I think sometimes that I have a really strong sense of empathy and guilt. Today, the little tree in the pot outside tipped over in the wind a couple times, and I was really distressed for it. The poor thing, what could it do? So I picked it up with some soothing words and put the dirt back in the pot each time, and tried to give it some reassurance that this time, it shouldn't fall over again.
Today when I was sanding and washing down the picnic table as I prepared to stain it, I kept telling it that I was sorry and by the end of the week, it'd be as good as new. It will be much more comfortable with a fresh layer of stain without the bits of lichen and mold that had been growing on it before.
I even apologized to my own arm for scratching the sunburn on accident.
I apologized to the towel when I dropped it.
I don't think I'm crazy. I just feel guilty when I do things that would cause me pain, if I were in their place. Even if they are incapable of feeling things, I still feel obligated to apologize.
Maybe I took too much from Pocahontas as a kid. Or maybe I'm more of an animist than I thought I was.
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