It's more then just you
Little Scientist
Novelist
Humanitarian
Artist
Oh the things you could do
Oh the places you could go
But she killed you
Now none will ever know
Murderer
Rapist
Drug Dealer
O the places you could go
But she killed you
Now none will ever know
Maybe you would grow up and preach
Jesus to lost nations, lead millions to Christ.
Oh the places you could go
The seeds you could sow
But she killed you
Now none will ever know
Maybe you will grow up and beat your wife,
deal drugs to teenagers,
sell death to the masses
Oh the places you could go
I'm sorry that this planet is this way
I'm sorry that this is what we do with our gifts
One life for millions
Every day we crucify hope
One little clump of cells at a time
This planet is full Beauty and Pain
Lies and Truths around every corner
Behind closed doors there are Mirages and Mirrors
Out here there are bright lights and dark shadows
I already love you with a passion
I will protect you at any cost
Now it's time.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Monday, November 23, 2009
Cabin in the Woods
I was content here in my little cabin the woods, for the most part. I -liked- the fact that winter never ended, that each morning there was a fresh blanket of snow on the ground, and the branches of the evergreen trees that surrounded my home were weighted down with white, creating an almost surreal glow in the evening. I liked stoking up a fire in the fireplace in my living room every night, and curling up with a good book. I liked the silence of the wintry woods that I had chosen for my home. I liked peeking outside and seeing the occasional deer tiptoeing quietly through the yard, and the owls that called to each other every night. These things all made me happy.
Sometimes I wondered if Spring still existed, or if the world was locked in a perpetual Winter, but I tried not to dwell on this too much.
Never mind the locked metal box under my bed, and never mind the noises it made. I'd learned to ignore the scratching sounds coming from the inside. I didn't really notice anymore when it rattled occasionally. Keeping that... thing... locked in there... well, it worked. What else was I supposed to do? Left to my own devices, locking it up in a metal box and hiding it under my bed was the only logical option at the time when it had introduced itself into my life a few years ago, quite catastrophically I might add. But I don't like to talk about that... Sure it threw a fit for nearly a month after I finally managed to get a hold of it and get it locked up so that it would stop wreaking havoc in my world. It would smack itself into the walls of the box, rattling, clanging, making as much noise as it could, sometimes causing the box to bounce around underneath the bed like a spoiled toddler having a tantrum. But eventually, the bouncing, banging, and clanging subsided, gave way to a slow, rhythmic tap, tap, tapping, which eventually gave way to feeble scratching, which eventually catered to silence, give or take the periodic fit of desperation. But those never lasted long. I would just turn on the tv, drown out the noise, and everything was OK.
Then one morning as I was walking to the kitchen to fix myself some breakfast, there you were, outside my window, looking in at me. I ignored you for a few days, but you wouldn't go away, you just kept looking in my kitchen window like a hungry stray, so I let you in for pancakes one morning. We chit chatted about the weather other informal pleasantries. I decided the company was nice, so I let you in for breakfast again the next morning. And the next, and it became a new routine for me. Our conversations flowed like mountain brook in early spring, and it was good. Pancakes and you. It worked. But it wasn't enough for you. And it was too much for the thing locked in the box under my bed. Your continued presence seemed to irk it, and every time you would leave after breakfast was over, it would begin banging on the inside of its prison, causing quite a racket that I did not appreciate but I did not say anything of this, it was my burden, not yours.
One morning about 3 months later, you had to go and break custom. I don't know why my home made pancakes, topped with real butter and syrup, fresh on a hot plate, wasn't good enough for you. I don't know why sitting in my kitchen, enjoying your breakfast and our conversation and watching snow falling slowly outside the window couldn't have just... been. You had to go there, had to ask about the box rattling under the bed. I shrugged you off that morning, but you persisted. Morning after morning, your green eyes full of curiosity and ignorance, insisting that whatever it was, it couldn't be that bad. *I* knew that it *could* be that bad, if I opened the box, and let you see what was inside. Or did I?
Did I really know? I began to wonder. What if it *wouldn't* be that bad? What if you *were* safe? What if I *could* show you, and everything would be ok? Would you still come over for pancakes? Would the dialogue still circulate with ease, or would it dissolve in awkward? Would you be disgusted and disappear, leaving me back to my solitude, just me in my cabin in the woods, watching the snow, stoking fires, reading books... alone? And what if you did decide to disappear? What could be the worst of it? I'd be back where I started... right? In my cabin, in the woods, watching the snow fall, stoking fires, and reading books, day after day.... right?
