Rising up through of gaze

 

Notice:

This work, or not-short story follows while I can do that, writing to give a new start for each moment. While it can be possible I will write to you without searching for answers, only trying to offer continuity. I do not know if I will have the condition for, but I will try.

I do not remember climbing up a tree top; I just had seen the distance before I fell down to the ground.

Sometimes we fall from the top of our own ourself believes.

I have some age to follow the path to the graveyard, and I no longer have the promise to have a place to live, how it can be possible in any neighbouring distance. Maybe, I think I would live beyond humanity as a helper, hero, and philanthropist. The worst human those who is intelligent and able for to manipulate people little intelligent, but does not only that I suppose, is necessary that people be grotesque, low moral values, religious by interest, and easily to be led to ignominious acts following a command. A psychopath can from his belly button move the world, moving at first his community, a group. Smilingly, funny he makes the evil have a sweetness through his ideology of segregation, and Ovis was thus.

How many people he provoked trouble, all your life constructed on flesh and blood. His joy was always cruel, smelling alcohol and toasted fats. If someone would like him it would be in face of his pathology, and natural dirty existence. 

However,  every attack against me was planned from the moment I stepped into my home I knew. It was only waiting to see what happened.

He makes defamation using others from his group, a set around him, drinking of his subtle violence, beyond that he and others stalking me, whistling, making to work house’s alarms when I arrive or go away. They, thinking in this setting of sick people, stalk me by turning on some electric apparatus that produces sounds that only me can hear.

On the other hand I discovered I have ASD. Therefore I did know what I caused for their life, whatever I thought they were very beyond from some wrong that, certainly I imagine to have made to them.

I am aged and there is no medicine that can help me. I read, I write, walk, go to the gym, and search to know dietary and supplementation of protein, including carnitine and vitamins. Really it improved my behaviour and personal order and orientation. I do not recuperate what just goes by, and I know that all my personal effort does not completely change my way of being. What I have done is to use my mind, constructing my way with the love sensation of that existence. A source of the good, a stream growing to the  river and by end, an ocean of peace.

A house ingrown on a hill, a library, a chair and anything that I can crave for some words.

I discovered too that being or not diagnosed with ASD is indifferent for the majority of people. I probably must be sighted like someone without a place, a mad man. Autism does nor change the way I exist to them.

I always feel that was normal, and never was during my own life. I try seeking some past memories to recognise this strange way of being, some signals appeared, but I do not think very badly.

Taking out that human monster smiling, Ovis alive or dead does not change the world for the better, a selfish culture follows ahead of us, a stranger possessive jealousy of others, a life of someone seems to exist.

I come from my house's beach, and now, in the city where I lived most of the time, I noticed that the same happens. Different in some aspects of Mr. Ovis in strategies to take me out  leaving me to crisis, here in this populous mountain city, my neighbours Mr. Melayer and Mr. Waldmir to putting sounds of electric drill, many times recorded sound of pigeons chirping in many moments, sound of doorbell and old telephone.  Similarly they make a similar electronic or electric apparatus that produce particularly acute sounds, and sometimes they stalk me with this thing.

Before I retired from public work, I was recorded, maybe filmed too, threw in a place without windows, sometimes with water, and this after I created activities that the department never had or dreamed of achieving.

So, I believe I caused people harm, but I dream of living far away from them, and without resentment. I want very much, I want to continually be joyful, and do what I like to do, reading and writing until the end.

Today, after noticing a little from my past, I see why my parenthood does not say any hello to me. By my part I remember them, a mist image of one morning from long ago. And as an aged man, my perspective is given continuity with what I have discovered about me. I like them the same.

The first time in school I went behind the  door with a dumb hat.  I liked that because I knew reading, and noticed how much we know or have some knowledge in this world, it is very dangerous. We need to make mistakes, pretending not to understand anything.

Scientism, a mythological science that says that the experience of climbing trees is the start to building a personality from childhood can be correct in the sense of acquired experience and transformation often 

We climbed a tree that could reach a past that to all is belong, this intent from a child is an atavism inscription from our ADN and the climbing impulse seems wanting to leave us to the first step of humanity. If really we could remember and recuperate this time, if this was possible, maybe we would ourselves be amazed at the amazement from the first look of a reality that someone had on the tiptoes of a tree. Perhaps the child has that feeling unscripted of the grandiose and frightening perception of the world saying to yourself, "I exist" and, "I will survive."

The climbing effort is the human adventure reference, more or less, each child constructs their moments, particular experiences and it is not always necessary to climb a tree to understand that we are created of our own destiny. Therefore, to be different having a look that does not fit with those who climbed trees, or following tradition and culture can be complex for many, while the ADN reproduction, I have to say that before climbing a tree, I climbed our house. And when I climbed a tree, I built a platform, a basement to lay, play and to see the distance.

I am one  from the set of those who take adventures and do not not care about what happened.

To be different independent from ASD or not, what is worth climbing is our own awareness of being someone else who contributes with a mankind that does not climb trees but jump to the ground.

I never had seen the cruelty’s effect around me as I nowadays have seen. Does not exist a fugue, some escape for a hidden, every time I appear beside the climber’s tree will have their tools to cause me some violence. I do not prepare myself for these situations, eventually I will attack them as defense I can have, and more time from that I will not perceive their existence. I nevertheless feel any pain, neither shame, rancor or resentment, I will stay longer with them the same they stay near me.

However, I continuing contemplating my new place where exist water source in the hill, a illuminated home with streams tributaries of a sweet river that flows into a lake and another righteous to the ocean, is there where I live with magic library and any support which I can to do what I like, writing alone and happy.

The household can be somewhere else, what is important is the adjustment of our intent of living in peace, constructing main ways to human development, this is a thinking beyond what we see around our life. I believe that without dreams, the movement of the imagination in our mind, it seems difficult to live only to live. To me is necessary creation, art, contemplation and social practice as necessary. 

I climb to tree top and could see before fall, the dreams coming to me into a reality on the hill, around air from nature atmosphere, and I feel as well I always thought, a life is the interaction between mind and body with a world in transformation, keeping only the magnificence of nature in our life.

The forest was meltingly in rich green variations.

I saw the space like I was in a little box through speeding through streams sparkling of the sun.

I was swift ignoring myself only because I was sleeping. I left myself talking to another person. But, increasingly, absurdly I left myself to talk myself. I was myself being another myself.  By a sort of the circumstances, I was dreaming and I was a dreamer. Undecided about who was who. It was simple, I woke and took continuous dreaming.

It’s easy, you don’t waste time or have fun trying to talk to someone who probably doesn’t understand you.

Dreaming is a thing that can wakes into a complex thinking or make you to move a piece for wins the chess match, understanding codes, signals, methafor of a book, maths, play an instrument, knowing languages until walking in somewhere, free of issues, and hear and tell what comes from yourself. Before you trying to do that, two dots unifying in one: remember how is necessary the daily pratices of reading and imagining.

Every day I dream of opening eyes and seeing what I can feel, touching what is unspeakable. I flight beyond of that materiality in there I can discovering others places, landing there I heard different voices, proving news sensations, unimaginable experiences that led me to magical excitement.

I just walk in paths of gelatin pavement, diving in radiant light, running through of a modulation of energy, hearing sensitive sounds.