Monthly Archives: February 2010


Did you ever watch Star Trek Next Generation?

We did.

Well, Rob did on his own in his previous life here and there, and I did on my own in my former existence in Iowa. Another instance of the eerie way our data banks contain common touch points that supersede the need for us to have “grown up” together.

On the show, one of the characters is an empath. Deanna Troi was half-human and half Betazed. Betazeds were telepaths and empaths. In effect they read the minds and emotions of those around them. Deanna was just an empath. She sensed only feelings. I never envied the ability to perceive feelings as much as the ability to read minds. Being bombarded by the emotional stew of the middle school I worked in wasn’t high on my list of need-to-do’s. Little teens project loudly enough without a teacher needing an added psychic enhancement in her arsenal of weapons.

One of the women in my yoga teacher training is an empath.

Yes, empaths exist outside the world of make-believe.

She woke up with the ability after being hit by a car. Quite a remarkable story without the extra sensory perception angle. The accident nearly cost her an arm and doctors told her she would never regain its use, but she re-habbed herself essentially using yoga and has close to full mobility today.

She told us all this during the introductions on the first weekend and though I was curious about her empath ability, I made it a point not to get too near her, especially after the first practice when she announced,

“I can feel the pain radiating all around me.”

Not clear on what kind of pain or whether she was one of those who can sense illness as well (some empaths can tell if you are sick. I’ve learned about a gentlemen down in Redwater that some folk around The Fort see who has diagnosed cancers and other equal nasty illnesses), I decided that the whole thing was too creepy for me. And I live in a haunted house remember, so the shiver factor has to be high to repel me.

Yesterday at Anatomy however, I ended up sitting not too far from her and during a break was drawn into a conversation where her ability came up.

A younger lady, maybe Mick’s age, has back issues and I observed the Empath run her hand side to side along the girl’s affected areas, drawing out pain. She doesn’t touch the skin at all. Her hand is about two inches away from any sort of contact. The girl’s eyes widened and she flinched away a bit.

“Wow,” was all she could say.

Mentally I noted to increase my distance in future and then the conversation turned to me,

“I was practicing next to you on the last weekend,” she said.

I hadn’t noticed. Really need to be more aware, I thought. The practices in February were brutal. Two plus hours and lots of hanging in asanas.

“Your ankles were just screaming.”

I acknowledged my ankle weaknesses though truthfully, it’s just the right that is painful – and most of the time – though I have been accustomed to it and don’t notice unless I have really been working it.

She nodded and her look was a mix of pity, sorrow and sympathy.

Run away, my mind said. This person is way too sensitive and I have a sneaking suspicion it is not just physical ailments that she can intuit.

I can be, when I am  paying attention, a fairly astute judge of people’s interiors. Probably related to my psychic “sight” but maybe not. The ability to sense spirit activity might be some different awareness all together. But I find the empath thing a bit scary in the same way I find palm readers and psychic readings a bit off-putting. I am not certain that we should have “heads up” on things. The future may be limited in actual directions and choices due to much of what we have already chosen and paths we have taken, but there is still some play that could be compromised by foreknowledge.

It’s like Greek mythology. Over and over in the myths there are gods and humans with peeks into their destiny who try to change or stop them but they never do. In fact they make things worse for themselves than if they’d simply prepared and faced the prophecies head on.

I will not be getting cozy with the Empath,  I think*.

* Updated to add: I did find myself working with her in small groups and sitting right next to her at the weekend in March. I am going to admit to have been a bit too quick to queasy and, in fact, overly dramatic when I wrote this post originally. Living, as I do, in house where spirits turn lights on, sometimes stomp and bang and occasionally jump on my bed – while I am in it – and have even spoken to me, I am completely in line with the idea of  everything is essentially one and that we are all tied together whether we know it or not. So I am careful in places that I sense are “alive” and with people who are even more attune to the flow of energy than I am.

I am such a contradiction. I can write nearly anything personal about myself, but in real life, I miss my barriers. I miss them because I have found that I can’t step out and away from interaction and keep to myself as was my wont in years gone by.

