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Love and an Empath


  I believe in signs.  You know in the movie Signs when Mel Gibson looks at Joaquin Phoenix and says, “See what you have to ask yourself is what kind of person are you? Are you the kind that sees signs, sees miracles? Or do you believe that people just get lucky? Or, look at the question this way: Is it possible that there are no coincidences?”  I believe in miracles.  I don’t believe in coincidences.  That’s the kind of person I am.  The universe is too vast, too complicated, too connected for me to think that there isn’t a reason for everything.  The reason for why it is happening may elude me, but I have given up the need to know.

So what are my signs?  It seems like everything I pick up to read recently is all about the inner journey about self-discovery and the beauty of being alone. From the book that is sideways on the shelf that I picked up as I walked by because the cover looked interesting to one of my old students coming back to visit me to tell me how happy she is after she and her boyfriend broke up and she is able to really examine her own life.  Oh, the wisdom of a nineteen year old piercing the mind of her ole English teacher.  I did not mention my divorce, but she seemed intent on selling me on the all of the wonderful aspects of life as a singleton.  I nodded and smiled and just tried to soak it all in.  

I know what you are thinking, and I have considered it myself.  When a person is focused on something, she will see it everywhere, but what comes first?  Is my new found sensitivity causing my perceptions or are all of these things messages from the Universe to show me that I am on the right path?  Here’s the deal.  I don’t want these to be my signs,  If I were going to see signs right now, I want to see ones that point me towards that big, tall drink of water that wants to inspire me and make me his own.  I would look for the messages that tell me something that doesn’t grind against my feelings of loneliness and cause me to feel sick to my stomach.  The signs would be filled with hearts and doves, and all of these signs involve the joys of love.  

So I guess I don’t really need to ask myself what kind of a person I am. I know I am the girl who sees angels’ wings in the froth of her cappuccino and the number 11 on the back of a t-shirt as a thumbs.  And I guess love will continue to elude me until I get my own stuff straight, and I guess I am okay with that.  Even if I am not, I don’t think the Universe gives a shit.  

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