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I don’t know him well; We are working together on a project. But at the moment he called I was thinking about the baby again, and how he must feel. Or might feel. I tried to explain to him that I don’t always, of course, get this way (oh the apologies that are required when we are less than perfectly desensitized) but, I went on, I suddenly feel what the baby might feel.

“I am not nicer than anybody else but I am sometimes a super empath,” I explained, in the way I frequently offer what has not been asked. “It began when I was a small child. It’s a whole body experience, but it’s not with me all the time, far from it.  I experience the emotions of another, or what my brain produces, perhaps,when I imagine the emotions of another. I don’t know which. It’s animals, children, and women. Actually it can be plants too, or rocks, or shells. It’s never men. They just don’t come though.”

He was listening.  And then he spoke.

“I can relate to that,” he said. “I remember when I was in my 20s, and at the time I was very in love with somebody, it was an unrequited love. I was walking by the side of a road, like a highway, I remember it so well.  A truck went by, and it impacted a honey bee. I experienced it like it happened to me.”

I realized I had been writing his words down.

Haltingly, I said: “Can you..tell me more about that? What did it feel like, I mean if you can remember?

He thought about it.

“It was just a shudder. I felt it like a shudder.”

“A shudder. Oh.”

“The shock of being violated.”

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