It’s deep on the surface #FlipSide #ActuallyAutistic #Progress #Process 2 1 23

I​ tried living with no hope. I tried not playing music, not loving, not speaking, not laughing. I tried pretending that the wound was too great to heal from, that the trespass was irreparable, that the deeds had been done. Nothing lasts though, even hopelessness, even lack, even despair, even bleeding, even everything beyond belief.

F​irst my whole fucking life, and now this.

The flip side, the surprise, the delight, is how much I still enjoy most of it. How much most of the suffering comes from knowing how much it ‘could be better’. Such a silly notion. I have almost always trusted that my life would amount to something. It is only in those extended moments turning to years that I sometimes catch my breath on hold, pause.

I find it difficult to breathe sometimes. Usually though, my breath is calm, and clear, and relatively slow. I compare and contrast my breathing to others a fair amount. My breathing is slower than the average unhealthy person, but not as slow as any real masters, whatever that is…well, we all know it when we see it, which is also how I know it is likely an illusion. What we see and believe is only true while we believe it. Eventually we learn something new, our perspective expands, and we realize our old view was askewed, or incomplete, or downright foolish.

B​eing wrong feels just like being sure you are right.

I​’m making fair progress…more than none and I am grateful for that. Ultimately, we are all simply progressing towards an end however, and the thought of this does catalyze a yearning in me sometimes, for love, for partnership, for intimacy. I miss what we had. I miss the self I was in love. I miss that masculine direction. I wonder if I can bring myself to try again. I am clear that I like a man to lead, and that I am not one to enjoy being weak or meek. I have been with some fantastic men, actually. More than my fair share by feminine standards, some would say.

T​he progress I am making is in loving myself, serving life, trusting life, alignment and coherence and a return to integrity. I am healing. Slowly. Aging is like a trick pony that kicks to the side.

O​ne of my first major internal injuries was from a pony. Shetland. To the rear. It sent me flying, and I had a horseshoe print on my abdomen for months. I think it cracked my xyphoid process and kinked it back. That is one of the things that slows me down now, slightly.

M​y godson called me today, and asked me for help getting to the mountain. He said he is depressed, unemployed, needing to get out and up and push physically. I do understand, and I am grateful he trusts me, and wants to ride with me. I find his story and framing interesting and I am aware there is a bigger story at play, though I also think the superficial one is okay. There is a whole lot of that these days. Superficiality. Surface tension. Maybe that’s the bulk of everything.

I made up with my bandmate today, casually, after a long bout of not speaking. I told a couple mutual friends we were through, though online I did not make any formal moves. He didn’t really know we had broken up, or at least, he acted that way. He is older than I, and perhaps more set in some ways. We have in common that we are conduits for creativity, in the key of Rock. We agreed things are not flowing and change is in order. We made some next step plans. It feels better. I love singing. I love writing songs. I hope we do more recording, and some more performing. 8 years or so is a long time, and I care to make my relationships juicy and real and fun, not stale and rote and obligatory. So we ride it out another day, and it’s good.

I have a dream and this dream has me, and you, and your little dog too… 1 16 23 #IHaveADream #ThisDreamHasMe #BigMagic #WellnessGardening #WellnessGardenersUnited #WellnessGardenProject

I​ have a dream, and in this dream, the dream has me, it has you, and it has all the rest of humanity too. In this dream, we remember that this earth is abundant and beautiful. We remember we can tend to the soils and trees and to the things we love most about our lives, and thrive. We can live vibrant, joyful lives.

T​o me, this is the idea of being a gardener. A ‘Wellness Gardener’ is someone who makes wellness a priority in life. We tend the soils and plant good seeds and gently remove aggressive weeds. Literally and metaphorically, in all the ways. We are always aiming to make things better. We honor the natural cycles of things. We work with the ebbs and flows, the seasons, and the nature of things. We are always returning to more wellness, better health, more vibrance, and connection; and belonging ourselves, more and more, to each other and to this Earth.

T​his is my dream. That we remember we are all gardeners, and we are all fruits of this garden called earth. I call on you to join me this year and into the future. Let’s remember our ancestors and our future offspring, and ourselves, here and now, today. Join me, and let’s reconnect to our own cycles, reconnect to the earth, and reestablish gardens and gardeners’ mindsets in a great sweeping wave.

N​o garden is too big or too small. No gardener is too young or too old. We need us all. Gardening connects us all to each other, to ourselves, and to this earth, regardless of affiliation or belief system or nationality. This dream does not belong to me, we all belong to this dream. Join me at The Wellness Garden Project and Wellness Gardeners United.

Even if you don’t have your own garden yet, or even if you have tried gardening before and failed, I am confident there is a wellness gardener in you. I​f you are serious or curious about gardening, I invite you to join our free online tribe and let me know how I can help you get more in touch with the gardener in you. I also have programs available and in the works to help support you if you are ready for more intensive support. Let’s Get Growing!


