Welcome to Holland

I am often asked to describe the experience of raising a child with a disability – to try to help people who have not shared that unique experience to understand it, to imagine how it would feel. It's like this…



When you're going to have a baby, it's like planning a fabulous vacation trip – to Italy. You buy a bunch of guidebooks and make your wonderful plans. The Coliseum, the Michelangelo David, the gondolas in Venice. You may learn some handy phrases in Italian. It's all very exciting.



After months of eager anticipation, the day finally arrives. You pack your bags and off you go. Several hours later, the plane lands. The stewardess comes in and says, "Welcome to Holland."



"Holland?!" you say. "What do you mean, Holland?" I signed up for Italy! I'm supposed to be in Italy. All my life I've dreamed of going to Italy.



But there's been a change in the flight plan. They've landed in Holland and there you must stay.



The important thing is that they haven't taken you to some horrible, disgusting, filthy place, full of pestilence, famine and disease. It's just a different place.



So you must go out and buy a new guidebook. And you must learn a whole new language. And you will meet a whole new group of people you would never have met.



It's just a different place. It's slower paced than Italy, less flashy than Italy. But after you've been there for a while and you catch your breath, you look around, and you begin to notice that Holland has windmills, Holland has tulips, Holland even has Rembrandts.



But everyone you know is busy coming and going from Italy, and they're all bragging about what a wonderful time they had there. And for the rest of your life you will say, "Yes, that's where I was supposed to go. That's what I had planned."



The pain of that will never, ever, go away, because the loss of that dream is a very significant loss.



But if you spend your life mourning the fact that you didn't get to Italy, you may never be free to enjoy the very special, the very lovely things about Holland.

Written by Emily Perl Kingsley


To read more beautiful and heartwarming autism poems click here.

I Can’t Remember

I can’t remember
skipping rocks on the beach
My childhoods forgotten
My childhoods lost.

Going to the doctor
Making mud cakes
Playing with friends in the street.

I can’t remember
All the bereavement
My childhoods forgotten
My childhoods lost.

The doctor doing surgery
Me getting pain pills
I can’t remember any of it
None of it’s clear.

I still can’t remember,
How it’s gone
My childhoods forgotten
My childhoods lost.


by Jamesha Willis

A WARRIOR IN CHAINS

WHEN

A WARRIOR'S

SPIRIT IS WHOLE AND STRONG

HE IS NOT AFRAID TO DIE

IT'S OF NO AVAIL

TO THREATEN A WARRIOR WITH DEATH

FOR DEATH HAS LITTLE MEANING

TO LIVE

A WARRIOR NEEDS

FREEDOM

FOR IT IS THE INDIAN WAY

TO ENDURE

A WARRIOR NEEDS

THE RIGHT

TO FREEDOM OF THOUGHT

A WARRIOR TAKES

CONSOLE IN THE

SACRED PIPE

FOR IT IS HIS RELIGION

LIKE A DIEING POOL

OF WATER

A WARRIOR BECOMES STAGNANT

WITHOUT FREEDOM OF EXPRESSION

FOR IT IS

THE

INDIAN WAY

A WARRIOR PERISHES SILENTLY

ALONE

FOR HIS PEOPLE CANNOT

HEAR HIS WORDS

WITHOUT THE FREEDOM

OF COMMUNICATION

IN PRISON THERE ARE

FEW

HUMAN RIGHTS

MY BED HAS BEEN A CONCRETE

FLOOR

MY BLANKET HAS BEEN MY

OWN BLOOD

I SURVIVE

WHILE THOSE THAT

ABUSE ME ARE

HONORED

BUT I AM NOURISHED BY

THE GREAT SPIRIT

EVER TRUE AND UNWAVERING

I DO NOT FEEL LOST

I AM NOT ALONE AND WEAK

MY PRINCIPLES REMAIN

STEADFAST

MY BELIEFS REMAIN THE

INDIAN WAY

by Bobby Garcia

My Love Reveals Objects

True Love Ways from ne033x on Vimeo.

my love reveals objects
silken butterflies
concealed in his fingers

his words
splash me with stars

night shines like lightning
under the fingers of my love

my love invents worlds where
jeweled glittering serpents live

worlds where music is the world

worlds where houses with open eyes
contemplate the dawn

my love is a mad sunflower that forgets
fragments of sun in the silence


by Isabel Fraire

Far Away In The Near Distance

Far away in the near distance.
Stands a dream with no signs of resistance.
This dream exists in each and every one of us.
Yet we look back and forth.
Truly trying to understand.
Who is this weird man.
Talking of dreams and man.
I speak of happiness and peace.
If we all could understand.
We kill one another.
Then ask the question why we struggle.
If life is given.
Why not give it a chance.
Love and forgiveness a dream we all can agree.
Is something you and me can see.
Far away in the near distance.

by Edward Morales

Seven Great Love Letters

1. Ernest Hemingway to Marlene Dietrich

"I can't say how every time I ever put my arms around you I felt that I was home."