So one morning you came to my door, I let you in, fed you breakfast, and on queue, you inquired about the box. This time I didn't shrug you off, I didn't change the subject. I looked you in the eyes and said "ok." I stood up from the table, walked over to you, and reached out my hand to you. You reached your arm out and took my hand. I will admit my heart leaped inside me at that moment, when our hands met. I thought, "This must be right. He has only ever been kind to me. I can show him what's in the box. He promises not to leave... maybe if he keeps this promise I can be free. I can release what's in the box, maybe go out into the world, the two of us... and..."
I stopped my thoughts here, and focused on the moment. I led you to my bedroom and instructed you to sit on the edge of the bed. I walked to the other side, knelt down, and reached under the bed. I took the locked metal box out from under the bed, stood up, and walked back over to you. I sat down beside you, placing the box in my lap. Feeling the movement of being lifted and carried, the thing in the box was now alive and banging as strong as it could, which wasn't too bad for having been locked up with no light, food, or water for nearly 2 years. But enough that it seemed to fascinate you. I looked at you, apprehensive about your reaction. But your eyes were wide with wonder and anticipation. Open it, you said. "Are you sure?" "yes yes!" you insisted. "If I open this, please promise, even if you don't like what you see, that you won't stop coming around." You looked me straight in the eyes and said "I promise."
So, I took a a dusty key off of the night stand beside my bed, and inserted it into the lock. I was so afraid, and so excited. My heart raced with anxiety and enthusiasm. Oh, the potential disasters, oh the potential victories. All of the possibilities were racing through my mind as I turned the key. Then... it happened. The lock clicked, the box burst open, and the thing inside that had been locked up for two years, burst its way out.
The cataclysmic, life altering tragedies that ensued are too much to write about tonight. Those will come another night. Suffice it to say, I should have never let you in for pancakes. I should of closed the curtain and ignored you till you either gave up and went away, or starved, or froze, or wolves ate you.
:p
Sometimes I wondered if Spring still existed, or if the world was locked in a perpetual Winter, but I tried not to dwell on this too much.
Never mind the locked metal box under my bed, and never mind the noises it made. I'd learned to ignore the scratching sounds coming from the inside. I didn't really notice anymore when it rattled occasionally. Keeping that... thing... locked in there... well, it worked. What else was I supposed to do? Left to my own devices, locking it up in a metal box and hiding it under my bed was the only logical option at the time when it had introduced itself into my life a few years ago, quite catastrophically I might add. But I don't like to talk about that... Sure it threw a fit for nearly a month after I finally managed to get a hold of it and get it locked up so that it would stop wreaking havoc in my world. It would smack itself into the walls of the box, rattling, clanging, making as much noise as it could, sometimes causing the box to bounce around underneath the bed like a spoiled toddler having a tantrum. But eventually, the bouncing, banging, and clanging subsided, gave way to a slow, rhythmic tap, tap, tapping, which eventually gave way to feeble scratching, which eventually catered to silence, give or take the periodic fit of desperation. But those never lasted long. I would just turn on the tv, drown out the noise, and everything was OK.
Then one morning as I was walking to the kitchen to fix myself some breakfast, there you were, outside my window, looking in at me. I ignored you for a few days, but you wouldn't go away, you just kept looking in my kitchen window like a hungry stray, so I let you in for pancakes one morning. We chit chatted about the weather other informal pleasantries. I decided the company was nice, so I let you in for breakfast again the next morning. And the next, and it became a new routine for me. Our conversations flowed like mountain brook in early spring, and it was good. Pancakes and you. It worked. But it wasn't enough for you. And it was too much for the thing locked in the box under my bed. Your continued presence seemed to irk it, and every time you would leave after breakfast was over, it would begin banging on the inside of its prison, causing quite a racket that I did not appreciate but I did not say anything of this, it was my burden, not yours.
One morning about 3 months later, you had to go and break custom. I don't know why my home made pancakes, topped with real butter and syrup, fresh on a hot plate, wasn't good enough for you. I don't know why sitting in my kitchen, enjoying your breakfast and our conversation and watching snow falling slowly outside the window couldn't have just... been. You had to go there, had to ask about the box rattling under the bed. I shrugged you off that morning, but you persisted. Morning after morning, your green eyes full of curiosity and ignorance, insisting that whatever it was, it couldn't be that bad. *I* knew that it *could* be that bad, if I opened the box, and let you see what was inside. Or did I?