Just the facts, maambeman. 1 14 23am #Journaling #GoalSetting #GoalStacking #AdjustingTheSails #Facts #Goals #Organization #Organizing #ThoughtCompartments

F​act checking. Often we focus on what is true, or what seems true, to our own detriment. Fact-checking is only relevant as a starting point, a baseline to push off of, not as a defining story of how things are or need to be, really. This is because time and thereby truth, is a fluid thing, ever-changing in its own reflection. I think a good guideline is to use no more than 10% of my thinking time/energy on facts, reviewing what I think and feel, especially knowing that my own system seems to tend towards noticing the negative (a beautiful self-preserving mechanism). Negative thoughts often seem to arise automatically, and my attention naturally seeks anything different, out of place, or potentially alarming. This is a beautiful aspect of biology and can be countered, to a degree, with another beautiful aspect of humanity, which is our ability to focus our attention on the conscious creation of new things, and accomplish things. We transform elements into cars and batteries. We build rocket ships to the stars, from the dust of stars.

I​ do best with a full schedule, I tell myself, and it usually turns out true. So my aim is to check off many or all of some foundational boxes, while remaining flexible, relaxed, resilient, and able to ride out the waves and inevitable twists and turns and shifts along the way.

W​ellness Gardeners do not have to have gardens, because indeed, the Earth is a garden and we can all tend to it in some way. This begins with tending to ourselves. It is an interactive, internal and external process. The first step, or ‘A’ potential first step, is to recognize and acknowledge that we have some unique capacity and thereby some unique obligation, perhaps, to participate consciously in our own experience. We can do it unconsciously, of course, and a majority does seem to. It is my proposition that life can be more vibrant, thrivingly connected, more joyful, or at least, that the aiming towards ideals offers some assurance or at the very least some back-washing against nature’s tendency towards entropy and chaos. In my experience, this reality is a symphony of ebbs and flows, all orchestrating themselves together into some most fantastic reality we call “Life”.

B​ack to checks. Wellness Gardeners United is a seed that could sprout into the Unity Play Stations I have been visualizing for more than a decade now, since 2008 I think…this is exciting. “I excite!”

I​ think I can organize my current endeavors into 3-5 rungs or layers or circles or iterations…first, in no particular order, or, order of mental occurring…

I​terations, biannual events, growth and feminine related?, Artists…by invite? by application? Details need figuring out, and iterations set in motion for Art in April and August hub events.

R​eset personal habits and guidelines for self care, social circle–gardening, podcasting, wellness, music, store, assistants, home, time and energy management and cultivation/curation.

A​A Podcast. Tie it all together. Enjoy! Learn! Grow! Guest for Practical Healing Series & Wellness Gardeners United Series

W​ellness Garden Project–Wellness Gardeners United–Wellness Garden Super Group/Intensive Support/VIP, Experiencify, regular posts, media, TED talks, merch!

J​oy Project-support and revving it up. Merch! AA School tie ins.

A​A School–Umbrella for Courses, some experiencified, some not, make first round of tiers, incorporate other instructors, link to schools?, affiliates?

YouTube–GAL, WGP, FF?, AAA, FF–reorganize and make schedule, SEO


P​ersonal Goals:

1​. Reset Personal Habits, More Pleasure, More Love, Service Eros

2​. Fitness, Wellness, Growth Mindset.

3​. Healing Social wounds, interpersonal and societal, local and global, internal and external

4​. Financial and time/energy management systems.

5. Legacy

P​rofessional Goals:

1​. Artist –storytelling, events, connections, courage, curiosity

2​. Teaching–courses, experiences, youtube, free and paid content

3​. Healing–youtube, wellness gardens and wellness gardeners, talks, interpersonal relations, music, events, spaces

4​. Reach & Scalability–AA School, YouTube/Meta Channels, AA Podcast, storytelling, publishing, producing, speaking, one-to-one and masses

5​. Legacy–virtual, philosophical, physical safe spaces and permission, celebration, beauty, truth, joy, wellness, empowerment, practice, action, honesty, integrity, intimacy, power and responsibility

M​uli-dimensional Interplanetary Goals:

1. L​eave it better than you found it/aim for improvement and appreciation.

2​. Diversity, appreciation, communication, respect, peace, compassion, connection

3​. Non violence/less suffering, kindness.

4. Fluidity, presence, change, nowness, ing of isms.

5​. Action and pause. Timing. Smiling. Relax. Leap. Tension and Release. Cycles. Duality and the Un.

P​rimary Values:

1. Authenticity (true, adjusting, willing to get it wrong and move forward)

2. Lightness (quick, lighthearted, fun)

3​. Wellness (integrity, coherence, function, form, pleasure, good feeling, vibrancy, wholeness)

4​. Nuance (complexity, context, individuality and universality, the dance)

5​. Motion (forward or twirling, change, disruption and timing)


1. C​onfidence (clarity, willingness, hold space, mind the gap, check defensiveness)

2​. Positivity (direction, aim for ideal, acknowledge here to there)

3​. Non-Judgement (appreciation, inclusion, diversity is king and queen and everything in between)

4​. Enthusiasm (lead, push, pull, bounce, poke, splash)

5​. Growth Mindset (try again, adjust often, support systems, build identity on values not societal assessments, use assessments to move towards goals, always be moving towards goals, eliminate what moves me away from my goals, cultivate what moves me closer to optimum).

