Sasi Krishnasamy is a spiritual guru deeply rooted in Hindu philosophy. His teachings emphasize enlightenment, knowledge, and mindfulness. As the founder of the Bodhivinayak temple, he has created a sacred space for seekers to connect with higher dimensions. Sasi Krishnasamy's spiritual journey involves mindfulness meditation, celebrating festivals like Ganesh Chaturthi and Sankashti Chaturthi, and fostering a strong connection with Lord Ganesha (also known as Bodhivinayak). His beliefs are steeped in universal truth, life truth, and nature. With an online presence and a following of 100k on social media platforms, Sasi Krishnasamy continues to inspire and guide those seeking spiritual awakening. 🙏🌟

Mindfulness and Self-Awareness: Sasi Krishnasamy's teachings are rooted in the idea that true happiness and fulfillment come from within. He believes that by developing a deep sense of self-awareness and mindfulness, individuals can overcome any challenge and live a more fulfilling life.5

Sasi Krishnasamy's teachings are rooted in the idea that true happiness and fulfilment come from within. He believes that by developing a deep sense of self-awareness and mindfulness, individuals can overcome any challenge and live a more fulfilling life.

Sasi Krishnasamy's teachings are rooted in the idea that true happiness and fulfilment come from within. He believes that by developing a deep sense of self-awareness and mindfulness, individuals can overcome any challenge and live a more fulfilling life.

Quite simply, order is to chaos as Objective Morality is to anarchy. Objective Morality is the balance to utter chaos which is not to the benefit of human survival. However, both are required to create a thriving community. Too much of either will bring about changes to recapture balance between the two. And the catalyst which makes the pendulum swing between them? Change. Growth. In the micro chasm of my soul, I have dealt with both. Change has been forced on me, bringing chaos, then growth brings balance once more. Each cycle makes me into someone I'm proud to be, and into the person I can love without reservation. It allows me to give my love unconditionally to those around me in kindness and care and this makes all the trials put in my path worth the heartache and pain to gain the peace which resulted. Objective morality is the guideline, anarchy is the why. Both exist for growth and balance and communities deal with weighting the scales according to their unique situations. Who is to say what is correct? Until we walk in their shoes, how can we know their hearts? As to the question of whether or not objective morality exists? Of course it does, and it has many faces. As unique as the people who create it; each correct for their reality.

