To those who soak up the world’s energy like a sponge…
You play a critical role here.
You may not feel it sometimes. Sometimes it feels like you’re drowning in a sea of other people’s feelings, uncertain which waves have poured over from foreign waters and which come from your own deep center, far too immersed to reach, at least in this lifetime.
The part you play in this drama of human life is absolutely essential.
You are one of the truth-tellers.
You are one of the strong ones.
You are one of the believers in magic. You dance in the shadows to bring life to the light trickling in from cracks in the board that others fail to see.
Without you, chaos continues to ensue.
Sometimes you play the role of match-striker, sparking the fire that burns away the dust that has settled on top of the shell.
Know that the work you do, in stoking the flames, is not a bad thing. Rather, it is remarkable. It signifies your immense potential to get at the heart by pulling at the threads of bullshit we have wrapped our true selves in.
We all wear sweaters tangled with lies of who-we-need-to-be and what-we-need-to-prove, and you are often the sole being who sees the snags, unafraid to wrestle your pinky fingernail into the hole, however minuscule, and rip and pull and prod until the whole web, the false exterior, comes undone.
This is not easy work. This is the task of a fighter. A wolf. A truth-seeking ninja who will stop at nothing.
By most conventional societal standards, you are, without a doubt, the underdog. You receive none of the glory. People will not know to thank you, for waking them up. They may not realize until years later it was you that so gently (or sometime, when the direness of the situation calls for it, more urgently) removed the shambled cloak they lay sleeping beneath, to stir them back-to-life with a burst of cool air.
They may never comprehend the depths of your mission, the gift that you have so selflessly bestowed upon them.
You see, most people don’t notice the things you see and feel with clarity. Most others live in cheerful omission of the felt sense that simmers throughout your entire body, down to the root, remaining hidden by the tangibility society places on a pedestal.
For the survival of your empathetic soul, you must understand that these others exist on a different plane of being altogether. Not a lesser-than plane, nor in a higher state, but just in a different place.
Like originating from one country versus another.
These people cannot comprehend what it means to feel all the things, and to feel them to the core of their very being. They do not carry antennas flickering with messages at the faintest signal of emotion. The sensitivity of your feelers is not limited by physical, mental, emotional, or spiritual constraints. No walls, nor technological barriers, can prevent you from taking in what those around you feel.
You can try as hard as you like to put up invisible shielded boundaries. You can seek the protection of black panther guardians, use crystals and healing rays and countless other grounding techniques.
No matter your mechanisms to prevent the absorption of the energy around you, it is time for you, brave heart, to relent, and recognize that this is your gift.
You may never have the thick skin they will forever tell you to grow, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. Because with your power comes the ability to touch a child’s hand, and realize that while you have been bitten, in true zombie-apocalyptic fashion, with the detrimental effects of his lack-of-sleep foregoing nap time, you see the spring in his step amplify, and you know you have made him all the stronger, even if for only a moment.
And these small moments, of lifting others by sharing their afflictions, expand, one drop at a time, until the ripples of a creek fight through the hard, drought-ridden cracks. And then, one day, the trickle accumulates and grows strength, becoming its own, majestic waterfall. All created by your ability to shed other people’s tears on their behalf.
You will cry out in the meeting in which no one else would raise a hand, shining light on the vibes underlying the entire group. You will speak up for the whales, the ocean, even the air, which has been so violently ripped of life by those around you. You will not stop shedding your tears until they have washed away the world’s darkness.
Know that the others do not mean to leave you in the dust, nor do they intentionally thrust you into the fire without a helping hand. They do not mean to cause you to be the sole voice screaming the injustices from the mountaintop.
They simply do not know how to consciously give words to these deep-felt emotions. They cannot fathom sweeping the dust to form the bones of what matters. They do not understand what has been brimming underneath, nor can they hear their heart-song’s murmur.
At least, not yet.
But with time, I believe, we will all, gently, give way to the song within, and slowly reveal the flower as yet budding in the deepest interior of our core. One by one, given the right ingredients of nurturing, our petals will expand until we wave at the sun in unison, providing refuge to the bees to produce honey sweet enough to overpower the bitterest of earthly fruits.
You are one of the early ancient ones. Bringing us back to the ship from which we most recklessly jumped. Showing us the crooked, twisty, overgrown-with-grass path through the forest, toward the life we are all meant to live. The path straight to the source. Do not for one second doubt your mission here. We need you, in all of your strength and lack-of-glory.
We need you, fearless tear-shedder, to continue your song for all those who have forgotten they have a voice.
This article was previously published on Rebelle Society.