I no longer mark time. Time is very different here. The punctuations I took for granted have gone. Now time doesn’t comma or full stop.
You see things differently at a distance. The detail is lost but the panorama allows each piece a place, and the whole is quite unlike the parts.
Once there were four seasons. Nature kept my clock ticking. Larks and robins, buds and falling leaves, late sunsets and dark mornings, each a reminder and each setting me in a context. Here it’s hot. Sometimes it’s wet. It’s light for breakfast and dark for dinner. A year can pass unnoticed.
The seasons come with much more. Emotionally I used to shift. I was carefree in June, melancholy in November and oh so hopeful in March. Activities would change. Life would move to the garden, the balcony or the beach for the brief halcyon summer before beating a retreat to log fires and drawn curtains. My friends are far from me so birthdays are Facebook updates and Christmas isn’t coming. Now that I am no longer on it, I can see I was immersed in a cultural calendar.
My days run on like badly constructed sentences, weeks are just ill defined paragraphs and without the seasons there are no chapters. I am in a stream of consciousness and living in the now because the passing of my time is no longer marked.
Between us, there is never any friction. I am accepted as I am. I love as I do and I feel love in return. Springs of glorious warm love surround me in a world that often seems glacial.
These people, these few people I call friends, they seem to see the world differently. We are not kindred spirits and there has never been another pea in my pod, yet the ties are there. Strong enough to withstand the challenges and soft and pliable enough to not feel constricting.
To other people they just seem ordinary. Leading busy lives and juggling the demands of life, they live in the chaos of normality. I am removed. I part myself and park myself on the edges. I bristle where others are smooth and readily answer from my heart without filtering, purifying or distilling my emotions. These people, my friends, they come and sit a while in my world.
The Asperger Path is straight and narrow. It’s monochromatic on bad days but rainbow disarrayed on happy ones. My friends don’t seem to notice I’m different. Maybe they do and they just don’t mind. They seem immune to the irritation I create in others. We are all unique. Perhaps everyone is on the spectrum and has worries doubts and anxieties.
Maybe Aspergers is no more a syndrome than gregariousness. Maybe suffering from a malaise or being blessed with gifts is actually the same thing. My gift is to be lost in the hot springs and forget the glacier that surrounds me.
I need some new friends. However this is not an online advertisement, because I am going out and looking in person. No application is necessary.
For many years I have sought solitude whilst avoiding loneliness. Gaps have been filled with social media and dating apps. I have chased the not yet known, but I ended up in cycle of meaningless encounters and superficial conversations. People who couldn’t care if I lived or died became my reason for being.
Don’t get me wrong, I have friends and time spent with them is fruitful. However, I have just moved to a new city and have decided to take no short cuts.
So, here I am, lunching alone, having met no one for a coffee earlier. I haven’t met anyone online or had a virtual chat with real stranger.
It feels rather odd, but in the long term this will be good. It’s time find common ground with people I can rely on. It’s time to then put those people centre stage and work at building a life that is more meaningful. It will take a while, but how much time have I already wasted on those fruitless applications that got me nowhere.
On my travels, I turn to no one. When I see wonders, I see them alone. My experiences are shared at arms length for there is, by my side, nothing but empty space.
This is how I have shaped my life. I enjoy the sparsity of my emotional landscape. Friends and lovers, colleagues and thinkers, writers and artists all bring much to my life but none are my partner, my confidante or my other half. Some are more transient than others, but none are as impermanent in themselves as myself.
I am whole in my self constructed solitude and, when I steer clear of holes, this square peg travels quite comfortably. Life is lived, large and sprawling, for I am a nomad passing by and experiencing all that my senses can withstand. My social circle, by comparison, is kept small and tidy. The Asperger Path is my route and I navigate a way through this world with heart and mind as my map and compass.
So, when I see the world and I want to share it with someone, I choose the most intimate strangers I know. I choose you, dear readers. For you are sparse and far flung. If I want you, I can send fire off my missive into the void. Even if my message is never read, it is sent.
For me, that act of sharing is enough.
I travel alone. Perhaps we all do. The universe surrounds us but we are here locked inside our sensory, sense making brain. We see, hear,smell, taste and touch the world. However what I am sensing is totally unique and bears no relation to the sensations my neighbour creates.
I travel alone. I am not frightened of my own company. I amuse myself and confuse myself and can even look myself in the eye. An able contortionist, I can pat myself on the back though the need doesn’t arrive too often. I am my own best friend and yet I am not hermetically sealed.
