Epiphany of the month...not quite blog

My Friend is Gone

moonmom — Wed, 30 Sep 2009 22:10:28 GMT

Why is it when somebody I love dies I always remember their hands and feet? Maybe it is because those are the boundaries of the self through which they experience the world. The soft curve of the thumb, gentle folds of the fingers The part of them that birthed thoughts into being the makers, the givers or grounded in earth, bearing the weight of that other self. Those hands I remember the warmth of And the coldness of those crooked toes. How dear those are to see The face can hide things but the hands just are. I will miss all of him, my friend, my lover, my confidant. My child, my father, myself. My hand remembers his

A plague of locusts

moonmom — Fri, 24 Jul 2009 20:36:39 GMT

I went on vacation recently... It was a month in a tent...with 2 kids... I volunteered my skills at the OCF main camp kitchen and worked between 6 and 12 hours daily. So it was a sorta vacation. I did it to run toward community and away from overwhelm...simplify... Oh well I got up at 5:30 every day, and that was fine till we found we had lice... then I found I had to conduct a legal battle from a tent with a cell phone, pen, and paper...between laundry and combings...and 5:30 wake up's...and hard work... Plus the mosquitoes were relentless bloodsucking monsters But it went as it went, the kids had a good time mostly and there was a sauna, and showers...all good...but... Then I heard a rumor that there was scabies going around 'scabies' I though bemusedly...but that couldn't possibly happen to me...on top of everything else...so why worry? I totally forgot about scabies when the thundershowers started.... Well... At first we thought the rashes was mosquito bites...then poison oak... came home not only to legal chaos with the school district, but telltale signs of scabies that could not be ignored plus some idiot at ATT had attached my internet to some random persons cell phone who had ran up an enormous bill resulting in termination of my internet. Lathered up in poison for the 3rd time...laundry endless...children squabbling from boredom... I persevered in the legalities of securing a special ed placement from a broke district during troubled times... Someone bashed in my car window... and I am not insured for that... I probably got west nile virus too

Stars

moonmom — Thu, 23 Apr 2009 20:21:19 GMT

Tangerines are hanging heavy, glowing marigolden hues Teasing a half-pale moon And I feel a pull to the blue-velvet dark and stars. Pink Magnolia, blushing and coy Savors the sun while she shines You've got yours and I've got mine Together we glide through the blue-velvet dark and stars All it takes is a little faith, and a lot of heart Back and forth we ply these oars They move in time and get entwined Green with joy then gray with sorrow Ripened fruit that falls tomorrow Filling us with brilliance Branches are bare with a pulse underneath Flowering slowly inside Your hands are warm and my body is wide To hold all the promise of blue-velvet dark and stars All it takes is a little faith and a lot of heart Sweetheart ~Deb Talan

My Wish For You In The Coming Year

moonmom — Thu, 25 Dec 2008 01:45:11 GMT

We have come to be danced Not the pretty dance Not the pretty pretty, pick me, pick me dance But the claw our way back into the belly Of the sacred, sensual animal dance The unhinged, unplugged, cat is out of its box dance The holding the precious moment in the palms Of our hands and feet dance. We have come to be danced Not the jiffy booby, shake your booty for him dance But the wring the sadness from our skin dance The blow the chip off our shoulder dance. The slap the apology from our posture dance. We have come to be danced Not the monkey see, monkey do dance One two dance like you One two three, dance like me dance but the grave robber, tomb stalker Tearing scabs and scars open dance The rub the rhythm raw against our soul dance. We have come to be danced Not the nice, invisible, self-conscious shuffle But the matted hair flying, voodoo mama Shaman shakin’ ancient bones dance The strip us from our casings, return our wings Sharpen our claws and tongues dance The shed dead cells and slip into The luminous skin of love dance. We have come to be danced Not the hold our breath and wallow in the shallow end of the floor dance But the meeting of the trinity, the body breath and beat dance The shout hallelujah from the top of our thighs dance The mother may I? Yes you may take 10 giant leaps dance The olly olly oxen free free free dance The everyone can come to our heaven dance. We have come to be danced Where the kingdom’s collide In the cathedral of flesh To burn back into the light To unravel, to play, to fly, to pray To root in skin sanctuary We have come to be danced We have come. by Jewel Mathieson

