I remember while growing up within a rural environment in southern Wisconsin
that we knew at least the basic identity of nearly every neighbor for three to five
miles in any direction. After my family moved into town when I was about fourteen,
we didn't know who lived on the other side of the fence around the backyard.
There seems to be little argument that the world has become an overpopulated
place, yet the experience of personal isolation appears to have increased in direct
proportion to the addition of each new resident. To put it bluntly, there is something
wrong about feeling absolutely alone within the midst of billions of people--but
also something disturbingly honest. It seems that what we have lost (or are losing)
is consciousness of just how interconnected and interdependent we are.
Each person has a unique way of perceiving, understanding, processing, and responding
to information. Consequently, it would seem that if we could learn to effectively
collaborate, there would be almost nothing that would go unnoticed, unlearned, and
unaddressed in some hopefully constructive way. All that is currently missing is
our decision and dedication to do so.
Unfortunately, knowing this doesn't make my life any easier because the basic
dynamic described above cannot be legislated from without but must be chosen from
within. As someone instructed me many years ago, "one can only build the bridge
halfway." If no one builds the other half of the bridge, the chasms between myself
and others will never be crossed.
For myself specifically, this has resulted in a situation within which my only
immediate family are my dogs, my vocational future is uncertain, and my current financial
survival is continually teetering on the brink of disaster. Nonetheless, there is
no question that I have abundant abilities, that I am able to create many beautiful
and inspiring things, and that I am thankfully sufficiently stubborn about not giving
up that in spite of even the most adversarial circumstances, I persist in doing as
much good as I can for as long as I can--but there seem to be more and more days
of late within which I'm simply feeling very, very worn out and wondering where the
rewards for all of this effort are hiding.
In the midst of such intellectual, physical, emotional, psychological, and spiritual
pursuits, I know that personal integrity and honest self-awareness remain critically
important. Specific and fluctuating combinations of limitation and ability surround
and shape me, alternatively inviting humility and courage within diverse moments.
Things that I wish I could do and have tried to do but which remain stubbornly out
of reach form a sort of boundary that steers me toward other dreams where I often
excel but find that I'm still waiting for others to even notice.
Greater artists than I, however, were completely ignored and in some cases even
scorned until after their physical lives had ended. Even if my work rises to the
level of theirs, should I expect that I will receive blessings which they were denied?
It is specifically because of such thoughts as all of those above, that I return
again and again to the conclusion that life is primarily about the growth of the
The specific question with which I must now wrestle, as I mentally and emotionally
prepare to meet with a clinical psychologist later today, is what effect a diagnosis
of high-functioning autism could contribute to the growth of my soul. Conversely,
what if a different diagnosis is discovered? Considering more than thirty qualities
on my list of possible indications of some sort of anomalous categorization, I will
be very surprised indeed if the answer I receive is that there is nothing unique
about me at all, but even then my conclusion remains that life is primarily concerned
with the growth of the soul.
I guess, all things considered, that for which I most wish, is a sense of family,
of community, and of friends along the way. Not superficially or in name only, but
functionally; that when I metaphorically reach out into the darkness, I will always
find someone there, willing to also take my hand and journey onward together for
as long as we can.
January 20, 2013: Individuality that is Honestly Inescapable
It now seems in retrospect that everyone recognized from the very beginning
that I was an absolutely unique individual. Unfortunately, no one--not even me--knew
what to do with that and I have never done very well with the "throw him in, sink
or swim" approach to educational challenges (usually I just drown). The more I read,
however, the more it seems that this same challenge is going to follow me into present
and future interactions with others within the world of autism.
I'm discovering an ever broader and ever more confusing spectrum of responses
to the basic question of what autism is and how it is defined. A great many sources,
for example, seem to assert that autism means less emotional expression and connection.
I think I'm deeply engaged with my emotions, but they are more often oriented around
environments and experiences than around people.
Does that mean I'm not autistic after all? One person recently expressed doubt
that I have high-functioning autism because I'm often "too eloquent" within my writing
and speech. I do verifiably tend to interpret language too literally, however, and
often don't understand jokes that people tell--similar to the way I find the old
slapstick comedy of the three stooges horrifying to watch, always being more concerned
about whether or to what extent someone might have gotten hurt by the imitations
of violence being displayed. All of which is only complicated even further by the
discovery that I'm gay.
As a minority within a minority, my isolation is really quite logical. A corresponding
ongoing struggle, however, is convincing myself each day that suicide is not (logical).
I don't think it's necessary to repeat that finding one's place or finding a way
to fit in, is a struggle that nearly everyone faces; that the assertion that "there's
no place within this world for me" is always based upon limited perception and knowledge.
There are frequently a thousand other options which remain invisible only because
of the assumptions and biases that shape our individual perceptions.
