There is a weird monster out there. Being sensitive is great, but this particular little monster can drive you crazy if you don’t know how to handle it. It’s called ‘Highly Sensitive’.

Explanation from the experts:

‘A highly sensitive person (HSP) is a person having the innate trait of high sensory processing sensitivity (or innate sensitiveness as Carl Jung originally coined it. According to researchers, highly sensitive people, who compose of about a fifth of the population (equal numbers in men and women), may process sensory data much more deeply and thoroughly due to a biological difference in their nervous systems.’

I have to battle this little monster and I can tell you that it’s not easy to feel everything so very deeply.

The strange thing about this monster is that it can be both a blessing as a curse.

Being a HSP does NOT mean that you are weird…

Our beloved Mother Earth

” I’m going to plant a heart in the earth
Water it with love from a vein
I’m going to praise it with the push of muscle
And care for it in the sound of all dimensions.
I’m going to leave a heart in the earth
So it may grow and flower
A heart that throbs with longing
That adores everything green
That will be strength and nourishment for birds
That will be the sap of plants and mountains.

—-Rosario Murillo

We have a great gift from the Universe. It is the planet upon which we stand. The crust of our earth is full of rich metals that formed billions of years ago. Is there a directive to use every single molecule for our own needs? I think not. I also realize that we have already injured Mother Earth with our mining, and stripping and building.

CP train blocked in Toronto, March 12, 2014.

Trafficking report found a deep distrust of the police among many aboriginal women and girls

By Steve Rennie, The Canadian Press, Sept 19, 2014

Aboriginal women and girls are easy prey for human traffickers because they are more likely to suffer from poverty, drug addictions and mental-health problems, says a newly disclosed report.

photo credit: salinas18.blogspot.com

talk to me not about your woes
or your constant fears
but of your hidden hopes
you’ve buried deep within

talk to me not about the countless tears
your beautiful eyes have shed
but the number of times a smile
has lit up your beautiful face

talk to me not about your broken dreams
or the burdens that you bear
but of the blessings you’ve received
under God’s given grace

talk to me not about the lies and deceit
or the anger and hate that permeate
but of the joys that flow through your veins
and the love that makes your heart beat

talk to me of the sunshine that kiss your lips
not of the darkness that clouds your day
too many sorrows have laid this heart to waste
one more sad song and it will burst into flames

-©The Elusive Scribe 080114-

I witnessed a conversation with the sister of a boy who had been adopted at the age of 2 years old after being abused by his biological parents. As an adult “he has always been in trouble with the law and has been in jail.” Upon hearing this, a deep sorrow enveloped me. I have such empathy for that child, having three of my own adopted at a later age. It was with a sweet naiveté that I had them join our family, believing that love can cure all. Despite our family’s best efforts, love did NOT cure all. To pretend that it did does a disservice to all of those families living with similar children. As brightly as I may portray our family, (and they ARE wonderful children whom I have never regretted adopting,) they have serious disabilities when it comes to social norms. They have reactive attachment disorder.