Well.  You all are still here, which tells me you want this type of community......................but no one has participated in months. :(  I've threatened to close this community before, and I didn't because I know there are people out there who are just like me.  So, before I close this, I'll try one more time.

I wish everyone a productive day. 

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April has gone so quickly.  We celebrated so many things that I am peronally involved in, and I hope to wrap them up today....well they are never wrapped up.  We had #nationalpoetrymonth  and I wrote quite a bit that I am personally proud of.  We also celebrated #nationalchildabusepreventionmonth  and I tried to spread the word, through my stories and poems and we also had #nationalautismawarenessmonth  and I also got involved in that on a professional and a creative level.  The following now is a poem I wrote to spread a bit more awareness and perhaps, I hope, to teach a bit more tolerance.  When you see a person with a special needs child, or even an adult, you have no idea what they go through.  It is unwise to interject with your "my child this...and my child that" UNLESS you have first hand knowledge either as a professional in the field or as a parent, you have NO IDEA what it is like to spend 24 HRS with a person who in the most severe cases are completely dependent on their caregivers.  Children who throw tantrums are not doing it to spite you, they are doing it because IT IS THE ONLY WAY THEY KNOW HOW TO COMMUNICATE THEIR NEEDS.



It didn't matter that they would stare
From the corner of her eye, she'd catch their glares
When he licked the glass on the window pane
And banged his head, and  screamed in vain

Some would talk behind her back
Others would point and try to attack
"You should this..." "And that you should.."
Don't you think she would if she could?

Others were kind and they'd try to assist
But often got mad when he fought to resist
To their pleas, "look at me."  "give me that" "come here."
They'd walk away when his affect showed he didn't care

And up and down, she'd be with him
He may bite when hugged, or play with string
Sometimes behind closed doors she'd sit and cry
And wonder how her child will get by

But in the end she'll say he's just my boy
And like you, it's her pride and joy
And so outside they'd go to play
Against the stares, she'll turn away

For the love he gave was pure and true
Untarnished by the things we're taught to do
And bit by bit that world he'd reveal
That in our quest for normalcy is often concealed.

©SArthur, 2014

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Well.  It has been many months and yet no one has contributed anything. :(  I think I will just eventually close this community.  I thank +Yolanda Isabel Regueira Marin +Summer H for trying to keep it alive, but I guess your efforts didn't pay off.  May all here be well.

Hello to all of you here.  I hope that you are having a great week.  The beginning of the holiday season is upon us and as we all know this is a time for family and friends, but sadly many of the people that you meet everyday do not have family nor  friends to go home to.  Many people put on a brave face to the world but inside they are living in turmoil.  I urge you, and I will heed my own advice, to smile a big I'M HAPPY THAT YOU'RE HERE smile to those who need it.  As empaths we know who those people are.  And it just might do you good.  Have a wonderful November.

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The fresh smell of coffee in the morning ... come and get your fix.

Has anyone ever had an experience where you feel your attention is being called over by someone as if they were calling out your name but no one is. Then you look over to where the energy is coming from and someone is looking straight at you?

This happens to me all the time.  I'm wondering if it has to do with being a sensitive/intuitive/emapthic type of person.  What do you guys think?

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England ... The Mother Country.  History,  Art and Austin Powers.  Oh Yeah Baby, Groovy!!!!

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This week we visit Oahu, the last of the Hawaiian Island I visited, and all its many attractions.  We sadly say Aloha to the Hawaiian Islands.

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