Intolerance

What makes us name call, roll our eyes, call somebody disgusting?

What makes us recoil at a person who doesn’t conform to societal norms?

The plus-sized women dancing in bikinis, men swirling in skirts,

I say ‘us’ because it isn’t ‘them’. Intolerance is within us all, but why?

Photo by James Wheeler on Pexels.com

I wonder if it’s to do with our own insecurities.

A person at ease with their innermost self, the same inside

as outside, the living embodiment of their own values and beliefs,

a person who looks in the mirror and thinks ‘this is who I am meant to be’,

a person who lives not for the approval of others but for

the approval of their own pure, untainted self, would

not be disgusted by another living soul because of such trivialities.

I wonder if it’s to do with jealousy. To see another unfettered,

wearing what they like, choosing their gender, living

their own best life, may cause us to feel resentful, perhaps.

I mostly live my way, pushing aside the voices from the past

that manifest as guilt and shame, and heading towards the light

that comes from inside. When I do, I see the light

inside everybody. I call it God and I cannot judge.

Intuition

Your heart is alive; I know this

by the way you change your grandson

gently enough to nurture him and firm

enough to keep him from rolling off your knee.

I know this by the way you speak of your special needs child

who could go into residential care but you do it all

yourself, because you love the bones of him.

I know this because you are ferocious when this

government, yet again, lets your boy down.

You, on the other hand, you who call her ‘scum’,

who turn away as her child stims loudly in a supermarket,

who call yourselves poor as you cash in your Air BNB profits

from the spare cottage on your estate. You who

complain about immigrants and scroungers,

who want everything to stay the same, the way

it’s always been, how it used to be, how it suits you,

you are the walking dead with already rotten hearts.

Redemption

In these monochrome days I breathe my way to a still lakeside

where all living creatures retreat into sandy banks and underground spaces.

Out there, my spirit has sung with sounds of orca,

the curling fingers and wise navy eyes of my three newborns,

a halo of shining hair as my three year old ran towards me and

pinpricks of warm energy rooted me to the freshly cut grass.

I have communed with others so completely that I could not

tell you where I ended and they began. As a speck among

craggy mountaintops and volcanic wastelands, and even here,

in the silence, so far within that each atom is a universe,

I hear the rhythmic harmony of the stars.

Daughter

Flung together into the ocean,

some found safety,

some disappeared from sight

and some stayed alongside her

as she clung, disrobed and

white-knuckled, to debris.

The future shrank to terror, of

salt-eyed thrashing through

mountainous waves and needle-sharp rain.

Darkness tore her to unearthly spheres,

ravening lions, bulls of Bashan,

starless, infinite stretching of night.

Hands beneath, above, around, she

gasped at raw morning air and

saw the faint, tangerine-tinged horizon.

Real

Every second there’s a death of self,

a death of the people we were

a second ago

and a line of ghost selves stretch out

behind as we surge forward,

or ahead as we fall back.

When we stop and breathe

in the present,

all the shades, of our children,

parents, teachers and friends

are forever gone,

were never there,

and nor were we.

Good Friday

Where we end and where the

emptiness begins is unknowable. 

The Kingdom of Hell is within us.

Is us.

Panic rises from the darkness.  We have

lost ourselves.  We, the melancholy,

the bittersweet, who feel each moment

as a loss. 

From inside our skins we observe

laughter and joy bubbling up in others

but we are too heavy to move towards them.   

Our babies smile and our hearts are

broken by the sweetness of them.

 

Slipping away

You clung to life

like a hunted seal on a rock,

but now your grey-blue eyes are as

faraway as Nan’s were. 

Slack faced.

So tired. 

The rock has become the danger. 

War is rife.  Soldiers swarm into your

home.   Strangers lurk in the street and the

people on the TV are seeping through

but you lost your words and just

on the other side, through the veil,

where your sad eyes linger, is

safety and rest.

May the road rise to meet you,

long-lived child.

May you find peace. 

May you, like your mother before you,

find your way home.

Neurotypical privilege

(and don’t eye roll at me)

The fact that many people would eye roll at this title is because of neurotypical privilege. Just the same as a running friend eye rolls at the term ‘white privilege’ because he has it. We were out running when he stated that he’s going to scream the next time anybody mentions white privilege, because he grew up poor and got stopped by the old bill as much as any black person, on account of his youth, gender and style of dress and speech. But when I pointed out that it would have been worse for a black boy from the same council estate, he refused to acknowledge this.

I know that I have white privilege. I know this because I’ve never worried about people assuming that I don’t speak English, I’ve never been asked where my family oiginate from and I jog around Newark on my own without any worries about racist abuse. The odd bit of sexist abuse, yes, but never based on my skin colour. I educated myself about racism in the UK after BLM, which is sad, because I’d not done so before, but at least I’ve done it now, although there’s always more to do. But recently I have worked with several autistic young people and have come to a realisation that neurotypicality is also a privilege.

