Spot therapy for Trauma/Autism / Faith and Christmas: Spirit Life Shaped by Small Soliloquies of Solitude: Christmas 2024

The monologue whispered in starts and stops to my captive audience of one. I was mostly unaware that I was being witnessed because I had to stare at a metal dot above the presence hovering beneath. It was a new method called Spot Therapy I was encouraged to try. The audience was captive because I was paying him to be, yet he was also familiar. As a child he was a neighbour much younger then I, that I occasionally looked out for. Now in an odd twist of fate he was looking out for me. 

My first thought was, “Life is strange and the moments of coinciding serendipity can be so odd.” It took a few minutes to get over the weirdness of it all, but I felt my other two therapists were right. Talk therapy for 19 years could only do so much. It was time to access the back part of the brain, backed up by the science and research on a MRI, to deal with subconscious triggered trauma that occurred mostly in my twenties but a few childhood experiences as well. 

Oddly, this progressive scientific process was being done in a church. Yet, I was paying good money for it. When previously my other therapy was in a clinical setting for free. It all felt rather upside down. A wonderland induced to find my muchness. It suited my path. 

For once, I didn’t have as many words at the ready, but the small bursts of soliloquy to myself were both perplexing and profound. I felt silly at first, but over the time spent almost alone, yet witnessed, I was shocked to find a few tears slipping down my face. I didn’t feel overall emotional, and I’m not prone to cry in front of others unless enraged or confused. My dramatic discourse no longer felt dramatic in the negative sense of the word. It felt real… yet strangely othered … like a bubble was wrapped around trying to puncture my subconscious. My brain almost felt tired and itchy. The tears were coming from a place in the back of my brain that I was not fully aware of. 

The compassionate witness gently spoke, startling me from my reverie, “Tears are common. In fact it’s rare not to experience them when the process is working. They are almost a visceral response from the brain body connection. Can you tell me what you’re feeling in your body?” 

I was used to telling everything I’m thinking or feeling. 19 years of regular therapy will do that to a person. But speaking accurately about what my body is doing at an exact moment? As an autistic person I am both insanely in tune with my body and completely out of touch with it. It’s a frustrating paradox. Panic attacks from smells seem ridiculous in hindsight. Under reacting to a broken foot is disjointed. I usually process AFTER the incidents happening to my body or I bury the memories and kill off any lingering feelings with determined diligence. To be asked what I was feeling in my body, in practical terms, felt like a complex math test. At times, during the process, I thought, “Great, something else I am incapable of doing. I can’t even engage in spot therapy properly because I’m thinking too much. This isn’t working.” Yet when I spoke those words out loud while staring at a metal dot, immediately a breakthrough happened. On the heels of doubt and honesty, a shift of consciousness happened. I couldn’t explain it… I still can’t. The process was not fully finished in one session but something both scientific and mysterious happened. 

Faith feels like that. Mystical and practical. Mixed. 

“We aren’t really taught to value little things in our world or to be faithful in them. From the close of our childhood, we are taught to reach for the stars, to trust and value those who accomplish big things. As if the bigness of an accomplishment, an audience, a sales figure, a degree, an idea proves their worth. Trust what is big, follow what is mighty and successful, give everything to become this too. I must confess I hesitated to open this chapter with the story about motherhood because so often the insight culled from the care of children is seen, even by those who think they value it, as too small for universal application or spiritual insight. But Jesus claimed, and lived, the opposite , I mean, obviously, he said the kingdom of heaven was made up of those who had hearts like children. But he also and almost continually refused the importance, the bigness and visibility, that we seem to think is so vital for influence or significance in the modern world .” (Pg. 134)

The above quote is  by Sarah Clarkson from her new book “Reclaiming Quiet,” which I have happily devoured twice. This has often been my trajectory in life- a battle between being seen and then submitting to the small. Pursuing those like me, the misfits and misunderstood and often tough to love. The ones drawn into my story because they want a witness too, for a brief moment. The ones, the world, including the Christian world often, look at in a Nietzschean mindset. Purposefooled people.  I don’t have any accolades nor can my story be shared in a way that shows any lasting impact. Yet, I can state, after years of wrestling and lasting moments of deep, fulfilling (sometimes lonely at first) quiet that I am immersed in the presence of that I AM. I’m in good company and perhaps it’s not meant to fit in or feel comfortable most days? Perhaps each encounter is a season? The hurt done is normal, yet dramatic each time. The glory given is a holy hush. It’s a Both/And situation. One does not negate the other. 

“I’ve been reading the gospel of John each morning before sitting down to write this book, and I’ve been amused and a little disturbed in myself for how often Jesus confounded his disciples, and all the people who loved him by his refusal to walk the paths of influence or visibility that everyone thought he should. They kept on thinking he would in someway, storm the gates of power. They kept waiting for him to declare his authority and more in such a way that he could rally an army to his aid. And he… Healed grungy, desperate people, and told him to keep it a secret. He spoke in parables that children might love but the adults misunderstood, ducked out of sight, and went up on lonely mountains by himself. He cuddled children and went to houses of ill repute and pursued powerless people.” (Pg. 135 Reclaiming Quiet, Sarah Clarkson) 

The author points out, that after the feeding of the five thousand, a power filled moment, when many probably thought it was regime changing stuff… Jesus basically hid. “And thus, they couldn’t king him or force him upon him a power he did not seek or approve. This follows a series of little dramas to leave those who follow Jesus confounded in their notions of influence and power and belief.” (Pg. 135 Reclaiming Quiet, Sarah Clarkson) 

Often I’m immersed in a soft soliloquy, unaware of my audience. Yet, this audience is in me, around me, immersed and saturated in my Being- if I only choose to see this fact. The Spirit of Three, is still there, even if I don’t choose to see. My life is much muchier with sight. The wonderland suddenly feels "right" or at least righteous upside down. The sense that was nonsensical is now made noble, pure and true.  “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was with God in the beginning. Through him all things were made; without him nothing was made that has been made. In him was life, and that life was the light of all mankind. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.” John 1:1-5

Established in one sentence is an interconnected relationship. The life of ALL mankind. Are three in one in every single bit of ALL of creation? In all things Good? Surrounding us with no end and beginning? And if so, is this life coming gently through the whole universe? Even in unbelievably atrocious people is there a thread of potential light? (My answer would be a resounding YES!) 

