reflets dans l’eau

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stille nacht

2018 was unexpectedly obstreperous and brutal. A vast, swirling, seething, somewhat inebriated ominous monstrosity ingurgitating every attempt at hopeful rejuvenation, each ounce of vim and vigour slowly inhaled into its impenetrable mucilaginous dark cavern, leaving limp, brittle skeletal remains crackling in the sizzling heat of unrepentant tyranny, unrecognisable construal of once fierce passionate and spirited determination.

Advocacy has extracted its ponderous price. What irony, for one who never set out to be an advocate anyway. It is too arduous and violent for gossamer wings, too loud for tender ears, too rough for quivering fingertips.

Yet, where there is life, there remains slithers of flickering hope. And my life is not yet over, albeit saved time and time again by a Canine Angel whose existence beside me surpasses all reason, all logical apologia.

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whispering hope

My minuscule whisper to the grand cosmic gyration for 2019? Time to reflect, rest, and retreat gracefully into Clement Space: art-making, embracing pulchritude, tasting each nuanced fluttering of time moving rhythmically through wordless interstices.

shifting sands

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2018 is coming to an end. Another year has gone by. Laboriously long yet flashing by almost unnoticed. Ironic and paradoxical, yes.

What is “family”? Who are “friends”?

The frames have shifted through the years, sometimes shuffling along unfolding slowly and other times abrupt and sharply decisive. People once considered family have now drifted into the nebulous dark mists of hell and damnation, frothy flotsam and jetsam, haphazard filigree patterns on a dirty old blanket. Demarcations have moved, and others once existing in a blurry background now come into focus. Friends, too, have come and gone, riding wave upon wave of change.

This Autistic Bunny is happier than ever before, more content with the noshments on the buffet table than any previous memory serves. The ghosts of Christmases past still flit around, awkwardly slashing the benign atmosphere as if in feeble attempts to remind me of their continued existence on a blighted and beleaguered earth. Yet, they fail to cause any real damage to Clement Space – an ecology of grace, comfort and wellbeing.

The world rages ever on and on, angry swirls of unmet expectations, unfulfilled striving, and the quest for more and more, and yet more – bringing with it a vicious cycle of destruction and chaos, jealousy and meticulously sharpened hatred.

Yet, for now, despite and perhaps even because of the trepidation and uncertainty, tribulation and impecuniosity, threat of loss and prospect of stark challenging change, a ‘newfound’ (over the last decade or so) clarity has arrived, of the various components and constituents of love, goodness, loyalty, acceptance and undeserved favour.

And… for now… very much treasured, every single moment of this blessing, I have Lucy Like-a-Charm.

Meandering thoughts for the season. Thank you for wading through this with me. Wishing Every Bunny a Beautiful Holiday Season!

only an expert

The Autism Grand Circus Industry has grown out of proportion. Tiresome and tiring, depending on where one happens to be standing. Everyone claims expertise – from the Autism Mom who has written a few books based on their observation of their own child/children and now goes around giving talks and dishing out sage advice about autism, to the learned non-autistic professional with many degrees in Autism, everyone is an expert dealing with the Autism Problem. Everyone, that is, except the Actual Autistic person. Autistic people are mysteriously ignored and sidelined in the Autism industry. A phenomenon so strange that it is almost eerie.

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Can magic mushrooms cure autism?

Talking about bone-chilling, I recently found this in a webpage of a business specialising in “treating” autism. The alarm bells rang loudly when I saw “Chelation” and “CD Water”. Then I did some research on the various “Dr” people named in this letter, and found them all to be promoting expensive dubious ministrations aimed at “shedding”, “recovering” and “overcoming”. Some of these involve injecting the autistic child with unregulated substances, others focus on dietary interventions, all couched in complex-sounding pseudoscientific terminology. Is your blood curdling yet?

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An autistic friend of mine has been valiantly trying to educate parents about snake oil sales pitches, dodgy programmes and harmful approaches to fixing the autism problem. Very brave person indeed, because he was variously derided and chided, treated like a foolish child, instead of someone worthy of respect. I often wonder, do these same parents even have the mindfulness to ponder this: If you treat autistic adults this way now, what kind of world are you preparing for your autistic child to grow up into? Is this how you’d want others to treat your autistic child when they become autistic adults? Or are you gambling all you’ve got on the great “cure” casino floor, thinking it’s going to be fine, your child will be rid of autism by the time they become adults, and hence they will not have to face this kind of demeaning and crushing ableism?

I honestly find it difficult to fathom what goes on in these parents’ minds – there, I admit it, I lack Neuronormative Theory of Mind! It is excruciatingly difficult to be thusly illogical and unthinking. Yet, I am told I should empathise a little more, “slow down” and allow others to catch up. My doctor says it’s good for my heart – you know, that strange squishy squashy rhythmically driven organ responsible for pushing blood around the body? Yes, that one.

Perhaps 2019 will be a year of “slowing down”, but in a different way: that is, finding Clement Space inside gentle things, wondrous connections and conversations with the material universe. I love my autistic world, it is a pulchritudinous eco-system, but the crass, grating vibrations of the normative realm is at odds with autistic tranquility. Too many experts. So little space for Beauty.

reciprocate

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I dance because I cannot walk…

Should a disabled person have to apologise for not performing according to ableist constructs?

Should a wheelchair user apologise for not zipping up steps and not running marathons?

Should a deaf person apologise for using sign language instead of the spoken vernacular?

