Autistic Tranquility

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Tranquility is calmness, serenity, and placidity. For me, it is also a feeling of coziness and the enjoyment of a "magical" personal space. I believe that most of us with autism benefit from personal moments of tranquility where we can relax, meditate, or have some needed privacy.

Before I move on, let me say that my greatest enjoyment comes from being with my family. But, we all need our personal space from time to time.

What is your ideal tranquility?

I have several ideal tranquilities, but let me illustrate one.

I love awakening in the winter in the midst of a cold snowy morning. School has been cancelled, and we teachers enjoy the day off as much as the pupils do. With only the first hint of morning light, the house is dark. I travel down the staircase and feel the cold nip in the air that has escaped the flame of the furnace. I wander into the family room and wait for the wall-mounted gas heater insert to come to life with its rich blue glow. And its heat caresses me as I peer out the large picture window and stare in awe at the snow encrusted pines beyond. Thankfully, my wife safely made it to work as she called me earlier. And my kids are still in bed and will not awaken until at least 9 or 10 o'clock. The house is mine. I am free to snuggle under cozy blankets on the couch, or fix myself buttered toast with hot chocolate. And as the light of morning illuminates the gleaming snow-laden ground, I think about my projects and what I can attempt to accomplish on this luxurious day.

Being dead is the Ultimate Tranquility. Short of that, the brief period between awakening and getting out of bed to brew the first cup of coffee of the morning.

ruveyn

Natural beauty is a catalyst to tranquil experiences for me. Even sitting by a small duck pond in a big dirty city can be a beautiful experience.

Music will often send a warm shiver up my spine. Sitting on my surfboard out the back from the waves, reflecting on life, has to be my ultimate tranquillity.

Last edited by Surfman on 11 Oct 2010, 1:31 pm, edited 1 time in total.

Something like what the OP described about the early hours of the morning is what does it for me!

I imagine I'd get a similar feeling from walking the 7 miles of pristine beach at Great Harbour Cay in the Bahamas. For now, though, the pictures of it will have to do!

http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File: ... seshoe.jpg

Being up early, when the rest of the world is sleeping and listening to my music and posting on WP on my Wii.

glider18: Yes, I think what you wrote is so true in that we especially need comfort. Most ironic you posted since, just in this past week, I've had intense dreams/memories of a particular place that is cauterized in my mind. I wish I had it now, but it's gone.

My paternal grandfather, who died a few years later, had the best room in his house ever! If I can say, I'm pretty sure he was an Aspie - more than sure, in fact. He was a chemist/physician and very eccentric (but fun!)....he had plenty of books and had a special interest of botanical neuropharmacology. The room had a massive pastel coloured braided rug and 2 red leather couches plus rocking chairs with blanket covers. He had a lab bench with a mortar and pestle nearby. His favourite was the tall wooden secretary, with tiny drawers inside, and he had, over his life, written notes on the wood. He was a letter writer and kept everything. He collected needlepoint and framed each piece. Also, he had a sexy picture of my grandmother (I know, sounds weird, but he did). The room always had a minty eucalyptus scent and he used eucalyptus in his work. He kept the room cool, but with scattered blankets and cushion. I remember being on the rug and sleeping on his couch. I wish I had a room just like that.

Once when I slept in the room my grandfather came in near midnight with a bag of carob - his latest 'special interest.' He instructed me to take a carob, and then go brush my teeth afterward! He was so funny and quirky. At about 3:00 each day he'd STOP - - tea time. He had Early Grey with graham crackers everyday in that room. I miss that room and I miss him since I am like him in many ways.

And you know this how?

What a ridiculously fatalistic thing to say.

The answer to your question lies in the definition of "tranquility".

Tranquility is experiential. The dead experience nothing. So even on the face of it, to say "Being dead is the Ultimate Tranquility" is factually incorrect.

But this is turning into a thread hijack. So I demur.

Whn I'm standing in the sunshine and am looking at something very tiny, to the exclusion of all else. It's like a bubble. No one else is a part of it. It's just me, the little wonder I found, and the sun. I can get very absorbed like that. I like that place.

Sometimes when the sun sets over the ocean after a winter storm I can step out of my skin, so to speak, and just open up to the whole thing. It's like my sense of self evaporates for awhile.

Sadly, I haven't lived by the ocean in 30 years so I haven't seen such a sunset in a long while

I appreciate the replies so far on this thread. I am thinking about LabPet's grandfather's room as a place of comfort and a room now missed. And the sunset at the ocean that Wavefreak58 hasn't seen in 30 years. Too often those places that gave us this tranquil comfort in years past are removed from our lives in one way or another. One of the most magical tranquil places I have ever experienced, though still accessible to me, is in a way removed from my life too.

On Sunday afternoons in my youth, I used to take private walks in my aunt and uncle's woods behind my grandparents' house. There, deep in the woods, was a playground of ancient historical America. Passing my uncle's log cabin I could gaze in at his seemingly infinite collection of self-built intricately carved figures that moved by the modified machines he had built. Then, passing the creek, I would climb a small embankment and enter the realm of the Hopewell culture of 2000 years ago. Hiking deeper into the hills, I examined in awe the many ancient mounds and earthworks that stood above the stream below. Clamoring down the hill, I made my way to the stream just before it vanished underground in a small cave in the hollow. The stream reemerged and met me on the other side of the hollow at the gaping entrance to Ice Cave---my destination. I named the cave for its brilliant wintry display of ice formations that would form a gleaming glassy curtain shielding its deep void from the outside world. But it was in the warmer months that I would set inside its entrance and feel the cool air caress my back as I watched the peaceful breeze stir the leaves on the hillside. And sitting silently, I would listen to the eternal trickling of water deep in the earth echo against the rocky walls in the darkness.

But times change. And fate saw fit for my cousin to inherit the property after the death of his parents (my aunt and uncle). And my cousin did not appreciate the land. He sold it to a paper processing plant that raped the land of its trees and trod over the hills with the ancient earthworks with their large log bearing trucks. After the damage had been done, another cousin (who like me cared for the land) was able to buy the treeless hills back from the paper plant. Slowly the hills have begun to replenish themselves with young trees. But the hills have never been the same for me. And since my grandparents have since died, I no longer visit this magical place. As for the cousin who gained a large paycheck for raping the land, he had little time to enjoy his new wealth, for he died of causes most likely related to his excessive drinking over the years---the same cousin who had his parents cremated and placed their ashes in a bird feeder---then laughed.

Kayaking on a cool morning in a crystal clear spring fed river, surrounded by playful and curious manatees.

Right now, when Im sitting on a large rock, while a stream trickles behind me and the lambs graze at my feet.

Today I saw a mother duck with a whole lot of brown ducklings and yellow ducklings.. they followed her into the stream and then floated happily about in there.

I think mine would be waking up during the day, not hearing a thing, and being warm and comfortable. I just lay there remembering my dream if I could or just not really thinking at all. I enjoy it so very much that I don't move until something happens to ruin the peace or I want to get up because I need to eat. A very rare thing that is though. Sometimes if it's early in the morning I get up and open up a window so I can stare out it and breathe in the air. Morning air is the best kind of air.