 Is everything God? NO. But is there a consistent union yet…distinction? I believe so … and in the moments of solitude I can taste and see…

The other side to this freedom, also means that I, as a unique person, can choose to turn the flow of God and all that is Good … to evil. The love of a Triune God brought life, each one of us encompassed within, but with a choice. Life without love, can choose to dwell in a moment of dark. Yet, due to being loved so much, I am encompassed by this Light Force that is willing to endure all things, For and WITH me, so I can become more of a fully fledged person- dwelling in light even while suffering… This applies to the Christmas seasons that are pictures from Courier and Ives or chapters of Faust.  Obviously, my wish would be for each reader, that the Courier and Ives picture print is more of an accurate depiction. 

The goodness I choose to see, is often shaped by small moments of solitude interconnected with intentional community. My Beauty is made GOOD by a Refiner’s fire of quiet and relationship. A Peace that transcends all understanding where the North Star beckons. I often get chills on my arms picturing the angels in the field by night beckoning a messy birth.* The supernatural mixing with shepherds covered in the smell of earth and sheep dung. Sanctified. A vulnerable baby celebrated while also being hunted. Tender mixed with the tough. The mess does not negate the beauty.

"For unto us a child is born." May you feel that blessed encompassing good this Christmas and know you are not alone, even if it feels like the end of all things. 

Song Choice (See Below) Silent Night - Journey to Bethlehem - Lecrae and Fiona Paloma - movie scene Journey To Bethlehem - The Nativity Song (Lecrae, Fiona Palomo) (Movie Scene) ft. Lecrae

* Some Religious peoples or Christian’s may not like the above clip or movie, due to some inaccuracy and cute cheesy moments, but  I feel the heart of it is accurate- I love the musical “ Journey to Bethlehem.” Not only is there a gorgeous song of Mary singing “Mother to A Saviour and King,” but there is a moment where Lecrae appears with the angels in the field and sings “ Fall on your knees, oh hear the angels voices.” And every single time I get teary and goosebumps. Because that moment would have been even more miraculous in real life! How amazing!!! In a sense, that moment is even sometimes offered to me in the ordinary. How astounding and humbling is that?!?!?!

The 'Wicked' Movie- A FULL CIRCLE Moment

* There are no spoilers for the movie unless you know nothing about the original broadway play.*

The first time I heard this song Defying Gravity in 2005 my heart beat wildly. My aunt had sent me a fuzzy Broadway bootleg clip of Idina and Kristin. She stated, "I think this will be up your alley." Little did she know that she would fuel an obsession that would take me through the next twenty years of my life. I watched Defying Gravity and the emotions thrumming in my chest sang, "This is it. This is the song I have always been looking for!" The untold story of the Wizard of Oz through the Broadway Play Wicked hit my heart in a very personal way. While I loved the bubbly character of Glinda, it was Elphaba, the seemingly wicked, whom I could strongly relate to. I found pirated versions online of Idina Menzel playing Elphaba and Kristin Chenoweth as Glinda. (In those days there wasn't streamlined social media nor the clips we have today. It took hours of searching and I also did not have any Broadway friends. I was alone in my Broadway obsession's at the time.) 

I bought the full soundtrack on Itunes and listened to it over and over again. I had to guess the storyline from the songs until mainstream media finally had more accessible information on the entire play. I ordered Broadway merch online from Ebay. Anytime I saw the word "Wicked" on anything Halloween I would buy it. My husband has the soundtrack memorized from the multiple times I played it to the city and back. Also, whenever I was upset (which was a lot in those days) I also played it. I fell in love...my only other prior loves coming close to that level in media were Gene Kelly dancing in the rain and Judy Garland singing in any movie, but Judy especially singing Over the Rainbow in the Wizard of Oz. The first screenplay I wrote at age eight was a knock off of the Wizard of Oz in which I forced the neighborhood children to practice and perform for our parents. Of course I was director and Galinda the Good witch swirling in a pink dress and feeling like the world was an amazing place. ( I was a bit of a diva I’m told. In my twenties I got a lot of flack for it so I mercilessly squelched that side of my persona.) But truthfully, I wanted to be Judy Garland until I read her biography at age ten. I was five when I cried for hours over the shortness of life. I cried for my teddy because he didn't have a soul. I sobbed for Judy Garland because she was no longer alive. It was my first metaphysical crises. I don't know what brought it on exactly. I think the main trigger was that I had just finished watching Meet Me in St. Louis with my mom and she happened to mention that all the people in the movie were dead. Maybe, she thought, that being only five, this fact would breeze over my head. Instead it breezed into my brain and remained there forever. The truth of time was already hammering its rules into my subconscious. 

Each year I would google Wicked movie remake rumours, hoping my favourite original Broadway gals Kristin and Idina, would be included. Fast forward to this year of 2024, the night before my movie attendance, and I woke to nightmares of hating the movie. I was nervous and dreading it more than I was excited about it. Would they ruin it for me forever? Would the obsession that calmed me during my post baby blues of my third child, carried me through my Autism diagnosis at a time when barely anyone was discussing Asperger's Syndrome/ Autism, and brought me through lonely hours of washing dishes as a mother of three belting out the soundtrack over and over again, be irrevocably ruined forever by this movie?

From the moment the opening started, I was left breathless. The dashing Jonathan Bailey Dancing Through Life completely crushed any lingering whispers of doubt. He may have surpassed Gene Kelly for me (in that moment) which is saying A LOT. The movie did not feel like 3 hours - I could have stayed longer (which anyone who knows me would be surprised at, because I constantly check the time at theatres as I tend to have panic attacks in them.) I am eager about part two. It also helped, that a journey that began as an isolated obsession, was shared with a van full of 6 theatre gals, whom belted out the showtunes from the original the entire way there, playing with harmonies and expressions of each character. We even dressed up together, which I did often as a Witch from 2005 onward, but in a conservative town, the word Wicked was often just chalked up to the evils of humanity (along with most witchy things until Harry Potter movies created a happy mainstream beauty to that witchy wonder.) I can not count how many times I was asked why I had that word 'Wicked' all over my house or what my obsession with witches meant, or the meaning of the lyrics to Defying Gravity that were a decal on my library wall. Which is understandable when it is out of context, but I would get so excited when the odd person would know what it was or be open to hearing ALL about it. To come to a place in societal time when dressing up in costume is barely a blip on people's radars (or gets the full compliments) and Wicked is one of the most searched news currently, it feels like a full circle moment. 

