Aspergian Quotes from Space

Space. The Final Frontier.

These are the voyages of

the SS CarolAnn.

Her Mission?

To boldly go

Space

Uh, Houston, we have

A Problem.

This is ground control

to Major Tong.

Lost in Space

Lost in Translation

Do not adjust your television.

Help me, Obi Wan Kenobi,

You're my only hope.

I love you.

I know.

Houston, we have lift off.

SQUIRREL! SHINY!

[reboot]

Space. The Final Frontier.

These are the voyage of

the SS CarolAnn.

Her mission?

To boldly go where no one has gone before.

To sleep. Therefore to dream

Friendship is Born of Light

Once upon a time, there was a little girl whose hair had a little curl, and whose feet loved a little twirl. Spinning joyfully in sun sparkle splendor she brought into her heart and mind the fluttery whiteness of cloud and the whispery wonder of breeze. Sprawling on the grass she felt the earth spinning too, and it was good and right, to spin together with the ground and the sky.

Always seeking lightness and brightness to match the star shine in her imagination, she gazed through gauze window curtains, peeked through fire reflective maple leaves, and played piano music on the pond water which made ripples of delight for hours.

She had no idea that others did not synchronize their movement with the spinning planet around her. She did not realize that others did not dance with the breeze playing music with the oak leaves. She thought everyone knew about this type of love.

She was wrong.

After five decades mourning her loss of dance and her touching the moon beams, she keens a song of loss, howling quietly at the full moon. Then one day, her child joins her and they howl together, louder, at peace with expressing their heartache without words. Later day, a friend joins her and howls at the full moon, the white brightness casting artful shadows on her friend’s face, making new patterns of lace and loveliness there.

It was a miracle, a re-birth.

How many rainbow souls howl alone at the moon? Can we connect by riding the teasing happy wind? Can we grasp sunbeams breaking through cloud fluff and like a helium balloon lost from the grip of a child at a parade find one another in sparkies?

I am joyful, body singing lightness breath and companionship. The light shining through tree leaves is the same as the light shining through hearts, radiating from eyes, leaping galaxies from stars.

I have friends. This I know. This I trust.

Wiggle. Spin. Flap. Leap. Sing. Breathe in, out, close eyes and see the light is inside me. It’s been there all along.

Color bytes Dream 11 5 2010

I had a dream. It was stolen, painted in a time warp by Titian, lost by the Medici's, hung in the Hague, stolen by Stalin then Hitler then rescued by my guardian angel, & discovered in an attic in Harlem. The artist took a series of digital prints and posted it on YouTube, and I found my dream again. But I dreamt it in color & now it was in gray tones.

Spontaneous Planning

Birthing children

Creating family

Destroys spontaneity

Which ironically is

Required

When one has children

Planning chaos

Chaotic planning

Spontaneous grocery shopping

Meals needing planning

What is next, next, next

Spontaneous nap

during

Planned television show

Planned basketball practice

Evolving spontaneous

Snowball fight

AH yes

Holey Holy Wholly

Are there two of me

Inner prismatic light

Gentle wind-chiming music

Wafting inside

Real to me

Yet the Others

Perceive otherness

In me from me

Making me what

Who I am

Not

A robot, an Alien,

A calculating computer

Brilliant brain without

heart?

Singing I smile

Moving quick bouncing

Inside graceful dancing

The Others see me

Still

Frozen

Lost I am

Not

Can I meld outside

And inside?

Should I?

Maybe my colors and

Music are mine for

A Reason

Redeeming Grace

October 2, 2010

LifeLights, LifeJoys: Illuminating the sparklings of childhood

(July 12, 2009)

Lights.2
(Toddler Memory)

still still still
stay very still
scratching scalp, stretching hair
Now I can see
button tugging, sweater shrugging
“Go out and play”

launched into sunshine
Ah mmmmm mmmmm
eyes closed, face upturned
fingers lead hands lead arms
Up into the Light
to OPEN
mmmmm Tree appears
in heart, feet moving

