The World Within

Time to engage in inside trading, sharing some of the intricate, rarely mentioned small tales of what my inner world is like.

There are many barriers, invisible electrified fences between me and any other...it's just a varying degree of layers and thickness.

Picture someone standing at a closed window unable to break the glass...seeing, silently watching...unable to figure out how the window opens.

The outside world is alien....and sometimes I am an alien onto myself.

Feelings, emotions are these estranged, sticky, foreign thingies...that are either too far away or consuming me.

Because I am unable to easily ascertain how I am feeling, emotionally speaking, I get visual clues of pictures and scenes. If I look at the scene and analyze, I can tell how I am feeling. The post Where the Walls Live, goodness, I love that title plus it is extremely apt.

I see a version of me skipping through a meadow, which indicates that overall, I am feeling pretty good. In the vision I am not trudging nor do I carry any baggage or worries. The sky is clear, blue with a spattering of bright white, distant clouds. Then that damn wall appears, out of nowhere, unexpectedly, telling me what I already knew, I have reached a block, a place I cannot go or get through with any sense of ease.

I could stand there, stuck and stymied, for days if I so desired...the wall isn't moving, so I do.

I've learned that I can muddle through paths awash in heavy rains, over small boulder strewn roads, out of pits, wells and crevices deep...one of my specialties is going over, around and through barricades...many, many barricades have there been, but I've not mastered the walls. They be too thick and fortified. There are some, albeit few, places I cannot travel. Mostly, I respect that. Sometimes I grab hammer and chisel...often I just have to wait for the wall to melt on its own accord. Timing can be everything.

Sometimes I don't know where I'm going...but the direction feels right. I started a brand new art project...and I'm not sure what it will be when I'm done.

She was a tornado, churning and twisting upon herself....safe alone in the fields, dangerous to those caught too near...knowing not her own strength or impact. Few dared draw near...fewer still, could withstand the wind....

It is very weird, at times...to suddenly find my self autistic. Hmmmm, very weird indeed.