Retraining my inner voice

moonmom — Wed, 15 Oct 2008 17:32:36 GMT

All those wise guys, and meditational gurus say that you must silence yourr inner voice to become enlightened. The inner voice that natters on incessantly about what you want for breakfast or how sometimes peoples clothes don't match, or that you could be thinner, or warmer, or happier. They say this voice drags at our focus, and hammers on our sense of self. That it is, invalid, superficial, and childish. However, sometimes my inner voice sings, speaks, and whispers intensely creative and beautiful things. It uses it's communicative drive to birth magic into being. I find I myself beguiled, and enthralled by it's lustrous tones. I don't want it to be quiet, but rather say the things I long to hear. It's enthusiasm for love of language, connection, creation and self. My inner voice has been pushing and pulling me through life. Like creativity with tourrets, It rarely stops....except to give other forms of communication the 'right of way' like sex or dancing. I value it, except when it is petty and whiny. So I am retraining it to be clear about what it wants. I am asking it when it becomes petulant and judgmental, what it needs to be the creative empowered voice I know and love. This is as much of a discipline as shushing it. And maybe more valuable to us whose voices refuse to sit still, questioning authority, and flying in all directions like startled birds under scrutiny. Maybe it's a gender thing, or a neurological one but the impulse to express is constant and fierce, or unhappy and complaining. But it refuses to be disregarded. When it's sad or bored it looks to me for direction, and blames me for not listening. I do get tired, and cop out. After all it's just an inner voice, that if I'm truly evolved I'd be rid of anyway right? But, perhaps I am being irresponsible in not taking it's needs seriously enough. Maybe cooperation, empathy, and purpose is all I need for my inner voice and me to be happy together. Instead of throwing it chocolates, to bribe it to be good, I've been asking: 'you sound upset honey, what do you need?' Making agreements, keeping promises, and allowing it room to speak up and be heard

Money as Debt, a documentary

moonmom — Sun, 28 Sep 2008 23:28:07 GMT

WATCH IT HERE: http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=-9050474362583451279

Where are we going? And what am I doing in this handbasket?

moonmom — Sat, 27 Sep 2008 20:13:15 GMT

Banks are closing... Washington Mutual is down The news Bailout can't hide it; the country is busted http://www.gata.org/node/6674 The video explaining the reasons http://www.gata.org/node/20

Look ma, I'm famous...

moonmom — Mon, 26 May 2008 21:59:19 GMT

Well not really. But I did participate in this online project that a man from New York put together. It was his thesis project. It's a bunch of self filmed documentary clips, 20 questions about being raised by hippies. I am in it, and had really mixed emotions remembering it all that way...but in the end really pleased with the intervies and glad to read other peoples accounts of that unique place we all came from. Recently it got written up on 'Boing Boing' and is getting pretty heavy traffic. Who knows maybe I really am famous. look under 'the kids' to find me. http://itp.nyu.edu/~cjc367/hippiekidstories/

Barefootin'

moonmom — Mon, 24 Mar 2008 22:21:30 GMT

As a child I was barefoot all summer every summer, blisters from hot pavement gave way to tough callus. I always hated shoes, I felt as if my sweaty feet were suffocating and my toes were strangling. At age 16 I gave them up completely, to the anger of a few school officials, but general teacher acceptance. I was then barefoot for a solid 12 years, summer, winter, rain or shine, city bus or country hike. My feet became leather, glass only penetrated the outer layers. I did not own a single pair of shoes, but would paint my toenails. I got mixed reactions from people some openly curious, "was it part of my religion?" Some totally supportive, "barefoot in the rain? awesome. keep it up!". In winter when people asked me why I was barefoot in the rain, I told them it was to keep my shoes dry...blank stare. A few asked if I wasn't afraid of "catching something" and one old gent overcome with pity for my appearant poverty (shoelessness) offered to buy me shoes. When I gently explained it was voluntary he looked terribly confused, and kept offering. I even traveled bare, drawing shoes on my feet for restaurants. And backpacked bare, loving the press of the ground on my feet. Oh sure I stepped in many gross things along the way; slugs eeeuuuwww, snails especially at night after a rain, luggies why must people spit on the sidewalk?, and dogshit you learn to watch out for that one pretty quick. I've been in porta potties that coulda been cleaner. But basically, it's the bottom of my feet...and it washes off. The good out weighs the bad; cold puddles after hot cement, stiff grass, the soft pad of a dusty road, the changing grit of sidewalk, breezes between the toes, the coolness of the ground on hot days, and the flex and bend of all 26 foot bones...yum. (Plus no one ever spare changed me.) I did not begin to wear shoes till I started commuting to downtown SF to go to art school. I just felt it appropriate with all those suits, and there's really icky stuff on the ground there. Back in Berkeley a total stranger said "you're wearing shoes!?" I suppose I was identifiable from years of going bare. During pregnancy a good cushion for my feet helped my knees. And now I am a 'respectable age' ie easily mistaken for bag lady when barefoot, plus for creaky knees on cement...I wear Tevas. I miss the ground though, part of my brain is thirsty for it. I love the continuous sensory feedback of my bare foot upon the earth. Every step is a different texture. It is like kinetic music. It keeps you in the moment, a moving meditation...mindfulness. Today I signed up for the Barefoot hikers meetup group. I can still do trails in the buff. Wish me luck! Or join me http://hiking.meetup.com/301/