Everything that has occurred is reminiscent of what makes us OURSELVES.As a species of the human race, the number of things you can lose will increase, it never ceases to zero. Even after demise, one is oblivious of free-will or destiny in this topsy-turvy realm. Reality check: I'm back to my phase space, contemplating a nuanced interaction with a girl. I find myself in the middle of the street on my way to school. Defying destiny is just my forte, but how far can it go! A new random girl (say “Mayuri') walks up to me, asking me to recite a poem for her, which I do gladly. Days pass by and her disappearance is perturbing my mind & lo & behold, she shows up, dispirited. I catch up to her to figure it out, I come to know about how traumatizing local “civil wars” could be. She asks me to be her best friend if that's fine, to which I concur. It's ridiculously outrageous how CHOICES can delineate someone, yet, we may never accord with the same. Being able to love without bounds might be the best feeling EVER, that is, while it lasts. Things started to get better for the both of us. I, helping her with her insecurities; her optimism & smile could make me forget the anxiety that my life's problems could give. But appearances can be pretty deceiving. Brutal fights in her family affected her devastatingly, she was doomed, despite the infinite love and care that I could give her; neither was I old enough to be able to be with her, nor was she mature enough for that and she, being from a lower “caste” was often humiliated in societies & public rendezvous. Even her parents forbade me to even SEE her, but I knew she needed me desperately. Both our lives had been a menace, entirely contrasting realms when we're not together, but the synchronization gave exceptional stability for some time. Through another girl, I came to know about a certain incident that shattered her, figuring out how addicted she was to drugs. Not that she loved having them, but rather forced by a group of guys. I confronted her, but she just lied as usual, saying that it was just a rumor. She deluded me as she wanted my happiness, never caring about herself. I trailed her past school-time one day, unearthing the secret “warehouse” of the drug mafias, composed of late teenagers. I summed up everything in that time-frame and premeditated tactfully, as I had to put a stop to their plans, when she'd leave for the drugs again. Unfortunately, I was captured, but then, I was elated they didn't have any weapons. She begged for my life, but they said, “Your life is as good as over”. That's when the police arrested them all, my bad they arrived a few min late; I fractured my ribs, legs as I was thrashed. She realized how passionately I loved her, but she just left me in the hospital, saying “good-bye”. I got out of the hospital in three weeks, she's still hiding her scars behind a smiling face, I promised her to never be so reckless again and she agreed for the last time. It was an arduous endeavor to get rid of her drug addiction, but she didn't ever take a drug again, just for my sole sake. Her parents never cared about her; her voice was suppressed all-her-life, something that changed ever since she loved me. For a few months, I was really busy; didn't see her since the closure of school. Much later, I discovered her freaking nightmares, dozens of suicide attempts in just 3 months, for which her parents blamed me. I gave my all to make it right, for I knew, if our love could rival that, it could eclipse any power in the world. I spent as much time as I could, only to “our” parents' dismay. I discerned she had potentially A FEW YEARS left (because of "Aplastic Anemia") and that I could NEVER ever see her again; she was going to be miles away. I decided to take my life; luckily, I BARELY dodged a 140kph car on the highway as I foresaw that I had to do WHATEVER it took to make her know LIFE, but I wanted her to see and feel it for herself, as my love was the sweetest “poison” for her. I had no choice but to shift to my LAST RESORT. The sole attainable way in those grim conditions was effective “brainwashing", without her ever reckoning the same. Gradually, I made her abhor me, yet in the process she found her “true self” & her vanquished pride, self-esteem, which she had lost. I lost my EVERYTHING, a broken man now, as I kept losing everything one-by-one. Lately, I came to know about her SURGERY outside the country in the COVID-19 phase. Although ~10% chance of success for her operation, gladly Mayuri made it out alive, but now she doesn't even feel I EXIST, but rather all her suffering was because of ME. No one would never know, but I DID resuscitate her with my love, instincts and showed her LIFE. This story may just fade into the dark, but my undying love for her never faded, even if I'm non-existent for her. I open my eyes, wipe the tears rolling down my cheeks, prepare myself to endure my “revolution” for the making of a new, bright WORLD!

Today is a new day...a day of hopes, a day of hopelessness...a day of acceptance of prayers, a day of rejection of my prayers. This day 1 year back I lost my paternal uncle. It was a tragic day and his demise shook us all internally. We could hardly believe what was happening also because this was very sudden, and he was just 51...I never got to have long chit chats or deep, lengthy conversations with him as he was an introverted and reserved person and liked to talk less but was an equally generous and kind-hearted person, a pure soul in and out who could never do anything bad for anyone, not even to those who did bad with him at a certain point in life. A self-made man, caring and empathetic he was. I always saw him at peace and patience, I have never seen him shooing off any beggar away from him rather he always gave money to the poor and needy ones. He always made me feel like he is my second dad after my own biological father and I always felt sweet, fatherly vibes from him. I have sweet, silent memories with him which I will always remember. Can't believe it's been a year to this shock. I just know he is at complete peace up there and is watching me, blessing me and is much happier than he used to be in this harsh world :') I wish the best place in paradise for him and wish to meet him in our afterlife in heaven inshaAllah. Ameen ❤ I miss you, chacha!

