An Empath

My two cousins in Dallas, Texas cut people open and chop out bones. They are orthopedic surgeons.

I could learn to be a doctor and perhaps do surgery, but I would have to overcome my sympathetic nervous system. I am a sensitive type—an artist, and also an empath. “The trademark of an empath is feeling and absorbing other people’s emotions and/or physical symptoms because of their high sensitivities. These people filter the world through their intuition and have a difficult time intellectualizing their feelings.” (From Psychology Today, Ten Traits of Empathetic People) I would “feel” some pain when cutting someone open, let alone cutting out their hip joint and tossing it in the trash. No matter that person is under anesthesia and asleep.

I could never be a bully because I sympathize with the other. I feel human anger, jealousy, fear and it hurts. I often will bend over backward for someone else at my own expense and have been taken advantage of by self-centered and unfeeling people. During times of peace and joy with another, I can feel elated. I replenish easily in nature, in wild fields, under open skies, among birds and beasts, by water.

I quickly tire of being in a crowd because I absorb too much. When I was young, if in a crowd or at a long meeting, I would often feel an urgency to use the bathroom—an escape mechanism. During eighth grade, the class elected me their president and I declined. 

Now, as I pass mid-life, I find I can travel alone for months, even a year or longer.

Too much togetherness can be difficult for me—I have been married three times. Perhaps I fear being engulfed and losing my identity and do not give myself easily to being a unit. Maybe I am not “domestic.”
Once when my mother visited me from her home far away, we were standing together in my yard and a terrible migraine came upon me, although I never get headaches. Mom always was tough—I felt I absorbed tension from a deep layer of being.
When my oldest daughter was seventeen, there came a time when I was waking at night with a feeling of dread, as if something was wrong but I could not discern what. Soon after, we discovered she had advanced cancer and would probably not survive. The cancer started in her hip bone, and for two years until the day she died I felt pain in my hip.

Usually I am healthy and without pains, but occasionally something will flare up for a short while. Yesterday I felt uneasy around lunch time—a bit nauseous and unsteady. I wondered at the unusual indisposition, but the discomfort passed as I focused on my artwork and gallery. Soon after, my dear friend and comrade talked with me and texted describing the sudden onset of her “stomach being on fire” and having digestion symptoms that necessitated medication. "Probably too much Thanksgiving leftover sweets," she said. "I am not used to the richness!"

Oh, and did I tell you that I often begin thinking of someone moments before they call me on the phone?

Hey Jude

Sometimes life events transpire that make us turn our face in awe to the invisible realm and wonder at the intelligence that abides there. I have two examples to share; one that I read last week in a news report, and my own recent experience.

The Guardian ran a story titled, WorldCup: Dream told John Brooks he would score USA winner against Ghana. In the report, we learn about a young soccer player for team USA, only 21 years old, who never had played in an official match and was a second-string player, who had a dream two days before the first world-cup match against Ghana, that in the 8oth minute of the match he scored a header goal from the corner of the field that won the game. Two days later in the real game, against all odds, he scored the winning goal exactly as his dream had prophesied—a header from the corner in the 86^th minute. We have to ask ourselves, where did this prior intelligence of future events come from?

Strawbearer, Mixed-media on board, 60 x 36 inches

My own personal experience occurred several days ago. I was in my art gallery when mid-morning, a woman walking her dog breezed in. She was dressed casually, not wearing make-up, and though I try not and judge people as to whether they are art buyers or lookers, I thought certainly, she is a looker out for a stroll. She barely spent five minutes in the gallery, lingering longer in one room. We said good-bye and she disappeared. I quickly forgot about her and went about doing some menial work, but as I worked, a song came into my head and I could not get it out from my brain. The song is Hey Jude, by the Beatles, and it practically screamed in my ears. Fifteen minutes later the lady with her dog arrives again, this time with her husband trailing behind. We all went to an artwork called Strawbearer, an unusual piece I made a couple years ago that I have shown sporadically, and have always been fond of. It is from a photograph I made in India, when I was traveling between cities by car and spotted a person carrying an immense bundle of straw on his head and shoulders. Although I was moving and he was walking, I snapped the shutter and got a dreamily blurred picture of a fantastic scene. Much later, in my studio, I printed the image as a large format picture on canvas, mounted it on board, covered the surface with encaustic (beeswax and resin heated into a liquid medium) and put straw into the surface while it was still hot, so that when it cooled everything remained intact and secure. 

 

The woman and husband took measurements, and she gave me her contact information to e-mail her a photo of the work and possibly take it to her home for a trial installation. They left, and when I looked at the card, noticed her name—Jude. To make a long story short, I took Strawbearer to their home, helped hang it in their living room and two days later, Jude and her husband Lynn bought it.

If I pay attention, I can see a clue had been given in advance of the main event.