Our world revolves around neurotypicals. Our ways of handling conflict, dealing with business, forming relationships, making friends, attending social occasions and sitting exams at school is all based on neurotypicality. Over the past few months I have tutored four young people, all autistic, in their homes, and got to know their families. I have seen how they suffer. Here is the gist of some scenarios that occur in our mainstream schools.

A neurodivergent child feels deeply uncomfortable with eye contact, physical touch and excessive noise. In a loud room with multiple conversations and sounds, the noises blur together into a confusing stream of input. This is common with autistic children, and the teachers have all been informed of this and it is on the child’s EHCP (education, and health care plan). Teachers are paid to read these documents and to adapt teaching strategies for each and every child in the classroom. Of course it’s impossible to deliver 30 different lessons, but neither is that necessary. It’s about delivering the content whilst adapting to individual children and their needs.

‘Look at me!’ demands the teacher. The child looks at the teacher’s right shoulder, which is the closest he can manage without feeling unbearably stressed. ‘You aren’t listening properly!’ says the teacher. ‘Look at me when I’m talking’. The child puts his head on the table, overwhelmed, and is then banished from the classroom.

On another occasion this child is eating his lunchtime meal when another child leans across and spits in it. The child shoves away the food and stops eating. The other child pushes him and shouts, ‘Miss, ***** isn’t eating his lunch’. The child is scolded and reminded to eat up. By this time he can’t even explain that his dinner has spit in it, and he is covering his ears and starting to groan. The child is cajoled further into eating and crawls under the table where he sits, rocking and groaning. Other adults come and drag him from under the table and carry him off to a room to calm down. By this time he is screaming and a video is sent to the child’s mother to show how badly behaved he is.

The child ends up having no school because school is too distressing and the staff state that they can no longer meet his needs. Special school? Possibly – if he can travel fifty miles a day when there is one adult in this family with one car and three other children who go to two different schools. Oh – and he hates travel. The child ends up out of school on a waiting list for home tuition through an agency or the local authority, with no friends, no extra-curricular enrichment, no Duke of Edinburgh, or sport, or music lessons, or cultural capital, nothing but the four walls and a walk outdoors if the parent is not too depressed to face another day of not being able to work, or support the family, or function in a world that seems to hate her and her autistic child.

Special school places are few and far between. Autistic children don’t enjoy sitting in mini buses with loud music and chatter. By the time they get there after a half hour journey, they are already on high alert and triggered. Mainstream schools don’t cater to them very well and label them as naughty, challenging or weird.

Even the so-called ‘high functioning’ children struggle. Many neurodivergent young people simply don’t understand the way that neurotypical people function in the world. If you think about it, we are the odd ones. We skirt around issues, we avoid saying what we mean, we lie all the time, and we make up nonsensical rules about gender, like a false binary, which is frankly weird. Of course I am aware that many neurotypical people reject the gender binary, but it remains that more neurodivergent people experience gender dysphoria.

A neurodivergent young person I recently worked with talked about this openly when I opened the conversation by asking what their pronouns were and was told ‘they and them. I’m non-binary and thanks for asking’. This young person is studying gender and is more confused by the false binary than by the allegedly complex queer theory that, to them, is actually obvious. The queer theory stance is that sex is biological and nothing more. The fact of the matter is that even biological sex is not as simple as binary opposites. There isn’t even a binary opposition in the biology of our bodies! There are six really common biological sexes. XX is female. XY is male. There is also single X, XXY, XYY and XXXY. It’s easy enough to research further, but the point is that nothing is EVER as simple as we neurotypicals like to make it out to be.

As for gender, queer theory posits that it is a performance rather than anything to do with our bodies. Gender is how we live, how we present ourselves and how we feel on the inside. The word ‘gender’ became used instead of ‘sex’ because of the naughtiness of the word ‘sex’, but it originally refers to the idea of ‘type’ or ‘class’ and is much broader semantically than biological makeup. We neurotypicals love to classify things and ‘gender’ offers a classification for people so that we can conveniently box them up, label them and I suppose control our understanding of the world so that it’s neat and tidy.

The problem for neurodivergent people is that many don’t like neat and simple rules that actually don’t make sense. They can see that every person with a female body is a completely unique person with likes, dislikes, sexual preferences, style of dress and personal range of interests. They can see that every person with any body in fact is equally unique. It has been said by the autistic comedian Hannah Gadsby that neurotypicals are motivated by what is important and that includes gender. Autistic people, however, are motivated by what is interesting, and that really does not include gender. But neurotypical folks often get their knickers in a massive twist over the fact that a person with a male body is wearing a dress. HEAVEN FORBID. They then want to know is this a boy or a girl? What the hell is a non binary? What is this nonsense? What is the label? I can’t say ‘they’ and ‘them’; it is not grammatically correct.

Here, I would love to reference the fact that grammar was a concept invented after the linguistically anarchic times of Middle English and Shakespeare by people who wanted to impose order on the world. We call them prescriptivists. They were mostly rich, white, neurotypical men.

OK. So neurotypical privilege means that we understand the world as we see it. We know how to conform to the norms. We are mostly cisgender and do not question the gender that we were assigned at birth. We broadly fit the category that we were assigned and the way that the world has been prescribed for us and we adapt ourselves around the bits that don’t quite fit, because we can.

