Saturday, October 15, 2011

An Hour in the Life of an Empath

     Yesterday I went to see my new chiropractor.  She's got quite a set-up, with tables for stretching the spine (roller tables), a table for lying on moist heat, a table for being adjusted, a table for traction of the lower back, a table for receiving cold laser treatment, a table for a vibrating massager, and, off in another room, a massage table.

     After each use, the table is cleaned off with a disinfectant spray and wiped down.  That's reassuring for the germaphobes among us.

     Still, we empaths pick up on whatever and whoever used the table before us.  Sure, the germs have been wiped off, but the emotions haven't.  So, I go from table to table and notice what I feel.  A little anxiety here, a little depression there, some pain over there, some tension in the other place.  On top of that, the people that work on me have their own stuff that I get to experience.  It's like being bombarded with blankets of emotions and sensations.  I go home feeling worn out.

     Too bad there isn't a spray that will remove emotional imprints on things, don't you think?

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