Additionally, the general encouragement to make a place for one's self when
such a place doesn't already exist, is of course easier said than done. For myself
at least, a primary way of creating the strength to persevere, is to remember the
many artists, philosophers, free thinkers, and anomalous persons within other times
of human history, whose success came later in life. Had they not refused to give
up, however, their accomplishments would never have happened at all. A primary essential
ingredient of life, therefore, is faith--at the very least in the tentative existence
of one's future accomplishments. So every day I try to remember, "Whatever challenges
today includes, I need to get through them somehow, if I am ever to see and to participate
in the beauty that resides within tomorrow."
February 8, 2013: Post Diagnosis
Well, it's official: I am now a person with a "disability" and that has specifically
been named as a “high-functioning” form of autism. In some ways, I'm still trying
to figure out what this means. At the very least, it seems to finally explain virtually
all of the social/interpersonal problems I've had throughout my life. While in the
past I was subjected to almost constant accusations of "just being difficult" or
"not trying hard enough," however, it appears that this official diagnosis will finally
emphatically dismiss such accusations as being completely illegitimate.
I remain at least slightly concerned, however, that for some people this will
also mean listening to my words less; i.e. "it's just your disability talking (so
I don't have to take your seriously)." Then again, I'm not sure how much those particular
people previously listened to me anyway; perhaps they don't really listen to anyone
except themselves. With or without any so-called disability, however, principles
that continue to guide me are that life is ultimately primarily concerned with the
growth of the soul, our lives here are finite so we should use every available opportunity
to do all the good that we can, and nothing good is ever gained by running away from
What will follow the discovery of this particular truth (my diagnosis), however,
is at least for now completely uncertain. I am reminded of a scene from the movie
"Mulan," which was highly recommended to me by a trans-woman friend who tragically
committed suicide a number of years ago (a brilliant woman with amazing wisdom and
abundant creative potential). Toward the end of the movie, an adversary is attacking
the capitol city and threatening to kill the emperor. Mulan (a woman who through
concealing her identity was allowed to receive warrior training) is rushing to thwart
the adversary's negative intentions in any way she can. Her guide and companion,
a small dragon, asks her, "So what's the plan?" She responds, "I don't know; I was
making it up as I go." So it seems are all of us as well.
February 24, 2013: The Persistent Question of Who Am I Now?
Well, it's getting close to a month since I was officially diagnosed with autism
and in some ways I don't feel much closer to any sort of clear understanding of this.
I have made a number of contacts and have a number of potentially empowering meetings
with individuals of various non-profit organizations scheduled for early March, but
if a potential employer were to ask me today, "What accommodations do you need, to
be a valuable member of our team?" I'm not sure I would be able to provide a clear
and complete answer. I could perhaps name two or three basic generalities, but that
hardly constitutes a complete answer. Perhaps the remarkable but unavoidable conclusion
this suggests, is that life is ultimately an ongoing exploration with no guarantees,
which it is most recommendable that we explore together.
So how many are willing to give life a chance, even with all of its unpredictable
twists and turns and infinitely variable relationships? If we do, the possibilities
are positively amazing. The ability to try, however, it seems to me, arises from
whatever answers I can give to the even more fundamental question of "who am I?"
Answering this question remains difficult for me, however, because it's sometimes
difficult to tell which influences arise from autism and which arise from my own
personality (both of which resist alteration but can nevertheless be integrated).
Adding to the confusion are all of the public debates about who should receive
assistance, as well as what kind and how much assistance should be offered. Some
seem to expect the government and all of its complicated programs to fix the problem.
I think we would do better to focus upon helping each other, rather than waiting
for government programs to kick in, but I haven't found too many people who think
Perhaps that's because everyone else is also still answering the question, "who
am I," and consequently aren't any more sure than I am, of how to begin. Some people
seem to hide from themselves behind seemingly endless intellectual analysis, while
others appear to give free reign to emotional and instinctual reactions that are
sometimes counter-productive to building relationships. Surely there really is a
middle ground where mind and heart can be constructively integrated--at least that
is my hope, but I can't be sure, because I don't think I've found it yet.
My first suggestion in even beginning to address this question, is to remember
that we are each a multifaceted being--unique combinations of positive, negative,
and neutral qualities which express themselves in innumerable ways within the diverse
circumstances and challenges of our lives. I like to think that I'm not so concerned
about from where an answer comes as that, in fact, an effective and truthful answer
does come--and that I remember that every answer is tentative, pending mostly unpredictable
further developments in circumstances and abilities. I would very much like to know--as
completely and truthfully as possible--what my current circumstances and abilities
are and also what they may become, within the days, weeks, and months ahead. Since
apparently no one has this information readily available, it would seem the only
answer currently within reach is, "I guess we'll find out." Hm. Well, onward and
March 5, 2013: The Action of Waiting
Okay, now that I have an official diagnosis, why is it taking so long to form
a constructive response, a clear definition, or a reasonable expectation? "Every
case is different"--I've heard that so many times by now that its unavoidable truth
no longer satisfies me. While I have found a person or two who appears to be supportive
of constructive resolution of my challenges, the general demand in this area is astonishingly
large, resulting in answers such as "Considering all of the other clients whom I
need to see, the next time I can meet with you is three weeks from Thursday."