We live in a stereotyped society; a society that promotes you to be ‘different', as long as you go along with the public opinion. What is ‘public opinion' and why do we need to follow it all the time? I had read somewhere in a Greek philosophy book about the ‘tyranny of the majority' and I found it totally correct. We say in many cases, the majority ‘wins', but what about that certain minority's opinion? Where does it go? Humans are introduced to the stereotypes of society; from the day they are born. They accept them at early age and then consequently are addicted to them. Later on they enter a comfort zone, where all is settled. All is well. Most of the times they are not even themselves, because they have got to be that type of person that is conformed to all rules of society. You begin your school life. Lack of originality… At school you have to be the student who is responsible and disciplined. You start learning all the cliché phrases… “The tomatoes are ripe The sea is turbulent The truth is hard Respect is gained Justice is blind” If you start writing essays which express extreme way of thinking or do not conform to the general opinion, you are marginalized. There goes your freedom of expression. Follow the rules. People love stereotypes. They know they are easier to handle. No need to search for something more. Once a woman says ‘I don't want to be a housewife, she will face discountenance. Who said you have to be one? Who ordered this definition of your identity? Why do we follow society's norms? There is no stereotype. You were born free to be whoever you were intended to be. You are born to be original. Maybe you were intended to be: Wild as the wind in a desert Free as a spirit An idea A concept An illusion Or a Bird who flies to the unknown skies A hobo soul A traveler that needs no compass You do not fit into other people's molds Birds don't care about stereotypes Show me your arguments for a stereotypical life.

Seven years ago, aged 10, I almost lost my life. Camped in Khwai campground in the North of Botswana, I was walking back from the bathroom block, lagging several steps behind my family. Reaching the edge of the campsite, I happened to look round and caught sight of a dark shape crouched low to the ground mere metres behind. What ensued was a sequence of events that I will never forget. “I think there's something behind me,” I said. My brother Kieran turned round from several metres ahead and shone his torch in the direction of my gaze. There, illuminated by the pale beam was a young leopard crouched stalking close to the ground, frozen, it's eyes locked in mine. There was a long pause, then the contact was broken and the leopard padded off. My worried parents hastily split myself and my two siblings across our two tents, but the leopard kept returning. First under the car, then circling the fire as my father stood watch with a spade and a wine bottle. Next morning, there was a post up on a prominent 4WD forum describing the encounter as a warning for others. Gradually the comments rolled in, piling up into a thread some four pages long: heated discussion on how to treat this problem leopard, which would most likely be killed; personal anecdotes from others with similar experiences; and, amidst it all a notable section on what should be done about the problem child (me). To clarify, my actions were not unduly brash. In the normal state of things, a leopard would almost never stalk a human- even a child such as myself. Most likely, it was a young animal that had been fed- directly or indirectly- by campers, and so grown to associate humans with food. Entirely the humans' fault, of course, but as a result this leopard had become a threat to people. Relocation would require darting it with tranquilizer to capture it: costly, dangerous to both the people and the leopard, with the added complication that anywhere it were moved to would likely be another leopard's territory. It would be a truly rare authority that took such an option. This animal failed to take my life, and paid the ultimate price- it's a strange sort of debt I feel, that I will never repay. It wasn't my fault, nor that of the leopard or any single human that can shoulder the blame. I see it as a symptom of our current relationship with nature- a relationship I have devoted my life to changing. We are the product of our environment, but we also shape it.