A couple years ago, when we did our renovations, I gave most of my Wicked stuff to my daughter. I was trying to be more grown up. I was trying to fit more into my town. Maybe if I had less Wicked words around my home, the church people groups would host more events at our home? I noticed that while people raved about our family and our home, when we offered to host official churchy things, it was gently rebuffed even though our home is set up to entertain and host. Luckily, we are still massive hosts in the community to those who may not fit, and those who love to be a part of our family existence. But at the time of getting rid of stuff, I thought that maybe people would be less scared of me? Although, the caveat to this was some very conservative friends, whom loved me, knew about my obsession, and even though they did not understand it, they would buy me witchy things for my home. One friend brought me a signed photo from Idina Menzel (I cried) and another brought me witchy shoes and brooms ( cried at that one too!) One of my dearest blog friends from down in the States, made me a witchy quilt with parts of my shirt from the Broadway version and other material I sent her. It is still one of my most treasured possessions. In fact, I can think of many lovely gifts my home was filled with from people who cared including wicked T shirts and memorabilia. I adore that about my life.

 

Needless to say, last night I asked my daughter if I could have my stuff back. To which she replied, "Of course mommy, I kept it for you, I know you go through these extreme stages and I knew it was so much of your soul that hopefully something would re ignite and remind you of that." Maybe the decal can eventually find its way back on to my living room sliding door at least? I miss it. 

In all honesty I still feel you can’t beat Idina or Kristin in Broadway’s Wicked but it didn’t ruin it for me at all. The sound felt a bit “muddy” at times and the dancing a tiny bit modern but beautiful, and there were a few times that I missed the original humour of the quirky Broadway charm…but those are my only notes. I have a feeling after multiple watches this may become my new movie obsession. As for the soundtrack - I try to listen to the movie one but it just doesn’t hold up to the quality of the original Broadway soundtrack - so I always end up switching back to that. The vocal ability of the original broadway cast is phenomenal. 

Today, I dug through my old blog archives from a previous blog I took offline, and found more than a few posts on the topic of Wicked. When Glee sang their first Wicked song, I bawled. Finally something mainstream was sharing my love with me. Finally, I heard people talking more about Wicked.  Broadway across Canada brought it home to me a few years later, and each time it came to my vicinity I attended. First with my sister, than my entire little family, and then my good friend and finally my husband and I. I found the post I wrote after my first attendance written in 2011. I feel I have had a lot of growth since the writings of the post, but the core of whom I am, and the deep love I have for each song in the musical has not changed. Now the world shares the love with me, and I am better for that sharing. Now I have friends who are re igniting my love of musicals and Broadway. The heart of whom I have been since a toddler, but often pushed aside in social circles due to baffled looks, is now understood by multiple people outside of my sister, children and husband! That old soul is rising like a Phoenix. I now I see that I’m also a lot like Galinda ( to the point my husband thought she acted more like me in the movie … it’s funny the lenses we see ourselves in as opposed to how someone else sees us?) My father asked my husband, “Which one do you see your wife more in because for me I saw her in both strongly - isn’t that really weird?” 

My husband laughed and replied, “ That's what I thought! She has such a two sided strong persona !”  My mom would state something akin to, “She was more Galinda as a child and teen and Elphaba as a young adult.”  Which is accurate to a point - I was oblivious to my differences with autism into adulthood created a rude awakening and brought up a few issues of my childhood… ( lol my daughter was jealous she wasn’t compared to anyone but she said it was fair since it was my favourite film ever and we see her in many other films.)

 I see my past years of becoming as tumultuous and full of drama and mistakes. I was awkward (still am but not quite as much.) I sometimes was self absorbed while trying to figure out who that self was. I lacked confidence often due to sometimes being quite isolated. But now, I see that the person I am today is slightly more balanced. I quite like her. I know she is IMAGO Dei. I see her in a different light. She also now fits the swirls of both pink and green comfortably without needing excuses as to why. Wicked was a large part of that journey. I know without a doubt, that the CREATOR of all that IS good, loved her and this journey for her too. The one WHOM IS has a surprisingly different set of standards and I know that while I was singing, SPIRIT was enjoying the heightened joy of my soul, right along with me.

(The broom a dear friend gifted me with too and I also got teary. I love it!) 

To see that full circle journey, I am sharing my old post down below along with some previous photos. Enjoy!

Post edit: My best friend from HERE ( https://worldwecreate.blogspot.com/2019/03/sad-endings-can-equal-calm-beginnings.html?m=1 ) wrote to me after we watched the movie together and stated, “ Alphaba, really did remind me of you! Totally!! Head strong, good morals, the weight of the world on her shoulders, scholarly:) yep!“ 

***Below posts were Written in 2011. Keep in mind that terms I use like "Aspie" were ok at that time and even promoted. Also, there are aspects of myself then, that I have let go of now...but I find it beautiful to see this full circle of what was written more than a decade ago!***

Excuse me for this completely frivolous post. I am shamelessly promoting 'Wicked'. One word:

Phenomenal.

This is my favourite Broadway Musical. The comedic script inconspicuously brings several deep themes into the audience's mind. Contrasting the hidden depth is the artistic design. It is apparent from the tiny beads covering the gorgeous costumes, to the dragon head topping the magical set, that all the little details showcase talent. Exceptional. I have listened to these songs on Itunes with the Original Broadway Cast recording over and over. Indina Menzel and Kristin Chenoweth sing for that compilation. If you are a fan of Broadway hits at all I would recommend looking it up on Itunes. 

The lyricist Stephen Shwartz is brilliant. My spirit flies high when I hear 'Defying Gravity,' My passion is ignited with 'As Long As Your Mine,' laughter is invoked for 'Popular,' and 'For Good' brings all past friendships to the forefront of my mind. 

These passionate feelings simply from listening to a few songs were nothing compared to the live experience. "Everyone deserves a chance to fly...To those who ground me- take a message back from me. Tell them how I am defying Gravity. I'm flying high."

