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January 23, 2015:  A Thunderous Shift As many times as I have been open to moving to other places, I think I somehow expected such a transition to be made by choice rather than compelled by circumstances.  It now seems, however, that Godde, the Divine, Life, Fate, the Universe-- whatever name one wishes to use--occasionally has mysterious over-riding plans and intentions and the best I can offer is to serve rather than control the creative work of my own life. As much as I am grieving the loss of the home that has dramatically shaped the last ten years of my life, I am choosing to open myself to new possibilities of growth and ministry two thousand miles away.  I simply pray that I will have the strength, wisdom, and courage to rise to the challenge--although others have already expressed astonishment at the strength, wisdom, and courage they say I have already demonstrated.  Perhaps I have, but, if so, I always seem to be the last one to notice such things within myself.  Do I know that everything will be alright?  Absolutely not.  I do know, however, that if I don’t move forward, following my life wherever it goes, then nothing ever will be. 
Nonetheless, there is very little for which I wish more at the present moment, than the warm arms of a community, a family, or a lifepartner within which--even for a moment--to feel absoltely loved and completely safe.  By its very nature, however, Life is never safe.  Specifically because it is also limited by time, each passing moment is precious and calls to be invested in ways that will outlive it and thus testify to the limitless spirit whose choices allowed the temporal moment happen. March 22, 2015:  A Second Roll of Thunder After four weeks of traumatizing experiences, I fled New York and returned to Colorado, discovering within the days that followed even more major problems which would have blown up in my face had I stayed.  That being said, I have yet to figure out where my next and hopefully enduring home will be.  The recent time in New York nonetheless appears at this point to have been the most traumatic and threatening in my entire life.  Yet I survived and I now persist in my search for home.  October 16, 2015:  Personal Reflection I find that at heart I am many things: I am a westerner, considering everyone to be of equal value and importance, regardless of pedigree or personal resume; I consider humanity to be one vast and extensive family such that being anything less than completely inclusive is objectionable; I am autistic, noticing and appreciating details so much that anything less than a holistic approach is intolerable; I am an artist who uses whatever creative medium is available, because being creative is every bit as essential to me as breathing; and I am a mystic whose life purpose is to be found within nurturing the spiritual and personal growth of others. In strikingly sharp contrast, however, finding the resources to sustain my existence is an unavoidable, overwhelming, relentless, and frequently painful struggle. Why do I do it? Because I believe in life itself. December 24, 2015:  Solitary Autism I have read in many places that among the primary challenges of autism is that those of us who are on the spectrum tend to isolate ourselves, perhaps because of how overwhelming the world typically seems.  With an inescapably constant attention to detail, this is quite understandable.  Among the details I have noticed during the past nearly three years since my official diagnosis, however, is the recognition that it's not always my fault. Nearly every other autistic person about whom I've read, seems to have been blessed with a familial or communal context.  For various reasons and in spite of valiant attempts to create some sense of family or community, I have no such human context.  Additionally, within the relatively less-expensive area where I am now living, no recurring meetings or autism- related organizations are available (yes, I've looked high and low and searched very hard, but still came up with nothing). A logical answer would therefore be to start one.  I have often said that rather than wasting time complaining about not having good role models, one should immediately begin acting like the sort of role model one wished to always have.  While I do not know if there will be any response or if my attempts will simply confirm that I really am the only one here, failing to at least try will produce only an even more dismal outcome. An additional consideration, however, is what might be called the autism closet.  That is, the pattern that is common to virtually every marginalized people group, of concealing anything that openly identifies one's self to the general public, in hopes of experiencing more tolerance and acceptance.  The principle problem of this is that it is not actually one's self that is experiencing tolerance and acceptance, but rather the imitation of others' projection of "how things are supposed to be" that is most truly being rewarded. Humble or not, life, in my opinion, is far too short to waste time being what someone else has imagined rather than being one's self.  I firmly believe that I was born to live my own life, contributing whatever wisdom and love I can to the world around me each step of the way.  To do anything less, is to lie about who I truly am.  Specifically because I am not immortal, the day will ultimately come when I will have run out of time and this life will be over.  I am quite certain that the experience of a final moment for virtually everyone, includes degrees of conscious or subconscious regret about moments that were wasted. The only intelligent response to such a concern, of course, is to start today--this very moment--to put as much value into each moment of life experience that I can. As true as it may be that there is still a societal stigma against being honest about mental health challenges, other people's judgment will be forgotten.  My demonstrations of love and wisdom and the body of creative work I leave behind, however, hold infinitely more potential to out-live me.  If I must walk my unique path of life alone, it is still infinitely preferable to failing to embrace the creative work of one's own life at all. May one and all everything, blessed and loved ever be.