I fear that my creative muse must have left for the coast. I used to write poetry so much that it made sense to identify myself as a poet. I enjoyed the meter though I detested rhyme. I loved to read poetry as a child, and even now, sometimes, I find content and form that mystifies and inspires me. Though for much of it, I have to seek out poets from the 18th and 19th centuries. For years I wrote love poetry about different kinds of love, and in retrospect, sometimes they were based on personal experiences of love that failed. Other times they were an amalgamation of the things that I wanted and needed in a relationship. It wasn't until I finally had a taste of the accomplishment of those goals that I stopped writing. I was writing because I was in pain and longing for something I did not have and began to feel that I would never have. I thought perhaps my raison d'etre was not to know what kind of love in this life. Yet the moment I achieved some state of happiness, the ink ran dry. I came to realize my inspiration was an ideal, a philosophy of the personification of love. Had I written these poems to a god, spirit, or egregore on some distant shore, using the splendor of the word to show devotion towards this ideal? Commitment to embracing a love that maybe I had known in another incarnation, or perhaps had known when I was part of the gathering of spirit in the heavens. Composing poetry on themes of love eventually combines passionate love with divine love. Verily the poetry was a scathing attack on the injustices and cruelty of past lovers. Sometimes it was a list of attributes I sought to embody within myself. I was petitioning the gods of love to show no pity but to guide me in the direction where I would find love that would heal my wounded heart. Where thoughts travel, energy follows, and here is where devotion to the gods of love may pour reflections of it into my heart. Such an action expanding capacity and consciousness for such love, for this is the formula of sympathetic magic: to create a microcosmic model of the macrocosm. It is reaffirming the age-old wisdom of as above so below. Here it is clear that I have attempted to understand love in the form of philosophy and less so through an emotive context. Everyone has strengths and weaknesses, and in the lesson of Chiron, astrology, and mythology teach a lesson about the wounded healer. The wound itself is the teacher that imparts the wisdom of how it can also be the healer.

I have trouble remember dates of most historic events. I am sure a lot of people probably have the same type of trouble. My hypothesis is that with my imagination I visualize the event as though it is a story, while first learning about it, I am given the date so I am able to imagine that time period. However, that is the last time I use the date when thinking about the events. So, when asked I have trouble recalling it, though I can recall a wide range like 500bc to 280bc ... I think the oddest part is that Icould probably describe the event very vividly like it is a story. Yet I cannot remember 3 to 4 exact numbers, and definitly cannot remember it, if months and days are requirements. My answer now is; If I did not know something in history occured or existed until today. Since I am imagining these evenrs taking place on this day. Then the date those days took place is TODAY, fore they did not exsist in my mind until this day. Mankind does not exist unless it is Present

A person is born naturally good. Or rather, a person is born good but is meant to be both good and bad in order to be complete. I was a timid child. They called me quiet, chubby, but smart and kind. I only knew how to be happy, by reading, watching TV, drawing. But there were unavoidable times that my quiet little space was invaded by bullies who had nothing better to do. And there was no one, no one strong enough or caring or with authority enough that stopped them. I cried silently. I forgave. My best friend whom I had only met in high school had no idea what I experienced. But it was okay. I wasn't hurt, I got used to it, and I could still smile and be myself. I just distance myself from those kinds of people. I mean, I wasn't the only one who was bullied. But, the funny thing was that, I didn't try hard to defend myself. But whenever I saw others being bullied, I would always help them and comfort them. Maybe I wanted to give to others the help and security I didn't receive. I don't know. It just happened involuntarily. I was a child, a teen, and I moved on impulse. And my default mode, apparently, was sacrificial of my own time and comfort. They say, there will be no enslaver if no one allows themselves to be enslaved. And I am guilty of being willing to be enslaved of little things, small things that for others were just pieces of paper, money, ballpoint pens, carrying their bags, doing their assignments and letting them copy from my test answer. And I just smiled through it all. I was deaf to the words of those who really cared, as they kept telling me that I acted like a doormat and other people were abusing me. To me, that was how I show my generosity. But, this habit, this foolish belief, extended from my friendships to my romantic relationships later on. Feeling trapped in a whirlwind of emotions of another person can take its toll, and even the kindest, most foolish would someday wake up and say they've had enough. That's what I had experienced in a three-year relationship. And it left such a deep scar on me that I grew scared of love even sensing a tiny bit of sadness and anger within myself could recoil and paralyze me again. And like a bad seed, the jealousy, the malice, the negativity I firsthand experienced in him grew roots inside me. It was a nightmare, and I swore I learned my lesson. But, I wasn't quite healed yet. A few years later, I met a man whom I deemed was different from him, although no one is truly perfect. During our relationship I discovered stoicism. But I won't elaborate on that here as what I'm about to tell is far more important. I've read Siddhartha, a novel by Hermann Hesse, by chance. I was looking for Demian as it was referred to in a series of music videos by a favorite band, but sadly, the online bookshop didn't have a copy of it, but had Siddhartha and Steppenwolf instead so I bought those two. It must've been fate, because I could relate to the protagonist's journey. Siddhartha was good when the story began, but in search of enlightenment he left what he was accustomed to, by joining the ascetics and gave up things of the world. But down the road, he concluded that he could not fully be enlightened that way, even shunning the way of Buddha himself, and went to a city where he met a woman whom he regarded as his teacher. It was there that he learned about love, about business, and eventually, succumbed to lust and greed. When his actions caused him to be sick both inside and outside, he wandered away from the city in a state of confusion. Later he met a boatman and through old age, calmed and gained wisdom, finally proving that each one of us had to experience evil and hardships in order to be whole. In my recent years, although I am a complete nobody, I have experienced hardships and conflict, and even found someone that awakened the other side of me--a darker me that was skeptical of the good in myself and others. I have delved deep into knowing myself through that darkness though--recognizing my anger, depression, frustration, anxiety, etc. as valid emotions. I became more aware of why happiness in me isn't constant, for inner and outer reasons. Like in the novel Siddhartha, I guess I had to experience all this so that I could look back and not commit the same mistakes again. Even if I have grown far from the kind and innocent kid I was when I was younger, and despite all my wishes and attempts of returning to that state, I couldn't just erase the events that happened and affected me emotionally and spiritually. I just had to be my own hero and press on. So here I am, still struggling, yes, but I'm accepting the fact that this is all happening for a reason, and that there are still good days ahead.