To anyone who longs for a place to belong, or the soul who feels a bit different... WICKED speaks to you. I would not recommend the original book. Although the writing is well done, I found it quite perverted. (This is coming from someone who can be quite comfortable with sexual content but I found the original Wicked book lacked taste.) However, the play would not be in existence without the book... which gives a slight point of redemption. The themes in the play focus on friendship, misunderstanding, discrimination, judgements, and the age old adage that appearances can be deceiving.

(It was tough to perfect a wicked look when hundreds of people were waiting their turn for a picture. Ah well.)

My sister gave me tickets as a Christmas present...and I have been waiting ever since. We both decided to go full out. Not many were dressed up for an afternoon which made it that much more fun. We even bought cheesy matching shirts and indulged in a pre-show Ozmopolitan drink. ( Fabulous green vodka.)

I think she wanted me to stop saying "yay we're here" so she stuffed the cherry down my throat. I at least kept hers a bit away:) I cracked up when the picture was done...after I stopped gagging...

At our after show meal, my waiter asked if I was one of the actresses in the Broadway production. (The bonus of living in a hick city full of wranglers and cowboy hats. Needless to say he was tipped well:)

I completely relate to Elphaba...although I have some ditzy pieces of Galinda in there. I think perhaps that is why I love this show. I may not be green but I can relate to not being the skinny gal, the spunky blond, or the gal whom life comes easier to (although let's be real, sometimes it does and I am happy for those times.) I understand wanting to hang out in libraries or museums instead of clubs and parties. I understand passion at an injustice threatening those who may not stand for anything. I understand finding fulfillment in books or a craft. I often make a mess out of trying to do good...which ends up being bad. I understand being misunderstood. Being taken as wicked or witchy when I am just being me. In fact the more I think on it, the more I see myself in Elphaba...at least she gets some magic out of the deal...well, and the man too I guess. Thank God I did get that!
 I am in love with Wicked. If you ever get a chance to splurge...
Try Wicked.

"Something has changed within me. Something is not the same. I'm through with playing by the rules of someone else's game."-(Defying Gravity) My life anthem. In three sentences. A song that I want played in the video montage at my funeral. (Yes, I want a cheesy video montage.) (lol 2024 update - I don’t want this at my funeral. Ha ha;) 

In  the book Asperkids Jennifer Cook O Toole describes her Aspie daughter's obsession. "The following summer, when her dad and I went to see Wicked: The Untold Story of the Witches of Oz (2003) on Broadway, she was so enthralled with my descriptions of the plot and music that she literally begged me to pull up bootleg recordings of Elphaba the witch on Youtube. The soundtrack became background music to our lives, posters decorated her room...That love has never gone away. Last year at age 7, I finally took her to see Wicked...(Jennifer goes on to describe that her daughter also has an obsession with Athena and the Percy Jackson series...I also love those.) So what did this tell me about my child? Actually, it wasn't that hard to see if I sat with her "friends" for a while. In WICKED, we learn that the villain  the one who is "different," is actually the heroine. Against all odds, Elphaba will "defy gravity," flying upwards, embracing the awkward witchy costume others have assembled for her as they continue to misunderstand her efforts to "do good." From high atop the theater, she sings defiantly to the jeering mob below, rejecting their slanderous name calling. Elphie is free of their intimidation and condemnation. No. No amount of disdain can topple her..."- Jennifer Cooke O Toole

"As loud as my daughter could yell, as tall as her little body could stand, my daughter was saying that yes, she knew she was different, but that was because of- not in spite of- her very differences that she mattered, that she belonged..she too was hoping that there was a real place she belonged. She needed the world to know that she was neither wicked nor weird, she was just supposed to be. And so I spoke in her language. I hugged her and sang a line from Wicked, because I knew nothing would be more potent than her own special interest in letting her know I GOT it. I heard her. Softly I called upon the lyrics of friendship and admiration. She, too would change the whole world, like Elphie had changed those who truly knew her, "for good."- Jennifer Cooke O Toole

Like Elphie sings, "I'm limited. Just look at me. I'm limited...and just look at you. You can do all I couldn't do Glinda." The fact is...I AM limited. I feel continually misunderstood in my efforts to do good. Those who are normal seem to get accomplished easily what I sweat to put into practice. I have often longed to be free of the condemnation and constant correction of others. It's an Autistic/ Aspie issue. I know it definitely is, which may be tough for some to understand, but my differences have coloured every interaction of my life. When all I want to do is change someone indefinitely for GOOD.

I want to know that I have impacted my friends to the point that they would be tempted to use For Good at my funeral. Yes, I am that passionate about it. "I've heard it said, that people come into our lives for a reason, bringing something we must learn, and we are lead to those who help us most to grow, if we let them...and we help them in return."(For Good lyrics) I feel many people have been led to me and away from me. I do believe it is because I stretch people...and they definitely stretch me. I would not have it any other way. I want to have that impact. That strong reaction. I think it is why many can not foster long term relationships with me, and why many women are either intimidated or loathe me. (Yes I have heard the stories and I have bawled my eyes out because I did not know what I did. I was myself. And by being myself I am often disliked. I am not saying this for pity. Just stating a fact like Aspies often do.) The song goes on as Glinda sings to Elphaba, "But I know I'm who I am today because I met you...who can say if I've been changed for the better but because I knew you I have been changed for GOOD." That line is the greatest compliment ANYONE could give me. It's the inner desire of my soul. Elphaba sings back, "So let me say before we part, so much of me is made from what I learned from you. You'll be with me like a hand print on my heart. And now whatever way our stories end. I know you have re written mine by being my friend." That is how I feel about every significant friend that has crossed my path. There are some crucial friends who have made ME because of what I learned from them. Being an Aspie, I absorb characteristics, I watch nuances, I find personality traits I want or can relate to and fashion them into myself. I partially make myself up out of facets of whom I choose to be friends with. It's just how we learn to relate. Luckily, I have chosen well. I would say I have very good taste when it comes to people to imitate, give back to, and become friends with.

