I could hear the sound of the whip as the man flogged them with all his might. When he left the room I sneaked in to see a pregnant woman, bound in a crouching position, losing consciousness from the whipping. I saw my husband, Blue Eyes, tied in the same crouching position, in shock to find himself like this.

As I left the room I ran straight into him: a huge, muscle-bound, ferociously angry man. Immediately he understood scary manwhat I’d seen and he decided to give me a similar fate. He was in a rage; I was absolutely terrified. Both emotions fueled us and, as he struggled to capture me, I fought back with everything I had.

It was my intention to knee him in the groin, disable him, and run out of the house to get help. But he was so big and strong that all I could manage was a weak punch in the groin, which stopped him for just a moment. As I turned and ran for the door, I knew my chances of escape — and life or death — were only 50-50.

Then I woke up, shaking.

I spent much of that night and the next day wondering what it could possibly mean. In my meditation the next evening I asked for understanding, and the following day it came in a flash.

The huge, strong, scary man was autism. So powerful. Such a force to be reckoned with.

The captive woman was me when I was pregnant: Bright with new beginnings, excited at the prospect of a baby, instead I was bound and flogged almost to death by autism. Blue Eyes, too.

Then there was the current-day me, still fighting autism with all I had, but scared to death that it was going to get the best of me. Outcome uncertain, to say the least.

I related this dream to a psychotherapist friend, who told me my interpretation seemed right on. “But,” he pointed out, “autism itself is not big and strong and scary and powerful. You give it all those qualities.””

“Also,” he added, “you need help.”

Ya think?

“Get therapy,” he told me.

“How do I find the right person?” I asked.

“Trust your intuition. It’s got to be the right chemistry,” he said.

Ok, I reasoned, if I was given that interpretation to the dream just the way the angels/guides seem most likely to communicate — inserting a flash of understanding — surely they can direct me to the right therapist. I found one who seemed a possibility to my rational mind but, if I had to be honest, I didn’t like the look of her in the ad. No chemistry there. So I continued to ask.

Today I had ten minutes free before I needed to pick up Joseph from school. I was in town so I thought I’d just pop into the local sports store.

Let me preface this next part by telling you I am a triple Capricorn. I almost never have ten minutes free time — I am usually very structured and have a list going of what to do with any of that rare free time that might show up. But this time I had nothing else to do.

As I walked into the store, I ran into two old friends, a married couple, walking out. They’d almost divorced and had clawed their way back into a good marriage again, so we were talking about that when they mentioned how amazing their therapist was.

Green light. Angels singing. Heavens opening and a Voice saying, “She is the one, Yoga Mother.”

I got the info on the therapist.

As the three of us left the store together, I checked my watch. That most informative encounter had taken exactly ten minutes.

I’m feeling hopeful. Guided. I used to be afraid of intuition because I thought my ego might get too blown up if I was good at accessing it. Now I realize it’s nothing to do with me in an egoistic way. It’s how well I can listen, how open I can be, to being told what to do by those who have a much bigger perspective than me.

It’s time to shrink that huge, scary, powerful autism image into something much more reasonable.

Maybe, with help, I’ll even be able to sleep through the night again. After all, it’s only been nine years.

Which, not coincidentally, is exactly how long I’ve been grappling with autism.

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