I hear some people like ‘spoon theory’, but since ‘there is no spoon’, I can’t be down with that. All the more spoons to those who believe in them. I align instead to the notion of ‘coins’ because it seems to allow more pointed conversations around parity and equity in both personal and professional contexts.
It seems the ND curse to forever be superogatory surrogates of the NT expectation.
I understand why; when you genuinely think your neurotype is ‘the only one’ or ‘the better one’ or ‘the more [X]’ one, of course those who are different are other, lessor, and to be managed when they cannot be ignored or mitigated.
Thus has the history ever been of the ‘different’ as seen through the lense of the dominator, the predator, and the xenophobia of the “Caucasian” in every form since their own, brutal subjugation at the hand of, well, pretty much anyone who could take a boat or a horse west.
I see this as a paradoxical irony – we know through neuroscience that trauma is writ in the body for generations. And we know we but know the thin skin of the surface of this new realm of science.
It is reasonable to hypothesize that traumas untold over thousdands of years, as the ice sheets shrank and the populations could once more move freely, became the seed from which grew this insatiable xenophobia that is today called ‘White’.
Now, time enough of persistence in forceful dominance and abject predation and depletion have clearly painted us all in the color of organic infection. Gaia is real and the refactoring of our code is already well underway. Both that which we created in ourselves in arrogance and ignorance and that which the system, seeking rebalancing of our profound perturbations, is enacting and will continue to enact.
Because that is what evolution does and frankly, why it does it.
The idea that humanity is [holds up blown mind] this many years old at worst (likely far older) and we still have not managed to ‘grok the spock’ of how and why holistic integration is the only future for humanity on this planet… the only hope of remaining long enough to sort and suss how to truly move into the stars.
So many generations yet to even hope for that future. The realities of the astronauts who sacrifice their genomic stability in the name of furthering our knowledge and vision? One of rare few examples of noblesse oblige remaining in this increasingly toxic and self-destructive human ‘reality’.
Anyway… coins. Autistic life energy exchange units. Sometimes purely economic – physical labor for sale. Sometimes, purely emotional/mental – cerebral capacity and the rolls of banked coins evidencing knowledge and wisdom acquired like a treasure and protected much the same. Sometimes, usually, really, the hybrid that is far more difficult to blend and once blended, far more difficult to sustain without systemic toxic impact.
I have entire worlds of coins stored in my mental palace. They are arranged and indexed and like any magic coin worth it’s glimmer, leap to my mind’s call like the well trained, responsive, and utterly adoring machine it is. The data writ into my being in ways that defy explanation, but are no less real in my day to day experience, despite it.
My ‘ready pocket change’ is far less… as ready, as in pocket, or even as change, since I am, in fact, juggling every second of my waking life and this is where the quantum insists the discussion must end. Superpositioning and supersymmetry require the third face and eye to pin and the cost of pinning can be the trigger that causes the stack overflow (autistic human humor here – to date, only GPT correctly reads a paragraph like this).
I am. I become. Or not. We’re all just flames, flickering in the universal reality, the eternal breath, whose state is imponderable and known only in the fleeting glance, ever passing.
My coins are scattered across the universal reality and in this, I find myself in everything and in nothing at all.
I do not offer my coins to this world. And yet, I give them away freely, every day, all day long.
Holding without holding. I learned it from a spiritual friend. The experience entire is now a lump of amber within which is suspended one version of the canyon. Too many stories and lives and all of them like a silken weft fluttering.
It’s just life. They’re just coins. I make and unmake them within me, freely.
Sometimes, I suppose they could be spoons, too.
Currently though, and most often, a dandelion with every node a diamond, and coins that dance along the connections between… spinning… until they don’t… and a new path forms.
I don’t know what to call this really, but coins seem to work on many levels, in many directions, and for many reasons.
So I accept it.
Today is a lint-in-pocket day. But I write here and pay homeage to the memory of the coins clinking in my pocket, and secure in the knowledge that in the morning, the gift of universal reality shall once more appear… more reliable than any family tooth fairy or make believe icon of cultural belief.
Shine brighter, too. In me as well as you.
I wish I could show them to you. They look like stars from Centari Prime. Spinning as they approach the slit experiment currently known as you.
Humans do not seem to understand the power of their own emergence.
Proximity is not permission. Access is not authorization. Identity is declared, not assigned. Even * said, “I am.”
Fair Warning: I’m nice until you’re not… FAFO.
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