I make a lot of mistakes. I know I am not the easiest friend to live with. I make people passionately angry at me, and slightly annoyed, and also strongly endeared. It can not be easy to sit on that rollar coaster ride. I often send this line out to all I know; "Because I knew you. I have been changed for Good. And just to clear the air. I ask forgiveness for the things I have done you blame me for."
Glinda sings back, "But then I guess we both have blame to share, and none of it seems to matter anymore." I WANT that. I want the blame to be shared. I want my contacts to see that in their own lesser way they also had a different part of responsibility...and then I want it not to matter. Because it does not to me once reconciliation is talked upon.

(My husband gave these figurines for my thirtieth and he hand painted Galindas hair as they were both from the Wizard of Oz but he wanted them to be reminiscent of wicked. There wasn’t much streamlined paraphernalia and I squealed when I opened them!) 


The Wizard and I...This song hits home because Elphie sings about how she hopes the Wizard will explain her curse/gifts ect and change her exterior to match others, and how she will finally have some merit after living with constant rejection. In childhood I was often overlooked, or chosen as second best by my friends. The song, "I'm not that girl" sums it up perfectly, "Every so often we long to steal to a land that what might have been but that does not settle the ache we feel when reality sets back in. Blithe smile, light limb, she who's winsome  she wins him. Gold hair with a gentle curl, that's the girl he chose and heaven knows I'm not that girl. Don't wish. Don't start. Wishing only wounds the heart. I wasn't born for the rose and pearl. There's a girl I know. He loves her so. I'm not that girl." I feel I should be one of those girls who manages to keep nails immaculate. The ones who complete a polish of their entire being on a daily basis. I wonder with awed curiosity how they live? As much as I lived under that illusion in my past or can create it for photos; I am NOT. That. Girl. Perhaps that is why Elphaba is one of my favourite roles? Perhaps that is why I cried through all the songs in Wicked's musical the first time I heard it 8 years ago? Perhaps it is why I play the songs in my darkest times to remind myself who I am? Perhaps many school mates thought high maintenance when my name was brought up? Truthfully, I am the green girl who does good deeds only to be accused of being the witch. No good deed...The only factor of high maintenance on me was the self inflicted time constraints of the illusion I created. While dusty memories were created by these illusions that won't be traded, I still wonder how many more could have been without it? Maybe it would have been worse? Illusion can also bring beauty. Beauty can hold inspiration. But not all the time. Sometimes a hazy sort of lovely bliss is also in the messy. The undone corners. My best galpal was like Glinda. She wasn't blond but she was everything else. She knew how to make people laugh, what to say, how to be sociable, how to move...everything I was not. I may as well have been painted green. I was awkward, had a lot of heart but did not always know how to communicate it. I was bookish like Elphie. I was interested in justice, and doing good despite what the current rules were. It was too serious for most adolescents. My husband came into the picture and finally I felt somewhat worthy. (?)  I felt like maybe, just maybe, people were seeing me for who I was. "As Long as Your mine" is my top passionate song. My husband gave me those feelings and it helped me grow into future choices. "I need help believing you are with me tonight...My wildest dreamings could not foresee, lying beside you with you wanting me."(As long as Your mine Lyrics) Even being passionately loved she doubts. My life's cross to bear. No matter how much I am loved, there will be a part of me that doubts. Her love interest sings back, "Maybe I'm brainless, maybe I'm wise, but you've got me seeing though different eyes. Somehow I've fallen under your spell and somehow I'm feeling it's up that I fell." WOW. Perhaps this is why I have always wanted to be a witch in any play. I want someone to fall under my spell...my husband says he has:) I always wanted to help someone see life through different eyes. My husband paid me the ultimate compliment by turning to me once when this song was playing (not knowing any of my hidden thoughts at the time.) He seriously spoke, "That is how I feel about you. That is what you did to me." My mouth dropped open and then I laughingly started to cry from pure bliss.

When Elphie and Glinda sing "What is this feeling" about how much they loathe each other when they first meet...I can relate. Most of my friendships started with mutual dislike in some form or another..and then we overcame it...which made our ties even more powerful. We came to understand and by understanding we found our preconceived notions powerfully fall away.

The ultimate song for me is still Defying Gravity, ""Something has changed within me. Something is not the same. I'm through with playing by the rules of someone else's game." I AM through...finally near age 30, I am done playing the games of the normal world. Religion, School, Rules, Social conduct, Should's, Grammar..."proper " ways to speak... "Too late for second guessing. Too late to go back to sleep. It's time to trust my instincts. Close my eyes and LEAP. It's time to try Defying Gravity and you can't pull me down." I just want to live my life, "I'm through accepting limits cuz someone says they're so! Some things I can not change but till I try I'll never know. Too long I've been afraid of loosing love I guess I've lost." There has been a lot of love lost...and this song made me realize that it is time to be done regretting it...or being afraid of loosing what I already have lost. "Well, if that's love it comes at much too high a cost. I sooner try Defying gravity. Kiss me goodbye I'm defying gravity...Everyone deserves a chance to fly...and if I'm flying solo AT LEAST I'M FLYING FREE. TO THOSE WHO GROUND ME TAKE A MESSAGE BACK FROM ME! TELL THEM HOW I'M DEFYING GRAVITY. I'm flying high. I'm defying gravity." -My favourite line. I think of so many moments since being married, so many moments of people telling me what I am, who I should be, how I am selfish when I was trying so hard to be the opposite, and all the confusion with relationships that were surface level (Friends of mine- do not count yourselves in this) and I would rather fly SOLO. Freedom is integral to my being. So is acceptance but I am learning that is a bit tougher for an Aspie longterm.

