Certain people are born with the otherworldly ability to simply know, with nary a word or signal exchanged, how others feel. They detect others’ emotions the way antennae detect radio waves: through thin air, effortlessly.

In this way, they pick up the unspoken, secret emotions of acquaintances, loved ones and strangers — sometimes even animals.

Sure, most human beings lack this amazing superpower. Thus most human beings must base their opinions of others, and their conversations with others, on leadenly obvious dead giveaways such as body language, facial expressions and actual words. Oh, and bottles, books or weapons that those others might be cradling in their laps or waving in the air.

Lacking this amazing superpower, most human beings are forced to rely solely on what they see or hear.

But this small subset of people with this certain superpower: Because they feel involuntary empathy, because they feel your pain without wanting to or trying to, they’re called empaths.

And they’re not exactly clairvoyant. Empaths can’t guess the names or favorite yoga postures of random passersby — but can detect their secret sorrows, rages, shames and joys. Empaths can’t change or control other people’s feelings: They can only detect, feel and, now and then, absorb. This is the burden empaths bear: That other people’s feelings, once detected, tend to stick to empaths, lingering long after whomever first felt them is no longer physically nearby.

Is what happens to empaths natural — or supernatural? Are empaths gifted — or cursed?

Scientists should examine this. The power possessed by empaths could perhaps be channeled into useful purposes — communicating with the comatose, say, or interrogating suspects. Or it could be channeled into sacred purposes — because empaths can sometimes “see” straight into others’ souls, past clothes and language to the basic truths of whom they are.

Scholars should study empaths. Spiritual types should revere and fear empaths. But they don’t.

It’s a remarkable skill, yet a high percentage of people who have it don’t realize they have it. Isolated forums simmer here and there online. But most empaths never find these, never seek them out, because they don’t know empaths are “a thing,” much less that they’re that “thing.”

Born this way, most empaths assume that they’re just like everyone else. Not realizing what is happening when their skill takes effect, not realizing that they’re “reading” or “wearing” the emotions of others and “picking up their vibes,” empaths typically assume that all these disparate feelings they feel are their own. Barraged by strong, sometimes contradictory emotions one after the other in crowded places — ecstatic one instant, bereft the next — most empaths deride themselves (and/or are derided by family and friends) as moody, flighty or mentally ill.

I know this. Do you wonder how I know?

Empaths ask themselves: Why do I suddenly want to fall, sobbing, to the floor of this gymnasium? Whence came my urge to hug that nun? Why, at this baby shower, can I hardly keep from gouging out my eyes?

Because their skill is otherworldly, and because we inhabit a very scientific this-worldy era which produces many great machines and medicines but relegates the otherworldly to Hollywood movies about zombies, vampires and wizards, empaths remain undiscussed. Most empaths have never heard the word “empath,” much less found in that word comfort, validation or identity.

Most empaths know only that they feel inexplicably bizarre when not alone.

They know that classrooms, theaters, buses, trains, offices, parties, meetings, stores, stadiums, subways, hospitals, restaurants, carnivals and theme parks leave them feeling flayed, flattened and/or drained — as if by a huge syringe — of energy or breath or blood.

Thusly besieged, requiring R&R after a short stroll down a busy street, empaths ask: Am I insane?

Psychic is more like it. Not crystal-ball psychic but an irritating kind that feels like having uninvited guests with open wounds and freaky laughs that make you want to run away or punch them in the face (except you can’t). Empaths can sometimes barely bear to step outdoors — knowing how sad and scared and sick they might soon feel … yet never knowing why.

This is Emmy. She’s an empath.

Like all of her kind, she was born this way. She is still triggered by old playground, cinema and restaurant-high-chair memories. Plus the endless nightmare of preschool.

But unlike many empaths, Emmy knows she is an empath. She has searched online, examined her experiences, and realized that (a) empaths exist, (b) she is one and (c) this explains everything.

Emmy wishes her fellow empaths realized what they are, because then they would not feel so insane. Emmy felt insane for decades. Sometimes she still forgets.

Right now, Emmy is on line at the bank between a high-school cheerleader who secretly self-harms and a fat-knuckled man who looks like he kills dogs yet has (Emmy can see) a heart of gold.

Emmy feels your pain. Not that she wants to. She definitely, totally does not want to, because why would she? Is her own pain not enough? Your pain — and all your other feelings and everyone else’s within a twenty-foot radius of Emmy — are big and flagrant and they obscure her feelings and/or they masquerade falsely as her feelings, and even though Emmy knows they are yours and not hers, she still feels them against her will and Emmy would rather feel her own feelings now and then for a change. Oh, but no. Emmy feels your pain — not because she likes you. Just because she can.

Some empaths use shielding techniques — imagining themselves sheathed by white, vibe-proof light, or chanting You are you and I am I — in hopes of guarding themselves from rampant and ricocheting feelings not their own. But Emmy never shields. She believes that if someone possesses a superpower, he or she should never switch it off. Because what if a moment should arrive — who knows when? who knows why? — at which this superpower might save a life or the world?

So Emmy lives unshielded, which in energetic terms is like walking everywhere naked. She does this because someday she might have to rescue your ass.

How do I know this?? Don’t you wonder how I know??

We will meet Emmy again in future installments of this series. We will go where she goes. We will feel how she feels — which, yes yes yes, is how you feel. And you. And freaking you.

(All illustrations by Anneli Rufus.)