Audio available ⬆️⬆️⬆️ I originally wrote this just before I left Australia, where, despite what my heart said, peers, strangers, coworkers and eventually the police heard my experiences and pushed for me to leave a dangerous situation. I was far away from any friends or family and to leave the person I had loved, regardless of their actions and words was extremely brutal for me. It felt like a form of abandonment to him and to my nurturing nature. Reading back on this, I hardly remember writing it, so I feel like this came from a lonely red wine induced night, laying alone and confused in my swag, under the stars. Static in my mind, like an open radio transmission, waiting to be tuned to the correct frequency. A highway with no road rules. Thoughts are sporadic, intrusive, entering with no order. By the time 1 thought develops into fruition another 3 are being germinated, while another 5 have sprouted, without ever finalising the original crop, the original thought. The garden can easily become untamed. Neglecting the sowing of seeds, the pruning, the harvest. What once was structured can morph into a reckless entanglement of jungle. It’s a skill to become a gardener of your thoughts. Maintenance. Care. Intention. Growth. It is astonishing what can germinate and then lurk inside the space of 2 ears. My thoughts have kept me occupied since I was child. Without a doubt, I was and still am a natural loner. I used to want to be alone because I felt this overwhelm of anxiety around others. Nowadays, I feel I am in great company with myself. Although, depending on the crowd, it can often be more enjoyable and thought provoking to be alone. Without proper diagnosis, I suspect and have been told, I sit somewhere on the spectrum. My mind never felt the same to others from as early as I can remember. I always had a form of social unrest. I didn’t know how to fit in, it felt like an act. I couldn’t handle the inauthenticity of life feeling like a show, it was a relief to be alone. I could let my guard down and just be me. One of my earliest childhood memories was going to preschool in Mexico. I must have been around 3. I would sit away from the other children in the garden and play with the ladybugs, a natural inclination towards sanctuary and peace, calling the ladybugs my only friends. A time before any heavy personality programming, or traumas that indoctrinate specific coping mechanisms, I was merely just a child, sitting in their innocence and pure unadulterated thoughts unintentionally harnessing intuition and connection with nature. Day dreaming always came natural and my “stemming” would be these daydreams and visions, a totally wild few seconds where an influx of imagination and insight would penetrate my mind. I’d sometimes tap out of reality when I was overwhelmed, only to tap in to another overwhelming dimension of my mind. The most interesting aspect, is that from a young age this type of behaviour was not yet understood and for the most part, being different was looked down upon and generalised to make me feel as if I was dumb or “special”. In a sense, it was passively shamed upon and I remember being heavily insecure after jokes were targeted at me. It often wasn’t in a cruel way, most times, I would be called cute for my unique ticks or stemming, but still, it made me feel different. I still felt insecure, I felt I had to hide a part of myself, the way I sensed and felt the world, to fit in with the rest. I eventually learned to partly control my stems and hide them, usually finding an uninterrupted safe place to let go and channel. I wonder what would happen if people’s uniqueness and difference was praised rather than shamed. If it was trained rather than hidden. Supported, rather than shunned. Nowadays, the word is trending and every other person claims to be neurodivergent or autistic which made me curious to research the roots and how past societies may have understood this. “Autism wasn’t formally recognized in ancient societies, as the concept of autism, as we understand it today, didn’t exist. However, many cultures had roles, myths, or social structures that might have included or even valued people who exhibited behaviors now associated with autism.” “In some ancient cultures, people who were unusually focused, introspective, or “different” in social behavior might have been seen as possessing a unique connection to the divine or spiritual world. Their solitude, sensitivity, or intense focus could lead to roles as shamans, mystics, or oracles. Ancient Egyptians, for example, believed that people with certain unusual characteristics might have a special connection to the gods, and similar beliefs existed in early Celtic, Native American, and other indigenous cultures.” “Some ancient societies valued individuals with focused skills particularly in crafts, mathematics, or record-keeping. Ancient Greek society, for instance, respected those with intellectual pursuits, and many temples or courts employed people as scribes, astronomers, and mathematicians, who might have been neurodivergent by today’s standards.” I feel our engineers, artists, athletes and geniuses of the world sit somewhere on the spectrum, perhaps their environment tended to their “mind garden” in a more supportive way, encouraging their roots to sprout into full blossom. I also feel like a lot of great minds were lost to this indifference. There’s a type of depression that introversion brings forth. A certain unexplainable and continual loneliness. When I was younger, life’s complexities overwhelmed me, developing the skill to filter through unsanitary thoughts was a necessity and PTSD survival skill. The mind can easily become a gutter, stagnant, unhygienic slosh, that holds no purpose. It becomes heavy and eventually something in the foundation breaks. There’s a certain empowerment that takes place when we start to filter out the bad and channel the good. Of course, negative thoughts will always arise… However, it is training ourselves to understand that these are just thoughts, not facts and just as easily as they come, it is also possible for them to just as easily go. If not, repetitive thoughts shape shift into beliefs and implant themselves as facts. I suppose the empowerment takes form in the separation. Separating which of these thought patterns has purpose, which thought has power. Which thought do you want to water and give life to? It is important to master the skill of discernment, but it is equally just as important to master our understanding and relationship around power. I am not sure if power is a one way road or a straight forward answer. It is interesting because power is unique to each person. In my personal opinion, I think power should be held and led through the heart. I feel true power is ripe with divinity. However, it doesn’t need to be so spiritual. Purpose doesn’t need to be a shiny, polished result that waves its hands and needs to be acknowledged, praised, studied or rewarded like a trophy. In a society that places heavy emphasis on being successful or popular, I think purpose and power is often found in the shadows of humanity. In the depths of oppression and depression. Personal power is an inner knowing and it ranges from person to person. You can find empowerment from a plumber, just as much as a guru. Empowerment shifts like seasons as we grow and expand, it changes as we witness the world. It’s a continual evolution. What gave you power 2 days ago, may all of a sudden change. Sometimes it’s love, sometimes it hate, but there’s always an essence where the power stemmed from. I believe we all have an inner compass towards truth and more often than not, I am internally attempting to navigate that compass. I find myself often in self doubt. Sometimes I am incapable of understanding my experiences. I’m insecure and imperfect, self critical, yet there is beauty in that sacred act of humiliation, it leads to humbleness and for me, the winds may howl, the skies may hail and the roads may flood, but I tend to always come back to my internal garden. To my safe space. The source of life. Some days I find my garden overgrown and I have to roll up my sleeves. Other days, it is perfectly tended to and I can pull up a chair and basks in its glory. Regardless, it is the notion and belief that we have this garden. That we have this space inside ourselves, a place of purpose. A place of power. A place of growth. A place to plant whatever seed it is that drives your heart. Sure, my take is poetic and metaphorical, but I hope everyone believes in that place. I hope they find the courage to continually check in on their foundation and nurture their garden and then… I hope they visit it, frequently. This is my verbal busking corner of the internet. If something here resonates and you feel like tossing a bit of change into my digital hat, you can support my writing by following the link below. Every contribution helps keep these reflections alive. Click here to Support Get full access to Tales From the Gyp at cheneetharpe.substack.com/subscribe