 2. Napoleon to Josephine 

 "Since I left you, I have been constantly depressed. My happiness is to be near you. Incessantly I live over in my memory your caresses, your tears, your affectionate solicitude. The charms of the incomparable Josephine kindle continually a burning and a glowing flame in my heart. When, free from all solicitude, all harassing care, shall I be able to pass all my time with you, having only to love you, and to think only of the happiness of so saying, and of proving it to you?"


3. Frida Kahlo to Diego Rivera

"Nothing compares to your hands, nothing like the green-gold of your eyes. My body is filled with you for days and days. You are the mirror of the night. The violent flash of lightning. The dampness of the earth. The hollow of your armpits is my shelter. my fingers touch your blood. All my joy is to feel life spring from your flower-fountain that mine keeps to fill all the paths of my nerves which are yours."


4. Georgia O'Keefe to Alfred Stieglitz  

"Dearest - my body is simply crazy with wanting you - If you don't come tomorrow - I don't see how I can wait for you - I wonder if your body wants mine the way mine wants yours - the kisses - the hotness - the wetness - all melting together - the being held so tight that it hurts - the strangle and the struggle." 


5. Beethoven to his 'Immortal Beloved' 

"Though still in bed, my thoughts go out to you, my Immortal Beloved, Be calm-love me-today-yesterday-what tearful longings for you-you-you-my life-my all-farewell. Oh continue to love me-never misjudge the most faithful heart of your beloved. Ever thine. Ever mine. Ever ours." 


6. Oscar Wilde to Lord Alfred Douglas  

"Everyone is furious with me for going back to you, but they don't understand us. I feel that it is only with you that I can do anything at all. Do remake my ruined life for me, and then our friendship and love will have a different meaning to the world. I wish that when we met at Rouen we had not parted at all. There are such wide abysses now of space and land between us. But we love each other." 


7. Henry VII to Anne Boleyn  

"But if you please to do the office of a true loyal mistress and friend, and to give up yourself body and heart to me, who will be, and have been, your most loyal servant, (if your rigour does not forbid me) I promise you that not only the name shall be given you, but also that I will take you for my only mistress, casting off all others besides you out of my thoughts and affections, and serve you only. I beseech you to give an entire answer to this my rude letter, that I may know on what and how far I may depend. And if it does not please you to answer me in writing, appoint some place where I may have it by word of mouth, and I will go thither with all my heart. No more, for fear of tiring you." 

You Have A History

You were only six
But your eyes seemed hundreds of years older
And when you asked me if the lines on your palm told your future
I couldn't help but laugh
Because, babe, you had it backwards.

The curvy one growing up from your wrist is the stem
You were once a flower
And the zigzag striking across your palm is the path
You were lightning
The squiggly one that dances from the base of your thumb to the pinky
Isn't it beautiful to know how to fly?

Remember you were a bird
And the ebbing lines running across it all
Waves, you were the most wonderful sea
The ones slowly sliding down from your first finger
Paint.

You were god's masterpiece
Then, finally the short, straight, horizontal
Lines rushing all too quickly across your fingers
Oh, isn't it obvious?

Human.

What I Have Lost

I know through the years

There were good times and bad

Unfortunately what hurts

I remember the bad

I’ve disappointed you

In so many ways

The drinking, the drugging

Almost forgetting your special day

I know you’ve lost trust

Today is a new day

I’m sobering up

While missing you the same

The days are getting better

I’m recalling the good days

I know that this year

I’ll remember your special day

by Jill Smith

Paw Prints from Heaven

Though you can't see me, I am always around...
Though you can't hear me, I am speaking to you...
Though you can't touch me, I am reaching for you...
The images you see, but cannot explain...
The energy you feel, but cannot see...
The love that you feel, when thinking of me...
My presence you feel, when walking outside...
My hugs remembered, never let go...
My heart that I gave you, that you now wear...
The things you are seeing, that no one can explain...
And the things that you hear, with no one around...
These gifts that I give you, are my Paw Prints from Heaven.