Should a blind person apologise for feeling, touching, smelling and listening to the world instead of seeing the way the sighted do?

Why, then, should an Autistic person apologise for not performing to normative social standards?

Who writes the librettos? Who pens the symphonic blue prints?

Look me in the eye!

Don’t stare at me for goodness’ sake!

Sing when you’re told to sing.

Stop singing when you’re told not to sing.

Do not flap, you look silly!

You need to learn to self regulate!

You’re crying for nothing again.

Can’t you see I’m hurting, how insensitive can you be?

All the world’s a stage… but who directing the Grand Theatre?

Autistic Thriving @TEDx Pickering

 

“Autistic Thriving” – Dawn-joy Leong & Lucy Like-a-Charm. (Captions available on Youtube – please turn on cc option.)

Apologies for not posting this earlier.

“Just what you being made ‘aware’ of? And where are the Actually Autistic voices in this grand cacophony of opinions and interpretations?”

love me

 

An old friend. Probably the only one left from that era of innocence. A little petite dinner. A small humble celebration. Love. No need for big glamorous party. I don’t want many many flittering fluttering bits flying around my sphere, making me nauseous and giddy. Happy with just one old friend, a takeaway meal, and two mini little cakes for dessert – to celebrate my very obscure arrival on earth.

 

Love me, or leave me. Simple as that. Many have left, others have entered the clement spaces. New and old, a blended grace. And there is now Lucy Like-a-Charm. I am content.

happy birthday Bunny

Yesterday was my birthday. 53 years ago on this day, the Autistic Bunny was introduced into the soggy boggy sparkly world.

53 years later, still trundling along but such a difference it makes, with a beloved companion, the most precious of all life’s gifts. A Gift from Cosmic Heaven.

How did we spend this day? Continue reading

the greatest of all is Love

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the greatest gift

Something I posted in my Facebook page awhile ago that I’m putting out here, after weeks of pondering. Why did I hesitate to make public my own views, since I’m not the kind who is usually ‘hush-hush’ about biting honesty? Perhaps because of the overwhelming aggression displayed by both sides of the argument, but most especially the judgemental religious factions. I already suffer deep trauma, PTSD, from my experiences in the Christian Church in which I grew up – why dig all that pain up and fling it around, why uncover the mental, emotional and physical agony? But silence – especially on issues that matter to my own moral compass – will not bring me additional healing or redress for the heinous crimes I suffered at the hands of Organised Religion. So here it is. Public utterance. Continue reading

activism, advocacy vs clement space

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Yawning angel

This Autistic Bunny is not mired in meaningless repetition from “having autism”. This Autistic Bunny is mired in frustrating, seemingly futile repetition due to the utter lack of empathy and/or regard of the non-autistic world. Especially the ones who congregate around the money-spinning, job producing, status boosting Autism Bandwagon. Armed only with the medical model and little to no understanding of lived-experience, they declare themselves ‘experts’ and sell their ‘expertise’ in myriad ways to desperate ignorant non-autistic parents, students in institutes of higher learning who start off wanting to do good and make a difference, peers in academia who know nothing so just readily accept the viewpoints of these ‘experts’, and politicians in positions of governmental power.

What kind of ‘Autism Crisis’ is this? Not created by autistic persons for sure. But autistics are trying their best to clear the flotsam and jetsam that is being tossed around in seamless repetition by the non-autistic world. How do we even move forward one step at a time, when each step is a perilous risk?

To be clear, I say this again. I am not an Autism Activist. I advocate, somewhat passionately and vigorously, only because there is so much rubble strewn across each and every pathway that I need to clear the rubbish before I am able to venture forth. One just cannot safely and smoothly walk along paths that are chockfull of hazardous waste. I am no expert in bomb disposal, and I’d much rather have safe spaces to live in so I can focus on creating my art and doing meaningful workshops to help people, but what else can I do if the way forward is a minefield? Each day, I feel I am neglecting the very Being that is keeping me alive, giving me sustenance in a way no human creature ever can. I long to retreat into that space of clemency where I can commune with my Lucy in our soul enriching elemental empathic way. Yet, I have to sally forth into that awful domain of autism advocacy, speaking the truth where nobody dares or wants to, and all just to ask for basic respect and true inclusion.

I do worry about being blown up someday by one of the mines I am trying to clear. I do this for myself, for other autistics, and mostly to benefit the next generation. 

What kind of world do you hope for your autistic, neurodivergent and/or disabled child to live in, what kind of tomorrow? Today is not good enough. We need to work on a safer, gentler Neurocosmopolitan world.

…. yes… But what am I doing to and for the Pulchritude that lies in my bed so steadfastly preferring life-giving energy to this tired autistic soul? I owe her a debt I am never going to be able to fully repay. My Lucy Like-a-Charm.

lucy+art+food

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What do a black Greyhound, multi-art expression, and food have in common?

They are all close to this Autistic Bunny’s heart.

Autism advocacy. Disability advocacy. Trying to throw open the windows of tightly closed minds. Mistaken as threat. Tokenised and patronised. Writhing and spinning round and round, ploughing the miry fields of repetitive human social-political gyrations. Trudging through the cesspools of normativity. Wiping away the spit of jealous competition, meandering through lies and subterfuge. The burden of participation in humanity’s Theatre of Absurdity can wear the trembling soul down, and the spirit is too easily crushed and fragmented under pounding cacophony of noisome people-ing.

Continue reading