It’s my blog and I’ll cry if I want to.

Warning:  This blog post may contain rambling thoughts, incoherent sentences, and random bursts of sadness punctuated by tears

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Warning:  This blog post may contain rambling thoughts, incoherent sentences, and random bursts of sadness punctuated by tears.

I am sad, no grief stricken. I sob at the least provocation. I vacillate between anger and intense rounds of keening sobs. My body is tired, weak, as is my heart and soul. If I owned stock in Kleenex, I’d be rolling in the dough right now.  Instead, I am fighting the feeling that I should just crawl into bed, pull up the covers and sleep for a century or two. But instead of hiding, I write, giving my grief purpose and my tears a chance to dry. If only for the moment.

The horrific tragedy in Las Vegas, the floods, hurricanes, fires, and earthquakes over the last few weeks and months have taken an extreme toll on my psyche and my body.  The constant barrage of emotions and despair makes my heart quiver, my head ache and my muscles tense and cramp.  You see, I have the dubious honor of being clairsentient and an empath. I feel – everything. Everywhere.  Walking down the hallways at work. In the park or shopping mall.  I sense the emotional energies left in old homes and even in clothing found at the Goodwill (which is why I don’t shop thrift stores very often). I feel deeply watching movies and the news. This deluge of charged emotions seems to seep into my pores, saturating them to the point where I can no longer determine whether these emotions are mine, or someone else’s.  So I cry, not exactly knowing why.

I’ve worked hard to shield myself, to keep the worst of it at bay. Its failing.  There is so much of it. It oozes through the cracks in my armor, pools into psychic sludge at my feet. I wade through the muck, only to fall into a sink hole of despair. And then I give in. I feel. Then I weep.

I cry when I think of the terror those poor souls felt as they heard the shots, the screams, saw the first fall.  I weep,  pictures of people standing in the rubble that was once their home captured in my gaze.  My soul agonizes as I watch surreal scenes of people standing in waste deep water, searching for family, pets, anything they can hold on to.  My heart aches for those buried in the piles of brick, concrete and twisted steel brought down by the forces of nature and for those working to dig them out. The sobs break forth, and the tears flow.

I try to close my eyes so I cannot see.  I hold my hands over my ears so I may not hear. But I cannot stop what my soul feels, cannot stop the aching of my heart.  I don’t really want to stop it. I just want it to come in trickles, not floods.  I wish for time to recuperate from one disaster before the next arrives.  Then I could process, digest and then let the feelings move through and out of me. Then I feel selfish, ungrateful, small.

So many others have not had the luxury of a trickle of emotions, time to process or block out the pain. Tragedy was thrown at them and they dealt with it, coped, and were transformed.  Bravery, compassion, perseverance, love, all are despair transmuted. As the waters recede, the rubble cleared, the wounded bandaged, and the dead laid to rest we find the blossoms of hope growing wild. People are coming together, giving of themselves, showering that tender flower with kindness. These are the emotions that shall dry the tears, overcome the despair and pain.  As they heal, so shall my woes mend.  As they recover, then flourish, so shall I.

So I cry.  I cry for the many. I cry for those alone and afraid.  I feel for each and every soul, embrace each and every emotion. And hope.  Hope that I can be as brave, as compassionate and worthy as the many I have witnessed facing these trials of nature and of man.  I shall cry, and often.  But may it soon be from joy,

Blessed Be.

 

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