I travel alone. I have left you behind, I haven’t yet met you or maybe our paths will never cross. I have stopped wanting to be an us and I have allowed myself to be me. I will not be lost in the world of compromise where everybody goes somewhere that nobody truly wanted to see.
I travel alone because I am not the centre of my universe. I travel like the stars, a pattern in my path that I have not designed and a rhythm in my life that makes me part of something greater than myself.
I travel alone and yet I am not alone. I both am and am not. I travel alone and in doing so create hundreds and thousands of micro relationships. Each is real and unique and has the potential to generate energy and change. My energy is diffused and suffused into the world and I receive power from all around me. I am a fraction of so many wholes and I am a million beautiful fragments of the people who have touched my life.
I travel alone with the universe
And there he was stuck in the mud. He thought about asking someone to help him and found himself analysing his friendships. If he asked x what might y say. Each friend he thought of it seemed to much to ask. So he asked no one and stayed stuck in his doubts.
Are you ok a strange voice called. Yes I am fine thank you. You look stuck. Do I, I suppose I am a little stuck but it’s ok. Let me help you. And the strange voice came over and unstuck him. Lost for words, he stumbled through an apology, but the strange voice assured him that it was really nothing. He was pondering this new situation when the strange voice interrupted. I am you. How can you be me he asked. The strange voice sighed and then explained gently. Inside each of us lives our self worth. I am yours. You never hear me because you’re not sure I exist. Today I really shouted. Oh he said. Thank you. What happens next? Well maybe we talk to x and y. They would have helped you. But I can help myself now he said. Yes said the strange voice but sometimes it’s good to talk to someone other than yourself.
So the man who was no longer stuck took a step.
No matter how many times you tell people that you see the world differently, every time they notice it they express some concern. Or maybe expressing concern is one of those concepts I just don’t grasp.
People are often surprised by the things I say or do. My usual response is to assume that as I take full responsibility for my own life, their surprise is an issue for them. John Donne once concluded that no man is an island, but that does not mean that every man is traffic junction.
Sometimes people think they hear the toll of the bell. It might just be the wind chimes of my imagination or the tapping of my thumb on the information superhighway.
I am a little disconnected but I am concerned for my fellow man. However, my communication can sometimes be a little sparse or scrambled. We are all different, special and unique. No man is an island but allow me a moat.
…eats a solitary meal
…always sits alone
…has a place to rest his head
…doesn’t call it home
…rarely speaks but when he does
…cannot keep control
…tries to lock the emptiness
…knows he isn’t whole
…looked within to his surprise
…found a vacant place
…doesn’t have a heart or soul
…just has lots of space
…isn’t really human but
…looks like me and you
…knows about the blackest holes
…seen what they can do
…cannot feel the subtleties
…lives in monochrome
…wants to see the rainbow’s end
…wants to call it home
I washed up here on a tide. A star crazed traveller who got marooned in happiness. My rolling stone stopped to gather a little moss but now I am rested and my ocean soul is in flood.
The silvered moon is pulling me away. Taunting me to be anywhere but still, she disturbs my restful surface. Light is shined into my depths and pinpoint my moorings which are not too firmly fixed.
So I follow the capricious moon, waxing and waning through life. Not for me the trappings of comfort and peace, for I am touched with wanderlust. Each man is made different and I was born under a beautiful lonely spell. But do not cry for me. I am the happy lunatic who dances where the wind blows. Love me while I am here, for I will be gone. I love you now but now is not tomorrow. The tide is turning and my path is written in shifting patterns of stardust. But when the night is cold and clear and the moon invades your window, look up, for I will be the dancing man in the moon.
The man sat in his room and wondered. It was Saturday night and he knew the great cabaret of life was being played out on stages as he sat there looking at the walls and contemplating the ifs and buts of his next decision. He doesn’t realise that he is on his tawdry stage just like the rest of us. His one man show may not have pizazz and his monologue, should he ever choose to speak, might be môntone, but he is stripped bare and dazzled in the footlights of existence.
Some people take three hours to get out of the house. The minutiae of each step weighed and analysed with mentally generated flow diagrams to plot the possibilities of an action. If that is not a conceptual piece of performance art worthy of staging then life is not a cabaret, old chum. Life doesn’t pass us by, but it comes in a lot of different shapes and sizes.
Like each of us, he only lives once, so he needs to be certain. He finally makes a decision, certain that his choice is valid. Semi skimmed not full fat milk. Now, shoes or trainers…