Telepathy, Autism, and the Silent Language of the Soul

This might seem random, but let’s dive into something I've felt deeply and intuitively for a long time: telepathy and its connection to autism.

As someone on the autism spectrum myself, and a mother to two remarkable children who also share this journey, I've found that our primary form of communication isn't always through words—it's telepathic.

Here's the thing: I believe that individuals diagnosed with autism have lived many lifetimes in dimensions or planetary systems operating at a higher frequency. In these realms, language as we know it doesn't exist because communication is entirely telepathic. When you're deeply attuned to someone else's energy, there's no need to lie—truth is palpable, immediate, undeniable.

On Earth, language can feel messy and inadequate. Words can be twisted, misunderstood, or layered with hidden meanings. For those on the spectrum, the directness and clarity that comes with energetic communication makes the social games around spoken language feel unnecessary—even cumbersome.

Let me share an example from my own life. My 14-year-old daughter is incredibly musically gifted, adept at playing multiple instruments. Once, during one of her performances, I suddenly felt an overwhelming sense of distress. Without speaking or even seeing her clearly, I knew she needed me. I immediately went to her, and sure enough, she was quietly struggling behind the scenes. Our connection didn't require words; it was pure telepathic clarity.

My 9-year-old son, who is nonverbal, has an even deeper way of communicating. He often places his stomach against mine, physically connecting to draw from the stillness within me. He navigates overwhelming sensory experiences by anchoring himself in my calm. He's deeply sensitive, often perceiving spirits and energies unseen by most, finding comfort both through me and the unseen guidance around us.

There's immense beauty and power in this intuitive connection. Telepathy isn't exclusive to those on the spectrum; I've experienced it profoundly even with neurotypical individuals. The difference? Neurotypical people aren't usually aware of it consciously. Their minds register telepathic communication as coincidence or random intuition.

I've had countless moments of this unconscious telepathy in relationships. Like when I thought of pizza and immediately my partner asked if I wanted pizza. Or even after breaking up with someone, thinking about playing a game we used to enjoy together, and moments later receiving an unexpected invitation to play again.

Telepathy isn't limited to humans, either—I frequently communicate this way with animals. On hikes, I'll quietly connect with a passing dog energetically, drawing it closer despite its owner’s surprise. It’s a beautiful exchange that happens beyond spoken language, driven purely by trust and energetic resonance.

Here's my core belief: everyone has the innate capacity for telepathy. For neurotypical individuals, activating this skill involves clearing mental clutter—old beliefs, emotional noise, societal conditioning. When our minds become clear, telepathic communication flows effortlessly.

People on the autism spectrum, in my view, are not here by accident or as something to "fix." They are here holding a frequency that humanity is striving to reach—a state of authenticity, transparency, and profound intuitive knowing. They remind us of our pure, unfiltered connection to one another and the universe.

Embracing telepathy means embracing a clearer, more authentic way of being human. And for me, it's one of the most profound, meaningful experiences of my life.