- Romeo

Hope

Hoping for peace on Earth;
Wishing upon shooting stars;
Taking chances to make things right;
Helping others, and listening well;
Making problems disappear;
Giving heart in all we do;
To give love, and never take;
Will give us hope; and one day peace.

by Abegail Samson

Echoes of the Heart

There are echoes I hear, old songs in the dark
of the Indian ways, of long ago days,
still heard all around, in our valley below...
Where their dreams of tomorrow, are still sung by the lark....
 
As the twilight would come, under a red setting sun,
with the fragrance of loam, and the tired walk done... 
they would bed under trees where the heather was strewn
they would burn a small fire, and prepare a warm meal,
with smoke in the breeze, while the whippoorwill's song
would, drift by the face of the moon

On their heels was the dust, in the noontime sun
They journeyed from tribes from the dusk of the past, 
wearing the colorful hope of tomorrow's new task 
Moving to where the buffalo roam
Then moving again, to find a new home

There are echoes I hear, old songs in the dark
of the Indian ways, of long ago days,
still heard all around, in our valley below...
Where their dreams of tomorrow, are still sung by the lark....

by Carrie Richards 

Addiction

Blindness.
A cloud of ignorance encompasses me.
Nothing can distract me from my dream.

Nothing... except -
The newfound hope of a better future
That overshadows previous fantasy.

Looking back, it's somewhat sad -
Everything that could have happened, but didn't,
Everything I was missing over the past four years.

True, there's anger - there's hurt.
But only for a while. Now I focus
On the wonderful blessings God has given me.

What I have now is *wholesome*,
And infinitely more worthwhile
Than anything I imagined I *might* obtain.

I was infatuated to the point of stupidity,
And would sacrifice anything for slim possibility...
Because I believe in miracles.

*Yes*, I believe in miracles -
The miracle that I could want something better for me,
And that my addiction paved the way for my brighter future.


by Amandanette

I Believe In Love

" dreaming about you is not a sin ....
I will have your heart ...
believe me I'll win ...
I'll show the world that I can do it ...
I will reach you ...
reach the summit ...
I will bring the stars for you ...
cross the seas and deserts ...
make every dream you have true ...
It's days ... It's years ... I don't know ...
I believe in love ...
it is the source of all miracles ...
It is the hearts stove ...
it is the hope candles ...
to enlighten the the way of the night ...
who will break the walls of hopelessness ...
and reach you ... touch you hands ...
and dance with you ... the final dance ...
it will never happen again for me ...
it is one and only ... "

by Oaljararha

Our Deepest Fear

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate.
Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.
It is our light, not our darkness
That most frightens us.

We ask ourselves
Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous?
Actually, who are you not to be?
You are a child of God.

Your playing small
Does not serve the world.
There's nothing enlightened about shrinking
So that other people won't feel insecure around you.

We are all meant to shine,
As children do.
We were born to make manifest
The glory of God that is within us.

It's not just in some of us;
It's in everyone.

And as we let our own light shine,
We unconsciously give other people permission to do the same.
As we're liberated from our own fear,
Our presence automatically liberates others.


By Marianne Williamson

The Invitation

It doesn't interest me what you do for a living.
I want to know what you ache for,
And if you dare to dream of meeting
Your heart's longing.

It doesn't interest me how old you are.
I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool
For love, for your dream,
For the adventure of being alive.

It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon.
I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow,
If you have been opened by life's betrayals,
Or have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain.

I want to know if you can sit with pain,
Mine or your own,
Without moving
To hide it or fade it or fix it.

I want to know if you can be with joy,
Mine or your own,
If you can dance with wildness
and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes
Without cautioning us to be careful, be realistic,
or to remember the limitations of being human.

It doesn't interest me if the story you are telling me is true.
I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself,
If you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul.
I want to know if you can be faithless and therefore be trustworthy.

I want to know if you can see beauty
Even when it is not pretty every day,
And if you can source your life
From its presence.

I want to know if you can live with failure,
Yours and mine,
And still stand on the edge of a lake and shout to the silver of the full moon,
"Yes!"

It doesn't interest me to know where you live or how much money you have.
I want to know if you can get up after the night of grief and despair,
Weary and bruised to the bone,
And do what needs to be done for the children.

