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  • look past the outside, look straight into the heart, me and God think that’s the best place to start…

    2010 - 02.17

    I saw a bumper sticker yesterday as I was driving to Santa Fe. It said, “I am waiting for  non-judgment day”. I am waiting for that as well. And more than that, I am working for it. But I know that I must first find the judgments that live deep inside my own self, examine them, analyze their origins, and transmute them into pure love.

    A group of local women took me out to lunch to get to know a little about me. People in New Mexico are like people everywhere; curious, kind, interested, and interesting. There is an amazing assortment of multi talented artists, artisans, authors, organic growers, and professional people, who find solitude and beauty in the high desert. Like any place else, as a small community, everyone knows about everyone and there must be a certain amount of care taken to understand the culture before barging in full force. This is always true I think.

    When I was younger; twenty’s, thirties, even forties, I would come at people with the full force of my highly charged personality. I often saw the “deer in the headlights look” film over the eyes of the chosen onslaughtee. (New word; it’s Beverlese, don’t try to look it up, not in the dictionary yet.) I am , however, a consummate student of humanity and I had a desire to learn and dissect not only the behaviors of others, but also my own behavior; my need to be exactly what I was presenting. This has taught me to become a balcony observer. It is a little like loving without attachment; observation without comment. Oh, the comments are inside me, but there is something that tells me they must stay put and not be released to the universe. Our words have enormous power. Our thoughts do as well.

    I was born politically correct. When I was six years old I heard a group of kids making fun of a schoolmate. I was a shy and tiny child and I always tried to be inconspicuous. But it bothered me that these kids were picking on another and I remember saying, “That will hurt their feelings, it’s not nice”. Of course this put me in the line of fire and then I became a target for their unkindness. I did not have a lot of friends, which was OK because I was comfortable with my own company, inside my own skin.

    I always felt what others felt. If there was sadness, I felt sad. If there was excitement, I felt excited. If there was anger, I felt angry. If someone was hurt, I felt the pain. I didn’t have the experience to separate what were my own feelings and what I was being bombarded with from the outside. This ability took me 40 years to learn. When I talked about these things as a child I was told I had a “good imagination”. So I stopped talking about it.

    When I was twelve years old I was watching my favorite television show, Star Trek. The episode was about a woman named Jewel. She did not speak, but she felt what others felt. I watched this show with my heart pounding. Jewel was an Empath. It was then that I realized that I too, was an empath. I realized that it was not my “imagination” that made me feel others, but something that was really happening. I knew however that I still should not talk about it.

    I do talk about it now, because the world does not change unless we take the hushed up secrets and bring them into the open air. Until others can look at them and acknowledge their own hushed up moments that are hidden away; those “don’t tell anyone” things. This is how we become unhealthy. We shove all of our imagined weirdness’s down deep thinking that we are the only ones that have them. I think it might be in our DNA to imagine ourselves the “only”, and we have to break through the “only” shell to discover that we are a part of the whole. If one of us is in pain, we all hurt. If one of us has no food, we all hunger. If one of us hates, we all suffer, if one of us loves with intention, we are all sacred.

    Some of us are Doom and Gloom, some of us are Mary Sunshine, some of us are Never Happy, some of us are Perpetually Perplexed, some of us are Silly Susan’s, and some of us are Intuitive Irene’s; and all of us, all of us, are connected. All of us are worthy. But we are never, ever, an“only”  We are a part of a whole; sometimes the whole world, the whole town, the whole enchilada, the whole damn thing…

    If we judge others, then we are judging ourselves. I am waiting for non-judgment day…

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