Elphaba is more than a character to me, the songs are more than melody, and Wicked is more than an obsession. As Jennifer Cooke. O. Toole writes, "I hoped if I could devour enough names, dates, and places, God would send me to a time and place far away where I truly belonged. Obviously, this wasn't it. And that is what a special interest is. To those outside the Aspie world, our perseveration of a topic is exhausting  ..To an Aspie, our special interest is the gateway to the world we construct out of facts, fantasy, and logic. As much as you hear, it is only the tip of the ice burg of the wealth of thought, the seduction of belonging, the sacred- YES SACRED-dimension where we cannot mess up or be excluded. Where no one will ever skip and sing in celebration that we are "dead."(Jennifer Cooke O Toole. pg41) My sacred heart calling is to be accepted, to change the world for good, to defy the stupid rules and make an impact.
Love
Kmarie

 

Gingerbread Houses, Emily Dickinson, Walt Whitman, Sarah Clarkson and Other Holiday Discourse

"A man may make a Remark- In itself- a quiet thing That may furnish the Fuse unto a Spark In dormant nature- lain-  Let us divide- with skill- Let us discourse- with care- Powder exists in Charcoal- Before it exists in Fire-" - Emily Dickinson

Burn out. A word most of current culture relates to. Yet, we do not understand that our Gingerbread houses are spun out of what we also help create. Perhaps the initial ingredients are out of our hands, but the way we flourish our proverbial homes? We have some sway over the sugar and spice. Why would we choose to coat our doors in sticky ketchup (news outlets/ social media)? Why would we want our doors so stuck with information that we can barely open them up on our own? The home we make can become crumbled bits and pieces, when we try so hard to open the door we partially sealed with our own choices. We shake our own core. It can be tough to taste tantalizing sweet sugar underneath layers of tomato paste. 

Let us discourse with care. 

Evergreen. A word that expresses everlasting hope. A word that can sing beloved Christmas tunes or evoke the sparkling wonder that children are best at expressing."Welcome home," says the body that is nourished and grounded in BEING. The hand on the door, opening to a place of belonging and safety. The squished give of the mattress as it envelops at night. The light of a lamp reflecting the caring of friends, as the knots of isolation slowly become untied. The wreaths symbolizing the spiral of life. The cliches that bring us joy. The tiny, obscure miracles we forget to see, because we are too caught up in our cerebral worlds to honour the tangible Given. Yet, the breaks from ourselves are there, waiting to soothe our unbelief in the Beauty that IS, patiently waiting to give a little cheer with the words, "Welcome home."

Story. What binds us and breaks us. What heals or destroys. The words we choose can bring hope or disaster. The story we tell, no matter how dark or bright, is OURS to give. The calm inside our chaos is a promise of All that Is. "Sharing all our stories of our failures and our glories, even when our hopes got torn, We made it through the storm. And I couldn't ask for more. When I'm down, and I'm lost and I'm tired- When it feels like the whole world is on fire...Even when I feel like a mess, have to take a good look inside me Yes, In the hurts where I find the Holy I guess, I'll never be perfect but I try my best, to remember I'm blessed."- Kelly Clarkson

Charts. Can something so clinical be a balm? How does one reframe a moment? In emotion? In intellect? In spirit? In Body? One piece neglected takes from the whole. Can you smell joy? Can you feel a word? Can spirit be rooted?  Can a body connect to other realms? Can we meet in the middle? ... A room that had housed a familiar mentor was now the territory of a complete stranger. Like clockwork, almost every month, for 16 years I had met a different set of eyes. Next to the seat was an emotions chart.* Inwardly I cringed. I dismissively thought, "Of course, he knows I have Aspergers Syndrome and gave me a feelings chart. Standard textbook." But I looked into his hope filled eyes that wished to help me, and I softened. I tried to be open. It wasn't his fault his eyes were new. As the session proceeded, that chart surprised, claimed, named and comforted. Feelings need direct expression without being in the driver's seat. They are the passengers of our voyages and as such need to be treated with care but not full control. Words are just words without intent or tone. But what if the tone is not the intent? It can get messy. Words are magic and pain. Language is our greatest weapon and healer. "I wrestled. But it wasn't with God; it was with the ideas that obscured him." Sarah Clarkson.

Sad: "Fatigued/ Tired. Miserable. Despair. heartbroken. Devastated. Discouraged, Disappointed. Hopeless. Pain and Hurt. Depressed. Grief and Sorrow. Unhappy." Joyful: "Delighted. Glad- Pleased. Elated. Thrilled. Enthusiastic. Passionate. Appreciation. Thankful. Grateful. Excited. Ecstatic. Happy." Gratitude partially counters sadness, but it is possible to hold both. BOTH/ AND "Do I contradict myself? Very well, I contradict myself. I am large. I contain multitudes."- Walt Whitman.

Snowfall. Flakes can be fluffy, gentle and comforting or a blizzard, sharp and dangerous. The Sparkling white magnifies other colours. Sometimes it blinds. Can you feel a memory? Can loss be amplified by surrounding rushes of joy? The fresh start of a blank canvas or the bleak ending of a previous season? Both/ And? Dancing with ghosts; a gift or a curse? Both/ And? The bough of the branch, heavy with snow, has it's own sort of knowing.

Rooted. Spirit working in the body. Nourishment below the surface. The re making power of love. There are no empty promises here. Roots are the friends of wounded hearts. We become so much muchier when we can rise rooted. Stumble into the light of Grace. Close your eyes and feel the ground beneath your feet, your foundation of Being is here.

Wounded Healer. "We are not created for disaster nor formed for destruction, and to lament our pain is to honour the beauty God intended and yearn toward it's restoration....The point of our struggle is not to gain some sort of spiritual grit or prove our endurance. We are not asked to become grim warriors in the face of pain; We are asked to be children who will not rest until they know themselves cradled in the arms of a father who begot them for joy...toward hope...onward..."- Sarah Clarkson. The impacting, insightful leaders know that to be a healer, one has to first know what wounds feel like. Grief comes to us all. Each of us has different gifts to give, different ways to interpret, different faith stances, different stories. But we CAN become wounded healers in the smaller sense of the words. "We would rather God be neatly culpable for the evil that comes upon us, would rather believe that cancer and infant death and abuse and tornadoes are explainable as necessary to the overarching story of the world, than face the kind of ancient, true drama in which God himself weeps at the sight of what he has made, now defiled and destroyed. We are afraid to sit in the wild presence of sorrow, allowing it to whisper to us..."- Sarah Clarkson. Perhaps sorrow is like the candy hearts on a Gingerbread home? Melted little red streaks on the pristine white snow. Grief should not be explained away or a segue into dissertations of hell. Grief is a broken state when God weeps too.

Grace. "When strivings Cease." Because we will never, even the best of us, feel like we are enough. Someone will be better. Someone will have more. Someone will outlast and outlive. You may feel broken, but that is not all that IS you. Think of the lovely practice of filling broken tea cups with gold. The teacup doesn't fill itself. But it is a vessel for the golden glue to set. Isn't that a relief? With that knowing we can rest a bit...

