THE EMPATH UNDER THE BRIDGE
khf
A Christmas card arrives from the edge of wounds and torments. Sad poetic visions posing as a holiday greeting—a glaring illustration of an empath living in the gloom like a troll under a bridge. I’ll spare you the morbid details. Suffice it to say it involved Baby Jesus. Tiny hands. Sharp nails. And a very large hammer. It didn’t end well.
Empaths are the most sensitive among us. Prone to injuries of the soul. Susceptible to the dark forces of misery. Feeding on the festering emotional wounds of the living. And the imagined suffering of ghosts that have long since found the light. Empaths intensely feel the pain of others, so naturally attuned are they to the vibrational energy--the intuitive voice—of anguish. Fugitive pain lodges inside their tender bodies like hairy growths. And inside their spirits like thick mucus.
Empaths are drawn to drama. We want to…no, need to…be of genuine service. To heal. And be healed. We consume the suffering of others. Absorb their pain into our hearts. We ache to help. Heedlessly, without rational thought, we jump instantly to the rescue. Without being asked. Without even the slightest notion that our impulsive action on another’s behalf may stop the very process of a life lesson we do not see or understand in our eagerness to be of assistance. And because of our misguided interference, that exact moment, the alignment of all that is necessary for that learning opportunity, is lost.
Because we don’t realize the consequences of “smother love,” inevitably somewhere along the way of this noble calling, we fail. Miserably. Slipping deeper and deeper into the shadows—into a darkness that we cannot control. Darkness that in our longing to help, we somehow confuse with light. And unknowingly—and innocently—create for ourselves the very situation we are desperately trying to avoid.
Until we, as empaths, learn to distinguish between our own emotions and the fugitive emotions of others, until we learn to establish boundaries, accept that we cannot illuminate ourselves or anyone else by focusing on pain—until we can learn to trust our own light—we are destined to troll the shadows. Offering what we mistakenly believe is light, but is really us crying out from under the bridge.
I wish you light on your path to understanding. khf
~~Author Cyndi Dale has written extensively on empathy. Her books are well researched and instructive.
khf
A Christmas card arrives from the edge of wounds and torments. Sad poetic visions posing as a holiday greeting—a glaring illustration of an empath living in the gloom like a troll under a bridge. I’ll spare you the morbid details. Suffice it to say it involved Baby Jesus. Tiny hands. Sharp nails. And a very large hammer. It didn’t end well.
Empaths are the most sensitive among us. Prone to injuries of the soul. Susceptible to the dark forces of misery. Feeding on the festering emotional wounds of the living. And the imagined suffering of ghosts that have long since found the light. Empaths intensely feel the pain of others, so naturally attuned are they to the vibrational energy--the intuitive voice—of anguish. Fugitive pain lodges inside their tender bodies like hairy growths. And inside their spirits like thick mucus.
Empaths are drawn to drama. We want to…no, need to…be of genuine service. To heal. And be healed. We consume the suffering of others. Absorb their pain into our hearts. We ache to help. Heedlessly, without rational thought, we jump instantly to the rescue. Without being asked. Without even the slightest notion that our impulsive action on another’s behalf may stop the very process of a life lesson we do not see or understand in our eagerness to be of assistance. And because of our misguided interference, that exact moment, the alignment of all that is necessary for that learning opportunity, is lost.
Because we don’t realize the consequences of “smother love,” inevitably somewhere along the way of this noble calling, we fail. Miserably. Slipping deeper and deeper into the shadows—into a darkness that we cannot control. Darkness that in our longing to help, we somehow confuse with light. And unknowingly—and innocently—create for ourselves the very situation we are desperately trying to avoid.
Until we, as empaths, learn to distinguish between our own emotions and the fugitive emotions of others, until we learn to establish boundaries, accept that we cannot illuminate ourselves or anyone else by focusing on pain—until we can learn to trust our own light—we are destined to troll the shadows. Offering what we mistakenly believe is light, but is really us crying out from under the bridge.
I wish you light on your path to understanding. khf
~~Author Cyndi Dale has written extensively on empathy. Her books are well researched and instructive.