I am the goddess...

moonmom — Sun, 16 Mar 2008 20:18:02 GMT

I've been studying ancient civilizations...for fun. And it turns out that there's a substantial body of evidence that the Romans were misogynistic nazis. And that early Indo European civilization, Celtics, were considered primitive barbarians by Rome largely because of their women of power, sustainable communities, and the need Rome had of their gold. Celts apparently had female and male equality in their religious beliefs, women held positions of power, and women were given rights by law. Women, elders and children had rights in the Celtic world. In pre history and during the beginning of Rome Celts flourished. They spanned most of Europe and had a network of wealthy trading communities, connected by well built roads and sea ports. They had over 200 gold mines, and were wealthy, well organized and complex. Their calendars were as accurate as ours today. They traded with lands as far off as china. The Celts also had a strong mother earth goddess in their religion. The gold and gems from the her earth were considered sacred gifts, the goddesses gifts. They adorned themselves freely with finely crafted jewelry. This jewelry and it’s style has turned up in many ancient civilizations that did trade with them. These precious gifts were considered sacred as were the mountains and caves they came from. Those caverns in the earth were the domain of the goddess. Rome did much trade with them, and soon realized the value of war against them, the value of the Celts sacred lands. Several Roman emperors found it very profitable to manufacture glorious tales of victory over the 'barbarian hoards', while exterminating entire peoples for their gold. A huge part of the disdain Rome had for the barbarians was the Celts inclusion of women. Women held positions of enormous power (perhaps leadership) even over men. Something that gave the Romans with their male military mind set, the willies. Most laws of Celtic life ran completely contrary to Roman convention/civilization. So it was easy to paint them as inhuman to the Roman people and eradicate them in the name of the 'civilized world'...while getting their gold for the glorification of Rome. Rome never any had gold of it's own, it was only through genocide and enslavement of entire populations that they extracted what they needed. And when history was written by the victors, there was no mention of Queens, goddesses or gold. only Roman civilization. But in the Celts of the Pyrenees mountain region, the goddess traditions lived on. The Basque are directly linked to the Celts by genetics and retain legends and mythology of their ancient goddess culture. Their isolation made it possible to practice it for hundreds of years, outside the influence of other religions. and I found out I am half Basque The Basque Goddess is Mari she is the goddess of weather, birth and animals. she had many part bird female spirits about her called the lamina that protected women in child birth. (unfortunately later all this was witchcraft, and the lamina evil women who sacrificed children) It seems this stronghold of the pre Christian beliefs became a target of the witch hunts in Spain, and also the seeds of the neo pegan revival of today. And the tale of Baba Yaga and her house on chicken feet. Some reference: Genes link Celts to Basques http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/uk_news/wales/1256894.stm Mari is a Basque Goddess http://dametzdesign.com/mari.html Paganism in Provence: How the Mother-Goddess Became the Mother of God http://www.jwmt.org/v1n6/provence.html Tenacity in religion, myth, and folklore: the neolithic Goddess of Old Europe preserved in a non-Indo-European setting http://www.evertype.com/misc/basque-jies/basque-jies.html Hymn to Her: Let me inside you Into your room Ive heard its lined With the things you dont show Lay me beside you Down on the floor Ive been your lover From the womb to the tomb I dress as your daughter When the moon becomes round You be my mother When everythings gone And she will always carry on Something is lost But something is found They will keep on speaking her name Somethings change Some stay the same Keep beckoning to me From behind that closed door The maid and the mother And the crone thats grown old I hear your voice Coming out of that hole I listen to you And I want some more I listen to you And I want some more And she will always carry on Something is lost But something is found They will keep on speaking her name Some things change Some stay the same ~The Pretenders