Tis' The Season. Maybe it's Solstice or Eid or Hanukkah or Christmas or a Stat or just another day... December / January holds many holidays. "Happy Solstice" and "Merry Christmas" and "Happy Holidays" are words that I still can not help but pass onward. I give those I love enough credit to be able to translate the sentiment, even if they do not celebrate that particular holiday. I love the Community episodes remarking on the complexities and ridiculousness of all this. Yes, we want to give others a listening ear and respect, but we can also love what we love and be what we are. In that we become full enough to learn to hear what others love and whom they are. It's pure beauty- hearing different variations of holiday goodwill.

Cheers to Christmas tunes and the feelings of childhood they evoke. Music can transcend. "Come December I confess. I want the tree full of toys and tinsel....I want the elves in the yard, each sentimental card dripping glitter on the floor, I want a roof full of plywood reindeer and a road  full of horse drawn sleighs. All those Christmas cliches... I want the gulp and the tear the moment that I hear Andy Williams being played...Not to mention the snow, not to mention the choir. Not to mention the candles in the window and chestnuts roasting on a fire...along a street bathed in twinkling white..as for the songs you hear over and over, I hope you look this one up when it plays, all those Christmas cliches."- Darren Criss

May your Gingerbread homes reflect not only whom you want to be, but whom you already are. May you make the changes you can and apply Grace to the rest. May you find peppermint bliss and spun clouds of respite amongst any grief you may carry. But most of all, may you know, you are worthy because you exist. 

Happy Holidays.

P.S.  Song Choice: Normally I don't upload private family videos on my blog but I thought my readers may enjoy a clip of our Gingerbread ridiculousness. Sometimes we send out cheesy home made videos to our friends and family. Recently we had two hours to use- thus we gathered some thrown together outfits and did a quick frolic through the song Sweet Gingerbread Man by Sammy Davis Jr. which was on the last Hawkeye episode (excellent Tv series thus far!) We were purposefully ridiculous as usual and we hope it brings you a smile…what do you think…does my husband look like David Hasselhoff with bronzer?? (His words NOT mine!) It was our only way to make a sweet gingerbread man with his halloween monk suit - ha ha. I uploaded the first minute of the video (with a few tweaks to those who already saw it.) I could not upload the full video here (I know you want more.) but the little morsel is enough to get the lyrics" All tasty and tan sweet gingerbread man" into your head. I dare you not to hum that one incessantly...just hopefully it doesn't beget the image of my husband in tights...You're welcome. Ha. Anyway, Enjoy the cheese! Happy Holidays and Merry Christmas to you. May you find some sweet moments of joy and wonder where it is possible...

Full song by Sammy here:

The song I referenced at the end of my post is found below: 

All those Christmas Cliches By Darren Criss ( I loved his new Crissmas album along with Kelly Clarkson's new Christmas record "When Christmas Comes Round again" has been on repeat in my house. How can I not feel like Christmas with the opening to her first song? Wowza. I did not realize what a power house voice she had! Songs 1- 4 &12 are my favourite!):

Kelly Clarkson Christmas Isn't Cancelled (Just You):

And for a slower song that had my eyes a little misty: Merry Christmas to the One I used to know- Kelly Clarkson:

*The feelings chart:

In The Golden Afternoon. Contentment Where the Green Country Grasses of Home Grow.

My soul feels nurtured, my ailments begin to heal and my heart sings of belonging when I sit on my front porch. The neighbourhood is often quiet of traffic or people during certain times of the day which I feel are solely mine. If I sit long enough in one of my favourite places, I can hear and witness all manners of creatures. The chilly prairie breezes carry the sounds before the arrival of four tiny Canadian Geese, freshly out of the nest in a nearby bog, fly in a sloppy V towards me. Their honks are wobbly and tinny compared to those of their parents. I watch them until they are swallowed up by the gray blobs of clouds that threaten rain but can not follow through, due to the sun stealing moments in between spaces. For an instant the sun shines through again and showcases two gophers across from me whistling at each other and chasing in a flurry of tails and frolicking hops. My flowers and birdseed await bumbling bees and tiny birds of flight. I wait silently, hoping they will be found.

The first bee that buzzes to the flowers by my side, after what feels like hours, is plump already. That is a good sign. I smile quietly as I watch it take what needs to be taken. Half an hour later the first brave Chickadee sticks it's beak into the bird feeder before quickly flying away.

The wind pushes more clouds over the sun. For a moment I close my eyes and feel the sun trying to shine it's warmth through. The slight arctic chill in the breeze whips my hair and I suddenly notice that chirping has been silenced. My eyes open to green slanted eyes staring back. The black cat with white paws stalks over our front yard rocks. It assesses me, decides that today it does not want to come over for a pat or a treat, and gingerly hops over our front fence and into the field to see if it can eat more gophers. We see it often on the hunt and it's plump belly showcases it's successes.

I love this space. I can hear crickets chirp from the marsh a few metres away in the evening. I see varying species of birds nest down into the bullrushes. Sometimes at night I can hear the coyotes salute the full moon. On a snowy winter's night, we witnessed a Moose, antlers curvy and majestic, walk down the street, away from our home. I wished to follow. Instead I watched, starry eyed at how magickal normal life can be.

Deer have also pranced into the field and into our vision on quiet summer nights. Snowy owls have hooted their song and skunks have taken up residence nearby. On our back deck we heard rummaging one night, to see the cute little form of a black and white skunk. Shielded from a possible spray inside, we had the joy of watching the adorable creature for an hour. Luckily, it moved onward, but these kind of moments make me infinitely thankful for where I find myself at home in.

This HOME of BEING feels like John Stamos'* smile. Who can resist that warmth of feeling? If I find a person who can not abide him, then I wonder if some of their innocent sense of being is lost. On days where the world feels too much, I sit on my deck and I am reminded that the richest beauty is often in the simplest things. I still have the freedom to sit outside and soak up all that is. The tulips are popping up, as we finally are seeing green in our northern land of snow and ice. It's a short, precious season. 

My husband recently remarked, "We have ten trees in our front yard alone. That is more than our whole street has." (Actually our surrounding ten homes have a total of two trees.) I asked him if it would be considered socially inappropriate to offer to buy, plant and take care of for the first season, one tree per neighbour. He said it probably would, which baffled me. They could choose the spot, but he said such things are not really accepted as offers in neighbours. This made me infinitely sad. I love my trees and would gladly help my neighbourhood cultivate more for the birds to roost, the caterpillars and ants to climb, and the wind to rustle. 

