soft soothing small blurry blob in burnt sienna

As I was lying in bed thinking—well, half thinking—that I need to keep up the series, my eyes welled up. For today, I am going through a major crash and have landed on #1 on the scale. All because I made one trip to Pondicherry City for shopping, yesterday.

But thankfully, I remembered that I had installed a voice-to-text app on my phone a year ago, and decided to try using it. And yay! It’s worked!

Thankfully, when I am at my lowest number on the cognition scale, the one ability I retain is being able to express myself through the spoken word. Sometimes in a rambling fashion. Sometimes in well-articulated sentences. In fact, to get through this phase, I sometimes request someone from my closest family to sit with me and just listen as I ramble away without having to censor any of my thoughts.

Many autists in severe burnout go mute, losing their ability to speak. But thankfully, I am not one of them. In fact, the opposite happens to me. I can speak endlessly. Chatter away. And somehow, I feel lighter. I’ll share my understanding of why this happens to me in a later post. Now, back to my sharing about my #1 zone.

My head feels tight and jammed—like a printer that has received ten print commands simultaneously and doesn't have the ability to queue and sequence them.

If I can put myself to sleep, that is the best way to cope and recover from this zone. The challenge begins when I cannot put myself to sleep and have to stay awake.

I cannot read or listen to music. Can’t sing or chant. I cannot have a conversation. Absolutely cannot talk on the phone. All sound feels like an assault.

I can’t cook or clean. Can’t take care of basic hygiene like bathing or brushing my teeth. I have to pay a lot of attention even to understand when I need to use the bathroom or drink water. My proprioceptive awareness is compromised.

I can’t do my fabric weaving. Can’t watch my favourite series on Netflix. Can’t play my phone puzzle games. Can’t exercise or step out of my room, even to my garden.

It’s not a motivation problem. It’s that my brain cannot understand the micro-steps involved in doing simple tasks. For instance, in weaving fabric (which I love doing), it cannot figure out what fabric to pick up, where to put my finger, what else I need to do. My brain feels like a computer that has hung—and the reboot button won't work either. It is a frustrating place to be.

But thankfully, my body has vague memories of the higher numbers on the scale. My memories are all rolled up into a soft soothing small blurry blob in burnt sienna—the colour of the earth I love to touch, smell and play with every day in my garden.

Hmmm…

And then I do the bhāvana of being a sick child on the Divine Mother’s lap. The Divine Mother in my life comes to me in different forms. The one who is closest to me is Mother Nature – Bhūmi (The Earth Goddess) and Araṇyāni (the Forest Goddess). I have learnt the Bhū Sūktam and Araṇyāni Sūktam, beautiful mantras from Rig Veda. Will talk about them some day. Perhaps record myself chanting them too!

I lie on the Mother’s lap, asking for strength and support. To be held. I speak to her:

What is your plan for me, Mother? What is your plan for the sensitive nervous system that you have given me? Help me understand.

I know that everything I am receiving in this life is from you. Except that I don’t always understand all of it.

I perceive some of it. Some of it is hidden. Some of it is disguised. So what is this gift of the zone #1 about? What am I to do with it?

One thing I am always shown by you, is the way to meaning.

I pray as I stay clung to the soft soothing small blurry blob in burnt sienna. The colour of the earth in Auroville I marvel at everyday.

And I am privileged. I can’t be grateful enough for the privilege of time, of the financial security that I am blessed with. Of the forest that surrounds me. Of my close family that understands and acommodates me with my limitations and unavailability in my different roles. And most importantly of all, of my ability to remember to pray while in pain.

And just as I touch this experience of gratitude, a door opens. A doorway to more light. With gratitude, there is more joy. There is less pain. Well, actually, less suffering of the pain.

There is more meaning. I still can't do any of the things I mentioned above. But somehow, now, I don't suffer as much. Maybe it is also because I expressed myself in these words here. 

My life, with its many challenges, has been more livable ever since I discovered blogging. Writing heals me. More than simply being able to empty myself, it is the knowing that my story is being offered to the collective - for its learning and growth. Whether anyone reads it or not, I have offered the energy of the words to the collective. 

And so I stay here, with my eyes closed. I pray to embrace all the hidden gifts of the #1 zone. To receive what it has to offer me. And, in time, to be able to rise above the scale.

Until then, the soft soothing small blurry blob in burnt sienna it is!