Mon., 10/22/12 | 1:26pmESTTallahassee, FL | USA
--by Debra J. Gordon
I was about eight or nine when I discovered I was an Indigo child. It began with the discovery of a rifle bullet I found lying in the grass near the front door of the house I shared with my family. What followed after that magic bullet raised it's head is something I'd rather not share right now. Just trust me when I say, "I" wouldn't connect the dots for another few decades. And so, for those friends who're reading this who are not indigos, empaths, lightworkers, etc., it might take some 'convincing'
that my life experiences were real. It doesn't help the situation either-- that I am also an empath.
This gift of highly developed discernment does not soothe my soul. If I had the ability to wave a magic wand and have it vanish, I'd like that. But God had other plans for me.
And who am I to argue with Him?
Today I am more accepting of this. I haven't many friends. In fact, under the dome in this town I have two (and a few family members). Neighbors seem to be purposefully distant except for my buddy John. A jovial, elderly man who made a living selling gun ammunition to whomever. John walks and walks... and walks, just about everywhere. Consequently, he's in excellent shape for his senior years. [Pause writing]
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