nine

Full Circle

The greatest affirmation of all my thinking and personal experience about autism and the God connection came through the gracious courtesy of a group of beautiful, loving persons collectively called the Nightingales. The Nightingales is a monthly gathering of people with various ways of being, many with autism, from across Pennsylvania and its bordering states. Those who don’t have a formal autism diagnosis relate well enough to autism to be consulted by researchers and government officials interested in better understanding their experience. Presiding over the Nightingales at the time was my dear friend, Mark.

At present, the Nightingales are a small group, usually no more than a dozen people accompanied by family members or caregivers. But it’s an opportunity for folks who have similar experiences to commune with one another.

They all use alternative forms of communication including Facilitated Communication. Each member brings his or her communication device to the meeting, be it a simple paper keyboard or an electronic word processor. Many of the Nightingales do not speak or they may make vocalizations. Some talk, but like so many, they are better able to most eloquently express themselves in writing. They all have very personal experiences with discrimination and segregation based upon misconceptions. Because they don’t speak or communicate fluently they’ve been stereotyped as unaware and unable to think, decide, and learn.

The Nightingales’ literature describes them as people who have varying types of differences that interfere with opportunities to independently pursue most activities that average people take for granted. They are all capable individuals who require varying levels of assistance to engage in the basics of life. Yet they dream, aspire, and hope for a more fulfilling independent life of worth.

They are now involved in setting their own goals and activities as a group. They are committed to the idea of educating speaking people to become more sensitive in their interactions with people who live in silence. They have enjoyed growing respect from professionals, families, and others with differences as spokespersons for those who have been ridiculed, misunderstood, and undereducated.

All of the Nightingales want to be participating members of society. Many are finally taking steps to get on with life by attending regular schools and colleges, gaining and maintaining employment, and making other life decisions. They come together as a group to strengthen their newfound voices, to empower and support themselves and each other, and to wake up the world to the rights of all people to have accessible communication.

The Nightingales began to meet once a month in a location not more than a half hour’s drive from my home. I was now in a position to offer my active support to the group. I began attending their meetings and they soon appointed me as their meeting coordinator.

By email, I contacted Mark and asked if he might add to the January 2003 agenda my interest in exploring the topic of autism and spirituality. Being the supreme diplomat, Mark electronically forwarded my request to his email address list, which is many times larger than the number of actual attendees. He received his greatest response ever, and the overwhelming majority indicated strong interest.

On the Sunday of the meeting, the turnout was amazing. There was more than twice the usual number of people, such that we needed to move to a bigger room in the community center where we met.

The meeting began as usual with the Nightingales typing their greetings to one another and discussing bits of business. Their writings were read out loud for all to hear by their accompanying loved ones. Then Mark asked me to discuss my agenda items. I wasn’t quite prepared to talk about my current research. I expected to simply gain consensus about the subject as a future meeting topic. But the Nightingales urged me on, saying, “We need to hear from someone who knows our existence,” “I long for this,” “We know this is our thinking,” and “It is real to us.” I resigned to share with them all that I had been learning as a result of my renewed spiritual awareness and the wealth of my experiences, including those I’ve detailed here.

I began by speaking slowly but openly, carefully measuring my words. I talked about my belief that our souls are on an educational journey toward attaining spiritual perfection. Among the most advanced souls are those who may incarnate as persons with “perceived” severe limitations. There was silence, so I continued. I shared my belief that angels and spiritual protectors closely guarded such individuals. I concluded by discussing the intensity of my recent spiritual development, and I told “The Ladybug Story.”

I paused, having finished what I had come there to say. Silence reigned. Then the floodgates opened and the Nightingales began to chime in, one after another, with their stunning validations.

It began as several persons confirmed my position about souls. They stated that I understood them better than most others, and that I spoke truthfully. I was told, “You are a blessing.” “Not everyone understands,” said another. A young woman responded, “I know people who couldn’t handle it also, but that can’t keep the truth out of our discussion.” Then someone acknowledged, “Cursed with gifts people don’t understand, we pretend to be almost normal.” One woman agreed, “We are challenged but we are blessed.” Another young woman seated to my right was succinct in typing, “I teach loving. I picked my life…I have an old soul that is nearer to Heaven. I was an old soul a long time. I love my life…I want to give my gifts to all.”

Others revealed that their spiritual protectors were grandparents with whom they were especially close. “Spirits surround us…they guide and protect us,” said Mark. One man asserted that his Grandfather appears to reinforce his purpose in life. “I have seen grandpa so many times when I felt I could not go on. He has told me that I can go on and I should because I have a job to do before I see him again.” Another woman said that her grandfather is “always available” and that her spirituality “literally helps me move and live. It helps give me the power to accept what is before me.”

The subject of angels brought further validation as some of the Nightingales discussed the number of angels about them or when they appeared to them. One man said, “Angels keep stamping in my path.” Another man reflected that an angel “kept me safe once when I was in danger…I am yet not sure if I am liberated by my grandmother or an angel.” One young woman said she talks to angels every day.