Yet autism is a very constant and daily experience. What do I do in the meantime?
When nothing makes any sense, I get up in the morning trying to imagine something--anything,
even just one thing--that I can do today that will somehow move me and my life in
a positive direction. If I can accomplish at least that one thing today, then I
know I will conclude the day with a sense of contentment--that somehow in spite of
all the chaos in the world, there is a sense in which things are okay and I will
consequently be able to get a good night's rest.
Unfortunately it's been a while since I've been able to do that. Everything
seems to be spinning all around me, like Dorothy riding on her bed within her bedroom
as the tornado carried her to Oz--just waiting for everything to stop spinning so
she could begin to figure out where she was, who her friends are now, and what path
to follow in order to re-establish a sense of home. Perhaps in some way or another
we all long for home; to be surrounded by a sense of family and a certain minimum
amount of familiarity, from which to make our own unique creative contributions to
the world around us.
I guess the things that I try to remember to cope within such moments are that
no tornado lasts forever (they all come to an end at some point); there is always
something which follows (the world doesn't end); and there is always a way for me
to respond or something I can contribute to that which follows (I am not simply a
victim of circumstances). More concisely, I remain unavoidably in relationship to
the frequently mysterious unfolding of my own life. While I can only build the bridge
halfway (inescapably relying upon others to build the other half), I do have to make
sure that I have done a good job building my half of the bridge. That will ultimately
and genuinely be my life's work, even if--for now--I don't exactly know what that
is. And so I wait; eager and restless to begin.
March 21, 2013: The Time before Dawn
How very long the night seems to linger; how cold the dark breeze when I reach
out and find no one there. I have heard of a day that is coming, of a family that
I will find there that is so different from the one I knew already years ago, and
of the man I will become when that new day’s light has filled the earth--free of
all demands to be or believe or act according to that which I am not. Faith is that
perhaps foolish hope that the words I heard, will not be disappointed. Yet only
time will tell.
The moment that is now seems to hang as if frozen in space and time, threatening
a glimpse of eternity rather than of brevity, as I strain to move ahead. The methods
of the past have, in some ways, left me broken and weighed down by failure. Yet
this failure was the only path I could see by which to arrive at this present pivotal
chance to learn something different; to become someone new; and to begin a journey
which was unable to begin anywhere else.
Now if only I knew how to proceed. And so it is that I wait, watching for the
light to fall upon the first step of the new path; waiting in silence, to see if
any will join me, each in his or her own way. If the light arrives before any companion,
of course, I will take that as divine guidance that I am to begin alone, yet knowing
that solitary journeys are impossible unless I can actually believe that unseen angels
and the spirits of all who have gone before are not present with me--but I’ve never
yet been able to believe anything like that. So I stand, eager to begin the journey
once again, even if I must do so with no more than the light of the stars. Perhaps
that will be enough.
April 1, 2013: Shattered Chrysalis
There are no directions for the emerging butterfly--”apply pressure here...cut
along this line...keep this end up...” Which way is up anyway, when you’ve spent
all winter hanging upside down? Do descriptions of up and down even make sense once
one has finally launched one’s self into limitless space? Why must the butterfly’s
entire life be so without any clear sense of family, beyond the rarest of moments?
Why doesn’t any of this prevent the butterfly’s wings from being so beautiful that
giant creatures stop and stare in awe and wonder, as I flutter by, still not fully
comprehending why they stare? Will I ever be able to see myself the way that they
see me? The chrysalis left behind looks like a tangle of mistakes: nothing orderly,
symmetrical, or carefully engineered about the way its form was shattered, torn asunder,
and abandoned, as I fought to escape its limitations.
Apparently it fulfilled its function quite well, if my survival was its solitary
goal. What shall my goal be now? What purpose can I yet serve? Then again, how
essential is it for me to know and understand myself, in order to be the chrysalis
for whatever life is yet to come? I suppose you would have to ask the life that
is yet to come, since my current perspective offers no answers to that question.
Yet there is something in the rushing of the wind past my ears that hints of
greatness that I do not comprehend, even while I do it; there is something in the
truth my eyes perceive that foreshadows transcendence beyond any ability to interpret
it; and there is something in the blood pulsing through my body and pounding a steady
rhythm through my brain, that testifies to being more alive than I ever thought I
could be. For all of these, I must persevere and see what comes next. I do it because,
mysteriously perhaps, I feel I have to...and somehow I know that it’s all good--or
at least it will be.
April 8, 2013: Out Where? All on my Own?
If by whatever means I had recently been rendered blind, there are resources
for learning to read Braille, move from place to place with a white cane, work with
a guide dog, and make use of a vast spectrum of technological assistance devices
(everything from screen reading software to personal voice recorders with Braille-identified
controls). Two months of intense searching, however, has shown that because I have
autism, satisfying my personal needs for food, clothing, shelter, financial income,
social interconnection and everything else required for contemporary life, will be
produced by my own ingenuity or not at all.