We also use face work in language, which many neurodivergent people find difficult. Face work refers to the multitude of politeness strategies which we adopt to make each other feel comfortable and to maintain our ‘face’ or our sense of dignity and respect. For example, when somebody says, ‘it’s cold in here’ we will offer to close a window or turn up the heating. We understand that they were not simply informing us of their discomfort. When we are asked, ‘what do you think of this dress?’ instead of replying, ‘it’s hideous’, we say ‘it’s a beautiful colour isn’t it?’ and other indirect avoidances, hedges and skirting of issues. We don’t talk politics, death or religion unless we know each other well because these topics impinge on others’ sense of personal face when there is inevitable disagreement.

The autistic young person I recently spoke with did not understand face work. A friend had been crying and complaining because she had done badly in exams, and they helpfully pointed out that she needed to do more work. Their friend was more distraught by this and accused them of being insensitive. They were totally confused, feeling that their helpful advice had been ignored. The concept of simply listening, offering a cup of tea and making sympathetic noises was insane to them. When I pointed out that the friend probably just wanted them to listen, they put their face in their hands and said, ‘It’s all so exhausting!’

The neurotypical world is exhausting to autistic people. Our language is complicated and nonsensical. I can understand why but I also understand, implicitly, why we use it. We perform a delicate dance every day of mitigating rudeness, avoiding bluntness, making others feel positive, using praise and politeness, and adopting idiomatic small talk mechanisms for the sake of oiling our social trajectory. The neurodivergent person has to learn this, because it is not implicit. At the end of a social gathering where every interaction has to be considered from a point of view that is not their own, they are knackered. Their heads hurt. From us.

I wish that autistic people could have an easier experience of life on this planet and I wish that we could all adapt so that our interactions flow more easily for everybody concerned. I am sorry that I am writing about neurodivergence when I am neurotypical and I have probably got a lot wrong. But I am trying to hammer out what I understand and how unfair it is. Just because we are the majority, we should give space, empathy and respect to everybody. And use the right bloody pronouns!

All hail the yoga nidra

I hate ‘doing nothing’ too!

After signing up to a free trial of Gaia, a platform for a host of wellbeing films and series, most of which I discovered are pseudo-scientific crap, I found that it offers a multitude of yoga and meditation sessions with a range of teachers and styles, and set about going through them all.

I love meditating and have done the Calm app, Headspace and freebies on Youtube. Guided meditation is lovely stuff and I wholeheartedly recommend it to find that bit of space, to lower the stress levels, to get a breather in the middle of a hectic day or after a period of high anxiety. However, when I did my first yoga nidra, I felt like I’d discovered Nirvana – the spiritual kind, not the band.

For yoga nidra you lie down comfortably on your back, covered with a cosy blanket and some warm socks, arms by your side, palms facing upwards, and are guided through a complete relaxation of the body. The focus is on the chakras and you are told to focus on each of them in turn, relaxing the whole body and breathing deeply.

I believe in the relaxing power of a deep breath. Science backs that one up. But chakras? People who talk about chakras have usually been regarded by me with deep suspicion. What the hell is a chakra? My suspicion may well come from a deeply Christian background but I think it’s more to do with the spiritual nature of the idea. All the talk about chi and energy flowing into the body from some mysterious source of light and love gets me huffing and eye rolling.

The first time I did a yoga nidra, though, I found myself suspended in space with no sense of the weight of my feelings, my thoughts or even my physical body. I experienced myself as filled with pure light that shone from the stars on each of my chakras. ‘I am light’ I thought, and the knowledge of this filled me with joy so profound that it brought me to tears. What was that about?

The whole experience of this practice continues to bring me a sense of deep peace and healing such that I haven’t known since the time that some beautiful Christian people laid their hands on me and prayed for me when I was really sad. They weren’t strange controlling Christians – just loving people who wanted me to feel better, and I did.

Every time I practice, I feel this weightlessness, and a sense that I am made of light. Even the thought of it makes me smile, and the more I practice the more I can summon up the feeling. When I’m anxious, I recall that I’m made of light. I delivered a two hour training session today and had been anxious about it for weeks, but for half an hour before the presentation, I breathed slowly, focused on these points on the body, and reminded myself that I’m light and free. It’s as though the me of me, the deepest core of my identity, is a being of purity and goodness, and this is a great thing to feel, given that I’ve spent most of my life feeling the opposite! It also reduces the pressure of pleasing others and worrying about what people think of me.

I don’t believe in an eternal soul and I don’t believe in chakras or anything else that isn’t supported by proper science. But I know that there is plenty of evidence for spiritual, meditative practices changing the brain and transforming the neural pathways so that we come out of the limbic system and into the calmer states that bring a sense of calm and peace.

Gaia costs £9 a month and it’s worth it for the yoga alone. I do the strength stuff as well but it’s this meditation that’s been a game changer. If you, like me, have to reduce anxiety for medical reasons or just because anxiety is horrible and unpleasant, this is definitely a strategy worth a go.

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