Daily Archives: December 4, 2013

The autism spectrum

Day 72

They say my beloved little nephew is somewhere on the autism spectrum. What does this mean?

He tells incredibly detailed stories about dragons, and squirrels, and snoopy. He runs and jumps and twirls as he narrates. He can sit and paint or draw for hours on end, a million masterpieces that we proudly tape to the walls.

He tells jokes and laughs loud, talks to his trains, and “reads” us books in his raspy baby voice, his interpretations of the pictures far more interesting than the words that are on the page.

He loves with such intensity that he clenches his jaw and bares his teeth, hugs us hard in a huge embrace.

He has trouble reading the emotions in a face, it is a language that is unfamiliar to him. This frustrates him and so sometimes he hits, other kids mostly, especially ones smaller than him, and non-verbal.

Revel has learned to watch his moods. He’s ready with a kiss for his cuzzie on the good days, or knows to steer clear if it’s not the right time.

And when they sit together and watch the birds out the window, and the squirrels, I can almost forget there’s anything wrong with the world.

photo by Andrea Herr

photo by Andrea Herr

Almost.

And then I come back to the same question that keeps repeating and repeating in my mind, in my heart.

Why is he autistic? What is this strange affliction that turns ones’ own nervous system upside down, wires the brain in ways that makes everything more intense? The colors, the lights, the sounds.

And I know there are a million different theories, and studies, and ideas about what is really going on, but to me the answer is clear.

And here we come back to it again.

It’s the same thing causing the monarchs to disappear, the starfish to turn to sludge on the ocean floor, and the sweet bees to drop from the sky one by one.

It’s the toxic cocktail that is our civilization.

It’s the pesticides, and herbicides, and plastic junk, and PVC’s, and BPA.s, and synthetic hormones, and antibiotics, and perfumes, and Red #40, and nuclear radiation, and WI-FI, and pharmaceuticals, a hazy smog that hangs in our air, swims through our waters, and coats our food.

Our poor, soft, animal bodies are literally falling apart under the strain of so many toxins, overloaded, turned inside out, ravaged, wrecked.

It’s the same thing that causes infertility, and antibiotic resistant infections, and asthma, and diabetes, and AIDS, and heart disease, and stroke, and cancer.

Our civilization is killing us, one by one, little by little. It’s like kneeling on the chopping block, or looking down the barrel of the executioner’s gun.

We have created a world made out of poison.

And the only ones who can stop it is us.

We need to admit we have a problem, say it loud, and then join together and scream, “NO MORE CHEMICALS!”

Get rid of our plastic, our chemical cleaners, our factory farmed food, our cars.

Find ways to send the message to our neighbors spraying round-up, to the farmer down the lane, to the oil tycoons in their cushy offices and billion dollar yachts.

Find out where our food comes from, or better yet, grow our own.

Make very deliberate decisions about what we choose, do, and consume.

We need to be unafraid to make change,

to help one another,

and to be radical, rebellious.

 

The funny thing is my nephew’s autism is nothing but a gift,

a different way of seeing the world,

and I wouldn’t have him any other way.

 

But the knowledge that corporations and chemical companies,

would dare try to sell out my boy’s future for a buck,

makes my blood seethe and boil, makes me see the boldest red.

And that should make their blood run cold,

because now I want

revenge.

 

The kind that comes from joining hand in human hand,

and turning our backs slowly and deliberately,

on the toxic junk they have to offer.

 

I am a lioness ready to fight,

muscles quivering, teeth bared,

razor sharp claws leaving pinpricks

on soft earth

beneath

large paws.

Waiting.

For the right time,

for the chance I know will surely come,

waiting,

for them to make a mistake.

And when they do

I will

strike.

Thank you for listening,

Love,

Natasha

 

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