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The whole empath thing, which I’ve spoken about before, can take me down some interesting paths and branches. I am better about controlling it than I used to be – but not much. I’ll admit to weaving like a little drunken rock star on the spiritual path lately due to my emotional rollercoaster. But I am pulling things together. One of the empath gifts is a psychical connection to people with whom I share something. I can feel when someone else feels bad or upset – or maybe even incredibly happy. And I can feel when someone is physically farther away – on a trip or something. It’s like I have a slender spiritual measuring tape spool – that little invisible connecting strand that stretches with distance and is the conduit for emotions. Maybe that’s why I find it so hard to let go after a death as well – the coil no longer has a notion as to where it ends.
I missed the actual Royal Wedding.
I woke up just in time to watch the happy couple ride in their carriage to Buckingham Palace. And by the way, I think Kate’s dress was gorgeous. And she’s so pretty! So I’m catching up, and really enjoying listening to the British announcer on CNN. He’s so excited I’m afraid he may have soiled himself. But seriously, after our blase American attitude, where we don’t feel like we’re being conscious unless were protesting or objecting or bitching about something just for the sake of protesting, objecting or bitching, it’s lovely to see a whole bunch (and I mean A LOT) of people being happy and enthusiastic about a wedding.
I had it in my head to wake up, but because of my ex’s drunken drama last night, I was kind of tense and didn’t get to sleep until late. It was a touch reminiscent of the night before Princess Diana’s wedding for me, which I did get up to watch, partly because I wanted to, and partly because I had slept so tearfully and fitfully. You see, my summer boyfriend, who as of that morning was my ex-boyfriend, had sprained my arm the night before, twisting it almost to the breaking point. Why? Because I didn’t get up to change the record we were listening to. And because, as he confessed, he “liked to hurt me.” Yeah. Buh-bye. My Mother was worried about me, so she got up to watch (with) me. We cuddled on the couch and she let me talk and cry. I recall the sense of irony, watching Diana, who was just a few months older than I, walking up the aisle in her gargantuan dress to become a future queen, while I was sitting with my Mother in the dark on a couch in North Carolina, wrapped in a blanket, hurting at the hands of some idiot boy. Little did I know at the time that our experiences were probably more parallel than I thought.
And this morning, there is a trace of poignancy, due to the nasty behavior of another guy who can be a real lout sometimes. But I have left him and do not have to put up with it. I took my daughter and did not put up with it.
So now, I’m snuggled on the Red Couch, wrapped in two blankets, and I’m going to stay here until the Royal Kiss. They are serving high tea in some British tearoom in Denver and there was talk yesterday of a department field trip there today. One of our staff bought a hat for the occasion. (I would wear my own vintage hat today, except it’s at the Bungalow.)
I hope for the sake of all parties that this Royal Wedding works out better than the one I watched 30 years ago.
I still want to believe in true love.