In every case, it appears, I’m not bad enough to get any help and not good enough
to effectively manage on my own. So what does one do when surrounded by people who
believe in a system that clearly isn’t working--at least not for one’s self? Perhaps
it works for someone else, but it definitely isn’t working for me.
I continue to encounter people who are most concerned that others do not have
to deal with a person who is emotionally upset (which means myself, within certain
challenging situations) and are content to manage this circumstance with drugs or
deceit--by which I refer to the common instruction to conduct myself as a neurotypical
would instead of as a person with autism would. This issue, however, is not just
a concern for people with autism, but rather the tip of the iceberg, so to speak,
of the world’s general inability to deal with honesty and truth--and to let ourselves
be the human beings that we are. Virtually the entire world of employment appears
to be oriented around presenting one’s self as being the embodiment of the potential
employer’s fantasy rather than as simply being one’s self (hopefully a dedicated
and honest worker with sufficient skills to do the particular job). That this is
repeatedly framed as management of emotions is becoming more and more offensive to
Personally I don’t particularly care whether I’m happy, sad, or whatever. It
is my understanding that being human includes experiencing a spectrum of emotions
throughout whatever ups and downs my life ultimately includes. The problem is not
undesirable emotions; the problem is the interruption of my ability to think which
is provoked by certain combinations of overwhelming circumstances.
I need more than words; I need effective methods, devices, and assistance that
do not ask me to lie about who I am or what I’m experiencing. I think there is some
credibility to the notion that people with disabilities are born into this world
to draw attention to life lessons that are being otherwise ignored or at least neglected.
Among the possibilities for autism is that it may be a divine prompting to recover
commitment to our own humanity.
Indeed, within every situation and circumstance of which I am aware, anything
that requires us to be less human, less feeling, less thinking, less honest, or less
fully present--anything that tells us to repress our thoughts and emotions instead
of constructively integrating them--is generally followed by a long list of psychological,
emotional, and social dysfunctions. If we wish to be the best that we can be, we
must be fully human--and that includes integrating every example of so-called disability
that ever occurs in ways that are genuinely supportive, effective, and empowering.
It is never a question of “do it my way” but rather of “how can we make it possible
for you to do it?”
In the meantime, I pray that faith in the ingenuity and compassion of others
and of ourselves is able to survive. Hope for a better tomorrow depends upon it.
April 14, 2013: One Example of an Autistic Sense of Beingness
Within my immediately previous blog post, I concluded by saying: "If we wish
to be the best that we can be, we must be fully human--and that includes integrating
every example of so-called disability that ever occurs, in ways that are genuinely
supportive, effective, and empowering. It is never a question of 'do it my way'
but rather of 'how can we make it possible for you to do it?' In the meantime, I
pray that faith in the ingenuity and compassion of others and of ourselves is able
to survive. Hope for a better tomorrow depends upon it."
To begin to respond to my own comments and observations included therein, I
think I am beginning to regain a sense of being who I am with the addition of being
someone with autism. I'm not sure there is anything other than time and patience,
however, that makes such integration possible. All of the most proactive strategies
in the world cannot--after a large rock is thrown into the pond--force the surface
of a pond to become calm again, any more quickly than the water and underlying contours
of the pond have the ability to do. Receiving a diagnosis of autism was a huge
rock thrown into the pond of my conscious and subconscious self-identity and awareness,
the presence of which is something to which I must adapt.
The water level around the shore, for example, may have risen a half inch in
response to the displacement caused by the addition of this rock. Rather than see
this as a set-back of some sort, however, and obsessing about the ways that a water
level a half inch higher will negatively impact the shore, it is equally possible
for me to imagine that this huge rock will be the first foundation stone within a
larger project of building an island that will not only reach above the surface of
the pond, but also support the construction of a new lighthouse. The shoreline can
be similarly landscaped with other stones to prevent erosion and perhaps even a bridge
can eventually be built between that shoreline and the island where the new lighthouse
acts as a navigational beacon.
I must decide what response I will contribute to the addition of this new understanding
of my life. There is a sense that within each of us is inescapably a lighthouse
by which others will navigate. Whatever response to our so-called disabilities that
we make, this may serve as a navigational reference for others whom we do not realize
are watching the unfolding of our lives. While we're busy coping, they're busy learning
(by watching us). Ideally, the combined end result is that the world becomes a better
place--for ourselves, for others, and for all who will come after us within the future.
The most important contribution any of us can make, therefore, is to be ourselves
honestly, truthfully, and authentically; to do our best in every way that we can;
and to be mentally, emotionally, and socially fully present--which, to me, is what
makes life worth living.