People have been writing stories for as long as four thousand years. We all at some point in our lives have turned to literature to reflect on human nature, to find meaning in life or to find stories that are similar to ours. Works of literature from every era of history contain the collective experience of being alive and the frustrations that come with it. Greek tragedies are not an exception to this. The three great tragedy writers of Ancient Greece; Aeschylus, Sophocles and Euripides have all explored the meaning of human life in their plays. Twenty-four centuries ago, Euripides was asking the questions through his plays, the same questions we still ask ourselves. Although Euripides's way of writing was less poetic compared to Aeschylus and Sophocles; his work has a very unique approach to human nature. In his play Orestes, the gods have an active role in human life. Gods are portrayed as cruel, hypocritical and flawed; as beings that put human lives into complicated situations where right and wrong are intertwined with each other. Orestes falls desperate in the face of his fate and this represents the injustice of the gods. His desperation is entirely relatable as we all feel powerless from time to time in the face of events that we cannot control. Whether a person is religious or not, being human brings a sense of rebellion towards the injustices of our sufferings, after all most of us do not believe we deserve the terrible things that fall upon us. This condition is brought forward in Euripides's plays with the instability of gods. Hippolytus is a play about a woman's love for her stepson, Hippolytus. Phaedra is in a situation which she has no control over, so she plans to keep her love a secret because she does not want to be dishonored by her inappropriate feelings. Euripides sees love as dangerous, an undeniable force that brings misfortune. As J. A. Spranger puts it in The Attitude of Euripides towards Love and Marriage: ‘'His disapproval of love as an irresistible passion he shows in three choral odes- in the Iphigeneia in Aulis, the Hippolytus…'' When her maid finds out about Phaedra's secret, she tells Hippolytus, but makes him swear to not tell another soul, since the consequences would be disastrous. Hence a conflict arises within Hippolytus; he is outraged by how terrible a thing Phaedra could feel, but he did swear an oath to not say anything. It is important to mention here that Hippolytus' conclusion of this revelation is that women are terrible, so it does carry misogynistic aspects, in that he fails to recognize that it is not just a woman's nature to fall victim to desire but rather it is a collective human experience. But Euripides highlights the issue of free speech and its impact on events. When Hippolytus decides to break his oath, Phaedra writes a note saying Hippolytus raped her and hangs herself. As he is sent to exile because of her note, we see the consequences of his decision. The question arises; was Hippolytus right in breaking his oath or was he doing the right thing by freely speaking? Euripides presents the dilemma of free will, where sometimes the right and the wrong thing to do isn't clear. As much as there are events that happen beyond these character's control, like the gods' influence and a lack of control over emotions, we see that there are choices to be made that come down to free will. King Theseus, in The Suppliant Women is a just and rightful ruler, as he accepts to help the wives of the soldiers that have fallen in the battle of Thebes. The women want to properly mourn their husbands but King Creon forbids it. Theseus attack Thebes and gives the women the rightful burial of their relatives. But in doing so a lot of his own soldiers die, even though he did the right thing there were a lot of casualties. He seems to accept the cost of what he has done, but others don't feel the same. This brings forward the complexity of life, while Theseus did the right thing, his good deed does not bring happiness to everyone. But should he have not helped the suppliant women? Can we not achieve happiness even if we choose to do right? Euripides' play challenges the meaning and the costs of happiness which highly relates to real life. He seems to have a dark understanding of human happiness and it is a realistic understanding nonetheless, but just like how someone's happiness might not reduce another's sorrow, the grief of another does not reduce the achieved happiness. Looking at it in this light, it doesn't seem so dark but still remains realistic. The complexity of human life is filled with many questions and many answers and sometimes no answers at all. To look at the works from many years ago as we looked at some of Euripides' plays, it is obvious that humans have long been searching for a meaning to everything in life. His work offers some insight as well as asking new questions about the human condition.

