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PUBLISHED!!!

After being reviewed for a second time, the Languages of Sensing paper has been accepted  for publication! I tried to write something, but it wasn’t enough…so I made another video blog that attempts to express something of what I am feeling about this intense journey through academic disclosure and learning more about how I experience the world. 🙂

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The Terrifying World Of International Research Permits – Made Easy!

 

Why an Idiot’s Guide? HALI, as a collaborative research program, supports the development of Tanzanian scientists to conduct research in Tanzania. We also engage a few foreign researchers in our activities, including the authors. For our Tanzanian colleagues, obtaining research permits seems to be pretty straightforward. They submit a proposal/application, it is reviewed, and if […]

via Research permits in Tanzania… An Idiot’s Guide — Health for Animals and Livelihood Improvement (HALI) Project

Prayer To My Ancestors

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MĂ hair Ban-Dia;
Athair Dia;
Seanmhair, Seanair;
Ă€rsaidh Sinnsear…

I hold lights
In my hands,
In silence,
The rain falls…

Golden yellow
Like the warm air,
Spring flowers bursting
Joy from my soul.

Lush green
Leaves growing,
Nourishing grass,
Fresh, healthy.

Luminous red
Hot lava,
Blood of the earth,
Protective sunshine.

Gentle blue,
Salty sea water,
Rivers coursing,
Peaceful rain.

Let my shadows be valued
As much as my light;
Let my light be seen
As much as my shadows.

Guitar string snaps,
A resonate voice
Discordant,
Strange harmony.

The rain falls…
Birds call…
Silence again,
But alone no more.

The Burnt Tree

*Look closely at the above painting by Vasily Polenov…you will see the camouflaged woman amongst the burnt forest, and the link to the poem.

A tree that was burnt,
Charred black
Deep into his body,
Closed his eyes to dream.

My skin felt crisp,
Sore, dry,
From water lost as tears,
Thirsting for wet breath.

My body became air,
Soaking into
His scorched flesh,
The tree and I, as one.

Bark, wood, skin, meat,
The tree is my body,
And I am his,
Sap, roots, blood, bones.

Water is medicine,
We feel dry,
Burnt, Damaged,
Healing slowly.

We want our leaves
To grow back,
Lush and green,
To wake from the dream.

On The Stigma Of Autism In Academia

The increasing number of disclosing autistic academics gives me hope for the future, and encourages me that I have made the right decision to do so myself.

Conditionally Accepted

Note: this blog post was originally published on our Inside Higher Ed column. Scott B. Weingart (@scott_bot) is a historian of science, Carnegie Mellon University’s digital humanities specialist and co-author of The Historian’s Macroscope.

——

Stigma

Once or twice a year, my parents and I huddled into my little windowless bathroom. Our ears were glued to the radio as we attempted to calm a terrified golden retriever and waited for the hurricane to pass. While our dog never liked it, I always appreciated the safety that the room provided. In fact, I would often lock myself in the bathroom after school, sitting on the covered toilet with the lights off and a towel bunched against the door, blocking light and sound from the rest of the house. The best moments were those nights in that bathroom when it got so dark my eyes never adjusted, so quiet…

View original post 725 more words

The Forgotten Moth

Gentle moth, dull and plain,

Discrete amidst the night blooms

Heavy with fragrant nectars

That breathe into her grace.

Little more than powdered air,

Crepe wings dust pollen kisses

At the slightest touch,

But are so easily crushed.

She longs for luminousity:

Pale white evening flowers

And the glowing glass stars,

Yet is condemned to dark nights.

So inoffensive,

Her life of service lies

At the mercy of many:

Pursued, snatched, torn apart.

What beauty here has been forgotten?

 

*All photos by Sara.

On Being Autistic In Academia

If only more of this was published in academic literature. Finger’s crossed for my second attempt at submission…

Conditionally Accepted

AutismIn this guest blog post, Stella S. (a pseudonym) shares her experiences as an autistic academic, and offers advice for other autistic scholars (and everyone else) on communication, networking, and navigating academia while being visibly different.

The Impact Of Being Autistic In Academia

I’m autistic.

There, I said it in an academic space for the first time and even though I am writing under a pseudonym, it feels good. I was diagnosed later in life, after I became a PhD researcher (which I still am). Just because it took longer for me to know does not mean that you should call me “high-functioning” or “mild” or any other word that is supposed to make you feel better about my autism. I only identify as “autistic,” thank you very much.

I don’t personally know anyone in academia who is openly autistic. Due to this, I find it hard sometimes to make…

View original post 1,318 more words

A.F.R.I.C.A

A path to freedom is often discovered on broken wings.

For it is through loss and being stripped to the bone of our raw humanness that we discover what we really are, what we can do.

Reaching out for something that seems less than what we have…and yet is so much more.

It is real, a way of life that remembers what life is, and grasps it with the talons of an eagle.

Cry no more, little birds, you are who you are, feel what you feel, go where the wind takes you.

And it is time to fly again.