So, I am an empath.

Just so, an echo. A particle tumbling out of the wave of creation. Reverberation.

 

You recall then, the Embodied Origin of Language.

 

Not exactly. That's the last line in a poem I wrote when I was 16.

 

However I do wonder about the origin of language...I have the impression that preverbal communication was maybe more "psychic" - the development of language was the beginning of the split, the fruit from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil.

 

Duh. How not exactly then?

 

Silly me. I hiccuped, and thought it was my member.

 

The threads are all woven together, a tapestry of life. When we look at the world of reflected light we see the back side of the tapestry. The image somewhat distorted, the threads appearing disjointed or at best, loosely connected.

 

It's called empathy. Most people have it.