I have undergone a swift change: I will be the change I want to see IN MYSELF (and not wait for others to inspire and change me). I have, thanks to the influence of Bonita (a housemate here in Long Beach CS house), become rededicated to YOGA. Bonita’s love of the art of yoga really turned me on yesterday; we had a session together here in the house. She not only helped me with asanas (poses, like the head stand), she also gave me lots of yoga philosophy.
I have never thought too much about the spiritual and physical benefits of yoga that go beyond the stretching and general health aspect (although I knew they were there and have read/heard about this). Bonita talked to me about the relationship between yoga and the chakras, control of my own mind (calming my mind, etc.), meditation, and other stuff. I suddenly think I want to make yoga a daily part of my life.
The focus and grounding aspects of yoga are very important to me. I am very normally very “floaty” and “spacey.” Yoga–even the simple stuff I have always done–gives me permission (it’s true) to NOT be that way. Perhaps spacey was a way-of-being I learned in order to fit into ’60s and ’70s society in the US.
Me and Yoga, Yoga and Me:
Continuing with just stretching. Nothing difficult or stressful. It helps awfully to have an inspiring mentor around like Bonita. She’s only 24, but she’s my yoga mentor.
Fly to Seattle tomorrow.
Here’s what I put on my Meetup.com bio:
Global nomad. No home, car; just my backpack. I travel around the world. Spend c. 3 mos. a year in my home-bases: New Orleans, La.; Ojai, California (USA). . Camping, hitchhiking, dance, yoga. A free, liberated woman with a degree (B.A. Psychology).
Angelina Jolie (American actress, director) had a double mastectomy. And she has made it public.
Fat bags (breasts) = full of pollutants
I am at the Long Beach Airport, downloading some movies. I got a ride here from my CS housemate, Tom Nguyen, and I got here at about 9:30 AM for a 2:30 flight. This gives me lots of time to download; plus, I love being at airports. Just sitting around, watching people, listening to music, being online, and seeing the planes arrive and depart. If I weren’t flying, it wouldn’t be very fun though!
I haven’t flown much in my life. Tom said he enjoys striking up conversations with people (“meeting interesting people”) at airports (“but you have to be unafraid of striking up a conversation with strangers). I like to atmosphere of people moving around: going places and arriving here.
In Seattle. Given free food (she said,”I’m gonna throw this away… Want it?”) at the Long Beach Airport yesterday (chicken and cheese tortillas with salad and sour cream–yumm!). I was really early for my flight. Downloaded a little (Sherlocks from BBC TV); then had a beautiful 2 hour flight up here to Seattle. Past all these gorgeous, shining, snow-covered, mountain tops in the Cascades. Window seat.
Couchsurfer host, Nick P., picked me up at the airport. Today, I took a bus downtown to the center of the city: Pike Place Market and the Central Library (online here). Had four strong cups of tea today: two at “home” and two at the Tea and Crumpets cafe. Wired (which invariably makes me terrified… of everything!). Riding the wave of terror.
At Starbuck’s on the edge of Pike Place Market in Seattle.Seattle is a very low-key, beautiful city.
Recently, I stayed with a man who reminds me of two other male Aspies I know. None of these men know they are autistic (or they won’t accept it), but, because I am and because I’ve been around quite a few Aspies over the years, I recognize the signs.
This most recent Aspie guy is extremely anal (uptight), hates loud noises, rigidly neat, super-organized, minimalistic, and has few (no?) friends. He is very conservative (politically), trait I have noticed in a female Aspie friend who is (also) very homophobic.
Two of these men are Couchsurfers and dependent on Couchsurfing for friends/social life. All three men are very self-centered loners who love and want companionship, but they don’t know how to make friends or keep them). While they are extremely unaware of who others actually are, they try. Like many Aspies, they mean well, but they are not fun to be with.
Two of the three men spent a long time in the military. Aspies often love uniforms and routine.
These guys are awkward sexually in the extreme. They want sexual partners, but they don’t know (again) how to get them. One man put a magazine photo of a swimsuit model (at least 25 years his junior) on his living room wall, partly, as he told me, so people would know he’s not gay. Another one of these guys told me (after we had sex) that his ideal lover would be an older man. One of these CSer men prefers hosting young women, and I think he hopes to have sex with some of them.