I​t’s a beautiful Saturday, and the sun is shining. I have more things to do than day to do them, so I will get to some of them, perhaps starting with a look under the hood of my Sexy Silver Sedan, which has been sitting for a time. Fingers crossed the part is the right one, I get it replaced easily, and she starts right up and returns to ‘right as rain’. Papercrete, and of course, cash flow and EPM launch is all on my mind too, with an option to press pause again this evening and go play some music in Kirk’s garage with a semi-set up, and during ‘sober January’. I need a new mask, or rather, a fresh finish, new coat, new boots… new tunes… .. I got this.

The Shift 1 12 23 #Journaling

A​re there days that are not in shift? Days the shifting is complete? Days a new shift begins? The more I live the more convinced I am that everything I convince myself of is fallible, and my perceptions of beginnings and ends is skewed. A matter of human construct. Perspective. Story.

P​sychology is such an interesting evolving exploration of all of this.

I​ feel better today. One of my favorite ways to feel. I am gaining momentum and gathering hope again. I could see glimmers of my Unity Play Community Centers, now as Wellness Gardens, mapped around the world. A million new wellness gardens, new gardeners really…maybe not new, but, freshly committed…this is a dream I can speak to. I have a dream…this Monday is a perfect time to launch all this, with a speech like that. Go for it. This is something I believe in and am well suited for, and finally, I can see a path to support myself in it.

Irony has it that I decided to apply for aid from the state this morning. I think it’s the first time since my son moved out, or some time before. I did receive food stamps while raising him. And Medicaid. Even though the sytems are terribly flawed and seem to be heading in a negative direction, I am still grateful they exist.

It takes a degree of trust and hope and self-sufficiency for me to ask for help and not feel lessened for it, so it is actually a positive I think. That’s my story and it suits me alright. I have not heard back from any assessors and so thought I should make sure that my Medicaid is up to date, because there is a chance it is not and perhaps they just threw everything out. The system is so incredibly fucked. The only good side of that is there is great opportunity to serve, and opportunity for people to become more sovereign, more healthy, more aware, more present, more vibrant. Gardening is a good path to it. Not the only path, but a path we need, and I feel good about as a vehicle. I was going to use the juicier fruit of sexy and secure, but now I realize that should remain the unspoken fruit…maybe even brought into the lessons, not upfront though…it’s part of the flavor.

I​’m feeling good about the break. It’s nice out and probably I could be working on my car. It was too windy yesterday. I have the part. Fingers crossed it fixes the issue. We take it from there. Still don’t have mortgage paid and late date is getting close. I will put in some focused time to listings on Etsy tonight and maybe tomorrow, or maybe snow. I am grateful for my home, for heat, and even for the state, as ‘ungreat’ as it may be compared to its intentions and potentials, it is a lot greater than none, I can see that. We humans are not capable of governing ourselves fully. It’s a work in progress.

S​o, a million new Wellness Gardens. Website. Landing Page. Modules. Live Q & A’s, media, podcasts, TED talk, YouTube…I got this.

O​ff to walk my mom’s dog friend soon, water the greenhouse which I am grateful I get to do. Spend time with my mom, which I am also very grateful I get to do, as challenging as it is sometimes. That resentment and hurt and weight in me is mine to process, to carry, or to let go of. We have an amazing life, all in all. I am super fucking grateful. Let’s grow!

I​ do need to get better at marketing. Get this product and bonuses done. It all snaps together. I’ve said that before but I do think it is on a good track. Stay the course. Fucking move forward, learn, don’t give up. Ask for what I need, receive it, give thanks, move forward. Ride it out. Launch Monday, the 16th. Start Monday the 30th, cycles through, roll on, push out, fucking relentless and proud and persistent.

I will find some fun people to talk to and start doing interviews again. One of my favorite things. Maybe I’ll go check on the HH plants, now that I think about it…and I did list a promo on Airbnb trying to get someone in front this month, as that will help. Whatever happens, I am grateful to be mine, grateful to be alive, grateful to be healing, smiling, thriving, shining.

Mad #ActuallyAutistic #CCPTSD #GETUP #Journaling #Processing #Assessment 1 9 23

D​isappointment and rage have softened to mild irritability and disillusionment. I return to the familiar realization that there is no hope, no help, and no point beyond whatever I make for myself. If I want to climb higher than most, then I will need to take my own safety rope. It’s only confusing if you forget that humanity is a fabricated puppet show based on illusions and lies.

The parenting I will get will be what I provide. The love and compassion and understanding and erotic touch I get will be mine. I am not sorry I put myself through last week’s agonizing and in the end somewhat pointless and disempowering, self-harming episode of seeking help from the state. ‘Nice’ that it took 8 months to get in and that it is dysfunctional enough to make clear it is still only dangerous to nonconformity. Still a facade there to siphon tax dollars where it can, and make a little positive difference where it can. It’s good. It’s not enough. It’s outdated and dysfunctional, yet founded on good intentions.