Did I really know? I began to wonder. What if it *wouldn't* be that bad? What if you *were* safe? What if I *could* show you, and everything would be ok? Would you still come over for pancakes? Would the dialogue still circulate with ease, or would it dissolve in awkward? Would you be disgusted and disappear, leaving me back to my solitude, just me in my cabin in the woods, watching the snow, stoking fires, reading books... alone? And what if you did decide to disappear? What could be the worst of it? I'd be back where I started... right? In my cabin, in the woods, watching the snow fall, stoking fires, and reading books, day after day.... right?
So one morning you came to my door, I let you in, fed you breakfast, and on queue, you inquired about the box. This time I didn't shrug you off, I didn't change the subject. I looked you in the eyes and said "ok." I stood up from the table, walked over to you, and reached out my hand to you. You reached your arm out and took my hand. I will admit my heart leaped inside me at that moment, when our hands met. I thought, "This must be right. He has only ever been kind to me. I can show him what's in the box. He promises not to leave... maybe if he keeps this promise I can be free. I can release what's in the box, maybe go out into the world, the two of us... and..."
I stopped my thoughts here, and focused on the moment. I led you to my bedroom and instructed you to sit on the edge of the bed. I walked to the other side, knelt down, and reached under the bed. I took the locked metal box out from under the bed, stood up, and walked back over to you. I sat down beside you, placing the box in my lap. Feeling the movement of being lifted and carried, the thing in the box was now alive and banging as strong as it could, which wasn't too bad for having been locked up with no light, food, or water for nearly 2 years. But enough that it seemed to fascinate you. I looked at you, apprehensive about your reaction. But your eyes were wide with wonder and anticipation. Open it, you said. "Are you sure?" "yes yes!" you insisted. "If I open this, please promise, even if you don't like what you see, that you won't stop coming around." You looked me straight in the eyes and said "I promise."
So, I took a a dusty key off of the night stand beside my bed, and inserted it into the lock. I was so afraid, and so excited. My heart raced with anxiety and enthusiasm. Oh, the potential disasters, oh the potential victories. All of the possibilities were racing through my mind as I turned the key. Then... it happened. The lock clicked, the box burst open, and the thing inside that had been locked up for two years, burst its way out.
The cataclysmic, life altering tragedies that ensued are too much to write about tonight. Those will come another night. Suffice it to say, I should have never let you in for pancakes. I should of closed the curtain and ignored you till you either gave up and went away, or starved, or froze, or wolves ate you.
:p
Friday, November 20, 2009
Working on my novel
Brown eyes, brown hair. Through a glass darkly, I can see her face, her eyes. Or are those my eyes, is that my face, the face I see in muddied pools of last weeks rain? The memory is........ I shift my focus to the present. I am hungry, and crouching in this building, sifting through my memories for gold is not going to ease my immediate need for sustenance. Memories of my mother are not gold anyway. She wasn't all that nice, although I suppose she did the best she could with what she had. Maybe. Maybe not.
I stand up and stretch my legs. I am in a building, that in historical times served as what was called a Pharmacy. A building where people could purchase medicines. I saw a picture of a pharmacy once. A building with bright lights, people smiling, dressed in white coats, behind counters, shelves populated with as many pills as there are pebbles, sorting them into little bottles for distribution. People smiling, exchanging paper money for their medicines. Nice clothes, nice smiles, bright lights. This building must of been at one time, like the picture I saw. Now, it's just a dark and broken shell. The shelves that would have housed pills are empty and covered in dust. File cabinets are toppled over and a smashed computer monitor next to where I stand appears to at one time have been home to a family of mice, maybe a rat. Throughout the pharmacy are empty and toppled metal shelves, broken glass, and fallen ceiling tiles. The sun begins to set over the concrete shells and slats of light shine through allies and in between buildings in a last ditch effort at illuminating my part of the planet. When the dusk sets in, I quietly emerge from my shelter, avoiding the glass and trips that I have set to alert me of dangers when I sleep during the day. Before stepping over the threshold, I stop, slowing my breathing, and focusing on sounds. It is quiet. I scan the windows of the surrounding buildings for movement. I direct my attention to a shell down the silent street and squint at a building at the end of the block. In the dimming light a figure appears in a window of the building, then moves back into the shadows. Everything else is still. I scan the street once more. Seeing no other movement, hearing no sounds, I dart across the street, and move quickly down a cracked and uneven sidewalk, then slip quietly into the building. Inside, the figure I had seen before steps out and motions to me, then slips through a back door. I follow, and once through the back door, I close it behind me. Complete darkness, then a flame. The figure strikes a match and begins lighting candles around the small room, then looks at me and smiles.