These men usually (not always) haven’t been married and don’t have children; taking care of other people definitely does not come naturally to them. They are almost totally focused on themselves.
They pass along “facts” that aren’t true and may be self-serving. They may strictly, fastidiously follow insignificant rules to the letter. They seem unable to let go, laugh, be silly, and have fun with others; they often attempt to do so, it’s their emotions, facial cues, body language, and understanding of what’s going on is forced and fake. (Note that while many these things are more than obvious to me, NTs don’t seem to notice what’s going on.)
The three men are strange, insulting, insensitive, and unpleasant people in many ways, but, despite all their offensive qualities, they are saved by their naivite (ignorance?) and their basic, underlying goodness.
In MANY ways, I am exactly like these men. We Aspies have so many traits in common (that’s Being Aspie!). I am sure many people think of me in the same way that I think of these three men… especially when I tell them that one of the common Aspie traits is a higher-than-average IQ. Among Neuro-typicals saying that is a No-No; you don’t say it even if it’s true. (Boo hoo. They are jealous.) So lots of people don’t like me because I am an Aspie. Do I care? Fuck no.
In the episode “Hound of the Baskervilles” in the BBC series SHERLOCK, Dr. Watson refers to his partner as “Asperger.” We Aspies are proud of being like Sherlock, like Bill Gates, and like so many other fabulous, though flawed Aspies. Whomever YOU are, you, too, are flawed. You may not have realized it; you may not have admitted it, to yourself or others; and you may not have publicized it. Just the facts, M’am.
Here’s what I just posted on Facebook:
“Don’t let nobody take away your smile. Don’t let nobody change your funky smile.”* I’m at a downtown Seattle Starbucks with a ton of staid, white retirees (probably tourists). I have on my earphones and am rockin’ out to WWOZ (New Orleans live radio). I am, like, dancing in my seat; they are sitting sedately, not moving. Weird. WHO ARE THESE PEOPLE?? They have been my contemporaries throughout life, and I don’t fucking even know who they are. It’s all so different in New Orleans where everyone is rockin’ out and very funky (or at least that’s the majority of the people in the French Quarter and the surrounding areas are that way). I think this whole trip is just a way back to Sam (in Colorado) and back HOME to New Orleans (it’s been too long!). *~~Honey Island Swamp Band’s “Cast the First Stone”
Yeah! Who are these people? I really don’t know. I am certainly not one of them, and I never hang out with these people so I don’t know WHO they are. What do they think; what do they talk about; how do they live? I don’t know. Do their children turn out to be stiff robots like them? Or some of them at least people like me who don’t act like these stiffs? Are these the people who bought the American dream? They have probably worked all their lives: sat still at weird jobs where they told people what to do.
These stiffs (are they actually dead inside?) love to think they are superior to others and should “guide,””help,” “lead,” or control the rest of us. SOME (not most ) of these people are truly saints; all the rest just have (or want) big egos. Few are top bosses (if they are, watch out!); most of these Walking Dead do/did what their bosses told them to do.
Walking on the streets of Seattle is a wonderful, positive experience. It’s a real City, and Seattle seems to have a thriving street scene. Nothin’ like New Orleans, but what city is? (None.)
I hung out on streets with street people in Berkeley (1975), Santa Cruz (1976-’77), and a little in Santa Barbara (1984-5). Who I identify with on the street: some disabled people, some misfits, some artists, some travellers, and some street people. “Some” meaning the ones who are the most like me.The disabled: Aspie-types. The misfits: orphans (I was one at the very beginning of my life), intellectual rebels/mavericks. The artists: writers, I guess; many others, too. The travellers: world-ramblers (not local homeless). The street people: not the super-rough, dangerous, hard-core ones.
I have “a place” in the social, public, sidewalk scene. It’s light and amateurish, but I was out there for a while (off and on).
Taking Greyhound to Vancouver this afternoon. CSer, Percy, will meet me at the station there. Then, tomorrow, the ferry to Vancouver Island.
I mingle with local homeless people on the street, and, with my big backpack, I am probably mistaken for one of them by some people. Other people, like those professionals at the lovely, upscale cafe I went to in downtown Seattle this morning, probably don’t care: a backpacker is a permanent outsider. These are the same people who will grow into the WALKING DEAD: the stiff, tight-assed retirees I sat among yesterday at the Starbuck’s by Pike Place Market. Their condemnation now is funny and acceptable in this light, but that’s not why I think this way; I think this way because it’s true.