Woods, aah mmmmm, touch,
sniff, head caresses bark
palms squōsh crevasses
Ah Ah Ah mmm mmm
eyes wander upward
black spikes tickling blueness
(Dead tree to adults, not me)
bottom slides to earth, back leans on trunk
Breathe Love Light Happy

glittering light playing with
hundred leaves hundred colors green
hum huu huu mmmmm mmm

still still still
stay very still

LifeLights, LifeJoys: Illuminating the sparklings of childhood

(Explaining the wee big joys within autism: CarolAnn Edscorn, Jaffrey, NH; July 11, 2009)

Lights.1

(Earliest Memory)

Want
To
Be
Over
There

So warm, so pretty, little sparkies
Dancing
So far away, and I am so small
That square of Light
Glancing
Sideways to see better

Gray shadows, muted sounds
Meaningless, unabsorbing
Movement compared to
Light

Want to be over there
Not in this wood square bars
Breathe slow out
Light expands
Suck air in
Light flickers
Staying in place
Light gone to gray
Overhead, harsh ball of
Harsh light
Not the same, look away
Laying in another wood square bars
Darkness, so dark, missing light

Repeat

Change wood square bars

Want
To
Be
Over
There

So far away, and I am so small

30 days out of 35 cloudy and rainy--so we look for gladness

Hiding gray reveals other truths
The tempered light
Opens color to eyes
Which see twilight
But the daisies shine
Not gray sadness
But riotous gladness
As the ordinary
Now takes center stage
In bright glory
Like galaxies of stars
Hidden sunshine
Explodes in uplifting white
With purple loose strife
With deep blue delphinium
Accenting the joy

Gray
Light
Joy

Where is your focus?
(July 3, 2009; Jaffrey roadsides, NH)

Processing.12 The Final Beginning

Ice ship crushing through Arctic layers
City navigating through crush of people
Walls around them each one hard
Hurts to be human, I think

Chaos of colors of faces of postures
Cacophony of winds, car horns, hawkers,
Pigeon cooings, baby cries, screeching tires,
Filtering din, discerning images fluxing
Twirling and spinning reality

Wounded healers, wounded warriors,
Wounded hearts gaping with their pain
Making patches, band aids, plaster covers
Pretending the wounds are not there

But they are, sacred blood oozing unseen
Felt, perceived, recognized
This is why they build their Walls
On the outside so I am buffeted
Pushed around, bashed by walls invisible
Real like bricks, like wood, like cement
But imperceptible to The Normals

Yet they see my walls, my interior
Walls; they want me to come outside my
Walls; but their Walls are acceptable
Their wounded, bandaged hearts
Reeking of pain, of fear, of anger
Stop building layers of hiding

Let the wounds be
Through those gaping holes pours
Light; through the piercings shines
The truth of personhood

If you want me to come out
From behind my walls
Lower yours

Mybeloved Freedom Writer friend Doug wrote this for me.

To C


Your poem like the beach
at the end of the day
everyone else has gone away
before sundown tints the waves to gold
the tide takes back
what washed up,
a sparse verse of broken shells remain

the wind speaks of space too.
and clouds put on their
peach, gray, and lavender show

A dune bird sings a one note hymn
thanking its Maker for freedom.
§ Doug Ball, 06-17-09
Sunset Beach, NC

Processing 11 Boys Noise

July 1, 2009; CarolAnn Edscorn; Jaffrey, NH; Growing up different; each poetry unit is a childhood memory

Boys
Noisy
Grinning
Sneaking
Plotting

Cute
Mysterious
Hands in pockets
Shy smiles
Approach with
Caution

So
What do I do
I get into trouble

New saddle shoes
Black saddles
White
Shiny
He steps on them
I go home
Get chastised

Biology class
Blonde boy
Smiles
Pulls out my chair
It is gone
I sit on the floor
Hard
Laughter
Not mine

What am I doing
So different
So awful
Drawing their fire
Their ire
Their mire

Immature
No brains
No gains
They think they know
Playboy hiding
A quick shove
A quicker grasp
My gasp
My breasts are
Targets
I wish I were dead

This thought becomes a habit
I wish I were dead
Can’t erase it
Can’t make it disappear
Can’t change it

Boys
What do they want
Not me

Processing 10 Friendships

(July 1, 2009; CarolAnn Edscorn; Jaffrey, NH; Growing up different; each poetry unit is a childhood memory.)


