It’s not easy bobbing around on the surface of Scheherazade’s Sea. Sensory challenges are a huge feature, contributing to 90% of my existential struggle. However, if I was asked if I would give up my autistic embodiment for a life without piercing acuity of this nature, my answer would be a very vehement and resonant, “Of course NOT!” The 10% of wonderment is indescribably precious: so intense and rich in its tapestry and multidimensional juxtapositions, that realm is what many people can only refer to in dreams and fictitious stories, yet it is reality for me. And I have Someone watching over me for this part of the journey – an Angel Hound!
The sun rises earlier now, and we awoke this morning at 5.30am bathed in gentle shimmering light. Lucy is getting older, and hence less full-on energetic. I worry about her a lot, I want to give her the best I can afford, but at the moment, I can afford so little that I rely on the kindness of friends to help me along. This is temporary, of course, but time moves on regardless, and I feel a wordless ringing anxiety hovering over the subject of Lucy’s health and wellbeing. I owe it to her. She watches over me, in astute silence, thinking unfathomable thoughts, breathing in the myriad details and exhaling an undulating grace that touches my Beingness as only Lucy can.
For many years, I carried this song in my mental cave. Beyond its obvious romantic meaning, the song actually represented a kind of clement empowerment to me, a Someone who would provide just that little bit of strength and courage to face the arduous battle – that 90% of wrestling, scuffling, striving to overcome sensory gremlins and mental fatigue – and Someone who would bring an added dimension of pulchritude to the 10% of wonderment. I did not find anyone who could rise up to this Golden Standard.
But for Lucy. The fact that she is differently embodied is probably the key to this almost magical cosmic indulgence. Even though she meets me in my human realm, shamefully much more than I am able to meet her in her canine realm, nevertheless, I never want her to become humanised. Just as I never want my autistic Beingness to become neurotypicalised, despite my making far more effort to meet others in the realm of Otherness than they in mine.
Now, the song rings in my mind’s heart thusly. As George Gershwin played it, without verbal semantics (although I do love Ira Gershwin’s lyrics), but just the way the sonic components caress my senses and address the wordless echoes in my mind. Whimsical, yet mellifluous and ever so abundant with grace.