I​ feel stronger and calmer again. I am aware of hormonal waves revving up in my body. Still another menstrual cycle pending, though they are softer and less fertile…a winding down. Today I woke nearly 2 hours before sunrise and can guess I have a shot of would it be lutein or follicle-stimulating hormone or whatever catalyzes bleeding.

A​s I continue to process my mother’s fantastically remarkable shunning of the feminine in herself and in me, and the cultivation of it in her son, my half brother–one of three…I bring it back to me, what I want to be, the life I want to create. A last push, it feels like. One more chance to get it right and create a life for myself. One in which I actually am a whole person, a functional member of society, of a family–a participatory functioning spoke in an institution I agree with, I want to give my flesh to…Eros…I am here for you.

T​he EPM is coming to a close and I missed my targets. I try not to be disappointed, try not to fall into the same self-defeating thought pattern that continues to hold me here, bring me back…yes, he is a fucking liar and a wounded child, yes, she never grew up and can never really see the real whole you, yes, you will only know the extent of yourself as you come to an end–how else could it be?

C​ome then, magic hen. Scratch it out, cluck a fuck, get up, get up, get the fuck up.

I​t took a great tearing open, a fantastic betrayal of self in the face of our collective punishment and banishing of the feminine to see what I have to heal in me. The failed mother. The weak princess. The flaccid soft cowardly father. We have let our archetypes dwindle to vague remnants of the powerful sexually alive, fucking capable, wise, touching, dancing, drumming, laughing, loving, singing beings we could be.

H​ere’s a thing I am processing: The people I had so much respect for, who put me down so devastatingly, specifically my mother and last lover and several other close friends…they are blind to what I see so clearly. So to them, I am babbling nonsense. To them I am insane and discredited and unworthy of listening to. To them, the truth, that the system is a lie, a house of cards that has been so obviously crumbling my entire–our entire lives–and also, I am blind. For of course, the house is always crumbling. We just notice it more at certain times, like after we look away for a second. They are not wrong, and so am I.

I​ am aware that my thinking is scattered and hard to follow. To a large extent I allow myself to wander in my writing to see if I can organize, categorize, make some sense of usefulness out of so much overthinking. I am aware that is what most or all of it is. To write better stories, to be a positive influence, to help, to heal, to laugh, play, love, and create, that is what I want to do. I am aware it is dangerous to overshare, but I choose to risk it for the documenting, for the sorting perhaps, perhaps to my own demise.

T​he EQ assessor asked if I put myself in dangerous situations. As I was shaking, crying, grappling with my body to stay in the room feeling entirely unsafe and traumatized. Yes, by her standards I would be out snowboarding on the edge of a mountain, and feel much much safer than this. I am not crazy or broken. The system is.

P​eople love to thing we are good, helpful, atruistic. We are when times are good. We love to celebrate together. We are less so, most of us, when times are tough. This is no shock, and yet, I find myself discovering it again and again. Another time. Will I learn? Ever? When?

M​y internal dialogue has continued to relapse for some decade plus? Maybe less…6-7 years of conscious work. That looks better on paper, at age nearly 52. So, 2023 is a year of big shift. Finally moving past the catch 22-2012 loop. Now we are free. What will we make of ourselves now, and how?

They say the road to hell is paved… 1 7 23 #ActuallyAutistic #Assessments #Process #mothers #Reparenting

T​he system is built on good intentions, literally paved with them, only those intentions are for the ‘haves’, and the system is indeed rigged. It is still, however, freer than it has been, in many ways. Less violent, less master and slave…more domesticated. I see how humanity must favor that, overall. And I see how I am drawn into the story of human suffering in my own unique way, which then dictates my unique obligations, or choices about how to move forward.

I​ feel a bit better. Better is one of my focus words for this revolution around the sun. Grace is another. And Extra. My aim is towards better. I am reflecting, processing, replaying the assessment sessions I went through this week. How traumatized I am. How skewed any results are bound to be. I took the IQ test weeping, trembling, fogging my glasses, unable to speak or sit without holding myself a lot. The tester didn’t pay much mind to it. I know she does a lot of assessing of court mandated adults, so perhaps she figured it was due punishment.

As usual, as traumatized autistic person, I just went along with it. I have no idea how I did, though I know I would have done better in a better state of mind, I think all but the first one, my favorite one, with block patterns, were probably alright. I do hope I get to find out. I did matching patterns that maybe I would do better with if I could see better, but maybe not. Probably a tad faster, but not many. I did vocabulary and the word we stopped on I genuinely didn’t know and she said neither did she. Palative, maybe? I can’t find it now, and think it must not be a common word, because I know a lot of them. I wonder if I got another one wrong somehow and didn’t know it, or if she stops at the first wrong one. It seemed like it could have gone on.

I feel traumatized and unsupported. The entire thing feels like I sujected myself to a gang rape and in some ways I am not sure why…that’s emotional, not physical. My brain lies. Tells shit stories sometimes.