Statuesque
Bright auburn
Blue eyes glittering
Pretty and I thought
Perhaps she could be a friend
She seemed friendly
Always smiling at her girlfriends

They clustered
As middle school girls do
Chattering, smiling
Casing out the boys
Across the cafeteria
So I stood nearby and
Listened

I smiled
Nodded
Tip toed closer
Almost touching
The cluster
Of young ladies

Talking about boys
Talking about make-up
Talking about hair
I am so not interested
But I listen and nod
I smile and edge
Closer

Pretty so pretty
Are her insidez pretty too
Nearly a part of the clutch
Now
Short brunette utters
‘You are so pretty’
Shorter blond murmurs
With shy smile
‘You are sexy
The boys like you’

My chance
Lean forward
Smile
Speak
‘I think you are pretty too’

Not what girls want to hear
From other girls
She smiles from her height
Pauses
Considers
I hope
Please accept me

‘I think-
I think-your elbows are
Sexy’

Happy, so happy
She spoke to me
I have sexy elbows

The other girls are laughing
No
They are sniggering
They move away
I recognize the snigger
The purpose of snigger
Rejection

Standing alone
In the middle of this
Great big room full of youth
Full of life
Smiling
Gabbing
Relating
Standing alone

She is right though
I have sexy elbows
She gave me that gift
She cannot take it
Away
Like she can take herself
Away

I am my own best friend

Processing.9A Lost Dreams Original

(June 27, 2009: The Original Lost Dreams...Nice to compare meandering hope)

Processing
(CarolAnn Edscorn; June 28, 2009; Jaffrey, NH. Growing up different; each poetry unit is a memory.)
Processing.10
Can’t make a living forming music
Can’t make a living building words
Can’t make a living dancing
(Fall down a lot anyway)
Can’t make a living petting pets
(Don’t have one anyway)

Can’t make a living growing birch
Can’t make a living smelling roses
Can’t make a living weaving Light
(Fingers cramp anyway)
Can’t make a living painting stars
(Titanium white isn’t bright enough anyway)

No

Can’t make a living crafting victuals
For imaginary restaurant
Can’t make a living designing villas
Can’t make a living conceiving new toys
(They are still fun anyway)
Can’t make a living flying far away
(Sigh)

Be a nurse
Be a teacher
Be a secretary

Listen to words
Build another inside wall
Darken eyes another point
Kill another heart stopping wonder making laughter creating joy inducing brain engaging living muse

Am I alive or not?
Can’t make a living being me?

Processing.9 Lost dreams?

(July 1, 2009; Growing up different; each poetry unit is a memory)

Denied

Can’t make a living composing music
Can’t make a living painting images
Can’t make a living touching trees
Can’t make a living splashing water droplets

Can’t make a living raising horses
Too expensive
Can’t make a living writing poetry
Too young, too unknown
Can’t make a living smelling flowers
Can’t even grow them
Can’t make a living touching hearts

Learn to be a nurse
Learn to be a teacher
Learn to be a secretary

Can’t make a living designing cars
Someone does
Can’t make a living fixing cars
Men do that
Can’t make a living designing homes
School is too expensive
Can’t make a living dancing
Klutzy

All I love
All I see
All I smell
All I touch
All I embrace

Gone

Well-intentioned advice
Limited insights
Lost dreams of
Their own
They take away
That which becomes the
Lost dream of
Others

Me

I claim my dreams
Love family
Love music
Love dancing
Love writing

Ah, yes
Reborn

Processing 8 Adolescent autism ack

Navy brat
Not pretty but
Had charisma
Loved not liked.

Rascal
Rebellious
Reckless
Rude

Blue eyes
Piercing my heart
‘You will never be cool
Because you are not cool’

Adolescent angst
A poor platform for
Prophecy
Her rejection wounds more
than her words

At fifty-five
I am cool now
Anyway
Who
Could
Tell
Forty years ago?