"Hello Firen," the figure says.
"Russoe," I reply.
I stand up and stretch my legs. I am in a building, that in historical times served as what was called a Pharmacy. A building where people could purchase medicines. I saw a picture of a pharmacy once. A building with bright lights, people smiling, dressed in white coats, behind counters, shelves populated with as many pills as there are pebbles, sorting them into little bottles for distribution. People smiling, exchanging paper money for their medicines. Nice clothes, nice smiles, bright lights. This building must of been at one time, like the picture I saw. Now, it's just a dark and broken shell. The shelves that would have housed pills are empty and covered in dust. File cabinets are toppled over and a smashed computer monitor next to where I stand appears to at one time have been home to a family of mice, maybe a rat. Throughout the pharmacy are empty and toppled metal shelves, broken glass, and fallen ceiling tiles. The sun begins to set over the concrete shells and slats of light shine through allies and in between buildings in a last ditch effort at illuminating my part of the planet. When the dusk sets in, I quietly emerge from my shelter, avoiding the glass and trips that I have set to alert me of dangers when I sleep during the day. Before stepping over the threshold, I stop, slowing my breathing, and focusing on sounds. It is quiet. I scan the windows of the surrounding buildings for movement. I direct my attention to a shell down the silent street and squint at a building at the end of the block. In the dimming light a figure appears in a window of the building, then moves back into the shadows. Everything else is still. I scan the street once more. Seeing no other movement, hearing no sounds, I dart across the street, and move quickly down a cracked and uneven sidewalk, then slip quietly into the building. Inside, the figure I had seen before steps out and motions to me, then slips through a back door. I follow, and once through the back door, I close it behind me. Complete darkness, then a flame. The figure strikes a match and begins lighting candles around the small room, then looks at me and smiles.
"Hello Firen," the figure says.
"Russoe," I reply.
Sunday, October 4, 2009
Autistics are Human!
I saw a program on discovery health the other day about a family with 6 autistic children. I've been turning it around in my head for a few days. They did a spot on each child and described their struggles. After processing it for a few days, I have to say that the show really was a step backwards for helping people understand autistics.
The opening scene was typical: A camera panning in on a child of about 4 laying on the child screaming, then cutting scene and switching to a child sitting on the couch rocking and flapping his hands... and the words of the narrator, "5 year old Mary lays on the floor screaming and crying while her younger brother Ammon sits on the coutch rocking, and flapping his hands. These are just typical scenes in Kirton household, where they have 6 autistic children...."
Nice. This is how they open up on autism. Now I'm not denying that autistic people have their odd behaviours and yes, temper tantrums, but it just really dissapoints me the way it's CONSTANTLY portrayed as ONLY this. And yes, this show, only showed the downside.
For an hour, they went on about each individual child's struggles. On NOT ONE of the 6 children did they cover any of there talents, strengths, or possible savants. Many autistic people have an amazing artistic, musical, memory, or mathmatical ability that defies explanation. Granted in a family of 6 children, this can be hard to focus on for the parents, but the newscasters do not have that excuse.
Autism is so much more than the screaming child on the floor, or the kid flapping his hands and rocking. For that matter, what is so wrong with that kid flapping his hands anyway? Who decided that flapping hands or rocking was an "innapropriate emotional display?" I think it's ludicrous to decide what is and isn't an innapropriate display of emotions, save actions that cause harm to self or anyone else. If an autistic is happy and wants to jump up and down or clap, if they are frustrated and want to flap their hands, I say let them. The world already restricts them enough, simply for their lack of ability to understand them.
Sometimes I think the worlds inability to understand the autistic is 75% just... they don't take the time. I think... if the world would slow down and listen they would find that most autistics do indeed have "language".
The other thing that bothered me ALOT about the program was a particular doctor that they interviewed. While they were profiling one of the little girls, who is autistic and non verbal, the doctor said repeatedly that the girl was not human!! He said she needs to learn certain language and social skills to become human. He kept repeating variations of this statement.... she needs to do this to obtain her humanity... that to be human. What???
Back to "that"? If I had a dollar for everytime a "normal" person called an autistic "not human."
I... don't have any words for that. I don't have a response. Surely readers can understand why that is SO wrong, on SO many levels. Of course the girl is human!