Happy solstice, and kickass new year!

moonmom — Mon, 24 Dec 2007 22:54:05 GMT

Joy and love to all

Macabre Ironies

moonmom — Tue, 19 Jun 2007 02:13:37 GMT

My mother used to take me to the museum of natural history. I was always revolted by the macabre nature and the irony of the neat little scenes of stuffed wildlife in their 'natural' setting...their dead glassy eyes stared at me from behind the plexi barrier in a most unsettling way. I thought it vulgar that these beautiful once live beings were pawned off on me as depicted naturally in painted fakery. Their pelts stretched in frozen posture for the gratification human arrogance...all this struck me as vein, odd, and violent....at age 3 or was it 4? I know for sure I did not like that place of death. I was not fooled. A while back a well meaning friend, one I've known many years and have traveled with extensively...suggested I stop by a roadside attraction on my way back from fair. She said it was a wild animal park, with lots of wild space for the animals...wild cats. And she was particularly jazzed about a wild cat she's been able to pet. Like it was all very natural and the like. She swore I'd enjoy it. So I took my young babe in arms and stopped by this 'not to be missed' sight. When I got there I paid my entry and was immediately assaulted by a goat demanding food. Luckily the park provided goat sustenance. And for an additional fee you could have the delight of feeding a live goat. My baby was afraid of the goats and strained anxiously in my arms. I bought said goat food and fed the eager nibbling jaws, but as I did so I pondered the big cats in their 'not so big' land masses and thought about how little space was allotted them. I felt bad for paying to witness their captivity. A man came and tossed raw meat into their enclosures. I noticed the similarity of the meat to the legs of the creatures I was now feeding...actually fending off as it were. And that sense of macabre irony hit me like a tone of bricks...I was repelled and short of breath. These goats I was feeding for this divine little haven were food for the cats...all thinly veiled as some kind of tourist amusement. My child in my arms could see it and wanted no part. I couldn’t wait to leave but had to wait for the enthusiasm of my cohorts to die down...they must pet the baby panther. The panther with no mother. The baby plucked from it's natural home...held by an 'attraction employee' waxing poetic on how wonderful it was to get so close...so close...so close...to what? To the intrusion of our human arrogance? to our infinite blindness to exploitation? I dunno Maybe I'm just wrong in the head...

Gifts

moonmom — Mon, 30 Apr 2007 17:46:50 GMT

I just re-stumbled accross pronoia's 10'th practice. This small blip of insight served as one of my catalysts of which there have been many in the last few years. This truth I've known since before knowing, yet it has always been at work behind the scenes in my subconcious. I now give it the exhaulted position in my conciousness it deserves. I have seen it spin migik in my mom's life, as the practice of 'service', and in the gift ecconomy of Burningman (which is more spiritual then ecconomic). Good things open up, when given the permission to do so. Yes, yes, yes. I suppose it also answers the question I had for Ram Dass, that I never did get to ask: How do you love everyone? ~Love wisely Pronoia's 10th practice; Become a rapturist, which is the opposite of a terrorist: Conspire to unleash blessings on unsuspecting recipients, causing them to feel good. Before bringing your work as a rapturist to strangers, practice with two close companions. Offer them each a gift that fires up their ambitions. It should not be a practical necessity or consumer fetish, but rather a provocative tool or toy. Give them an imaginative boon they’ve been hesitant to ask for, a beautiful thing that expands their self-image, a surprising intervention that says, "I love the way you move me."