. A journalist's job is to put unfamiliar stories in a familiar context to connect with a varied and widespread audience. A journalist has to draw from a widely recognized code of ethics. This way, the journalist begins to show trust with an audience and offer something that citizens thoroughly understand and connect with. Esoteric language is also a hindrance. A journalist looking to reach the Midwestern Trump supporter who did not graduate high school would fail to reach that reader using the common strategy. As an unappealing a viewer and commentator that Midwesterner is, the more valuable he or she should become. Even some of the strongest journalists in the field are beginning to waver on the SPJ code of ethics. Jake Tapper and Don Lemon, figureheads at CNN, are just two of many professionals in the field of journalism who have lost their patience.. Throughout their illustrious careers, both journalists were well-known for their level-headed exchanges with pundits from sundry political extremes. Before both journalists silenced guests on live television, viewers merely guessed at the polite composure both Tapper and Lemon held on their faces belied severe frustration with an interviewee. It was the Trump administration that marked the change. The myriad of calamities coupled with the malicious treatment of news organizations pushed moderate journalists to shed the postured guise of partisanship usually expected of reporters of their caliber. At this point, Mill's theory begins to falter. When anchors begin to have producers take guests off air, when writers avoid controversial subjects, journalism suffers. In desperate times, when the country's identity hangs in the balance, a journalist must do more than mind their business. They must do more than do no harm. They must do good. They did so in the early days of journalism when Pulitzer and Hearst were on the scene, and they must now do so again. Robert Bellah explains: “Democracy is an ongoing moral quest, not an end state." The SPJ writes that ethical journalism treats “sources, subjects, colleagues and members of the public” with respect. Many professionals call themselves journalists without abiding by this moral code. Since the advent of the Internet, the gates have been opened, and freelancers flooded the space, garnering audience and attention by spewing harm and vitriol. The worrisome shift came when seasoned journalists from outlets like CNN, began to waver on the SPJ moral standards. None of the CNN's political analysts foresaw Trump's win, the same goes for the Washington Post, and the New York Times. Some could say, however, that the individualized and targeted approach to journalism allows myriad voices to become mainstream. In reality, this just allows citizens to seek out like-minded media, and not broaden their perspective and become compassionate in a way that transcends fault lines. Mill's argument falls short because it doesn't take into account the times during which the impact of a choice made with an individualistic or narrow point of view can have effects that are hard to quantify at the moment. Bellah's communalism is what the journalistic community so desperately needs. A 2014 Pew Research Poll found that consistent liberals trust a variety of news sources, mostly NPR, The New York Times, CNN, and MSNBC, while conservatives rally pretty strongly around Fox News, an outlet that consistent liberals widely mistrust. When half of the country, 47 percent, to be exact, is siphoned off onto one news outlet, there is clearly a dangerous imbalance of representation. It is important to consider that the above ‘liberal-approved' media has proven repeatedly to be superior in journalistic merit in almost every way. Nevertheless, there has been a dearth of action to help engage the untapped audience. Few understand why those who form a little under half of the country think and vote the way they do. Recently, there has been some analytical research into the sociological perspective, but I have rarely encountered journalism that transcends blatant condescension when addressing the viewpoints of low-income conservatives. NPR's “Marketplace” made economics accessible to the public. This is a solid approach. More liberal news media should do the same and appeal to a broader public by seeking to understand and therefore, write for those that rail against them. This means using the Facebook algorithm to reach those outside the liberal chasm. This means focusing on our leadership and the policy they propose, and steering away from incendiary journalism. This means checking personal frustration at the door. I do not suggest journalists support factual inaccuracies or hate speech, but rather that they engage the passive citizenry that sit in the middle of the spectrum, coerced by a side, that if not entirely appealing, at least made them feel welcome. Fellow journalists, unbutton your shirt, flatten your collar, and listen.