I guess that one hits closest because I have felt the same way as well, for many years. As an adult BLESSED with autism, I have struggled with feeling labeled not human. I have struggled to accept that I *am* human, I did not have to *earn* my humanity, I was *born* with it. It was the other people who did not get it.
I am out of time, so I will end this for now. Here's to progress for us autistics............
The opening scene was typical: A camera panning in on a child of about 4 laying on the child screaming, then cutting scene and switching to a child sitting on the couch rocking and flapping his hands... and the words of the narrator, "5 year old Mary lays on the floor screaming and crying while her younger brother Ammon sits on the coutch rocking, and flapping his hands. These are just typical scenes in Kirton household, where they have 6 autistic children...."
Nice. This is how they open up on autism. Now I'm not denying that autistic people have their odd behaviours and yes, temper tantrums, but it just really dissapoints me the way it's CONSTANTLY portrayed as ONLY this. And yes, this show, only showed the downside.
For an hour, they went on about each individual child's struggles. On NOT ONE of the 6 children did they cover any of there talents, strengths, or possible savants. Many autistic people have an amazing artistic, musical, memory, or mathmatical ability that defies explanation. Granted in a family of 6 children, this can be hard to focus on for the parents, but the newscasters do not have that excuse.
Autism is so much more than the screaming child on the floor, or the kid flapping his hands and rocking. For that matter, what is so wrong with that kid flapping his hands anyway? Who decided that flapping hands or rocking was an "innapropriate emotional display?" I think it's ludicrous to decide what is and isn't an innapropriate display of emotions, save actions that cause harm to self or anyone else. If an autistic is happy and wants to jump up and down or clap, if they are frustrated and want to flap their hands, I say let them. The world already restricts them enough, simply for their lack of ability to understand them.
Sometimes I think the worlds inability to understand the autistic is 75% just... they don't take the time. I think... if the world would slow down and listen they would find that most autistics do indeed have "language".
The other thing that bothered me ALOT about the program was a particular doctor that they interviewed. While they were profiling one of the little girls, who is autistic and non verbal, the doctor said repeatedly that the girl was not human!! He said she needs to learn certain language and social skills to become human. He kept repeating variations of this statement.... she needs to do this to obtain her humanity... that to be human. What???
Back to "that"? If I had a dollar for everytime a "normal" person called an autistic "not human."
I... don't have any words for that. I don't have a response. Surely readers can understand why that is SO wrong, on SO many levels. Of course the girl is human!
I guess that one hits closest because I have felt the same way as well, for many years. As an adult BLESSED with autism, I have struggled with feeling labeled not human. I have struggled to accept that I *am* human, I did not have to *earn* my humanity, I was *born* with it. It was the other people who did not get it.
I am out of time, so I will end this for now. Here's to progress for us autistics............
Friday, August 14, 2009
Escaping Dath
I had a dream
I was on the street in San Marcos where I spent most of my childhood. It was night time. I was at the house across the street looking out the window at my old house. Sometimes in my dreams about this place I am a child but in this dream I was an adult. Somehow the knowledge comes to me that there is a killer prowling the neighborhood. The people must be saved. I begin to sneak around and gather people up and take them to the house where I am hiding.
The killer is deceptive. I catch glimpse of him while hiding behind a bush. He is not human, he is the sillouhette of a human form but he is dark, and there is no light or any aspect of color. He is shadow but he is solid. He seems to be facing me but I can't tell if he sees me because his eyes are indistinguishable in the obscurity of his being. I am frightened because I can't tell if he has discovered me. He stands on the sidewalk of my old house, just staring out in my direction. I am terrified. Everything in me wants to run but I can't move in the off chance that he has not actually seen me yet.
The dream changes. It is very cold and there is snow on the ground. I am freezing but still afraid to move. I think I am going to die out there in the cold on the ground. I hear sirens in the distance and realize that an ambulance is coming. I get up from the ground, I think it's going to be ok now! I can gather up the people hiding in the house, and we can all escape in this ambulance! I come out from where I am hiding and look down the road as the ambulance turns onto my street. Just in time I see that the driver of the ambulance is the shadowed killer, and NOT here to save anyone. He means to deceive us all into believing that he is salvation, but he is death. I throw myself back onto the ground just as he passes. He doesn't see me, but drives on down the street with his siren and lights on, looking for victims to trick into getting into the ambulance with the hopes of being saved. The ambulance makes a block, comes back up the road and parks in the driveway of my old house. The killer goes into my house.