The part I am sure I would have done much better on was number sequencing, forwards and backwards. My fuzzy mind was not sharp, and I kept my eyes closed tight and tried to visualize the numbers but couldn’t keep them. If I had been calmer, more coherent, I could have used my auditory patterning and done much better, which is interesting to note. I have noticed this in music and trying to learn songs. Those parts of my brain are not diretly connected and they process at different speeds, it seems. Visual faster but now that my vision is impaired and in decline, it can be distressing and also doesn’t work as well, even with glasses.They didn’t ask me anything about any of that.

I might have done alright, average or so, not at all up to my true capacity, as when I am aligned I am good with sequences of up to at least 8-10, backwards and forwards I think. I fell down quickly going backwards. Again, brain fuzzy, foggy, static. I was unable to access but a fraction of my capacity. I don’t know if that was the intention. They did not explain much, and were clearly over time and burdened by my emotional ity, like everyone.

I​ try to focus on my EP but I just cry, and cry, and cry. It’s fucking ridiculous, and ugly. I don’t know what to do. I think I will get my creative areas functional again soon. Also, the podcast. I have sparks. Just need to fucking follow through. That is what I will do with ITUs 90 day challenge. Revamp the podcast. That means edit Miguel’s episode. Get a new PC if I can. Do a fresh intro, outro, and GO. Send it. I got this.

YouTube will follow suit. It’s coming together. Just gotta hold. I am due for another period soon. I try to remember, that makes everything more tender and raw. Timing. We are passing the full moon. The Stay at Home Moon. I did good. Pretty good at self care. If I had more wine I would drink it so it’s probably good I don’t. Or vodka. Same.

I am content with tea and salad and salmon and crab legs. Yes, a feast fit for a Priestess. The Priestess Crone is the archetype I am stepping into. I wonder if I will get a formal diagnosis just to have something to push back against? How would that work? No. I don’t think so. Really, I am just curious, and looking for affirmation I suppose, clarification…though I also am reminded of how the system needs updating, and people like me to help, maybe. It’s a strange basket of mixed feelings.

“W​hy is it so hot? And what are we doing in this handbasket?” This is a joke someone told me recently.

I​ think the tests they gave me were not anymore or less accurate, at least so far, than the online forms, though they are much more traumatizing. I still don’t know how much of that is related to the intended effect, or a ‘side effect’ they just pretend is necessary. If it is the later, we can fix it easily. If it is the former, the system might need bypassing.

B​ypassing, bridging, drawing a third door, playing in quantum fields, first principle rituals…these are a few of the many things on my mind and in my hands.

I​magine my shame, embarrassment, and a bit of surprise but more foolishness for feeling my whole life like I might be a fool, having people around me assure me I was lovable and not a fool–very smart–gifted even, then to finding out I am autistic, realizing how blind I am to my own blindness, and how not just obvious but instantly read by my peers, unless I mask heavily. Hence the persona. Angel. The performance. It all makes beautiful sense, and I am very fucking proud of me, even if I see also how my mother probably never can be. She is proud of me at times, actually, just, she doesn’t actually see me. My favorite, best parts, she denies, declines, or despises. That is painful but it isn’t everything.

Everyone knows that the suicide questions are defeating their own purpose, and yet they permeate everyfucking thing. No wonder at all that suicide rates are skyrocking. I know what my intentions are, roughtly, which is to be good, do good, be better, do better. I am not sure what the system’s intentions are, and I am not sure if they are conscious or how conscious they are. I think, probably they are mostly shadow. So, to dissolve the shadow in the light? Twighlight, dusk, the inbetween hours…these are some of my home.

I​ feel tired even though it’s early, so I am looking forward to a good night sleep and a productive day tomorrow. I don’t have money for all my bills yet but the month is young, and my car part has been shipped, and my van brakes are hung, so things are in progress. Onward. Upward. Smiling. Twirling.

L​eave the cowardice and the cowering to the cowards, and the misery to the miserable. I think I have guitars a fresh start to get to tomorrow, after teeth and good sleep.

3 things I’d like you to know about autism #ActuallyAutistic #Perspective #InsideView #Processing #Assessments 1 6 23

To begin with. Here are three things about autism that I would like you to know:

1​. From my perspective, autism is not something bad.

Many people respond either with pity or concern or denial because they say nothing is ‘wrong’ with me if I mention I am autistic. That feels hurtful. It’s understandable, of course, and I don’t take offense, because we often don’t mention autism except as associated with some of the hardest aspects and traits of it. Imagine if you told someone you had discovered you have freckles, or hazel eyes, though, and they said “no you don’t”, “you seem fine to me:”, or “oh, I’m so sorry.”

Autism is a beautiful uniqueness to me, a glitch in the fabric of the matrix that opens up new potential which humanity always needs, and it has positive and negatives like most things. It makes easy things hard, and hard things easy. It makes it very difficult to communicate effectively sometimes, and I am very sensitive to many things you might not notice, while being oblivious to many things many people take for granted as understood. My body does not behave like other bodies sometimes. My brain is wired a bit uniquely. I have a LOT of energy that I am still learning to manage in healthy ways. I have super powers, and blind spots…of course, doesn’t everybody?