June 1, 2013: Sister Who Speaks
Popular culture as it manifests within any particular time and place is frequently
a conglomeration of oft-repeated folk wisdom. For this present essay, for me at
least, I begin with "there but for the grace of God go I," add a bit of Martin Niemoller's
verse about failing to speak up for particular categories of humanity until there
was no one left to speak up, and finish with a dash of "pay no attention to the man
behind the curtain!" It is important to note that the central goal of that journey
was not accomplished until after attention was paid to the man behind the curtain.
In similar way, as long as leaders are allowed to conduct their affairs in secret,
without accountability or any requirement of integrity, the safety and security of
home will elude us. A primary difficulty of the experience of Bradley Manning is
that as long as the citizenry collectively allows governmental and military leadership
to deal with him as they have, the citizenry collectively allows the possibility
that the same could happen to any one of themselves. No one is truly free until
everyone is truly free. Additionally, if Bradley Manning--or any other citizen,
for that matter--has exposed problems within our national and military leadership,
it is pure stupidity to punish him (or her) for the exposure rather than to immediately
and quickly address the problems that were revealed--and thank Mr. Manning (or whomever)
for bringing those things to our attention.
June 3, 2013: Just to be Clear
By some I have been described as too conservative; by others as too radical.
My intent is simply to live my life with integrity in pursuit of ever-improving
manifestations of truth, wisdom, and love. Politically, as a registered voter, I
am "unaffiliated." I have certain significant disagreements with Libertarian, Republican,
and Democratic political parties, as well as all of the rest. With regard to my
spiritual/ministerial calling, I am not a political activist, but rather the focus
of my service to humanity is characterized by holistic and healthy approaches to
spirituality and education.
Wisdom requires, however, that when one lives within an allegedly democratic
nation, certain participatory responsibilities are inherent. It has been said that
"all that is necessary for evil to triumph, is for good to do nothing." If the citizens
of any democratic nation remain silent when problems arise, therefore, they become
complicit in their own demise. When the citizens conversely pool their collective
wisdom and act with solidarity, a strong and healthy nation within which to develop
one's spirituality, knowledge, wisdom, and love is the logical result.
Specifically because I am not a political activist, it would not be accurate
to place me within any of the known categories--Libertarian or otherwise. Manifestations
of particular forms of government come and go, but groups of humanity persist and
must find effective ways to navigate their transitions. The necessity of government
arises from the presence of two or more people within a shared space. Violence,
however, is never a constructive answer. Civility, dialogue, and communication--whether
through symbolic acts, passionate words, or demonstrations of compassion--are the
tools by which a better future for everyone can be forged.
Although I have not the skills nor the resources nor the education to actively
participate in governmental processes (beyond casting my vote, that is), I am happy
to offer a blessing and a prayer for all of the motorcycle riders who will carry
the torch, demonstrating thereby their commitment to defending their country "from
all enemies, foreign and [especially] domestic." It is faith in our collective ability
to address and correct whatever problems are discovered, that will ultimately construct
the better world within which to live, of which we all dream. Traditionally, "whistle-blowers"
have been punished; I say they should be thanked for alerting the rest of us to ways
that we can become even better than we've ever been.
Nonetheless, it's up to us to follow through and do whatever work of self-improvement
needs to be done. In the words of a witticism I created quite a number of years
ago for one of my monthly newsletters, "whoever wants the muscles, must lift the
June 13, 2013: Seasonal Shifts
I recall growing up in southern Wisconsin that with rare exceptions, winter
was a time for the sky to be gray and the world to be cold--for literally months;
virtually forever, from the perspective of a child. When the spring did finally
come, it seemed far too late, far too slow, and far too tentative. In finally knowing
after fifty years of waiting, a name and the beginning of an explanation for the
differences in brain functioning that I had noticed and described to others since
early childhood, my diagnosis of autism seemed like a break-through. After months
of searching, however, the diagnosis now seems like one of the rare Wisconsin winter
days when the gray clouds that blanketed the sky from one horizon to the other were
pierced by a few hours of beautifully direct sunlight.
As a gay man, I have been estranged from my entire family for over twenty years
at this point, so when the added challenge of consciously, psychologically, and emotionally
integrating this interpretation of my brain functioning was presented to me, I had
no familial support system whatsoever to accompany me as I stumbled through this
new territory. Additionally, because of the fact of my autism, my engagement with
life has always been a bit too intense, a bit too honest, a bit too deep, and a bit
too direct for nearly all of the gay men I've met within my life, to tolerate--so
there was no personal support system in that area of my life either.
Spiritually, since earliest childhood, I had gravitated toward a mystical relationship
with that which is greater than myself (which I refer to as "Godde"), so my understandings
were almost never compatible with religious persons and communities I encountered
along the way. So when I was informed that one of the common characteristics of
autism is social isolation, I think my response was something like "No sh*t!" Thankfully,
throughout my life, one of my persistent character qualities is that I'm nearly always
way too stubborn to quit, once I've set my mind on accomplishing something. If various
gatekeepers won't allow me to do whatever it is in the usual way, I will find some
alternative way to do what I have imagined, given enough time to develop the necessary
resources and skills. It is in this sense that I continue my perhaps irrational
belief in ultimately creating for myself some sort of alternative family and community
within which I will at last find a genuine sense of family, of community, and of
home and the freedom to be truly and completely the creative individual that somewhere
deep inside I have always known myself to be.