The local homeless and the street people (are they the same thing?) know I am not one of them. Some of them acknowledge me in one way or another; and some of them recognize who I am: a world-traveller.
Why can’t most Caucasians dance? What the fuck is wrong with them? They sit like robots, like wooden statues, when the most rockin’ music is playing. They don’t seem to feel it, and they certainly can’t do much with their bodies but sway and wiggle a little. It’s sick. I am not like that at all. I can’t help but move and hop and jump when I hear great music.
Here’s how I walk down the street (especially with this big, obvious backpack): I don’t ever try to be cool and fashionable; I look around at everything (at people, but more so at nature and buildings). I look UP (at the sky, at tall buildings, at tall trees). I appear–and am–non-threatening.
People in Seattle are pretty restrained. They aren’t loose and relaxed. They don’t look at each other on the street. They want to be cool, but they are afraid. Nevertheless, Seattle is a very cool city.
I am starting to see more Native Americans now. The further north I go, the more there will be. I fuckin’ LOVE that! We global nomads/Traveller-Gypsies are blowing through, rocking out, jumping and jiving, the embodiment of fluidity and flexibility. The Native Americans are holding a place, standing firm in a space, meditating, the embodiment of stillness and stability. It’s all wonderful.
I have to go to some upscale places, like the nice cafe I went to this morning. If I only go to cheap places, I will get conditioned to them and only them.
Smart is the new sexy (from SHERLOCK).
I no longer say “Thank you” to my Couchsurfing hosts when I leave. The proper response, “Thank you for coming” is usually (not always) beyond their awareness. And certainly if a host said this to me, I would respond with a heart-felt “Thanks,” but that hardly ever happens. Too many hosts pride themselves on giving to surfers, without acknowledging how much we surfers bring to their lives. Hosts who rely upon surfers for their social life (like the Aspie hosts) are maddeningly ignorant of–and unwilling to admit–our role in their empty lives. They seem to think of us like many pet-owners think of their dogs and cats: when they need or want us, there we are to fill up their vast loneliness.
Seth is experiencing a psychic bond with Myles. He told me he suddenly feels a “psychic connection” with his new son. Seth is amazing: strong, wise, and kind. he is definitely going to be a good father.
SHERLOCK refers to his memory file (see Temple Grandin on this) as his “mind palace.”
I am up in Victoria on Vancouver Island. It’s pretty great here, very low-key and relaxed. Or at least the feeling I have here is like that.
Tonight I am at Winnie’s. Tomorrow I will go to Laura’s; she’s someone I met in Ojai at the Krishnamurti (philosopher) Foundation.
I am falling in love again with all the men I have loved in my life. Many men, many moments of fleeting love. Cliche. Yeah, I know. What is love? Why do we even bother with emotions when thoughts can be so complete and lead to the same place as emotions.
Up here in Canada, the Native traditions and the other more frantic, new side interact, intersect, like lovers. What is it about very cold climates?They scream and yell in New Orleans; here they have to be very low-key because it’s so cold so much of the time that they have to be exceedingly mellow.
I feel able to write very honestly tonight. My CS host is a very kind woman who is older than me. She’s been through the deaths of two of her kids and one granddaughter. She was raised by difficult parents.
Child-abuse is the worst human crime against other humans. It’s strange to hurt those one loves the most. Why does this happen?
I am thinking about who my ONE LOVE might be. I feel him close to me, but I still don’t know who he is. So many men around me (they must number four or five or more… possible Soulmates of mine). I guess I am not quite ready to meet My Man. So, he couldn’t quite be ready for me, either. When I meet or met him, I will notice how flawed he is. I will not like that.
I am now focusing on myself; I see that I am also very flawed, often by willful ignorance. I was looking at photos on Facebook of my favorite male/lover-type face of my life, the one I saw in Tapachula, Mexico a few months ago. He takes my breath away every time I see his face. But is that just “skin deep”? Of course, I will start looking for a deeper connection with men.I ADORE beauty though, especially in young men.This Latin look is overwhelming. Asian and Native American looks come next in my male pantheon. In the end will it be all about how a person looks TO ME? Can’t I trust my own eyes?
A mild, pleasant night (the window was open all night). Parades today; hope it stops raining. A very quiet city, this.