoughts and feelings as something separate from the rest. A kind of optical delusion of consciousness. This delusion is a kind of prison for us, restricting us to our personal desires and to affection for a few persons nearest to us. Our task must be to free ourselves from the prison by widening our circle of compassion to embrace all living creatures and the whole of nature in its beauty. The true value of a human being is determined by the measure and the sense in which they have obtained liberation from the self. We shall require a substantially new manner of thinking if humanity is to survive.”
~ Albert Einstein.
Where you stand, I enter. My sunlight opened in the ray of you. Where you are, I be, nestled between the edges of your making. I am the sugar sprinkled cross the sunrise desert, the frosting dipped beneath and within, yellow-dancing in the outskirts of my thoughts. Where I travel, you are, carried upon my shoulders, the lightest of feathers, blanketing me, my shield of angels splendor. I spin, come round each wake, reborn in your giving and eternal goodness. I rise; the angelic force instilled gently like the wind through the meadow spring. I bubble and wrap in the bluest-blue, the stillness awoken in your cleansing waters.
Where you stand, I enter. My darling lover of the fallen night, the darkness dripped away as canvas cleansed with the brushes wet; each color washed over with newness and new day. A caravan of awakening upon awakening, surprises always there but never seen. You move, and I follow, the drapery of your kindness a trail of delight, smoothing past the garden’s gaiety as candle wax of brevity. I drip, you drip. I bleed, you bleed. Connected we are in the tumbling of my being. Unspun and rewoven into the kaleidoscope of me within me, the light swollen as the woman with child, birthing and rebirthing the newfound hope.
Where you stand, I enter. I glide, the child on your coattail, following a form I neither see nor want, but desire, my rain to the petal wept, my seed to the fallen bird. I soar, the embers of my mind cascading down to the soil of naught, and slipping into the oceans that be, sailing once and then again, into the mystery of time. Sprouting in the eternalness of river led to mouth, and mouth led to sky. I am this. I am this drumbeat of the earth, the willow tree that touches down in gratitude and meets the tender grasses with her open hands. I am this. The weathered-breast of soldier fought, bowing down in remission and remembrance to echoes of the battlefield. I have retreated to the highest ground that leads to nowhere but to thy very self. And here, in the chambers still, I watch, my eyes as falcon born, dreaming of the ways I traveled. For I am dreamer yet, trapped in the window of my memory.
Where you stand, I enter. I hear you as I hear my very voice. The rhythm feeds my withered bones, the dauntless eyes erased, the gauntlets tossed empty. Here is where I sparkle, my soul leaped forward from the place of behind to the place of entrance. Here where I stand, you enter, taking my tethered thoughts and bleeding them out to the world. My sacrifice, your sacrifice. My heart, your heart. My enemy made clear in the taking of circumstance of my liking, when bitter liking it be. And thusly, I am sweetened, made as bread to the master, ripened in the cream and butter nut of goodness. So that when I look upon the thoughts that were, I see the emptiness of cause, the fawning ways in which I walked. How with danger I froze, the deer-dove I was, with wings of no service in the state of fear.
Where you stand, I enter. I know not what I do or what I do, who I am or what I be. I know nothing of your kindness or your glory. I know not face or name of maker. I know not if exist exists. And in this I know not if my voice is but rising to thy very own chambers of light and there made feed for the mass of me. None other but I, listening to the merry voice of reason lost. No more than this, my empty vessels feeding upon the nibbles of hope. Yet, here I rest, in the serenity of uncertainty. For no matter the form, or shape, or even the distance from the dwelling to the home of home, if I be not home already, then the waiting is of peace. The waiting is of necessity lost and freedom found. I care not what you be or how you be, or what layman’s ways I set upon your threshold, for it matters not to me the way in which you came, only that you entered so.
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.
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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.
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* 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.