The Empath is a very kind person and it’s easy to see that her awareness is a burden though she manages it with far more grace than I think most people would. I think, in addition to the fact that I would rather not be “known” but “reveal” on my own terms, I don’t want to be a source of pain to her. I have a creaky old body. Worse for the wear of the last decade. Universe forbid that anyone have to deal with it than I.


Friday night movie in the hamlet was Disney fare called The Game Plan with Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson. He starred as a quarterback for a make-believe Boston team on the verge of its first championship. Completely self-absorbed, he is missing the one ingredient that will take him from “almost” to “legend”.

That missing ingredient?

A long-lost eight year old daughter from a barely remembered college marriage.

His ex-wife withheld the information due to his immature behavior and eight years didn’t age him much.

Being a Disney flick, Dad is inept. Daughter is wise-cracking. The agent (Kyra Sedgwick – looking very, very old) is the foil who is holding Dad back by reinforcing his selfishness and, of course, Mom … is … dead.

Yeah, it wouldn’t be a very Disney story without a dead parent. Mom’s seem to be the corpse of choice anymore, but it’s not a given.

It’s convoluted. The death isn’t revealed until close to the end, but Dee perked up and caught it like a terrier and didn’t let go. Angst about parents who “split up” and worry about dead people followed for a goodly amount of time after the movie ended.

“I don’t want you and Dad to split up,” lip quivering.

It took strength not to roll my eyes. Most of the time she complains that we kiss too much.

“That won’t happen,” I assured her.

So much insecurity and always when I think she is grounded. She’s been calling Rob “Dad” most of time for the last little bit and is busily plotting her eventual name change. Moving first from the diminutive of her given name to her given name (Will insisted she have a “grown up name”. He thought this was important though he seldom used his own “William”) in grade three. In grade four, she plans to adopt Rob’s surname and drop Will’s (her call completely and I refuse to influence her one way or another).

Between Rob and I, the dead parent/spouse thing in movies is something of a joke, but for Dee it is an unsettling reminder of the ease with which life can flip end over end.


The macbook’s history is a relatively short one. Purchased the day after Black Friday in 2006, it enabled me to go wireless, which ended up really facilitating the courtship of Rob and I after we met in mid-December of the same year. My desktop, also a mac, was inconveniently located in my bedroom. Inconvenient because Dee still slept in my bed and her bedtime was early. I couldn’t be on the computer once she was tucked in for the night.

But now, the macbook is near history. Problems this summer with the blue-tooth led to its being turned off and now it’s developed some sort of corruption that crashes the internet browser every five minutes or so. It roars like a jet plane most of the time due to a fan that rarely stops running.

Sigh.

I guess it is back to PC’s for me. We have a house full of computers – literally – and financially it makes no sense to run over to the Apple Store to replace the macbook.

I will be able to archive files on an external hard drive and transfer them. Which is good. I have way too much writing and three years of photos and music on it. Rob thinks he can wipe it and reprogram it, but there is no guarantee it will fix the issue or that he will have time anytime soon to do this.

“Do you want a new macbook?” he asked. “We could just replace my laptop and use it and the desktop.”

“And the netbook,” I added.

I like macs. User friendly in the extreme as long as nothing ever goes wrong. But when something glitches? Forget it. Steve Jobs has designed them to make it impossible for the ordinary person to identify and fix the issue. There is just no mechanism for diagnostics for the user. The physical make up even is such that a person needs special training and tools just to get into the dangit things.

Much as I would like one of the new desktops. They are too expensive and ultimately they all possess the same fatal flaws that keep user in thrall to the Genius Bar* at the Apple Store.

As long as my writing is saved and re-archived on another machine, it doesn’t matter what the machine is. Computers are computers. Tools to an end.

Alas then poor Macbook, I knew it well, Horatio.

*The Genius Bar is where you take your Apple products to be fixed by in-store techs, who often can do little more than replace or box up your mac to send away to be replaced/repaired. The “genius” part is how no one questions the fact that macs either work great or just intermittently and that by getting a customer in the store periodically, more product can usually be sold to them despite the defective by design nature.