Oh Lordy!!! Yes, please!

moonmom — Tue, 20 Mar 2007 23:04:02 GMT

Ever since the Belly dance revival of the 70's the whole art went slipping down hill into a redundant cliche of dissasociated femininity and mundane vegas style girly fluff... that is until recently when a bunch of awsome rebel girlz took it back. Back to it's true organic nature, back to the earth, the blood, and the fire. It is now the domain of the goddess, the guardian of the mysteries. Whatever manifestation the dancer embraces within herself....because it is herself. It was about time!!! These chics ROCK! http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=-1982095803392606273&hl=en

Sad for this injustice

moonmom — Mon, 26 Feb 2007 01:22:02 GMT

The amazing talented Jade Blue Eclipse, an acrobat, contortionist and alternative circus freak is now being sought by federal authorities. An illegal alien since her mom left her here at 13, she has left a trail conflicting identity and false information. By using an unused identity in order to work, she now is seen as a nameless threat to homeland security, this beautiful, awsome genious has fled her community to avoid facing indeffinate prison time. It's wrong that this has beffallen her. I wish I knew how we could help http://www.sfweekly.com/2007-01-24/news/a-twisted-tale/full

"Ophelia was a demigodess...

moonmom — Wed, 31 Jan 2007 02:24:19 GMT

...in pre war Babylon" There is something unseen, that firmly and quietly stands between me and my fully actualized self. At 18 I was a belly dancer and a gymnast, then with one 5 second bad decision from atop a high dive broke my back. You'd never know now by looking, but the impact stayed. Like the sea witch said to the little mermaid, "you will have legs; move with the utmost grace, dance beautifully, but every step you take will be agony for you"....And so it became, I continued, and slowly compromised with fate; gave up pieces of self...bit by bit. These bits confronted me at Burningman one year while watching the areal fabric class, my whole soul leaned toward it...but, I did not move to join. (my big passion since I was 5 and saw my first circus was to be an acrobat). Later on the dusty playa I sat resting...re visioning loss, when a strong and beautiful creature sat down beside me, and asked if I was alright, I said I was. She handed me water, and asked what i did...with some irony I replied "I'm a dancer"... it's the truth. She smiled broadly and said "me too"....we enthused about dancing, areal arts and passion...I told her I'd passed by the class, she said "oh, but we're doing it again tomorrow, you must come"....sadly i mentioned my brokenness. Then, with aknowledgement that was not pity, she said she'd done the same damage to her back. I was surprised, but delighted that someone so fully actualized and vital was dealing as I was, with dualities of pain, and empowerment. we'd both been cautioned to stop dancing by well meaning 'professionals'...but in the end knew in our hearts, that when you stop moving, you turn to stone. We understood each other in that moment, in a way I am seldom understood by anyone, ever. There must be so many others out there...dancing carving beauty from stone, in spite of the effort. Others that are reconciling art and pain, neuroquirks and community, medical restrictions and the desire for wild abandon. I need to learn from this fire and ice...how passion and beauty mingle, with limits and boundaries. Now I know why I always cry at 'Lord of the rings' when Arwen is chased by the Nazgul. for me it is a personal metaphor. The strength, and beauty of her unwavering determination, avoiding with complete grace, the clutching bony fingers of everything that represents ruin and despair (and succeeding). I suppose I got off more like Phrodo, with some real damage, rather then that powerful girl I almost was. But in a parallel universe I am a circus acrobat. "projected through five flaming hoops to wild and shocked applause"

Wow....maybe I'm not so alone after all

moonmom — Sat, 02 Dec 2006 23:14:52 GMT

Reading a testimonial from an old friend...then looking at some others too.... I realise I'm in thick with who I wish to be, who I share meaning with and maybe my corner of the planet is not so small, after all..it's pretty warm feeling here now

On Being Outcast

moonmom — Mon, 23 Oct 2006 02:37:56 GMT

As long as I remember, like since preschool I was different. Oh not special in some special way, or obviously gifted...just odd...dreamy...no sense of propriety. I spent most of my time alone, it was a mutual agreement between me and my peers. I played with only the other strange ones...the quirk list is long. Then I found my bliss in road trips, dancing under meadow stars, sharing body fluids....alone yet not alone practices of oneness. Now I'm all 'grown' and I feel like I'm back in grade school with my kids, and all the people and forms I don't fit. I'm weird. I am all pieces of self when I speak to strangers it's like I must focus myself to form a whole...out of fragments of broken stars... in my alone/not alone times I am a liquid I hear meadows calling lovemaking dissolving spirit and bone music reweaving the beats of my heart Yet I smile, focus, and try my hand at small talk While my mind spins rivers of dream I'm losing the few people I love and trust right now, it feels so strange to be disconnected from them, they are my experiences. I wonder if I will evaporate?