I jump up from where I am hiding and run into the house. They have all seen the ambulance and want to go get into it and be saved. I am able to tell them that the ambulance they saw is not salvation, it is death trying to deceive them. I am relieved when they believe me and stay in the house. But we still have to escape, because sooner or later he is going to grow bored and try to come find us. I know we can't hide forever and I need to save these people. I send all of the children upstairs and watch out the front kitchen window, desperately trying to figure out what I should do.
Finally I decide that my best option is to just make a run for the ambulance and try to take it for myself, pile the people up in it as fast as I can, and speed away. I am so scared, I can taste the fear. But my only other option is to just sit here and wait for him to come kill us all. So, I run out of the house, run across the street, open the ambulance door, and jump inside. Somehow he left the keys in the ignition.
For a moment I am surprised and confused, but when I start the engine and look up to begin driving, I realize he left them there intentionally, to draw me out, and now, as I back out of the drive way, he opens the front door and begins walking towards me.
True to form as a killer, he moves slowly and with deliberation, one step at a time, down the sidewalk, towards me.
I back the ambulance into the street and turn it around. He continues walking, unflinching, stepping off of the sidwalk into the street.
I pull into the driveway of the house where the children are. He begins crossing the street. I pull into the garage, screaming and blasting the ambulance horn. The children come running out of the house.
He has reached the middle of the street and is still approaching.
I don't have time to open the back door of the ambulance. I jump down and begin lifting them into the vehicle as fast as I can without hurting them.
He has crossed the street, and steps onto the driveway.
I get the last child into the ambulance and jump inside.
He is RIGHT BEHIND THE AMBULANCE....
I am convinced he is about to rip the back doors off and start tearing apart these poor children, I slam the door and put it in reverse. I back over him. He somehow grabs the back bumper and hangs on. I back into the street, slam on the brakes, and he loses his grip, falling into the street. Just in time. I speed away down the street. As I am driving away I look in the side view mirrorI see him pull himself off of the pavement and stare at me as I drive away. I feel I have escaped death... for now. Then I woke up.
I was on the street in San Marcos where I spent most of my childhood. It was night time. I was at the house across the street looking out the window at my old house. Sometimes in my dreams about this place I am a child but in this dream I was an adult. Somehow the knowledge comes to me that there is a killer prowling the neighborhood. The people must be saved. I begin to sneak around and gather people up and take them to the house where I am hiding.
The killer is deceptive. I catch glimpse of him while hiding behind a bush. He is not human, he is the sillouhette of a human form but he is dark, and there is no light or any aspect of color. He is shadow but he is solid. He seems to be facing me but I can't tell if he sees me because his eyes are indistinguishable in the obscurity of his being. I am frightened because I can't tell if he has discovered me. He stands on the sidewalk of my old house, just staring out in my direction. I am terrified. Everything in me wants to run but I can't move in the off chance that he has not actually seen me yet.
The dream changes. It is very cold and there is snow on the ground. I am freezing but still afraid to move. I think I am going to die out there in the cold on the ground. I hear sirens in the distance and realize that an ambulance is coming. I get up from the ground, I think it's going to be ok now! I can gather up the people hiding in the house, and we can all escape in this ambulance! I come out from where I am hiding and look down the road as the ambulance turns onto my street. Just in time I see that the driver of the ambulance is the shadowed killer, and NOT here to save anyone. He means to deceive us all into believing that he is salvation, but he is death. I throw myself back onto the ground just as he passes. He doesn't see me, but drives on down the street with his siren and lights on, looking for victims to trick into getting into the ambulance with the hopes of being saved. The ambulance makes a block, comes back up the road and parks in the driveway of my old house. The killer goes into my house.
I jump up from where I am hiding and run into the house. They have all seen the ambulance and want to go get into it and be saved. I am able to tell them that the ambulance they saw is not salvation, it is death trying to deceive them. I am relieved when they believe me and stay in the house. But we still have to escape, because sooner or later he is going to grow bored and try to come find us. I know we can't hide forever and I need to save these people. I send all of the children upstairs and watch out the front kitchen window, desperately trying to figure out what I should do.
Finally I decide that my best option is to just make a run for the ambulance and try to take it for myself, pile the people up in it as fast as I can, and speed away. I am so scared, I can taste the fear. But my only other option is to just sit here and wait for him to come kill us all. So, I run out of the house, run across the street, open the ambulance door, and jump inside. Somehow he left the keys in the ignition.
