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A couple of months ago, I had a one-on-one session with a spiritual teacher. In tears, I told him that I coudn’t relax. My jaw was in a continually-tightening vice that was now causing nasty headaches. My body was clenched and tight, my mind was in fear, I couldn’t sleep, and everything was a stress. He helped me through it — gave me tools to pause, let go of the difficulty, and relax into ease. Everything you need is already here, he said: Abundant love, unending help, incredible wisdom. Just choose it.

This, along with some other practices I’d lately incorporated, has brought about a transformation in my life. I choose ease much more often. I laugh more readily. I don’t have headaches. I sleep. I have so much gratitude for this shift — one that, for many years, I thought would never come.

I doubt that any parent of an autistic child ever forgets the moment they receive the diagnosis. When the psychologist pronounced it to us ten years ago, I bawled. I also future-tripped. The images for the future looked like a boy, teen, young man, etc who stood in a corner and flapped his hands, cooing and moaning. Wearing diapers, never engaging meaningfully, never a friend in the world. What a scary image that was, and how it tortured me through those early years. That was when the stress and terror began.

This blog documents a lot of the harder moments so I won’t go into them here. Suffice it to say that tension and fear became chronic companions in body and mind, and sometimes even in spirit. And this is largely how I’ve been for the past 10 years.

Now Joseph is 12. I’ve gone back to work part-time, and last summer I dragged Joseph into the office with me now and then so that I could get some work done. This year, as summer approached, Joseph told me he wanted to go to day camps: “Anything other than going to the office with you, Mom!”

So Joseph started his summer break this week by attending camp in the mornings at our former church. As we drove toward the church I started past-tripping this time, remembering other events where we’d walk into a room full of strange kids and Joseph would cling desperately to me, refusing to let go, overcome by fear and anxiety.

Not this time. We walked into the room and he said goodbye, asked the camp counselor where he should sit, and sat. I was all the way out to the car when I remembered that I needed to give him some money. I went back in and found him, handing him a $10 bill. “Enjoy your day, Mom. Enjoy your day,” he said with emphasis, meaning “Get out of here, Mom, you are not welcome here.”

Geez. Talk about a shift!

Friends have also been a new thing, dissolving a big chunk of the torturous, future-tripping experience. This year Joseph had a best friend, a second best friend and a third best friend. He is spending every Tuesday this summer at his best friend’s house, and every other Thursday with his second bestie. They are not the friendships I would have but they are definitely friendships, and I am so happy for him. Joseph doesn’t notice that this is a miracle at all; he never thinks to question the fact that he has friends. I mean, why wouldn’t he have friends?

Why indeed. Joseph doesn’t think about his autism at all, as far as I can tell. In fact, he’s told us that he’s done playing sports with the special needs kids; he wants to be on the typical teams. This one is a little tricky for me because he can’t keep up with the typical kids, but then neither is he slow enough to be on the special needs team. We’ve told him that, if he practices and is good enough, we will support him being on the same teams as his friends. In the meantime, we’re encouraging swim team and other sports that don’t require so much dynamic interaction.

My oh my, what a journey. It is good to breathe and let the hard stuff go, because I choose ease. I choose love. I choose to know my connection to the Divine. I choose to step lightly.

It’s dark because you are trying too hard. Lightly, child, lightly. Learn to do everything lightly. Yes, feel lightly even though you’re feeling deeply. Just lightly let things happen and lightly cope with them. I was so preposterously serious in those days…Lightly, lightly — it’s the best advice ever given me…So throw away your baggage and go forward. There are quicksands all about you, sucking at your feet, trying to suck you down into fear and self-pity and despair. That’s why you must walk so lightly. Lightly, my darling. ~ Aldous Huxley

Blessings to all.

 

 

 

 

Blue Eyes talks about a period in his life where his neck would go into terrible spasms — so badly that it would make him lose consciousness. He went to the hospital, where they ran him through a myriad of tests, but they couldn’t find anything wrong. The doctor finally told him that it was, simply, stress. Massive stress.

“Stress?” Blue Eyes looked at the doctor in surprise. “I’m not under any stress!”

But as he went home he started to look at his life. A very sensitive young man, Blue Eyes was far from home, working with a really rough crowd of guys. He didn’t fit in and he couldn’t fit in, but he felt stuck in the situation. Yes, he had to admit to himself, he was stressed. Massively stressed.

This is how I felt after my first appointment with Sheri, the therapist, last week. “Stressed? But I’m not under any stress!”

With Sheri’s guidance, I looked at my life. If I’m not with Joseph, I’m almost always doing something “useful.” I work or I go to meditation or I attend a spiritually-oriented class. Even my weekly date nights with Blue Eyes consist of going to meditation. Which is great, but there’s got to be a balance there somewhere. Or so I’m told.

With Sheri’s encouragement — really, almost at her insistence — I spoke with Blue Eyes about an upcoming “date” to go to a spiritual class. Our amazing respite worker, Karen, agreed to come earlier than planned, I picked up Blue Eyes at his work, and we spent a whole afternoon and evening at the river. Our area has the MOST beautiful river, so clean and healing and nurturing. We swam and we napped and we read and we talked. As the sun began to set we hiked out, feeling alive and grateful and fed.

I have been seeing Joseph as a problem, a nuisance. The problem here, I believe, is that I haven’t had a big enough vision about my child. After all, I didn’t have a kid in order for him to win popularity contests or get straight A’s. I had a kid, and I think God gave me this kid, in order to for him to go out and make a positive difference in this world.

Kahlil Gibran says:

imagesYou are the bows from which your children
as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite,
and He bends you with His might
that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the archer’s hand be for gladness;
For even as He loves the arrow that flies,
so He loves also the bow that is stable.

* * *

My job: To let God bend me with gladness. To shoot the arrow straight, swift and far. Straight to God’s purpose, whatever that may be. Probably something in “the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams,” (Kahlil Gibran).

Mom and JosephJoseph’s future is not even my business. My business is to focus on bending (and part of the bending, happily, seems to be having more fun!) and becoming a straight-shooter. My dear little arrow is already fearfully and wonderfully made, and it is tremendously egotistical to think that his development is all on me.

In truth, Joseph already makes a positive difference in this world. People who interact with him are touched, impacted by his sweetness and caring and humor. For many, he is the first person with autism who can engage quite well with them.

So maybe I can relax and realize that the arrow is already going straight. These kids are God’s own, just like all of us, and so I give mine back to God.

Which, of course, is where he is anyway.