Even if the winter is long, it is not forever (even in Wisconsin). The season
of spring must eventually come, if for no greater reason than that the world continues
to turn in space and--for a season at least--I am blessed to be one of its passengers.
July 3, 2013: Reviewing the Movies
Although I'm a person who is very selective about which movies I like to watch
(mostly because of how much I remember them for days, months, and even years afterward),
I also occasionally pull the DVDs out of storage and watch them again--in some cases
as many as a dozen times or more by now. One of the mixed blessings of autism is
being able to similarly review experiences of my life, recalling incidents with all
of the detail and immediacy of when I first experienced them. The fascinating thing
about seeing movies for a second and third time, is that one can notice additional
details, meanings, and implications that might have been previously overlooked. Even
with my autistic attention to detail, there has always been more to discover--perhaps
because my own perspective on life has subtly changed in the meantime and there were
lessons and insights available which I lacked sufficient maturity to appreciate during
Consequently, the best movies become more and more inspirational and deeply
meaningful with time. Having recognized this, I find myself regarding each new day
as a collection of sacred opportunities to make the movie I will be quite possibly
remembering and reviewing for many years to come. Another important aspect of reviewing
the movies, however, is recognizing that if I turn off my DVD player during the bad
parts, because they seem just too painful to watch, I will never get to see the happy
ending which follows. Similarly, if I fast-forward through the difficult moments,
my appreciation for the final victory will be significantly less.
All of which leads me to the conclusion that enduring difficulties is necessary
for full appreciation and the deepest possible experience of unknown victories and
accomplishments that will follow. If the present circumstances are troubling, therefore,
it just means that I haven't yet reached the happy ending that's sure to follow.
Times of trouble are never the end, but they are quite common when one is in the
middle. So I keep going--any way that I can.
July 27, 2013: Being Me Around You
Perhaps autism is the reason I've never really noticed an inherent conflict
between individuality, relationship, and community. Specifically because of autism,
I notice the myriad of details related to each of these three and, in time, I've
also learned how these details can be organized like the subtle shifts of color within
a rainbow. When conflicts have occurred, it is more often because of objections
On one hand, in being myself I make a point of knowing my strengths and weaknesses
and of being proactive in my ongoing response to them. The only times my quirks
become divisive, is when I encounter persons who prefer that all or part of my uniqueness
would somehow cease to exist. In forming a relationship of any sort, two inherent
qualities one must expect are first of all that integrating someone new into my life
will introduce various changes and second that all of my decisions will no longer
be made by myself alone. Conflict begins, however, where mutual respect and openness
end. One cannot simultaneously welcome someone into certain areas of life while
keeping that person out of others, without thereby maintaining a personal and emotional
distance that is specifically adversarial to deeper interpersonal connection. In
so doing, the result would be fractured rather than holistically integrated people.
On the other hand are those who wish to be welcomed, but who simultaneously
hold parts of themselves out. They wish to be a priority in others' lives without
placing any priority on responding in kind, resulting in a parasitic sort of drain
on personal energy. Very few relationships can survive such imbalance.
If I go so far as to invite someone to become a member of my inner circle of
family-like primary relationships, I quickly begin to build my life around those
persons. If the relationship is unbalanced, however, one person's issues can consume
the other's integrity. Curiously, however, when asked about their primary relationships,
it seems that most people will describe themselves as being the one who gives more
than the other person does.
What that says to me, is that significantly more open and honest communication
is needed. A problem with noticing who is giving more than the other, is that the
focus shifts to what is not shared instead of to what is shared. None of us lives
or dies alone, so each of us must consider carefully within relationships just what
exactly our contribution to others' lives is.
If we focus upon accomplishing and maintaining a particular state, however,
we slip into battling life itself--which must always grow and change in order to
be what it is. As the oft-repeated witticism instructs, "life is a journey; not
a destination." To render life a destination is to force it into a stagnation that
is analogous to death.
Autistic though I may be, I want to live. Will you journey with me into all
of the changes and challenges the future holds and become a bigger and better person
thereby--or will you instead request that I move into your world, pretend to be your
idealized fantasy of myself rather than the person I truly am, allow myself to stagnate
in order to avoid changing anything, and ultimately shrivel and die?
Please, I want to live the life that is my own and that has its own unique place
within the rainbow spectrum of human experience, both making my contribution and
also knowing that others will stand by me. Is that too much to ask? I am not your
Frankenstein monster, assembled from diverse pieces to be paraded around the room
as an example of your accomplishment of creating something indistinguishable from
socially described normalcy. I am here to do the creative work that no one except
myself can do; all I need is for others to give me a real chance to shine.