For a moment I am surprised and confused, but when I start the engine and look up to begin driving, I realize he left them there intentionally, to draw me out, and now, as I back out of the drive way, he opens the front door and begins walking towards me.
True to form as a killer, he moves slowly and with deliberation, one step at a time, down the sidewalk, towards me.
I back the ambulance into the street and turn it around. He continues walking, unflinching, stepping off of the sidwalk into the street.
I pull into the driveway of the house where the children are. He begins crossing the street. I pull into the garage, screaming and blasting the ambulance horn. The children come running out of the house.
He has reached the middle of the street and is still approaching.
I don't have time to open the back door of the ambulance. I jump down and begin lifting them into the vehicle as fast as I can without hurting them.
He has crossed the street, and steps onto the driveway.
I get the last child into the ambulance and jump inside.
He is RIGHT BEHIND THE AMBULANCE....
I am convinced he is about to rip the back doors off and start tearing apart these poor children, I slam the door and put it in reverse. I back over him. He somehow grabs the back bumper and hangs on. I back into the street, slam on the brakes, and he loses his grip, falling into the street. Just in time. I speed away down the street. As I am driving away I look in the side view mirrorI see him pull himself off of the pavement and stare at me as I drive away. I feel I have escaped death... for now. Then I woke up.
Friday, July 3, 2009
These Moments
Is it enough...
Are the small moments enough
For the mountains of hate we heap upon each other
On a daily basis
These sensesless acts wrought out of pain and confusion
The arrows shot from behind castle walls
But the walls are all the same
Can't you see it?
The walls are all the same
We are all the same
A lost and displaced race
Groping around in the dark
I don't know how
To make you join hands
And share the pain you already share
So I resolve to know nothing
Except Christ and Him crucified
Are the small moments enough
For the mountains of hate we heap upon each other
On a daily basis
These sensesless acts wrought out of pain and confusion
The arrows shot from behind castle walls
But the walls are all the same
Can't you see it?
The walls are all the same
We are all the same
A lost and displaced race
Groping around in the dark
I don't know how
To make you join hands
And share the pain you already share
So I resolve to know nothing
Except Christ and Him crucified
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
I must write about all of these fabulous things because I won't be able to sleep until I have written some of this. I have spent a very very long time in much prayer about Freedom, Freedom from Fear, Freedom from Guilt, Freedom to be ME.Like a really long time. Years. The past few weeks God has been working on my life in some very amazing ways. Some of the ways I don't realize until I apply hindsight, but when I do see it, I think it's just amazing. He's been taking me through realizing that who I am is acceptable, and that I can stop trying to emulate different versions of what must be proper.
See, ages 1 - 14 was alot of chaos and abuse and confusion. 14 - 15 was some what more structured and 16- 17 was more structured, plus I had a couple who really taught me alot of good things, worked with me on the aspergers, like how to greet people when going into a room, and how to be polite and cordial. There was alot of counseling and groups to teach me proper behaviour and coping skills as well. But I don't think 2 years was long enough to learn everything I need to know and so therefore alot of failures have taken place. Fast forward to 28, and my inability to figure out the HOWs and WHATs has left me pretty dispondent.
I've been praying for a long time for various things, most of them involve God please help me figure this out, please help me not to mess up this time, please help me to remember how to talk to people, please me to do things right, as well as expressing frustration and how He created me.But lately God has been showing me that I am OK. I'm trying not to be too repetitive of my previous blogs, and I am hoping that what I have written so far will suffice for those who have not read the other ones.See Dori, the reason I can't BREATHE is because I have been for the past 10 years trying VERY VERY hard to get things RIGHT. I spend all of my time every day trying to figure out WHAT I should filter and what is ok. I have NEVER been able to figure it out, so I basically am just worried all the time, and I generally don't figure out what things I have messed up at until AFTER I've messed them up and offended someone or something, and then I feel like an even bigger failure because I was trying so friggin hard, why couldn't I GET IT? Does that make sense?
Lately things have been to where I can begin to breathe a bit at my job bc they seem to accept my oddities and I feel I can relax more there. It's the first time I've ever had a job like THAT. Which I believe brought me to the place where I began to decide that maybe the way I was created was NOT a bad thing. Maybe it wasn't a fluke, maybe my brain is not flawed, but DESIGNED. And this gives me the freedom to do what he has called me to do, which is to write. TONIGHT was just BEAUTIFUL. DORI, I felt safe, relaxed, ok, acceptable. It was the first glimpse at life without WORRYING. Yes , I would like to breathe. I think I will begin doing this. I think the hyper focus mode has been on worrying about doing things right and being unable to figure out how. To be able to walk through my day with PEACE and JOY, this is a wonderful and beautiful idea.
