Naked Blaze – an autist love

Autism is a bit like loving the moon... some kind of idealistic

Autism is a bit like loving the moon… some kind of idealistic

At some day by a sudden impulse I realised how beautifully a soft breeze was tousling your hair. And in the sunshine every strand shimmered in many colours. Since that day I loved the wind.

Your smile promised a field of mint and your eyes the rough sea, so far out till the horizon got round.

And I walked a while at your side until night came along.

But the wind was still on and played with your hair in the moonlight.

And the moon changed its colours. The moon made it silver, darkblue and deep. The moon became brother of the wind and I loved him as well. How uncomparable it reflected on your face.

“Look at me.” I said, “please, look at me. I want to see the wind and the moon in you.” You smiled at me and I melted by so much moon, I could count its rays. And I felt that silver hand closing around my middle pulling me to inner floods.

Nearly I already loved the moon more than the wind.

And in the very early morning dawn when the wind decided to sleep I saw you released in wonderful radiance of reflections of my deeply beloved dream of the night. Oh yes, this night was mine. You were mine. Naked blaze at dawn.

Then the sun came. The shining in your hair was not the same. Without the wind there was silence on your head. And the sun didn´t bring the blaze on your face that I thought to own, at least in darkness grateful revelation of modest light.

And you became a stranger to me. In further nights the moon started to veil its face and retreated from you and me. No. don´t look at me anymore! I can´t find in your features anymore what was lovable and all to me, what took me away in rapture,  drove me, tortured and brought me to sweet enthusiasm. What I saw now was a human face.

Why are you so close?! Have you not been on the moon lately? Didn´t we play there? And in what kind of paradise have we been while the wind was still playing in your hair?

You shake me and shout at me. “What will be with us?! What about our covenant, out love?! You don´t love me anymore!”

But… I never loved you. I loved the wind and the moon. And you were so beautiful to make me realise them.

You weep, you swear, you curse me. What have I done to you? I wish you could have felt with me what I see. Have you really never been a friend? Just vanity?

And when the moon came back, you disappeared. I raised my head to the night sky. You cruel moon. To love you is solitude.

And while I stood and stood there, all in a sudden a warm breeze came up. The wind played with my hair tenderly and softly caressed my face.

Oh wind, how I loved and love you, my friend.

 

Laughing with or at

schandmaske

 

To socialise is something so very important for human beings to survive and to feel wholesome. When you are a child you expect to be cared for and in most cases parents want and do naturally. At some point usually when the child grows up the expectations change step by step not only needing the care but also to get in contact with those you just want to play with to share experiences and to prepare for life´s challenges. Somehow my way went different because I could not find those interactive action more interesting than my inner world full of questions and thoughts creating relations to ideas, allegories, animals and things.

The world around me didn´t answer my questions. School was boring, pupils were boring, other children were boring and only disturbed me in my inner imaginary surrounding I got lost in so often with only a few stimuli life outside gave me. People thought me to be odd being so sensitive about their cruel behaviour towards myself and other children they mocked and bullied; it hurt me deeply cause I still sensed so many things around and even though I didn´t show up any skills to socialise I felt the need to be connected with people, to just be with them, to just have them about, to have peace and fun. My rare attempts of expression didn´t find an aim.

And not realising that I really was different I thought them to be just cruel and myself to be weak. So I isolated and only sometimes got out to look for people who were different as well. And I found so many heavens and hells of human existence, found love, discovered libido and always things turned out to not work like it seemed to be meant to.

My son saved me. He made me strong and suddenly interaction with the outer world was more than a shadow existence of being cared for in a suffering soul shell. And also I learnt to be unremarkable, to walk normal among society members to hide away any symptoms of coming along different. Well, I couldn´t avoid all. But then being an artistic one people just thought my oddness to be keeping a special image of craziness.

Very much later when I got diagnosed as having a mild autism with an extend of Aspergers I understood myself so very much better and started to explain to people. Some of those who knew me a longer while just said that they have always taken me that odd way I was. Unfortunately they never gave me feedback before what they felt odd about me.