Oh my fucking god!

moonmom — Fri, 11 Aug 2006 22:19:53 GMT

I'm in love with my ipod. There's a never ending dance jam in my brain!!!! I didn't know it would be this good. yes, yes, yes........ Soulseek is my guru http://www.slsknet.org/

Ouch

moonmom — Sat, 22 Jul 2006 17:39:51 GMT

why must these things always be so complicated?

My little rock star

moonmom — Thu, 20 Jul 2006 21:24:16 GMT

As written up in the Eugene Weekly with acompanying photo Do we really need to tell you that the joyful extravaganza of music, fairy wings and general happiness that is the Oregon Country Fair comes along this weekend? Anyway, uptight wonksters like us rejoice at the highlights including Amy Goodman, Winona LaDuke and Rob Brezsny on the political spoken word front, while some of our compadres are pumped about the kids-only music wall and others are looking forward to the food, hemp lip balm and other manifestations of the divine cosmic spirit available at the vendors and on the stages. We have a whooooooooole section about the fair, starting on page 12, so pop over & read that! After you see the Calendar, of course.

Just a rusty tin coat hanger hanging in space

moonmom — Tue, 20 Jun 2006 23:27:35 GMT

Diving like a mole back under the blankets, laundry flies everywhere nice dark warm places mattress turned to soft comfy side, I may never leave....unless they turn off cable. perhaps I'm gestating a friend said I need a buffer...maybe I need a bumper. a buffer does sound nice...something kind and benevolent between me and all the edges...something soft...like blankets.... that's the problem with being a grup, no one is the pure comfort of mom, or the protection of dad...you're just hanging there in space...hopefully having internalized enough love and wisdom to show some to yourself. I bounce between mother and daughter inside...and my inner father? If I'd had one, what, I wonder would he add to the mix, a feeling of safety, rightiousness, honor?

Neuro Quirks: A Love Story

moonmom — Thu, 08 Sep 2005 21:34:39 GMT

My biggest thought this year Been thinking a lot about this one. Every guy I've ever wanted, every friend I've ever made, every passionate love affair I've ever been swept by, has been with someone with intensely strong traits of both ADD & ASD. I realized recently that all my great loves were this way and all my future ones would probably be also. I realize now what I thought of as attractive qualities were basically symptoms, not to diminish their appeal, I still find them irresistible/cute/funny/eccentric/obsessive and sexy. I was thinking I was a woman who chose unwisely, then I realized it was who I was, and these folks were who I actually wanted in my life. I cannot seem to connect with neurotypical people. I love the eccentric ones, they call to me in crowded rooms, across great distances, they are the ones I see clearly out of all the rest. Apparently there's this place that giftedness, ADD, ADHD, & ASD's all hang out, no one can really make up their minds what to call it. But there's an awfully smart group of people out there...not following the flock... What're ya gonna do? With a little practice I can see 'em coming now and know how to handle the adult melt downs, endless repetitive conversations, moody silences, obsessions, impulse control issues and social inappropriateness, it can be fun.....really. The flip side is, that sensory issues sometimes indicate an extreme sense of sensuality, obsessive can be wildly creative and social inappropriateness is often an adventure. I see stuff now that I wouldn't have seen before, can modify my assumptions of what someone means by something by adding some of what I've learned. It has helped, I am way more patient and consciously accept that I value these relationships (the most)...even when they are difficult. In my acceptance, I have more clarity and choice. Like what set idiosyncrasies are a darling joy to be around no matter how irritating they can be, and which are a dangerous combination of obssessiveness and self destruction. Believe it or not I get drawn equally to both since they share the same root system. Now I can see differences, not trust so blindly in my instinct to bond indiscriminately with that energy when I find it. I accept responsibility, and participate gladly.

My artwork

moonmom — Fri, 19 Aug 2005 21:37:10 GMT

I just posted my art on 'All Around Art' tribe I have never shown my stuff. I'm super nervous. Um...eek...