One of the greatest beauties to give the world is to plant a tree or some flowers. All one really needs is the ground and some good intentions, a bit of water and caring time. Yet, the riotous colours of flowers feeding the outer ecosystem seem to be be generally undervalued. Luckily nature has a way. It's favourite way seems to be the hearty heavy hitter of the herb/flower world; Dandelions. Yet, there is a spray solely for it. Isn't it that the way we sometimes go? We forget that things planted can offer more than a sunny bright patch of beauty, but also herbal healing teas, nurturing presence and the first important food for bees. Instead we spray for the hopes of a perfectly manicured grass patch that soaks more water than it should, and does not feed the ecosystem as much as a bunch of diverse weeds, herbs, flowers, shrubs and trees would. 

My heart awakens in the elements of nature. While I am not an outdoor sports gal at all, I am one with the cultivated, yet still wild within itself, nature surrounding me. When the sun comes out from a cloud in it's full warmth and the breeze enhances the scents of wild roses, I am transported back to my grandmothers home as a child. She cultivated gorgeous gardens stocked with wild flowers and purposefully planted schemes of the imagination. I would be sent outside to play, but my favourite thing to do was walk around and around from the front yard to the back. I would touch the stone wall on the side of the house and smell the yellow buttercups. The grand ship sitting in the neighbours yard was close enough to touch, and lent a Peter Pan type energy to my imaginative world. I would talk to the flowers believing that little sprites were listening. I would gather pine cones to make a circle under the large conifers. If I sat down on the soft patches of grass, my eyes would eventually find the clothesline full of linens flapping in the breeze. The light laundry smell warming in the sun would fill me with peace. All was right in the world when I was at Grandma's  house. I did not realize until my thirties, that I had the gardening bug in me as well. I thought it was just my husband's interests, but it turns out I was connected from a wee babe. I belong to the big skies where hours upon hours stretch out with full possibilities. In a short span of time the sky can change from foggy gray to patches of azure to pink ocean depths or to a world enveloped in silvery flakes.From season to season, the skies continue to inspire, enhance and remind me, both of how large I am in my world, and how very small. A blanket of stars is often the last sight I see in my window before I sleep. Upon waking it's the brilliance of drastic changes and possibilities reflected in the sky. The symbols of freedom, heritage and passionate, ever changing spirits.

From dusk onward the moon starts it's hidden path into darkness. That moon, unapologetic, shows off it's full face to the world, nude and resplendent without shame. Paradoxically, the moon allows itself to shrink into dark shadows. It leaves an air of mystery as it slowly circles inward. It's cycle comforts, hides and brings to light. It has witnessed darkness and light, shadow and sight. Yet, it never fails to show up in any state. The moon is a brave part of nature. A instigator of tides and schedules, but also a spiritual nature that causes chaos and moods. The moon just IS. From century to century it has witnessed the love and hate. It has shone down on lovers in the darkness and crimes of the centuries. It has anchored the earth and contributed to weather. It is steady yet not. A magical guide that is explored and scientific. A paradox. A beacon.

 The skies hold hope, steady inspiration within every changing circumstances, and wild freedom. Looking into the stars, following the moon path, gazing into afternoon sun clouds, or being enveloped by a heaven full of fluffy flakes steals breath from the lungs and pumps it back into the heart. From dusk to dawn, inspiration arrives simply by walking to my window and looking out over open fields and stretching skies. As Owl City croons so aptly, "Pour me a heavy dose of atmosphere..."

An hour flew by when my husband and I snuggled on our front porch mattress, basking in the sun. My head was nestled on his chest and it reminded me of a song we used to listen to all the time, so I put it on repeat, as the soothing gait of McGraw filled the hush of a sunny afternoon. "Creek goes rippling by, I've been barefooting all day with my baby, Brown leaves have started falling, Leading the way, I like it best just like this, Doing nothing all the way, So let's lay down in the tall grass, Dreaming away,And all I wanna do is let it be and be with you, and watch the wind blow by, And all I wanna see is you and me go on forever, like the clear blue sky, Slowly, there's only, you and I, And all I want to do is watch the wind blow by."- Tm Mcgraw

One of my favourite pastimes and dates with my guy, is to drive in the backroads of the country. We find nooks that are ours alone to spend time how we please. We have found little ponds with cattle grazing, a buffalo farm nearby, and dips of almost impassable off roads filled with rocks and shrubs. There are no hidden cameras, GPS often does not work, and we are alone with nature. 

Nature is how, besides my relationships and inside my home, I find meaning in the hardest of times. My pain is often lessened by sitting for a few hours outside in the sunshine. Petrichor soothes as droplets hit the window pane. At night, if I am having a light attack of pain, I will make my way out to marvel at the stars, and hope to catch a glimpse of the wolf in the moon. I feel the protection along with the wildness. Nature is full of contrasts and paradoxes...just like me. It's deeply flawed and absolutely horrid at times, and YET it can be so breathlessly beautiful with raw intensity that one has to catch a breath. It is full of extremes. No climate suits my persona more. I love it and hate it at times when it can also be a source of pain. The beauty is a raw, real sort of haunting that reaches deep and latches it's roots down into the system of life. The inspiration rises from the dirt just like the Rockies rise from tumbled trees. The depressing aspects are wiped clean like the winds forming the HooDoos. I love these wild spaces . It’s the fairytale full of peril and majesty. It’s the garden where life began to teem with thriving beauty. It’s the simple cottage cultivated for comfort in the unpredictable landscapes of life. It’s a loving grandmas home where the freedom to roam is not only safe but rife with the spirit of wonderland. “You can learn a lot of things from the flowers... all in the golden afternoon.” It’s my place in this world yet also anyone else’s who cares to choose it- that individual collective seems to sum up the most sacred within all. 

*If you like John Stamos- his new show Big Shot on Disney Plus- is becoming a family favourite of ours. 

Song Choices: Golden Afternoon- Alice- Dianna Panton version is lovely.  Where the Green Grass Grows- Tim McGraw, Watch the Wind Blow By- Tim Mcgraw