It doesn't interest me who you are, how you came to be here.
I want to know if you will stand
In the center of the fire with me
And not shrink back.

It doesn't interest me where or what or with whom you have studied.
I want to know what sustains you
From the inside
When all else falls away.

I want to know if you can be alone
With yourself,
And if you truly like the company you keep
In the empty moments.


By Oriah Mountain Dreamer

Please Hold Onto Hope - A Personal Message from ne033x

Many of my friends and family know the "history" I have with my ex, Dara. Her drug addiction, and to be fair - mine too. I ended up quitting, and she didn't. She ended up literally losing everything, including her baby boy, Blaze, who I helped raise. I haven't spoken much of the details, but just know that for the past many months I have tried my very best to deal with an absolutely broken heart. You have no idea. I was in Blaze's life since he was just a few months old - changed his diapers, and tried my very best to show him a good world. He was my little buddy. And, he still is - will always be.

In the end, it wasn't about me and Dara, but this little child. He was taken away from his parents and put into foster care, and rightly so. It all depended on Dara to get clean to save him. I tried so hard to get her to realize this. I got frustrated often - even going so far as to tell her that Blaze doesn't deserve this, and that it was her fault. Not a day passed where I did not worry what Blaze was thinking of all of this. This is sense of pain and sorrow that no words can ever describe. What I have been dealing with.

Anyhow, a couple weeks ago, Dara came over and told me she was going to check into treatment for her drug addiction. I was so happy. BUT, I've heard it all before, so I just hoped it was true. She was that beautiful Dara I fell in love with, and I was just floored. I told her that I would literally do anything to help her with this. Well, she cleaned up my house, took care of me, and then all the sudden she was gone. I assumed she went back to her junkie buddies, and at this point, I literally lost all hope. If you watched my Queen music video, that's the story behind it. http://youtu.be/C0dKQrjkHEc

So, I didn't think it could get any worse, but it did - losing all hope in Dara getting better, and for saving Blaze from this bullshit he's had to see. Everything was now a pure struggle for me - just the simple act of getting out of bed in the morning. I felt lost, and everything just seemed hopeless.

Until yesterday...

The first thing that happened was - that morning - me admitting to one of my closest bros that no one understands the bond that Dara and me have. And, I know she's upset cuz I feel it. But, I can't do anything anymore cuz we'd came to the end of our journey together. I remember him telling me, 'you don't have to tell me what you and Dara have because I know.' And, it's the truth - Dara is my soulmate - we both know this. And, I am going to help illustrate this point.

About noon, a friend of mine stopped by and in conversation she brought up that she thought Dara had went to treatment after all. I was shocked - I said, "WHAT?" And, she told me that she didn't know for sure, but she thought Dara had went into the drug treatment program.

About an hour later, I go to my bro again, and I told him what I heard. I told him that I really needed to know for sure because it would literally change everything! I called my friend back and she told me Dara won't even be able to call or write for fifteen days, if she was in treatment. All I could think about was that I needed to know for sure - so I could stop trying to hate someone I love so much.

About an hour later, a call came from a Portland, Oregon number. It was Dara. The first thing she said was that she had this strong feeling that she needed to call me. She convinced the staff there that it was an emergency and called me from the office.

Man! Here's where my "manhood" comes into question because I started crying the minute I heard her voice. She'd been clean and in treatment for 5 days already, and she liked it. It was not as hard as she thought it would be. She has her own little apartment, and Blaze will be there in a couple weeks. Yes, it's a family drug abuse treatment program. She's in another city, far away, and she said the program will last months. I reassured her that I would literally do anything to help her with this! She needs anything - she better ask!

Anyhow, I know in my heart and soul that the change has taken hold of her life. This is a miracle. This is - literally - all that meant anything to me in life right now. We both told each other, 'I love you', and I am so happy. And, I'm writing this as an example.

Miracles do happen!

Compassion

Angels must be confused by war.
Both sides praying for protection,
yet someone always gets hurt.
Someone dies.
Someone cries so deep
they lose their watery state.

Angels must be confused by war.
Who can they help?
Who can they clarify?
Whose mercy do they cast to the merciless?
No modest scream can be heard.
No stainless pain can be felt.
All is clear to angels
except in war.