Not realizing I am autistic until age 51 has made for an extra traumatic ride so far, largely because I tend to be super gullible and con artists, predators, and other wounded humans tend to target me easily. I think I could have parented myself more compassionately if I had known. Autism in and of itself, as we currently define it, is not a defect or something to be treated, though it does often coincide with a myriad of challenges, many of those are called disorders and disabilities, and they vary widely, though there are a spectrum of similarities. People with autistic traits which end up causing disabilities are often labeled as having Autism Spectrum Disorder (ASD), which is then broken down into varios types and degrees of severity.

Even though all that is true, one reason I realized I have autism is because of increasing degrees of disability in regulating my emotions and difficulty comprehending the dissolving of relationships as a pattern in my life. There has been a huge amount of complex trauma woven through my body largely as a result of being neglected and treated badly many times in my life, by others and myself, and that has added layers of complexity, as is always the case when humans are navigating our individual challenges and unique gifts.

I think of autism much like being left-handed, which does also correlate to some degree, I believe. I rode my snowboard ‘regular’ for a few years before I realized I am actually ‘goofy’, which again, just means I am more comfortable in an inverse stance to the majority, like about 15-25% of most populations. Realizing I am autistic is similar to that. I am still me. I am simply uncovering more about myself as I travel my own wellness journey. I am always looking for the best way to ride this out with more style, grace, and ease.

I pretty much kick ass when I ride goofy, whereas I am merely mediocre or mundane at best when I’m facing regular. (That’s a snowboarding reference again, for you in-the-s-know-ers 😃 –and just an analogy for the rest of ya’ll who’ve made it this far.)

2​. We (collectively) are still learning about autism, and our understanding is changing rapidly.

Now we know perhaps as many females as males are autistic. Now we understand more about the wiring of an autistic brain, and commonalities, but much of it is still a mystery. It was first named in the 1950’s, I think, in a different form, along with lots of other psychological disorders, as a potential symptom of schizophrenia, from research done largely in Ukranian and Russian orphanages and Nazi concentration camps, which is partly why in 2013 or so autism was redefined and the term Aspergers was terminated, though you will still hear it used regularly, as many people have lived their lives understanding themselves under the umbrella of that label.

Many of humanity’s greatest performers, inventors and leaders are thought to be or have been autistic, including Mozart, Nicola Tesla, Issac Newton, Albert Einstein, and Elon Musk, to name just a few.

3​. Labels are labels. Like a piece of tape on a box, they do not actually define or even resemble what is actually inside. They are useful to help organize things, and in the case of psychology, can be useful to help us understand ourselves and one another, though they are also frequently used to dehumanize and inaccurately categorize people. So it is nuanced and complex, this entire dance of labeling things and being flexible about how we define ourselves and each other, I think. I appreciate your patience, kindness, and curiosity.

That’s all for now, though I will have much more to say in the future, no doubt. This is of course, entirely incomplete. Feel free to ask questions if you have them.

Shine and carry on then. ❤

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Who Owns Me? #Journaling #ExternalProcessing #ActuallyAutistic #Theft #Ownership #Constructs #ASD #Assessments #ADOS 1 5 23

T​heft and ownership. Waste and maximizing potentials. These are human constructs which cause a great deal of human suffering, among others. I own myself, but not really. My body is comprised of trillions of cells, which also own themselves, as is, their life is theirs to experience, just as mine is mine. I ‘own’ property, which is actually a short hand term for, I participate in a facade in which I pay the machine for the right to pretend I have the rights to do what I want with the land we have arbitrarily parceled out and made a game of fighting over. Broken treaties abound throughout history highlight what a fucking lie that is. We all still pretend it’s true though–for what else can we do?

I create art which is inspired by all that has come into my perception, and then what I create adds to the collective perception of what is, what has been created, what could be created. AI and digital art has opened a new layer of an old wound. The haves and the have-nots. Those who create and those who take. Those who are coming up and those who are getting knocked down. Growth and decay. We are all part of it. We are all equal, but indeed, some of us seem more equal than others from any given perspective.

I​ have A’s lies to thank for revealing my autism to me. His lies and my mother’s accusations, juxtaposed to my blindness, my gullibility, my inability to regulate my emotions or communicate without a container, a framework, and extra time. All this adds up to people using me and then scorning me. This is the pattern we have reduced ourselves to. I am tired and bored of it. Yes, people bother me and I bother them.

What then, rainbow hen?

I​ slowly peel off the false masks that I have used to protect myself and find a raw, wormy, unattractive thing that is in danger of being squashed and eaten. So I cover up. More coats, boots, jackets, hats. Lipstick. Eyeliner. Shadow. Blush. I got this.

I​ did a lot of crying yesterday. My eyes are swollen though that is the case more often than not now that I am over 50, and living in this toxic chemical soup. I had my first of many autism assessments. It was designed for children, boys specifically and is outdated and a bad fit for what it is being used for in my case. It’s what I have access to and I am grateful for that, though also aware it feeds parts of the machine that are my enemy, as it would exterminate me, and make a ‘bad example’ of me.

The facade of a great country that cares for citizens is hanging on by tattered worn, dirty, nearly useless threads. I felt stupid and pathetic but still proud of myself for getting through it on my own. For better and worse no doubt. It was again, me doing my best to be authentic, get what I need, and also fit myself into the stupid dumb ill-fitting boxes available to me.

