I was downstairs doing the dishes this morning when Joseph called to me from upstairs:

“Mom? Do you know where my gray sweatshirt is?”

“In my backpack by the front door,” I answered.

He went and looked.

As I picked up the next dish, I began to marvel at this little interchange. To an outsider it would seem so ordinary – and it is. That’s what makes it so extraordinary. Here’s why:

He called to me. For years, except for when he was screaming hysterically, Joseph spoke only in the softest of voices. You’d have to get really close to him to hear what he was saying. It was as if he didn’t have the energy – the life force – to speak with any more volume.

Mom? He only started using my name – Mom—a couple of years ago. Before that, I could be referred to in the third person (“Is Mommy going away?”), but I was never addressed directly. It was the same for everyone in his world. Can you imagine how odd it is to never hear your child call you by name?

Do you know where my gray sweatshirt is? One of the big deficits of autism is the lack of other-mindedness – not understanding that others can view things, and know things, differently than oneself. This statement shows an understanding that I can know something Joseph doesn’t.

He went and looked. He took my information, processed it, and did something with it. In the not-so-long-ago past, he wouldn’t have had such a complete thought process.

For all these reasons, I was feeling good about Joseph. He’s come so far. I was feeling happy happy happy.

Then Blue Eyes came downstairs, fear in his eyes. He asked me if Joseph had gluten yesterday and, when I admitted that he did, he told me that Joseph was really disconnected — agitated, even. Immediately I felt fearful and panicked, and I hurried to check on Joseph.

As it turns out, Joseph had a fever and a cough, which can make anyone disconnected and agitated. He spent most of the day in bed.

What got me about that little exchange with Blue Eyes was how quickly I went from my own head trip — Feelin’ Groovy — to his — Danger! Danger!

I’ve been watching head trips quite closely ever since I gave up Ambien, the oh-so-powerful sleeping pills I’d used for years. I haven’t, in the past, really believed in the devil as a personified being. A dark force, certainly, but a cunning, manipulative being that can walk and talk? Nahhhhhh.

My viewpoint, however, is changing. Sometimes, in this past non-Ambienated month, I wake up in the middle of the night unable to go back to sleep and really, truly feel I am having a conversation with Satan. Or, rather, he is having one with me.

I mean, if this Satan character is real, he would kick you in your most vulnerable spot, right? And mine, most assuredly, is Joseph. And the middle of the night is when my defenses are most down.

Just a few nights ago I awoke in the wee hours, absolutely certain that Joseph was going to be bullied, teased, ostracized, and otherwise treated cruelly by the kids in his school. I was filled with terror. A few nights before that the subject of my insomnia was incredible sorrow that Joseph doesn’t have friends, as evidenced by the fact that nobody comes over for playdates. And so on and so forth. You get my drift.

I spent the next few days after the bullying conversation absolutely freaked out. How could I protect my child from these terribly mean kids? Especially the older ones at his school, which goes from kindergarten to 8th grade.

It was a most unhappy head trip.

Then Joseph’s teacher wrote me that Joseph spent a recess blowing bubbles. The older kids chased and popped them, and Joseph laughed and laughed at their antics.

Suddenly the bullying head trip left and I got a glimmer of a new perspective. What if older kids treat Joseph with love and care because of his special needs? What if they look after him, make an effort to interact with him, because they’re good kids and because the school places so much emphasis on tolerance and mentoring. Is it possible? Could it be true?

The no-friends head trip deflated on Thursday when I went to pick Joseph up. The kid Joseph considers his best friend came over and asked, “Can I come over for a play date in two days?”

I was astonished.

Yoga teaches that levels of consciousness have thoughts associated with them. In other words, if I’m hanging out in fear, I’ll attract fearful, anxious thoughts and ideas. Therefore, to change your thoughts, Yoga teaches, change your consciousness.

I have worked on this, mostly just by increasing my awareness of it, since dropping Ambien. Whatever you call it — a head trip or a conversation with Big Red — it’s fear, which stands for False Expectations Appearing Real. Watching it closely seems to be helping. A lot. I am sleeping through the night more often, happily missing out on those fear-striking midnight conversations.

I think that, collectively, there is huge catastrophic consciousness around autism. Fear. Terror. Grief. It’s an interesting dance to process what comes up while not buying lock, stock and barrel into the things that are whispered in one’s ear when one is most vulnerable.

Peace.

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