Others now laugh out loud when it comes to a typical situation of misunderstanding, inadequate pacing or confusion and try to make jokes about what they can´t really understand. They want to show up that they take it with understanding humour, but actually some who can´t stop that don´t understand at all. It´s so often like those people who cook a rost beef for friends and forget that one of them is vegetarian.

If laughter is the only way for people to cope with diversity I ask myself what kind of social skills this society really teaches us. I´ve got a lot of self-irony till now while learning about irony over the years. The traps in my brain are sometimes funny for sure. But I´m greatful for those “normal” people who also learnt some self-irony towards their inability to empathise, and who joke about their limited ego-perspective. I know some who can do so!  They make me hope.

Some say: Ah, they get along with their disability brilliantly they always laugh with us when we make our jokes about them… – What do you actually expect? That we give the clishee image of someone turning away in tears like in a school book to explain bullying? Embarrassing all and ourselves?

How should a social and sensitive being react  people joke about? Going aggressive? What is the adequate pattern tought by our society to express a hurtful situation in a social group? I make the experience that people are not able to deal with an honest word properly.

Well, I know it´s not easy to break free from general habit of superficial sultification of “bloopers” and the easy way avoiding complex reflection and just to think it being funny. But every “being different” includes a long and often complicated story of suffering from expelling reaction expressed by laughter. Please, consider this. You better smile with open mind and learn to talk honestly and laugh about yourself, so we all learn to laugh together heartfully. life could be so much fun for all of us. :)

 

Complexity – Curse or Bliss?

So many complex patterns overlay each other to become a new one...

So many complex patterns overlay each other to become a new one…

When I perceive those sceneries my brain feels challenged. To avoid confusion I want to analyse the situation and find out how many layers are there. Every detail is taken like a part of a jigsaw to find which layer it belongs to.  And this way a multi-dimensional construction falls into pieces so I can recreate all elements and its composition. So many informations have to be sorted and the recreation sometimes bears frustration and also great happiness to understand the deep long-term complexity how those patterns came to be. You see beauty and abysses, finally most overwhelming processes, and there won´t be a wonder-pill to make it whole and wholesome again right now. Analysing you go through hell, you go through modesty, doubts, anger, tears, laughter, insight and the frustration how to make comprehensive what you perceive. Or even how to change things.

The analysis itself is so complex that it´s so hard and difficult to give an impression. So desparately I only can express by art and artistic output to express. But doesn´t that bring more complexity again? So do I just add another layer to what is not understandable already? Or am I able to give a summery of the essential? I doubt so much about my communication, you can´t imagine. And also: Who is interested to get those informations?

So often I have to realise that I am too complicated for people. Actually I like complexity and also I see complexity already in the most simple things. So I come out to be a bit nerdy even though I love to enjoy gifts of life.

Complexity has its own beauty. Even joy is complex. And so much more when you are able to look at the layers from different sides so that you can see the dimensions. Yes, too complicated, I know. But that´s me. So please, don´t mind me that I sometimes have to drift off to understand situations that way. Well, as a complexity-fancier you have a quite lonely path. I´m so happy that there are some rare souls I can share with.

 

 

Thoughts of a Child on Christmas Eve

junge

I´m just 5 years old and will soon be six. Mum says that I grew up so fast and Dad adds that the serious side of life will begin then in summer. He refers to my entry to school. It seems he didn´t like it too much when he went there himself. They both seem not to like the serious side of life anyhow. And this is my deep problem I have right now at Chritsmas time.

Christmas, the time of peace, cookies, candles and expensive presents and also a time when all hopes and expectations come to a risky climax for families. The risk of disappointment and broken illusions is higher than the angels´ voices around the Christmas tree. So what could I do?

They are just decorating the tree and argue about the position of my presents. All that work and time they give for all those preparations. They create a big scenery every year, spend a lot of money and Mum is complaining that she has to cook for all the family that comes for a visit. But when Dad suggested that we could all visit aunt Claudia, she protested heavily with eyes wide open.

On Christmas Eve Mum and Dad, they are so immensely happy when I come into the living room after the bell rang. “Look! What Santa brought for you. Isn´t that nice? You must have been a good child.” And while I – for a very short moment – reflect about all my evil sins, they are so taken and merry when they see my astonished and amazed eyes and face in rapture with all those exciting packages und the twinkling tree and the carols from the CD player. Oh, how they are happy once a year to see me that way.