Many family members were reduced to tears as they learned—for the first time ever—of such divine experiences. Mark wrote that afterwards, he dreamt of me giving roses to all the Nightingales.

The secret of autism was affirmed then and there that Sunday afternoon. The Nightingales’ kindly caucus assured me that people with autism are not simply thrust into this world to fend for themselves without some sort of benevolent protection by a means accessible to us all but invisible to most. Not only are people with different ways of being our teachers, here to guide our understanding of compassion, sensitivity, and unconditional love; they may be among our most revered spiritual mentors and valiant visionaries if only we regard them with such deference. At the least, we have much to learn from their patience, forgiveness, resilience, and resourcefulness in how we should all endeavor to interact with one another.

In short order, the Nightingales had so clearly crystallized my research and motivations for compiling this book. I am deeply indebted to them for their candor. They were the absolute counselors in a forum of love, acceptance, and support. They so beautifully endorsed my mission with their wisdom and innate knowledge and confirmed what, for me, had been purely speculative up until that point. I knew then, that if we banded with others who were so demonstratively altruistic, together we had the power to change the world.

And yet despite my exhilaration, I knew I must temper this with the plight of those with autism who deliberately rebuke their spirituality in retaliation of a call unanswered; a failed release from the imprisonment of what they may define as a hopeless or abysmal existence. Clark, fourteen-year-old son of Janet, grapples with finding balance between Asperger’s Syndrome, anxiety, and depression. Janet wrote from their Bonita, California home, “Clark has experienced intense pain, emotionally, all his life and cannot reconcile a loving God with his experiences. He once expressed, ‘How can there be a God who would make someone like me to suffer so much?’” Given my own history, I could well appreciate Clark’s plaintive plea. How can we be expected to reconcile our lives when we are working so hard at just being instead of becoming?

As spiritual practitioner and author Father Thomas Keating has said, “The greatest accomplishment in life is to be who you are, and that means to be who God wanted you to be when He created you.” What I trust Clark will eventually come to realize is that, like myself, we each need to figure out how to transcend and make peace within ourselves in our own time. Our suffering is not imposed upon us by our Creator but by the attitudes and mores of others who haven’t yet accorded the autistic experience the reverence, appreciation, and understanding it is due. Perhaps some day soon we will initiate a movement that supports individuals with different ways of being from a standpoint that shows we’ve really listened. Wouldn’t that be a grand aspiration? The most glorious ripple effect ever.

The Homecoming

Last year, I accepted a friend’s invitation to attend a Saturday evening church service. Although we arrived early, it was already crowded with parishioners shuffling in, silently seating themselves, and enacting pensive rituals before Mass. I could count on one hand the number of times I had been in such an environment since my childhood days. My friend understood my desire to remain as inconspicuous as possible and led us to a discreet pew against the far wall. As the service began, I noticed a number of very young children around us, all with bright eyes and fresh, open faces. Somewhere, an archaic cinema projector began to rattle and crank as the main titles of a faded 8mm home movie flickered before me.

As the images dissipated from view, I wept at the recollection; my solemn rationale for having cried then still remained a secret. As I cleared my eyes, I looked over at my friend and, then, above to the stained-glass window next to our pew. Stunned, I drew a quick breath and then smiled quietly inside myself: it was the crucifixion—the same scene over which I had once grieved thirty-five years prior. I knew then that I had come home.

Journey’s End

I’d like to conclude Autism and the God Connection with a few final thoughts. My gratitude to those who have indulged me thus far. This journey has been a real learning time for me, too. Not surprisingly, when the psychology of it all has vented in my dreams I’ve sequentially progressed from specific learning environments, transitioning from elementary schools to high school and college campuses. (Lately, I’ve had my own classroom!)

Melding autism and spirituality may have proven unsettling for some; we all have different comfort levels when it comes to our faith and what we’re open to believing. Remember, this is but one prism through which to view the autistic experience, one that may be without personal application. On the other hand, to those already indoctrinated, this all will have been rudimentary—Spiritual Literacy 101. I will be redeemed if this work offers compelling affirmations to those with different ways of being, their families, and caregivers. If you are undecided, simply retain what has made sense and leave the rest behind…you can always come back to it.

Above all, if you take nothing else with you, please let it be the concept of presuming intellect and the enactment of the three miracles on a path to opportunity. Through this process, authentic change is truly possible; devoid of this fundamental approach, we risk sowing the seeds that may breed resentment. Myself and other advocates have espoused these positive principles for years now, but it is most gratifying to learn that—even as this book goes to press—the value of respectful, reciprocal relationships with our loved ones who are autistic is now garnering research-based attention from Philadelphia’s Temple University, The Center on Intervention for Children and Families at Case Western Reserve University in Cleveland, and The Connections Center for Family and Personal Development in Houston. I anticipate that this research will continue to validate the tenets put forth in this book.

Finally, it is only fitting that a person with autism have the last word in closing this book. Here, then, are the honest, insightful, and profound observations of Michael, a young fifteen-year-old friend and blessed emissary who has always had a deeply spiritual sense of purpose. Michael’s heroic and radiant declaration speaks to the true meaning of autism as he envisions it to be.