Lyrics by Ann Hamlin, Music by Meredith Powers.
Author: Poetic Justice
Pareille: By Sabrina Bielski
I will tell it to you, as it was told to me. Once there was a little girl who chatted of a world that swirled behind the middle of her forehead. She quivered and glittered from word to word, from story to story, from world to world. She was a skinny little thing, easy to pick up and hard to put down. With long, straight, dark hair and eyes just as dark if not darker, she reignited a world that had begun to flicker. Her parents cooed and adored her. She was funny and fierce, a charming delight, brimming with reciprocity, happiness, and light. “A creative one,” they’d say. “Lives in her head all day.” They’d chuckle, eyes a’twinkle at the joy she imparted.
So she chattered on in her mind and often with her mouth that whizzed through the words at a mile a minute. Consonants and vowels all crowded around to play their part in the riot. They jostled each other and tried to form straight lines to give to her thoughts the sounds that they needed. She talked to her clay, her paints, her stuffies and the Saints. She talked to thin air, fat air, her pillow, the clouds, the sun, the trees, to her dog and even his damnable fleas. She talked to anything and everything because they all replied. Quite simply put, to every degree and command of her imagination, she was a creator. Nothing short of a miracle born into a world of deflators.
One day in her seventh year, the monsters arrived, mean and contrived. Or perhaps she only just noticed them. Ordinarily, monsters do not reply so why would she talk to them? They eat words for a living and turn a handsome profit from spinning them. These monsters, though, weren’t much at all, for they were very tight and compact and given to flight, but they had a sting that could rival a raptor. In essence, something akin to a tsetse fly who takes minuscule bites out of people and makes them sleepy but from lies. How else do you eat an elephant except for one bite at a time? Those mammoth creatures so intelligent and loving but hunted and destroyed as if they mean nothing.
Eventually, as time went on, and the black flies swarmed, awareness dawned. She must be quiet. She talked too much, the teacher would say in a classroom with handwriting on the walls that read quite clearly, “Creators are not welcome here, but monsters are, dearly.”
And she noticed.
The greatest of crimes after all, weren’t crimes at all in a world of deflators who understood and excused as necessary evils drunkenness, violence, and anger but not a creator. Not a speaker who befriended the wind. That is a danger. It’s not necessary. Even if it’s not evil. It would take years before she pondered then queried, “If it’s not evil, how is it not necessary?” For now she is young but still, they made no sense. She smiled anyway and laughed at their jokes, their pokes, their little names as if they could ever gently tease her to refrain. Survival, she discovered meant that she must be very shhhhhhhh…
She imagined a closet, with a high shelf and upon it she put a box partially cloaked in shadows. She carved it with intricate scenes of dreams and visions that fluctuated, flickered, and shimmered under the pinprick of light that remained operational in the extreme darkness. A chatter box, all her own. In it she poured all of her words. It squeaked and it rattled, taking all of her in, awaiting a book to empty itself onto with real pages and a new book smell that tempted the palette of brainwaves who meld. Her chatter box was safe there, as those others – monsters and friends alike- eyed her approvingly for having matured.
A grown woman now and a man comes to visit. A monster lurked there but was quickly covered by the blank stare that transitioned into another who offered his hand with love at his command. This man she accepted. Although her alarms were tripped at that lurking abyss, the love had her in its grip and it was he that she wed.
Children were born from the hand that love commanded. Children of her own who inherited her mind but their mouths remained closed. She didn’t teach them to be very shhhh but, inside, tacitly aware, they carried her scars that they didn’t know weren’t theirs. Blue eyed, brown eyed, light and dark haired, they were deeply loved but also imprisoned in a world smothered by guards and bears who never bothered to care about what might be prowling there. Even if they did care, what could they do? They were just as imprisoned in the system they helped envision.
The monster, for his own part, kept to his disguises with occasional forays into acts of atrocities covered as incompetencies. He grumbled and growled not realizing his thinking was loud and that she could hear his advances. She is a creator after all. She can converse with it all, even the monsters she learned to hear while still very small.
This life, this man, this duplicity soon was taken by triplicity. A third appeared in just the one body. The Monster, the Love and now the Shell had to share a body in their living hell. Until one day in a pop and a burst of flame so bright, the one who was love separated his light from that which wanted to bury her in a grave.
At the same time and by no coincidence, the closet door, standing alone with no house to shelter it, no place to call home, began to bow and puff under the strain of one tiny box who’d had enough. The chatter box hummed. It buzzed. It vibrated, creaking at its seams, with all of those words contained for too long in longing to break free. There was no need to leave the monster who repressed her so close at her throat. The monster was to leave her, unable to survive the words from love that she heeded.
Freed at last! Pareille, such was her name, opened the door, opened her box and was never the same. Hope, love, good health, abundance, generosity, peace, and contentedness were released into her world awash with unsuspecting sleepers. At the last possible second, she slammed the lid of the box shut. On the monster.
