As I learned to walk, my hero picked me up when I fell. He wrapped me up in his arms when I cried. I met the fairies and the gnomes, sprites and trolls as I played on the sun porch waiting for his return. Experience had taught me to be quiet and play with my friends until he arrived. I met pixies, fairies and elves, tree spirits and ghosts, kings and queens of other realms, and angels of all kinds. Breezes sang to me; clouds giggled my soul as the air and I communed in spirit. Love was in the air as well as tucked away in the teardrop within my heart. I felt at home with Mother Nature, yet alone among the humans. During the next few years, I was allowed to escape to school where I continued to obey and follow the rules and even met some human friends my age. We frolicked and played and enjoyed each other’s company until it was time to go back home and into my safe “supposedly imaginary” world. Homework, as well as my spirit friends and my books, was always a welcome distraction from the insanity of my human family. Life was better. Then at age 10 we moved: the human friends turned into unwelcome tormentors as I was the now the “outsider”, and my hero brother was too old to bother with me. I snuggled back into my inner world for survival until I met the celestial bodies!
At age 13, I sat in awe as I listened to a woman speak of the stars and the zodiac. My spirit immediately jumped out into the slides she shared, as I felt myself flying among the constellations. I was free. After a lifetime of patience, the word “Pisces” rang into my ears; the twelfth astrological sign in the zodiac. Individuals born under this sign are reported to be perceptive, emotional and receptive leading to high sensitivity. They tend to be dreamy, mystical and artistic living in the unseen realm often and many times are considered psychic. My questions had been answered: I felt different than those I had met because I am not only a Pisces, but a double Pisces. My soul soared as I continued to live in unseen realms while simultaneously getting good grades, behaving to the best of a 13 year old girl’s ability and writing the poetry at night that swam in my veins and was now regurgitating itself from fingertips to pen to paper. Author’s such as Madeleine L’Engle and her book “A Wrinkle in Time” would be contemplated again and again as I stared out of my window into the mystery of the stars and heavens. Where did we come from? Who else is out there? Where was the real Pillsbury Dough Boy who could hug away all my unseen tears into the softness of his puffy belly? Who and what was God? I sent out to the Universe all my unseen tears due to others not seeing what I saw; others not understanding how I felt; others not sensing my internal pain for the world.
So can you relate at all? Empaths are a species of their own.