I do what I can to care for myself. I come more and more to terms which how alone I am, and what I burden I have been and am destined to be. I love myself anyway, and defend my right to live as much as any other being. Plenty of humans are shitty, and they still get to live…that doesn’t feel like a good argument. I want to be a good example, a sound calm steady pillar of hope and joy and beautiful inspiration. I want to be fit and free and loving. I want to touch and be touched. I want to belong somewhere.

The cruelest thing A said to me was “you’ll still always be my girl” or “you’re still my girl”. I think that was a fucking cruel lie and a deliberate and lazy manipulation of me. He fucking took the easy and mean path in that instant, and continued to lead me on and loose respect for me as I followed his lead so fucking stupidly. We are both complicent in my delusions. I knew it was a blantent, terrible, exact opposite of the truth kind of lie. I physically winced and then leaned into the comfort of it anyway, though it was an obvios manipulative lie which continues to ricochette around my brain like a wrecking ball, along with so many other things.

I am proud of myself for calling J out on his lies this week. It’s the same pattern, playing out in so many of us. I can do better. I will. I am.

I have squandered so much of myself on lies. Wanting to be loved by a father and a mother. That is just not in the fucking cards for me. It was written out of my destiny. Humanity is a fucking lie as far as I can see though, so, what else is there? Fantasy. Art. Story. Color. I’ll bounce and walk. Mop up these tears again. Try to get on top of a wave and ride it in to shore. I can. I will. I am. I do my best to be a good mother, aunt, friend, and support the rise of masculine and feminine in cooperation, in co-creative passionate expansion and supportive, calm, clear contraction.

T​here could be a way to compartmentalize and still be aware of what is in the compartments, still be mindful of other people’s energy, so that I protect myself and also am able to help others…I don’t see any obvious examples of this in humanity, but I will keep an eye open, and see if I can imagine a path to it from here. I release all beings from any and all expectations, including and especially me, since I am who I am to care for, and no one else will ever care about my life more than me. I will walk about and see what I see.

T​he bleeding, painful, still unreconciled wound of those who acted like my friends and family only to shun me in silence, block me, let me know that everything I thought about humanity and my place it is was a fucking lie. I don’t know how to survive let alone thrive in that, except to remove myself, protect myself, armor myself, try to create some imaginary pointless life because that is still better than no life. This amazing life. I hold mine.

I​ won’t let the blindness of others make me resentful or weak, and I won’t let my own blindness lead me to fear or drudgery. I walk the edge of freshness, of opportunity, of evolution, of Eros. All of this is mine. All of this is yours. We belong to all of this. Let’s dance then. Joyfully. Now.

Letting Go Ritual, I am lovable after all, #ActuallyAutistic #Gap #Mothers #CCPTSD #hypervigilance 1 3 23

T​hings other people think are regular, often do not appeal to me. Then again, some do. I want full loud music that moves my bones too. I want beautiful flowers and shells and crystals in my windowsill. I like smiles and kisses and hands brushing by. I like giggles and smiling eyes. I like soft fur, wagging tails, and children’s laughter.

A​nother round of failing, or not quite reaching my goals, finds me again in self-doubt. Not the agonizing hopeless kind, which I also know very well, rather the self-doubt that sits behind so much of my life, the whispering ‘that’s not it”. I am not looking to make a life that blends into other lives, from my perspective, though I also do not have a desire to make a life that stands out to everyone else…do I?

Yesterday I participated in a–not sure what–with a fellow EPM student–which provoked a lot of mixed feelings, as usual. When asked to rate my personal and professional life, I bounce around in an endless state of uncertainty and confusion. I remember having similar feelings in business school, when classmates, likewise, put professional behaviors in a separate container from personal behaviors. This seems like an arbitrary and inauthentic and often harmful distinction.

This is the way we dehumanize ourselves and each other, so that we can behave in less personal, ‘more professional’ ways towards the bulk of humanity. Disclaimers and legal platitudes. I have worked hard and sacrificed a great deal of security to avoid this, it feels like. This clubhouse needs a reset. The rules are not fun anymore, and they don’t serve the majority very well. In fact, more and more, these rules serve fewer and fewer. That way takes too long and never arrives anywhere better. I understand it is my difficult-o-corral, high intensity mixed with easy going style which makes it take impossibly long. I aim to utilize quantum fields. The gap. The spaces between space and the times between time.

L​ast night I did a simple ritual to let go of the belief that ‘I am not lovable. I wrote it and traced it three times in a post-it note and then burned it, releasing that belief with gratitude. It no longer serves me well. I can see how it allowed me to navigate the treatment I had to put up with in infancy and later. In order to survive and not hate my caretakers for treating me so disrespectfully. I convinced myself I was not lovable, in order to get along with my mother to the best of her ability. She does not love the feminine in herself, and she rejects many aspects of me. The best aspects really. Sadly. Her loss though. Ours, I suppose. I do my best, do what I can to course correct.

