Telepathy, if you believe it’s possible, is the transference of thoughts from one person’s mind to another without the use of the senses. Individuals who claim they are able to perform this feat are known to be “telepathic.”
There are some of us however, not involved in the occult or psychic world, who believe that other people are receptors of our thoughts – not telepathically communicated but just plain pathetically communicated and sometimes not communicated at all. Just to be on the safe side, I’m not saying anyone is pathetic, only that our skills at communicating can be pitiful.
Has this been an issue since languages were invented? No. In fact, way, way back people were so adept at communicating that they began building a tower to celebrate themselves. Being of one mind didn’t mean they shared their communications telepathically.
In truth, if any of us claim to be of one mind, or even one heart, the communication lines should be open and effectively used.
Silence is not always golden; it’s often black or white and rarely gray.
A picture can paint a thousand words, but are both parties into impressionism?
I’m okay, you’re okay . . . unless you tell me differently. “Good” “Fine” “Okay” are we really?
Words used over the centuries . . . millennia - have taken on meanings that not everyone understands correctly. I was always taught that the word “anxious” was a synonym for “excited.” That was a great way to greet the new boss, “I’ve been anxious about meeting you.”
People offend easily. Cultural differences are not always the cause. For the most part, when we set out to offend, there’s usually no question it’s exactly what we meant to do so, if one party is unsure clarification should be sought. None of us are mind-readers. If we say, “it’s all good” it should all be good. A great danger however is not as much in the miscommunication or misunderstanding as it is in the failure to seek clarification before assuming the worse was meant.
I don’t know how many times I’ve walked away from a conversation with a lump in my throat because I incorrectly read “between the lines” when all there was in between them was an empty space. I can’t begin to count the times that I unnecessarily stewed in offense over words that I misunderstood because I didn’t take the time, or courage, to ask plainly, “what did you mean exactly?” In retrospect, it’s clear to me now that I have acted "fine” when I wasn’t; I have believed that those who really know me and care about me should know what I’m thinking or feeling – even when I confirm the exact opposite.