August 8, 2013: A report submitted to the newsletter department of the World OutGames
2013 event in Antwerp, Belgium.
At great personal expense and sacrifice, I registered for participation in the
archery competition and traveled to Antwerp to participate in the third World OutGames
(WOGA 2013). I disclosed prior to my travel that I have the disability of high-functioning
autism and, after asking whether it would be okay, that I would be participating
in the ritual garb of my ministerial alter-ego, Sister Who (www.SisterWho.com). At
accreditation, I specifically asked whether there was any place to practice prior
to the competition and I was specifically told that a single practice session would
occur on Saturday, August 3, from 2-4:30 p.m. at the same location at which the competition
would begin the following Tuesday morning.
I spent the usual three hours of preparation on Saturday morning, attiring myself
in my ritual garb and applying the face-paint which is a primary component of that
appearance. I asked my hosts (with whom I had been matched by the hosted housing
program of WOGA 2013) whether there would be any problem carrying my bow to the practice
session and their opinion was that there would not be any problem. One of my hosts
provided a ride in his car to the north sport-park location and I began searching
for the archery practice session.
No one I encountered, however, knew where the address provided by WOGA 2013
was located. Through all of the searching for the address provided, my bow was unstrung
and my arrows were locked within a case. Suddenly I was surrounded by six police
officers who demanded to know who I was, what I was doing there, and so forth. I
informed them that I was an archery participant of the World OutGames looking for
the practice session I had been told would occur somewhere nearby. They said they
had not heard anything about the World OutGames and were hesitant to believe that
any such event existed. For approximately an hour they surrounded me, speaking only
in Dutch and providing very little explanation in English.
How I managed to avoid experiencing an autistic melt-down, I simply don't know,
considering how frightening this entire situation was. Finally they said they would
take me to the address identified as the location of the archery competition (which
turned out to be either an incorrect or completely inaccurate address), then to the
location of the opening ceremonies so that they could confirm that the World OutGames
was in fact a real event, and finally they would take me back to where I was staying,
because they could not tolerate me traveling around Antwerp with a bow that was not
completely concealed (in which case, it would have been indistinguishable from someone
carrying a rifle or other long gun). Sitting in the back of a police vehicle when
we arrived at the Opening Ceremonies location, they were able to locate a WOGA 2013
official who spoke to them in Dutch, failing to reassure or even acknowledge me at
all. Finally I was transported back to the place where I was staying.
I left my bow and arrows there and traveled in ritual garb to the Rainbow Village
area and then to the Opening Ceremonies, trying to refocus myself mentally and emotionally
on more positive things than this terrifying experience. When I finally arrived
back at my hosted housing location, however, I discovered that the whole incident
with the police was being broadcast within local evening news and that the news report
included the opinion that appearing in public places while wearing face-paint was
absolutely not allowed (which is not what I was told by the police). At that point,
I found that I had been so disoriented by the afternoon experience that it seemed
unwise to leave the building at all for the next two days. I also realized that
I would not have sufficient concentration to participate in the archery competition.
Consequently, at great additional expense and because I no longer felt safe anywhere
in Belgium, I changed my plane ticket so that I could return to the US as soon as
possible (which turned out to be Tuesday morning; by the time the competition started,
I was already at the airport).
Because I did not actually participate in the competition, I left the participation
medal behind. I do not expect to ever travel to Belgium again. Clearly Antwerp
is not the diversity-tolerant and artistically supportive city it claims to be. I
am very glad to be home again, but I suspect it will be a very long time until I
finish paying for my travel to Belgium. Until then, it will not really be over,
but rather will linger in my memory like a nightmare that refuses to end. Sincerely,
Rev. Denver NeVaar, MTS a.k.a. Sister Who (www.SisterWho.com; www.DenverNeVaar.info)
August 25, 2013: As Stones in the Stream
Mottled and misshapen, unmoving and unmoved for longer than any remembers, yet
in awareness forever growing and accumulating more memories than any single moment
can hold--an entire lifetime is necessary. In a long ago time, the stone lay in
a field, surrounded by flowers with occasional attempts by vines to scale its modest
height. Then a particularly harsh winter fading to spring floods reshaped the land
and the water found a new course.
Now the tiny trickle had grown to a steady stream; more abundant in spring,
of course, but persisting even through hot and dry late summer, carrying the snow
of distant mountains toward even more distant oceans. No matter how turbulent and
forceful the currents, however, the stone remained peaceful and unmoved, responding
to the assault by giving the stream its song. Indeed, without the stone, the stream
would have no voice at all.
