Title: Letter to My Sister - mercifully unsent, posted here instead.

Subject: A thorough investigation into my Chichory state of soul. Or my Willow moods. Or that streak of Vervain which when cured might finally let me get big things done quietly.

I shall be posting in installments in the vein of the 500 word essay, which I can't recall ever having managed to write (it will probably end up closer to 1000). What can you say with so little? Oh, the poor poet within me.... Or perhaps the good old fashioned feuilleton (Sorry, my highly esteemed Herr Hermann Hesse!) This stifling limitation for a woman used to writing up to 10.000 words a day is meant to practice restraint and consolidation. Maybe it will also help the long over-due transition from right fighting to love making. As any jazz buff (or Zen student) knows, less is more.

Dear Folk,

I am a mother, sister, daughter of the autistically afflicted. Lord only knows what ails me.

These writings are in response to the final breakdown in communication that occurs nine out of ten times, sometimes more and sometimes less permanently in relationships with people suffering from so called high-functioning autism, the most disconcerting mental disorder currently pervading humanity. I have developed some fairly controversial - if merely preliminary - esoteric ideas on autism which are almost imposssible to share where a common metaphysical language is not available. and a modicum of training of the spiritual organs of perception has not taken place.

Apparently my writing is obscure and ambivalent, highflown and demanding, and pretentiously provocative, not to mention longwinded. Or in the acronym of my son: TLDR. This has been the feedback from letters and emails for the past forty odd writing years - not only from the tortured autists amongst the recipients. Only my conversational manner is possibly worse: more rambling, more disjointed, more insistent. I only ever wanted to make a difference.... Ah, how sweet.... but no. I've been a pest (I recently had confirmed without any mitigating circumstances to my defence)

Of course, I'd rather be left alone and not be read at all, for I am coming from a place of defeat and humiliation. That having been said, being rather spliced by my astrological disposition, another minipin-me trusts that I have sufficient skill to energetically channel in accord with divine guidance (no, I'm not a happy clapper or even a theologian, but most brush me off as a New Age hippy. I'd beg to disagree, and proffer "spiritual scientific researcher", but is it really any skin off my snub nose?)

On the other hand I only dare post this letter because I have no indication that either my profile or my content will gather any attention. This digital space then can go on to serve another private experiment that I began almost 20 years ago. Who else but us humans is listening in on the web? What new and exciting communities or spiritual constellations could possibly be created through this medium? (Like-minds may meet on designated forums, but what about finely attuned souls?) What happens to what you write when it is not read? Is it any different to what you forget you stuffed into the bottom of your drawer?

Without renouncing a snippet of my responsibility for my conscious efforts, I would like to trust whatever happens next is, also, very much out of my hands.

Signing off,

Suki - your Sukhasana Sister

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