I've finally mastered the art of compartmentalization. I've learned to silence that little voice in the back of my head. That voice that is so full of self doubt, the fear of what's to be and all the regret that comes with it. I can only do what I can do in the here and the now. I'm done looking back. I'm done wallowing in bad choices, could have beens, should have beens and what ifs. I'm also done worrying about the future. Of course dreams may come, but I intend on relishing in today. I will never fail to notice all the wonder of today. I've seen more sunsets than I've yet to see and I will observe each of them as if it's my last. Maybe this sounds morbid, melancholy even, but this frame of mind allows me to appreciate being in the moment. I tend to focus on doing all I can to help my child navigate obstacles her Autism brings. But I ensure every day includes moments of fun and laughter. Of course when you have a child you can't help but tentatively imagine all their tomorrows in your head. You dream about their future. You rarely narrow it down to a specific occupation or educational level necessarily, but you have every intention of providing the support and encouragement to help them achieve their dreams. You attempt to map things out for your child. Then you realize there are some things that probably won't happen. Not every child will develop a skill set to allow for a traditional education. Not every child grows up to be a doctor or lawyer or a cashier for that matter. So you spend your days helping your child embrace their life as best you can. No map or compass, no knowledge of approaching storms. There are plenty of books. Many are too specific to apply or fail to focus how varied the autism spectrum can be. Plenty of unsolicited advice is available also. Sometimes the advice is solid and sometimes it's not applicable or just plain ridiculous. Plenty of bumper sticker philosophy to guide you along as well. Sometimes your head spins because you hear “consistency is the key to success" or "a foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of small minds”. Maybe it's "the definition of insanity is repeating the same behavior and expecting a different outcome"? I might prefer "improvise, adapt and overcome". But the only bumper sticker philosophy I've found to be absolutely true is "it is what it is”. In time you realize all you can do is love your child unconditionally and comfort them and provide for them. There are so many variations when defining the needs of a child. You don't want to under estimate their abilities. You know the next milestone could be coming soon. But while some children are learning fractions and studying world history you're still trying to teach your child to communicate and to cope. You want to teach them to cope with the stressful moments when there is too much going on around them. Sometimes all you can do is ride it out with them. You can't let tomorrow rob you of today. The most important thing to keep in mind is to always bring it back to the moment.