When I awoke to this truth,
it was from a dream I had last night.
I saw two angels conversing in a field
of children's spirits rising like silver smoke.
The angels were fighting among themselves
about which side was right,
and which was wrong.
Who started the conflict?

Suddenly, the angels stilled themselves
like a stalled pendulum,
and they shed their compassion
to the rising smoke
of souls who bore the watermark of war.
They turned to me with those eyes
from God's library,
and all the pieces fallen
were raised in unison,
intertwined like the breath
of flames in a holy furnace.

Nothing in war comes to destruction,
but the illusion of separateness.
I heard this spoken so clearly I could only
write it down like a forged signature.
I remember the compassion,
mountainous, proportioned for the universe.
I think a tiny fleck still sticks to me,
like gossamer threads
from a spider's web.

And now, when I think of war,
I flick these threads to all the universe,
hoping they stick on others as they did me.
Knitting angels and animals
to the filamental grace of compassion.
The reticulum of our skyward home.


By WingMakers

Go With The Flow

If the sky above seems cloudy
and you are left out in the rain
If you are searching for a rainbow
but the colors bring you pain
If your world is not revolving
and there is no end in sight
If yu are looking for the sunshine
but all you can see is night
If all around you are smiling
but all you can do is frown
If you are tired of all this living
because life just brings you down
Then look beyond your teardrops
at the wonders of this land
The beauty of a flower
like velvet in your hand
Feel the air around you
the smell of fresh mown hay
Laughing children in the park
the innocence there at play
Imagine floating with a butterfly
as she flutters between the trees
Or the whispers of the ocean
on a warm summer's breeze
Think of the taste of cotton candy
as it melts upon your tongue
Or the melody of morning birds
as they greet the new day with a song
Remember words of beauty
told in your mother's embrace
Feel the gentleness of her touch
as she softly kissed your face
See the good within you
cast the clouds from your sky
Don't look toward the pavement
but hold your head up high
Think not of what life owes you
but of all you have to give
Forget about tomorrow
then you can start to live
So bless this day you're living in
with the gifts you can bestow
Don't disregard the stream of life
GO GENTLY WITH THE FLOW....

A Bikers Prayer

May the sun rise in front of me.   

May the rain fall behind me and the wind follow me.

May the angels of my brothers and sisters who have gone before me 

Guard my travels, 

For they know the perils of the road ahead of me.

Keep me safe through the rough city streets 

On my way to the land of the swirling turns and rolling hills.

Let the turning colors of fall keep me warm. 

Let the eagle guide me to the mountain tops. 

Let the Moon's light guide me through the night.

May my tires not fail me, nor my engine grow old. 

May my bike draw life from the streams I pass.

Keep my seat soft and my mind sharp. 

Let the air of spring breathe life into my soul, 

To journey to another adventure 

Beside my brothers and sisters.

The Performance

The last time I saw Donald Armstrong   

He was staggering oddly off into the sun,   

Going down, off the Philippine Islands.   

I let my shovel fall, and put that hand

Above my eyes, and moved some way to one side

That his body might pass through the sun,

And I saw how well he was not

Standing there on his hands,

On his spindle-shanked forearms balanced,   

Unbalanced, with his big feet looming and waving   

In the great, untrustworthy air

He flew in each night, when it darkened.

Dust fanned in scraped puffs from the earth

Between his arms, and blood turned his face inside out,   

To demonstrate its suppleness

Of veins, as he perfected his role.

Next day, he toppled his head off

On an island beach to the south,

And the enemy’s two-handed sword   

Did not fall from anyone’s hands   

At that miraculous sight,

As the head rolled over upon

Its wide-eyed face, and fell

Into the inadequate grave

He had dug for himself, under pressure.   

Yet I put my flat hand to my eyebrows   

Months later, to see him again

In the sun, when I learned how he died,   

And imagined him, there,

Come, judged, before his small captors,

Doing all his lean tricks to amaze them—

The back somersault, the kip-up—

And at last, the stand on his hands,   

Perfect, with his feet together,

His head down, evenly breathing,

As the sun poured from the sea

And the headsman broke down   

In a blaze of tears, in that light   

Of the thin, long human frame   

Upside down in its own strange joy,

And, if some other one had not told him,   

Would have cut off the feet

Instead of the head,

And if Armstrong had not presently risen   

In kingly, round-shouldered attendance,   

And then knelt down in himself

Beside his hacked, glittering grave, having done   

All things in this life that he could.

by James L. Dickey