To not worry about doing things wrong.
To not worry about offending people.
To not worry about how to make it so that I never never again have to hear someone say "I just don't know how to deal with you" or "I can't do this anymore" or any variation of that statements that basically reinforce everything I have previously believed about not being an acceptable human being.
Words are substance to me. It kills me. And God is so beautiful in the way He spoke to me, there was one guy at the group who started talking about how "words have surrounded you and become a chain around you" Well that was basically prophetic of where I live. I have a whole list of words people have spoken to me that play over and over and I try to form ways of how to not cause those things to happen ever again, to not make people feel this way, and I JUST CAN'T. And the words really have been a hook in my heart, because I never seem to LEARN. I guess that part frustrates me, but God brought alot of healing words to me tonight, through the people who spoke. They were liberating words that I can carry with me, that will hopefully resonate louder then the hurtful ones. Dori, I am glad God has placed you and your family in my life. And I am glad for all of the really amazing ways that He is bringing freedom and understanding to my life, and the whole joy and peace thing? I dig it. I think I can sleep now.
See, ages 1 - 14 was alot of chaos and abuse and confusion. 14 - 15 was some what more structured and 16- 17 was more structured, plus I had a couple who really taught me alot of good things, worked with me on the aspergers, like how to greet people when going into a room, and how to be polite and cordial. There was alot of counseling and groups to teach me proper behaviour and coping skills as well. But I don't think 2 years was long enough to learn everything I need to know and so therefore alot of failures have taken place. Fast forward to 28, and my inability to figure out the HOWs and WHATs has left me pretty dispondent.
I've been praying for a long time for various things, most of them involve God please help me figure this out, please help me not to mess up this time, please help me to remember how to talk to people, please me to do things right, as well as expressing frustration and how He created me.But lately God has been showing me that I am OK. I'm trying not to be too repetitive of my previous blogs, and I am hoping that what I have written so far will suffice for those who have not read the other ones.See Dori, the reason I can't BREATHE is because I have been for the past 10 years trying VERY VERY hard to get things RIGHT. I spend all of my time every day trying to figure out WHAT I should filter and what is ok. I have NEVER been able to figure it out, so I basically am just worried all the time, and I generally don't figure out what things I have messed up at until AFTER I've messed them up and offended someone or something, and then I feel like an even bigger failure because I was trying so friggin hard, why couldn't I GET IT? Does that make sense?
Lately things have been to where I can begin to breathe a bit at my job bc they seem to accept my oddities and I feel I can relax more there. It's the first time I've ever had a job like THAT. Which I believe brought me to the place where I began to decide that maybe the way I was created was NOT a bad thing. Maybe it wasn't a fluke, maybe my brain is not flawed, but DESIGNED. And this gives me the freedom to do what he has called me to do, which is to write. TONIGHT was just BEAUTIFUL. DORI, I felt safe, relaxed, ok, acceptable. It was the first glimpse at life without WORRYING. Yes , I would like to breathe. I think I will begin doing this. I think the hyper focus mode has been on worrying about doing things right and being unable to figure out how. To be able to walk through my day with PEACE and JOY, this is a wonderful and beautiful idea.
To not worry about doing things wrong.
To not worry about offending people.
To not worry about how to make it so that I never never again have to hear someone say "I just don't know how to deal with you" or "I can't do this anymore" or any variation of that statements that basically reinforce everything I have previously believed about not being an acceptable human being.
Words are substance to me. It kills me. And God is so beautiful in the way He spoke to me, there was one guy at the group who started talking about how "words have surrounded you and become a chain around you" Well that was basically prophetic of where I live. I have a whole list of words people have spoken to me that play over and over and I try to form ways of how to not cause those things to happen ever again, to not make people feel this way, and I JUST CAN'T. And the words really have been a hook in my heart, because I never seem to LEARN. I guess that part frustrates me, but God brought alot of healing words to me tonight, through the people who spoke. They were liberating words that I can carry with me, that will hopefully resonate louder then the hurtful ones. Dori, I am glad God has placed you and your family in my life. And I am glad for all of the really amazing ways that He is bringing freedom and understanding to my life, and the whole joy and peace thing? I dig it. I think I can sleep now.
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