How absurd, therefore, the people passing by, presuming what they could make
of the stone, without considering for even a moment what it already possessed. "This
could be an ornament in my garden!" one exclaimed. "But then how would I continue
to give song to the stream," the stone thought to itself. "This could be used in
the construction of my house!" another suggested, caring not that this could also
make the stone invisible and incapable of any other contribution. "This could be
broken into a thousand small pieces to be polished and incorporated into jewelry!"
yet another proposed, failing to see the beauty that was already present, even as
the stone provided a step by which the river could be safely crossed.
Yet the greatest wonder that persisted, as the human and natural worlds churned
all around, was the perfect peace which the stone maintained--as long as to its own
self, it remained true. How I envy that integrity and aspire to do as well.
October 6, 2013: The Ability to Speak a Name
There is something about adversity that can sometimes drive a voice out of the
shadows. Remembering that adversity --and more importantly that voice--once the
moment of crisis has passed, however, is a bit more difficult. Speaking up with
deep conviction could even be described as the transformation of that adversity into
Without open adversity, however, it is easy to forget why speaking up is so
important. When circumstances are comfortable and convenient, speaking with deep
conviction and a commitment to higher principles must draw its energy from elsewhere--
perhaps even from remembering what previously occurred with sufficient intensity
that the past seems timeless. Within the stories of virtually every marginalized
population regardless of the real or imagined basis of the particular bigotry--race,
orientation, ability, religion, nationality, or whatever--the pattern of events always
seem to move from being those who cannot be openly discussed within polite company,
to being those who are finally demanding respect and getting it, to being assimilated
by the mainstream in ways that tend toward conformity, to ultimately being once again
the name that is not openly discussed, simply because doing so might make someone
Hello? Have we all forgotten that the very fact of being fully alive is inescapably
intertwined with passing from one uncomfortable experience to the next? It is never
comfortable to practice or prepare to do one’s best. Being awarded a silver medal
in bodybuilding came after eighteen months of strenuous exercise--two hours per day,
six days per week-- accompanied by all sorts of self-discipline and sacrifice (no
desserts, no fried foods, etc.). The accomplishment was not a lottery prize; it
The ability to identify myself as autistic without any sort of shame, is similarly
a matter of self-discipline and sacrifice. I continue to study myself and my particular
manifestation of autism in order to continually expand my understanding of what I
can do and of what I have to give to the world around me. I will not--under any
circumstances whatsoever--consent to ever again be an example of a race, an orientation,
an ability, a religion, or a nationality that cannot openly speak its own name.
Specifically by remembering the past, I will strive to build a better future.
If I must leave behind the unhealthy sweetness of superficial popularity in the
same way that desserts had no place in my life while training for the accomplishment
of a silver medal, then at least I know that I will have no regrets and that any
prize I receive will be one of earned integrity and perseverance rather than mere
The characteristics with which one is born--orientation, race, social class,
ability, and so forth--are sometimes described as being “accidents of birth,” but
the creative and constructive expression of each of these within the unfolding of
life that follows, are the substance of meaning and purpose that give power to whomever
is willing to serve them. By love and wisdom, all that I am is what I am divinely
called to be--in the most beautiful way possible. Truth seeks a voice within the
world and I am willing to lend it mine.
If there are those who do not understand and/or who respond badly, they will
still have had the chance to do better than that, if I have been faithful to the
spirit within me. For my part, I will strive to effectively utilize every such chance
entrusted to me. Yet, all that being said, what is the name by which I will call
my spirit? All things considered, how could there by only one?
Nonetheless, I am a single point at which many spectrums and continuums intersect.
Spiritually, I am a glass of water striving for a relationship of love and wisdom
with the ocean. One thing I am not, however, is a person fearful of speaking any
of his names publicly. Complex though it may be to say this, I am myself.
December 5, 2013: Standing Tall in a World of Cowering Shadows
On one hand, I remain absolutely convinced that absolutely everything is extremely
interconnected and interdependent. On the other hand, however, as someone with autism,
I remain very aware of the details of my world, among which is that apparently the
majority of those around me wish to hide everything of which others might not approve--including
autism. In contrast, I learned very early in life that one cannot live one’s own
life with any integrity nor can one effectively serve one’s life purpose (and, yes,
I believe everybody has at least one) while striving to be the embodiment of others’
expectations, fantasies, and illusions.
As superficially desirable as it may seem to experience life as perpetually
blissful, the inescapable truth is that we don’t grow nor do we learn much from being
happy all of the time. It is the cycles of days and nights and seasons that keep
the world going and it is the cycles of happiness, sadness, fear, anger, failure,
success, and contentment which keep our spirits alive. We cannot serve those cycles,
however, while hiding from whatever our respective life experiences include.
For those of us with autism, it may be even more difficult to withstand how
overwhelming the world typically feels, but no good comes from allowing the victimization
we experience to become our primary personal definition. We must continually show
the people of the world the multi-dimensional universe within ourselves, of which
they would otherwise be completely unaware--specifically because of the light and
the empowerment such personal universes can provide. In the absence of such light,
life in general would be nothing but shadows and darkness. You are indeed a light
to the world--so shine, in whatever ways you can.