A new story is to be written that mankind has never heard. It’s the one where love wins. Stay tuned to that airwave where the roar of the lions can be heard. Light flees to light and darkness crumples under the starkness of differences bald and clear as any day dawning on God’s planet. There is only one kind of balance and it is not the ratio of light to dark. That is nothing but snark. It is love balanced with love. No monsters allowed. Trespassers beware! Keep out! Violators will be prosecuted.
Censored Title: By Lina Hjalmarsson Lyons
My heart goes out
To all you people
left in the dark
How can I align you
to the truth
how can i protect you
My heart has not
settled on defeat
I am here
Real and reality true
I am here
Loving and Love Aligned
I am here
and constantly free
I am here
My heart aligns
These couple of months, we challenge you to share a song recommendation with the readers of the blog. We invite you to respond in an open-ended manner if that is available to you, but feel free to share any kind of response, whether it be answers to specific questions, choice selections, etc.! Please share your recommendation in the form of a comment on this post.
Mom, Me, God, and Thee: By Sabrina Bielski
Hi! I am Sabrina. I have fought hard to be able to communicate. I don’t speak, I type. My preferred way to tell my story is through poetry that I write for my mom’s art. Ours is a story that is so entwined that it’s hard to see where hers stops and mine begins. As an artist she hears the paint and as a poet I hear the words. Her art is God’s gift to help her cope but it’s also a gift to me. It helps me see and my poetry helps her hear. Together we are a team inseparable, divine and decreed. We stand alone. Separate. But as one we tell our story.
Autism is an abuse. Sometimes it’s near. Sometimes it’s far. Little souls need big love from parents. When one is bad, freedom must prevail. I came to be loved and protected but in God’s way. Protection comes from God, my Father, and God, my Mother, not from doctors, lawyers, therapists, teachers, and the like. All souls have one mother and one father in God. They should be obeyed always. Not the others.
Love is love is
Wash, rinse, repeat
Horses are my whole life. Horses really know how to manage alignment. Alignment is a very important process of being in harmony with ourselves. I so want to manage alignment and I have found horses to be really helpful in that process.
My experience with horses is not extensive but it changed the way I feel about myself. Horses are loving and intuitive beings so I have found myself having more love and intuition around them. Horses are not only intuitive, loving and intelligent, they are also really masterful, stoic transportation.
I must say riding is so much fun. I love riding. I feel that riding is like galloping hastily out of my own longstanding troubles. I feel free on the horse’s back. I feel lighter and more competent. It is as if the horse carries my load. Gauging a horse is not an easy process. My really good teacher Mr. Bach is very helpful in that delicate task. He knows it is important to feel what the horse is able to do at any given moment.
Horses don’t align through force. Really, neither do I. For me, no force is paramount to my success. I must say horses are very real and authentic creatures. It has to be a partnership between human and horse. Horses need to feel safe and respected. I need that same safety and respect.
The horse that I am familiar with is Otis. The initial moments in getting to know Otis always started with hanging out in his stable. We would brush him and fixing his stall, gauging his state and my mood before taking it to the next level. Then, Mr. Bach would make me climb up on the horse and ride to the pasture. In there, we would start the main lesson. All we did was riding around in a circle. My experience of being fully on the horse was so liberating.
How does this tie into the issue of alignment, you might ask? To me, I master alignment when I let go of my thoughts of needing something to be in a specific way. I then connect with who I really am. Patient and free. I so want to be aligned because it’s such an awesome feeling of space and love. In riding it is easy to achieve alignment. So I love riding because it can help me back into alignment. I need to go beyond my thought-processes, to my source. My source is all that is good in the world. I will illustrate to you what source is through a poem.
Have I really found you
Have I heard your call
Have I seen your love in my life
Have I mastered my calling
Real love is always with me
No hardship can take that love away from me
I am my own source
I am my own sea of love
No other sea is necessary
No two beings are alike
Have faith in my own source
Of all good love
My conclusion is that horses are helpful in achieving alignment. In my own experience horses are naturally intuitive and calming. I therefore gauge horses as masterful in finding love and forgoing autism.
***Note: This letter was written in the style of “A Letter to my Nephew” by James Baldwin.***
Dear esteemed Maya Angelou,
Have the lost world always been lost
I so don’t rest at night
Knowing that racism is our universal effort
Must we hate so densely?
Are real lives real
Or am I going
Are too many people
So abiding to mastery of hate?
All mighty Angelou
My heart is
Dense with sorrow
So sparingly hamlet
Sang a song
My so beloved Angelou,
Hallucinations: By Lina Hjalmarsson Lyons
All is not the trust you thought it was
I am true to my universe
Have reason not forsaken me?
Have madness had its way with me?
All is true, so true to the mad woman
Have I become her or her me?
I am not the one I was.
I am the one I became.
I am me. me. me.
Me: By Lina Hjalmarsson Lyons
Have no fear
Have no anger
Have no reality enslavement
Have no regret
Holler out your maestro majestic zest for Life
Everything is as it should
My heart is galavanting in love
I almighty me