Taking in negative energies becomes a toxin in the body of the empath. Close the windows, close the front door and the back door. Close the cellar door. And when someone knocks at the door, you take a look before you open.~Tom Kenyon, The Great Shift.
The global hive mind buzzes me
through elaborate illusions.
I have no match, and yet I burn
Unbridged, the agony before me
beckons. How can I reach for these
parts of myself, so long disowned?
The path of healing threatens
the careful facade of my bleeding
relations. I bleed for them.
They bleed through me.
Life wants to live and so I enter
the unfamiliar territory and shout
my sovereign no. We are condemned
by habit to pick at the guts
splattered on the road, frantic
fluttering as each engine roars
into our space. Returning again
and again to worry at the remains.
The empath is born of cruelty and
lies, feeling the dissonance
in her bones, sifting through the noise
for right rhythm in this sick
Sound heart and a mind called mad
by those who would control it.
The slam of closing doors
and windows to this toxic world–
I writhe and shudder at the sound.
After all, I’m here to save it.
Another lie: I’m here to save
myself, to utter my truth and right
the only imbalance I command:
my own essential voice in this
symphony of we.