Years before when I was still small, Dad dressed in a costume and played Santa. I recognised his shoes. And when I once sanctimoniously asked why Dad never was with us when Santa came in, they asked uncle Torsten to play the role the next year. And now since my aunt and Mum are in terrible quarrel about something and don´t talk to each other anymore, Santa is already gone when I come in. Mum and Dad explain that with lots of creative ideas. How they are talented!

But understand my deep conflict. How can I explain to my parents that I don´t believe in Santa anymore?! I put this confession up the road as long as possible. Should I really take them away those sweet moments of bliss and happiness? I hardly want to imagine how disappointed they will be. And knowing how much they dislike the serious side of life doesn´t make it easier for me. Shall I really take it away from them? Tell them the truth?

Not this year. May they enjoy this last Christmas before I get to school. Maybe they already plan desperately how to explain to me that Santa doesn´t exist. They for sure do not want that I get to know that from my school mates then. Well, I´ll kill two birds with one stroke. A huge responsibility lays on my shoulders. I´ll tell them in spring after the Easter Bunny has done its job, when I´m six. Wish me luck.

Have a wonderful and conscious Christams everywhere

your Mata Hari

(To tell the truth…. I´m not really Mata Hari) ;)

Choreography of Souls

16072013829

Why do I support my fellow human beings about their cultural and personal advancement? It happens like an inevitable coincidence. I step onto a random platform of life, follow my impulses and suddenly I find myself involved in threads of amazing life constellations of other people who are extraordinary and special. And as if I exactly knew what to do I start to sort those threads and what I call the web of momentum that makes situations move. I learn to know people and seem to realise their deepest and highest potential to improve to all sides and what it means and could mean without really being conscious about myself and what´s going on.  But everything that happens then, what I follow and lead to, all seems to belong to a great idea of progression. And, however, it feels right. Not uncomplicated, clear or easy, but right, correct.

There seems to be a choreographer to create a stunning scenery, steps and movements of an intriguing dance.  It´s a twirling around the moment first, then may express current life situations.  And those points already give a slight impression of the essential and what could be and I have the honour to experience wonderful inspiration. I enjoy the deep moments of souls that show all their terrible beauty and truth. I thank all you lovely people who gift me with trust and sharing themselves. And maybe without knowing you are with me working out the vision we all need so much.

And based on this inspiration I find ways to transform ideas to come real.
I can´t promise that dreams come true. But it may happen. And it may happen with only a deep and free will, open mind, cheerful heart, crazy hope and empathic understanding that our threads get woven to amazing moments of unknown patterns that lift us up to some new insight of life and togetherness in sense of cultural exchange and quality, whatever that means for you. For something will change.

It´s so difficult to get out of the mud of routine, stale cravings and unaware habits and we need each other to find a way. Not to bound each other but to support our talents and skills to become helpful, senseful and appreciated. Well, I want to add my part with all I am. I can´t help, I have to…

Mother and Son

Too serious by knowing responsibility?

Too serious by knowing responsibility?

The only one who can estimate if I have been a good mother is my son.

What are we supposed to do being a parent? I had my doubts about my skills doing the right things for a child needing my full care and attention. I´m sure that I often was not able to ignore my own needs, but I never made decisions without considering my son´s life situation. I exacted a lot of emotional strength of him and I don´t know if this has always been the best way. It made me happy when he lately said that I have done right, that I have always been consequent and reliable. And he is proud of me that I have always been myself and not like the others.

Well, I gave him an individual foundation with the little worry in me that he will have to cope with all obstacles brought up by moving in a society that claims for conformation and unsensitive performance. How will he ever be something else than an artist?

He asked me if I´d think that he won´t be able to get along with all that like I did and do. And I realised that I had to let him go his way as a man of decision. I don´t know why this makes me cry. It´s not a good bye. it is the inevitable improvement of what I gave to him, what I sowed and it is wonderful to see him flourish and that he´s got all doors open; something I didn´t have when I was young.

My son is my sunshine, my loving child and friend who makes me smile every day, the bliss of my life which goes on. Well, I´m a proud mother after all.