I am not yet done

I am not done PROCESSING but my indomitable spirit kicks against the pricks of painful memory so I make new laughing living loving ones.

The next poem is after John Masefield’s wonderful poem “I must go down to the sea again.” It was triggered by the new film release Star Trek, which I THOUGHT WAS WONDERFUL. But long ago in a galaxy far, far away, Captain Kirk recited a portion of the poem and I had memorized it in, oh, fifth grade, when I was just getting the hang of reading. I wish more time was spent on poetry in elementary school. It’s natural rhythms resonate with the natural rhythms of childhood.

I Must Go Down: CarolAnn, June 10, 2009, Jaffrey, NH

(After John Masefield, only shorter.]

I must go off
To sleep tonight
To dreams in which
I sigh.
And all I ask
Is a comforter and
A teddy bear nearby.

I must go off
To dream this night
To snuggle midst
The fleece;
To hug my love
And count the stars
And drift on seas of green.

I must go off
To cruise the thoughts
Of heart and
Mind and light;
And all I ask
Is a dream of love
And a new dawn
Breaking bright.

Processing 7

My story
Written of war
How can a child
Write of war?
Every night
On the screen
Flickering
Images of body bags
Children tossing bombs
How could I not write?
Accused of stealing the story
I argued back.
It was my story.
But I didn’t write again
For five years then
Again for twenty.
I lost myself in their stealing
Of my truth.

Music alive to every
Molecule, every
Atom of me.
My music
A symphony of
Trees, water, sky and stars.
Oboes, clarinets, flutes
Interweaving dancing
With violins
Layers of sound
Layers of color
Children cannot write music.
I did not compose again
For twelve years and then
Not symphonies.
Music stolen must be set free
There is so much music
I lost myself in their incomprehension
Of my truth.

Trees and woodlands
Too dangerous for children
Water, lakes and creeks,
Too dangerous for children
Horses, soft muzzles,
Hot breath blowing
On my face
Running, jumping
Too expensive for children.
Touching life, smelling life,
Hearing life
Too dangerous for children
They took all my love
And left me hiding
Not touching their world
Not allowed mine.
They stole
My truth.

All my truth
taken

I think they did not mean it.
I think they did not know.
I think they are stuck themselves.
Their own dreams lost or stolen.

I want my dreams back.

Leaping with horses
Leaping through words
Leaping through magical tones
Leaping through light

I sing MY body electric
I take MY road less traveled
A rose is a rose is lost

Cannot dwell on the lost
Cannot dwell in the past
Cannot dwell swimming in pain
Cannot dwell without stars

Why are people so alone
Because they steal
And haven stolen they hoard
And what they cannot have
They withhold from all

Do they?

Processing 6

tiny tiny tiny
small small small
big stupid body
longing for small
be a polka dot
be a cell
a molecule
atom proton dancing
armadillo self

poor dumb body
draws attention
finger thrumping
on anything
bottom skutching
rocking
sniffling nose
can’t breathe

body is too big
when I reach for small
body is too small
when eternal electric waves
call me out

arms stretched out
stretch stretch stretch
big thin evaporating
my molecules dancing
singing
with air molecules
with Light


poor dumb stupid body
I will reach past you
join the tingling
music of light
sparkies

CarolAnn
Stop daydreaming
Read page sixteen

what?

(quiet—
stupid
too big
too small
stupid body—

red face
red me
fast heart
tears sneak out)

be free

when?

Processing .5

I have words now
Oh yes, fifth grade words
No one listens to them

A new Tree, maple
Awesome twirly things
Play with sparkies in
The air

Play is screaming
Play is chaos color
Play is dumb

Bird sings above
Look, delight of glittering
Greens, bright sky blue poking through
True hide-and-seek

He comes from nowhere
He is not in my somewhere
Punch
Stunned
Hate on such a young face
No explanation

Teacher:
What did you do?
Why did he hit you?

No words from me
Boy spits
You are so weird

Stomach pain
No breath
Even the Tree cannot heal
Bell rings
Torture briefly
Ends

To be continued..