Monotropism and ecstacy

moonmom — Wed, 29 Jun 2005 20:25:25 GMT

Monotropism & ecstasy My thoughts Are some of us wired for rapture? Polytropism = Many interests active at a time ~neurotypical: Polytropic thinkers tend to have multiple interests aroused and accessible at any one time. Monotropism = One interest active at a time ~monotropism is central to the autistic spectrum. Monotropic thinkers are less able to have many interests co-active at once and thus informatively accessible. For them finding their way through a changeable and multiple world is confusing. It can make figuring out what’s going on very difficult...disorienting. These uncertainties around every corner cause emotions to run high for monotropic individuals, who are easily overwhelmed. Primary emotions tend to be; curiosity, fascination, and stress related anxiety & depression. Ecstasy or rapture seem also to be emotional states of monotropism. While monotropic thinkers experience these emotions easily and deeply, they may also occur in polytropic individuals. monotropic creativity, In his study on creativity at the University of Technology Sydney. Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi studied artists, or with those that were "creating meaning". Many of them described an "ecstatic state" during the creative process: a feeling of being outside of what they were creating with their hands. In fact the word 'ecstatic' comes from Latin for "stand to side". Csikszentmihalyi accounted for this feeling of being consciously outside of the creation, as due to the limits of consciousness; that at higher levels of consciousness the more mundane aspects become subconscious in order to restrict conscious attention to the number of items it can manage (monotropism). So a pianist described not noticing the room, his hands, the keys, the score, but rather being conscious of only "being one with the music and expressing emotion". This type of ability only occurs without the distraction of the usual conscious feedback system (polytropism). A major constraint on people enjoying what they are doing, is always being conscious of a fear of how they appear to others, and what these others might think. Ecstasy includes rising above these constraining concerns of the ego. If monotropism is a natural attribute of those on the autistic spectrum, then there is within this group, the innate ability to (quite unconsciously at times) to slip into this state of ecstasy without the usual distraction that polytropic thinkers encounter. Even if monotropic thinking creates difficulty with multitasking and organizing reality, it seems to have qualities most cultures recognize and value. 1 in 100 is a high number for this neuro variation to occur, begging the question of a biological need for it. Art, music, poetry, leaps in science and technology, are all the result of monotropic states of consciousness. Autistics, having this intensely focused monotropic experience so easily accessible, explains some of the leaps of creativity and imagination among those now thought to be on the autistic spectrum. Many such as Mozart, Einstein, Edison, Poe, and even Bob Dylan are now thought of as being on the Spectrum. It also sheds light on the obsessive artistic, musical, and intellectual ability present in many autism spectrum children. They hit their flow and are off, absorbed, one with the experience. Often quite suddenly and with a lack of self awareness that sometimes puts them at risk, they are gone, taken by that process to who knows where. Each of these quotes illustrates the main theme here, underlying or explicit, of this rapturous tendency, in AS people. - Temple Grandin, Thinking in Pictures Time stood still, and I was totally, completely disconnected from reality. Maybe this was nirvana, the final state of being that Zen meditators seek. It was a feeling of total calmness and peace until I was snapped back to reality when the plant manager called me to come to his office. - Donna Williams, Nobody Nowhere ...from the earliest I can remember I found my only dependable security was in losing all awareness of the things usually considered real. In doing this, I was able to lose all sense of self. Yet this is a strategy said to be the highest stage of meditation, indulged in to achieve inner peace and tranquility. Why should it not be interpreted as such for autistic people? - Ralph Smith, The Long Swim (unpublished) I was standing by the horse barn. It was a clear autumn day. The starkness of a large naked maple tree had me transfixed. Standing there, watching that tree, I was overcome by a state of "unknowing"—catapulted, it seemed, into a world where everything appeared the same as it had the moment before, but where no name, no thought, and no sensation of personal existence was present or required. When I returned to awareness, I knew something had happened, but it was nameless; un-known; impossibly still, like death—but also a consummate relief. To say it felt good falls well short of the truth. A decade later I found references to samadhi in Hinduism, and to kensho in Buddhism, descriptions that match very closely this "event" by the horse barn. One Spiritual scholar calls it an intuitive glimpse or open eyes. In 1979 it was an unspeakable experience.