Too much to process. Assaulted on all sides at multiple dimensions. Sensory attacks from the environment. Confusing shenanigans from certain quarters that even my non-autistic, neurotypical friends shake their heads at. Discombobulation. Distress. Chaos. Disorganisation. Changes, one following another, tripping over in clumsy stretto. Fever. Smarting eyes. Ringing ears. Inflammation everywhere. Tired, tired, exhaustion.
Outside, the waves pound against my pain, incessant onslaught of nature held captive by man’s clumsy cliché: the “million-dollar-view,” the sea at the doorstep, the waves in your ear… For my senses, it is overwhelming, inescapable pummelling of chord upon chord, vibration upon vibration, tonal and atonal washes, slaps and whacks… Not at all glamorous.
Inside our little sanctuary, I hide… this private space of mind and body, for Lucy and me… a secret, invisible nook. Our single bed is far too small for two – a gangly, long-legged Greyhound and a middle aged human, albeit slight, whose aching body longs for the luxury of stretching out. Her delicate senses have rejected the make-shift bed of thin foam layered with cheap quilts on the floor. I don’t blame her. I will not be comfortable in that, so why should I expect Lucy to sleep in it, if she clearly doesn’t like it?
Lucy’s presence cuts through the thunder of the waves outside, drawing me into the safety of our little cocoon. I am listening to her breathing, her snoring makes me smile as a deep, warm glow seeps into the core of my Beingness, and I ‘hear’ her heartbeat as it travels through the surface of the bed, the sheets, towards my tingling skin. Around me is disarray. A comedic, bizarre bedlam. Yet, inside our little hiding place, the cosmos wraps around us in the softness of inexorable unfolding. And what wonderment, that this magnificent creature is bequeathed to me by the grand cosmic struggle of life and death and existence. A grave duty. I cannot give up. And so I shall not. We will do this together. We shall transcend.