turned off QQ and MSN and looked at it carefully. I didn't expect that I was crying. It should have nothing to do with love and autism. The symptom has nothing to do with it, and I don’t know what it is.
"I don't know~~"——Foreigners like to say this. I think in many cases, this is the truth. We don’t know too many things. We can’t fully understand ourselves, just like who can Who do you know? !
I really want to add a few more exclamation marks: who can understand whom? !
Strong, sometimes because of sadness.
How sad this sentence.
I really don't want to discuss the so-called normal people, or the love between us "socialized people" and autistic patients in "another world". Only when ghosts know whether it is love or not, what is love? !
Why I am a little angry, how I want us to be "in a world" and let us fully understand, but how disappointed.
What made me think I wanted to write something most was a scene:
in the court, Beth was surprised when he heard that her father had an affair, and walked home alone.
Dim orange light, Adam sat opposite her
two sofas, two people, face to face
no language, but Beth what action, Adam would imitate her
Beth leaned forward, his hands on his knees against the elbow, if you want to Adam confided. Adam also leaned forward, with his elbows resting on his knees.
Beth supported his cheek with his right hand. Adam followed his left hand with his cheek.
Beth leaned back on the back of the sofa in symmetry with her. lean back back back of the couch, head tilted
Beth head twisted to the other side, Adam also twisted to the other side of
Beth too slowly bowed his head, a very frustrated look, Adam also dejected
Beth touched her face and covered her eyes all the time, she seemed to be crying, Adam touched her face, covered one eye, and watched her cry...
This series of movements boiled
every movement of me like warm water. It’s all slow, every picture is symmetrical.
Only Joshua Radin sings:
My hands shake
My knees quake
It's every day
The same way.
Cos then came you...
When I'm lost,
I look at my picture of you.
No language is needed, the body is language, and the body never lies.
You imitate my body, my movements, if you are symmetrical with me, you will realize me.
At least, you are experiencing... the
heart-to-heart, that's how it came, symmetrical, starting from the body, when you do the movements that I do, you enter my heart, your hands, your arms, your legs, and your head. , Until your heart-corresponds to me.
Is Adam imitating Bath subconsciously? Whether it is or not, this is an excellent way for us to experience another person. Close your mouth. At this moment, what I am in is totally in my body! It's all in my actions, in my expression!
Don't talk, I'm not happy, I want to say something, but if you don't understand, you may instinctively persuade me, don't persuade me! How would you understand me? Why don't you understand how I feel?
Yes, I am very excited because, I read a book before going to bed last night, and it happened to say that this kind of "complete understanding" is written in it-when you don't know how a person feels at this moment, imitate his body Take a pose, and then experience your inner emotions. The emotions in your heart are his emotions.
When you accurately make the physical changes brought about by certain emotions, you will have corresponding emotions.
Hey, Adam, do you realize me?
Who can understand who? But everyone is eager to be understood.
We are totally in the body.
The body does not lie, it always tells. . .
Last night because of seeing this "complete understanding", I did not fall asleep for a long time
because I thought of my friends around me, how much I want to know them
, I reflect on it, we will always "persuade" and " under judge "
I'm sorry, my friend, I did not actually symmetrical with you, you never entered the feeling
I'm sorry, no feelings are personal, and is not to be negative, it can be understood
at least, we will go To do it, to experience it, starts with the body, this wonderful secret.
When you are sad, crying with you is the greatest comfort. . .
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