This is another lesson I learned the hard way. It happened six or eight months ago, but I wrote it down in as much detail as I could at the time. The article deviates from my intended use of this blog again, but I thought the experience worth sharing and can act as a warning. When you get to the point that you don’t even have to touch something or someone to get information, you can find more than you were looking for without even trying.
By the time I was finally able to get up off the floor, I was still disoriented. The pool of vomit beneath me smelled of sour milk and bile. Pain crept slowly into my elbow from where I landed on the ceramic tile floor when I blacked out.
I staggered to the bathroom to get something to clean myself up with. When I caught my reflection in the wall-sized mirror, it took a moment for me to recognize my own face. “I wasn’t an albino when I woke up this morning,” the face staring back at me was as white as a linen bed sheet. All of the blood in my skin had been drawn into my internal organs to protect them from oxygen deprivation.
I made my way back to the rancid pool of vomit and fell to my knees, then began to clean up the mess. I never realized how much the human stomach could hold until I saw it spilled all over my kitchen floor and had to clean it up with a washcloth, it wasn;’t nearly large enough to even put a dent in the mess so I switched to the dish towel that hung on the handle of the oven.
I never saw this one coming. It’d been years since anything like this had happened to me, and back then, I had no idea what caused it. Now I know better. Eight years can teach you a lot, now I understand.
It all started when I walked back from the office in front of the complex where I live. Everything had been fine for so long that I’d forgotten what I’d gone through to get where I am today, feeling normal, well, mostly normal. On my way back to my apartment I passed by one of my neighbors who sat on his patio out in front of his apartment, smoking a cigarette and staring at the floor. (I say ‘Happened to pass by’ but there isn’t much in my life that just happens. Everything is for a reason and I spend a lot of time trying to figure out what that reason is)
My neighbor’s daughter had recently passed away and he was in bad shape, really bad shape. I had been counseled in the past to wear or keep a dark colored stone on my person at all times to protect me from absorbing other people’s negative energy. But that’s half the fun of being me, I always want to know why, so I didn’t heed the advice I’d been given. I figured I could handle anything that came at me, boy was I wrong, and what a way to find out.
I walked over to his patio, greeted him shook his hand and asked how he was holding up. That was all it took. He started out slow at first, telling me about the funeral and all the people who came to show their respect. Then he went into the arrangements he’d made for her estate and how much his ex-wife was selling off and keeping the proceeds. He told me that he’d sold and given away, well, donated, most of his own assets because material things no longer meant anything to him.
It wasn’t until he described the hospital room where she died that I got a strange tingling sensation down the center of my body (that was the warning that I didn’t heed or understand). I guess it’s like the aura that an epileptic feels just before they are about to have a seizure. The body is trying to tell you something is coming.
I was absorbing all of his pain, and fast. When he described seeing a coyote minutes after she passed I felt a shudder in my body that caused my muscles to twitch. As he kept talking and pouring out all of his pain, I started to feel light headed and nauseous. I felt like I was going to pass out right there in front of God and everybody.
I cut the conversation short and headed the few hundred feet to my own front door. Barely making it up the stairs still upright, I pushed the door open and staggered in. Everything was going black. I made it as far as the kitchen before I passed out and hit the floor. I guess I’m lucky I spilled my guts as I fell, or at least I think I did, or else I could’ve choked on my own vomit.
I don’t think it was long before I came to. The last thing I remember hearing was the thud of my body hitting the tile floor, but I didn’t feel it. When I opened my eyes and could finally move, the first sensation I could feel was the warmth of the thick, gritty vomit between my cheek and the cold floor.
Everyone calls being an empath or psychic a gift, that’s a bunch of bullshit. It’s a burden you learn to live with like being born with one leg shorter than the other, except no one points and stares at an empath or a psychic, they just think you’re a weirdo.
That was the bridge I crossed, the one between the five physical senses and the sixth. The only example I can think of to help someone relate to my experience is that I felt like John Coffee in The Green Mile. I took this man’s pain into my body to the point of overload on myself. I can only hope that in some way I was able to help ease his suffering. To believe that would make it worth the while…