The Third Person

Have you ever loved someone so much that you wanted to step inside of them to feel what they were experiencing, join them in their joy, suffer with them in their sadness to understand and know precisely what makes them tick? It’s a pure love that transcends time and space and is woven through history; a love that exists at your core, with a never-ending reservoir in store. You can trace the love’s passion by seeing through words on a page, by examining the events that made history and by picking up morsels of information scattered through time.

The ability to Spiritually step outside of oneself and be present with another

person produces a perplexing confusion about one’s identity, causing the person to refer to themselves in the third person. When I Spiritually move through time and dimension to “sit” with another being and experience what they experience and feel what they feel, I participate in those encounters―Live action.  How I can do this, I don’t know other than saying this is how my brain works after being expanded to the east and the west, entering the Promised Land.

I have Spiritually joined numerous women in their pain and suffering. While I am not sure if I was there to comfort them or if I was collecting and transmitting information to the workers in God’s Kingdom who were trying to end the game of life―My job as an empty vessel for the heavens with good and evil spirits to flow through. I don’t know if the women were aware that I was with them or even wanted me there. But I was, and I felt, I saw, and I remember.


I was with a woman who was violently raped. I could feel her physically struggling and fighting to get away:

the tension in her muscles,

the lump in her throat as she endured physical violation,

and the moment she succumbed to the attacker realizing her strength was no match for his. I even heard her screaming in my mind; the humiliation and dirtiness she felt were evident in the dry rumbling growl of her voice. The horror of the experience settled in my bones. It trickled through my DNA as she and I somehow became one in the heinous violation of not only her body but her emotional strength. I cried and my body shook while I sat in my bed curled in a ball with my arms wrapped around my knees―I became she.

Another time,

I sat in a woman who watched her son die. And felt her hold her breath trying to stop time in hopes of changing the reality. We watched as he let out his final breath of life after being hit by a drunk driver. The pain of losing a child stabbed so deep that it felt like the devil wrapped his hand around our heart and squeezed it until it burst―We will mourn for an eternity.

And yet, on another occasion,

I sat in a cancer center with a woman who had an IV bag of liquefied plant dripping into her bloodstream. It was attacking cancer she had been battling for years. The utter exhaustion made us consider if it was worth trudging forward. How long should we carry on poisoning ourselves, and then sit wearily for the days that follow treatment. When will there be success? Is there a light at the end of this tunnel? I stretched inside her and burrowed between her pain to discover a deep love for her husband. He held her heart, and would revive her constitution; I brought the thought forward―it invigorated us to persist in our search for the light.

Oh, the places my Spirit has been. In my travels, I have seen, and experienced, and been so many things as the third person. I became she; she and I became we; and she, I, and a beloved became us. With everything being reconciled to me, it’s hard to separate the pieces and rearrange them to figure out me. Or maybe, combined, they form me.

Photo by Carolina Heza/