I am lovable. I am love. I am loving. Reflecting on where that belief came from, and how it might have been serving me all this time…I can see it served to protect me from wanting to be loved in arenas where people are not capable of loving me the way I need or want or deserve to be loved. I continue to learn to love myself. I release all others from any obligation to see or love or appreciate me.

This is not a great feeling. Depending on people, trusting humans, this has resulting in so much wounding for me. I really do better when I keep myself to myself. People are selfish, blind, stupid, and only like me for the illusions they cast me into, the way they see they could use my magic for their own selfish ends. I willingly gave my magic to my last partner, trusting he actually saw and appreciated the real me, and the scabs from the complete annihilation of that are still barely peeling off. I have no desire to damage myself again or let myself be damaged and scorned like that. Fucking fearful weak cowards is what we have become. What then, rainbow hen?


I​ met my gorgeous goddaughter for brunch. It was good all around. I always hope we do it more often. I am proud of her. I feel for her. I want to set a good example and create a better future, for her and of course, my son, everyone…

I​ had not forgotten about a psych evaluation appointment I set six months ago, but I had mentally filed the date wrong. When I was trying to get help in May, the soonest available in my state was six months out, so I made the appointment. Today I answered a call, which I don’t often do, and it was a reminder of that appointment. I had it filed for the 26th, in my head, but it is the 6th. First round is tomorrow morning in fact.

I am glad I answered the call, and fairly sure I will follow through with it, but it did send me into a disregulated state for the first time in a bit…or the most extreme. I regained composure after 15-20 minutes, and then lost it again when I looked up the autism specialists website again. Big puzzle piece logo under theirs. Surely they understand how disempowering it is to look at “treatments” to help me try to fit in to a society that despises many aspects of me…in order to survive I suppose. I already learned to do that. It is what eats me up from the inside. Self abandonment. Betrayal of self…I do my best to hold compassionate space for myself. I want help, and I don’t know where else to turn, so it seems like I should follow through on what is available, even though I am not sure I can navigate it without damaging myself further. Just talking to them and looking at the website is painful and causes uncontrollable weeping, mixed with cycles of anger and defensiveness.

It looks inclusive as one could hope for a state funded program. My instinct is to bolt. Run. I recognize this is a trauma response–full body overreaction. I feel attacked. I feel betrayed. Nothing has even happened in this instance. So often this is the case. So tomorrow I get an IQ and EQ test, for the first time since grade school I think. I try to keep my scientific, curious mind engaged. Honor and protect the wounded child in me without letting her drive. It’s a bit wobbly, but I think I got this.

It was helpful to talk to my goddaughter. She and I have some similar patterns of mothering our mothers, and growing up hypervigilant in order to survive. I appreciate that she trusts me. It means a lot to me. I am very proud of her, and hope to be a steady and secure influence, a pillar of strength and light in her life.

I​ know I am autistic, but I am not sure that a formal diagnosis will help, or hinder my progress. It could give me access to counseling, though I suspect there really aren’t any. It could give credibility to my stance if I decide to weave this more prominently into my offerings. I think I will spend some time meditating on that, whilst I do some dishes. That’s a nice goalstack.

D​ishes, warm water, meditation and contemplation, listen to podcast, maybe burn some aromatherapy and enjoy some tea. Fold laundry.

I​ have supper with my son scheduled tonight, and now adjusting my EPM progress to accommodate these appointments. Gentle with myself. My word for the year is Grace. My aim is Better. Let’s dance forward then. We got this.

Call Me The Breeze, #TheBreeze #EdgeOfHumanity #PlantingSeeds #ComfortableSocks 12 26 22

C​an I be the whole team? Wear enough hats to get all the jobs done? Not as well as an actual team of actual super humans might. I used to know we exist, and for a time I seemed to have no trouble connecting. We found each other naturally. Now I realize there are so even more many factors converging and adding up to more static, less movement, less connectivity, less coherence.

I​ adjust accordingly. Slow down. Reduce. Relax. Exhale.

D​ust my hats and rehang my coats. Climate change has arrived in earnest. Where I live we are getting a fairly pleasant end of it. Sitting on the eastern side of southern tail of the Rocky chain, we stand a good chance of positive shifts more than negative. Food supply and human insanity is the biggest threat. Water. We could be pumping it out of the gulf, desalinating and streaming it back from Colorado, irrigating this valley again…Los Lunas and below could again thrive…Space X and the missile range and more is that direction. I know big money has incentive to keep it alive and unpopulated, or has…things are changing.

Change is afoot. Comfort is still two socks.

I​ am holding safe spaces for love to grow, to mature, to reinvent itself, to begin again. I hold openness for you and I to get the words wrong and laugh anyway, to connect in new ways, to be uncomfortable and stay in the room. I invite myself to sit with myself, as ‘you’ and ‘I’, in love and appreciative gratitude; with all that is in, of, around, through, and for me. I hold open gaps of possibility for personal and societal empowerment. I hold undiscovered spaces for wildness to dance with civility, for compassion with and without comprehension to grow. Here I am planting seeds of communication, recognition, appreciation, courage, curiosity, nourishment, growth, and beautiful delightful dances on breezy hilltops.