nonfiction – Page 6 – One Woman's Quest

Emptiness

Sue Bender, in her book Everyday Sacred, uses the symbolism of the bowl to depict the spiritual life. She relates this image to Tibetan monks, who as part of their training must survive with begging bowls: they must ask for what they need and make use of what they are given before they can beg for more.

Everyday Sacred literally fell off the shelf and into my arms one day, as I was reaching for a novel in the library. It could not have appeared at a better time. I was mesmerized by Bender’s words, and loved her analogy. I could relate to the idea that we are bowls, or vessels for Spirit, and that whatever comes into our life must be consumed and processed before we can ask for more. In this way, we make life sacred.

Shortly after discovering the works of Sue Bender, my marriage ended, leaving me shattered and scarred. I prayed for a sign that everything would be okay. Signs and omens surrounded me, and I felt comforted. Then I got my new phone number. I was disappointed that it had no obvious pattern to remember: 2695 were the last digits. One day as I sat musing over how I was going to remember the number, I had a thought: what did the numbers spell?- b-o-w-l. Bowl!

Life had served me up a full helping of misery, and it would be a long time before I could empty it, but I came to understand that emptiness is what I needed before anything good could come my way. As long as I hung on to anger, grief, or resentment, my bowl did not have room for anything else. Empty was the goal.

(Image: www.hungrysouls.org)

Wrestling With The Unknown

A dark shadowy figure passed the door of my office. It moved on all fours and had a very feline shape, like a panther. I followed it down the hallway and into the empty room at the end.

I knew this was no earthly creature, but I did not expect the force that hit me as I entered the room. Doubled over in pain, my chest was drenched in sweat, and my head was reeling. A foul odor filled the room, rendering me nauseous. I stumbled to my knees, then collapsed on the floor.

“Mom? I saw something that looked like a cat come this way.” Marie had been working reception in the foyer. I heard her just outside.

“Stay away!” the words came out gurgled, as if I was choking.

“Are you okay, Mom?”

“No! Something’s attacking me! Stay out!”

“What should I do?” A good question, and I was wondering the very same thing, but the violence of the attack overwhelmed me and I couldn’t think straight.

“I just feel so sick! Get a bucket.”

I’d never encountered anything like this before. I was certain it was some type of demon, but what, I didn’t know.

“Throw the pail in here, but don’t come in,” I advised my daughter.

“Mom, I’m scared.”

“Don’t be! Whatever this is likes fear. I’ll be okay.” I only wish I felt as certain as I sounded. I heaved into the bucket as the pain ripples through my midsection. I felt like I was on fire. What was this thing?

I tried to focus on my breathing and center myself, but the waves of nausea and the sheer physical pain made it almost impossible. I was determined not to let this thing get the best of me.

Night was coming on and the only other person still in the building would be leaving soon. I didn’t know how I was going to drive home.

“Get Robert,” I called to my daughter.

I could see that Robert was alarmed when he saw me.

“I need to get home, Robert. But I can’t get there in this state. Can you take us?”

I don’t remember the ride home, but I do remember Robert’s helpless look as he left us in the driveway. Inside, I left Marie to explain to her father as I closed myself away in the bedroom to battle it out. I steeled myself for the fight, but it seemed the more determined I was the greater the force that hit me. I wanted to unleash my growing rage on this unseen foe, but somehow I knew that would only add fuel to its fury. The more I fought, the greater the suffering. I was growing weaker by the minute.

Then I remembered a book I had read in my last year at university: The Man Who Wrestled with God, by John Sandford It was recommended by my religious studies teacher, and tells the story of Jacob, who is about to ascend the ladder to Heaven when he is tackled by an unseen opponent. Jacob fights and fights, until he realizes that he is wrestling with God, and that the only thing to do is surrender.

I knew my only hope was in giving over to God. I’d had a dream once, where God picked me up and cradled me in His hands. I needed that now, so as I centered myself, I imagined that my mattress was the hand of God, and that with each breath I surrendered deeper and deeper into the hands of a loving force. I imagined myself falling through the blackness that had threatened me, and landing in a place of comfort and love.

Love yourself, were the words I heard to guide me. Love yourself just as you are.

“I can’t,” I wanted to cry out, but I knew the message was right. I didn’t love myself. The nausea washed over me again. “Okay, okay,” I thought. “I love myself. I love myself.” And suddenly, I realized that I could love myself. That if I could see me through God’s eyes, I wouldn’t be so critical, but would behold myself with forgiveness and acceptance. So for the first time in forever, I felt okay with me. And as this new sensation dawned, the darkness receded, and with it the pain and vomiting.

The battle was over.

I had found calm in the eye of the storm, and it saved me.

Lifelines

The forest is thick with the smell of new leaves, tinged with the lingering winter musk. The trees here stretch endlessly upwards, their trunks a testimony to the timelessness of the place. Rays of warm sunlight reach downwards, creating pockets of warm glow. The soft moss and dry earth beneath my feet cushion my steps. Birdsong fills the air, adding to the aura of enchantment. I come here to meditate. This is my oasis: a calm, nurturing retreat where I can find renewal. I breathe deeply and allow all my senses to revel in the beauty. A crackling of twigs alerts me to the presence of another. A horse and rider come into my line of vision and stop. The young man’s eyes meet mine, and there is a rush of recognition. He is young, maybe mid twenties, with thick dark hair, and dark eyes. I feel that I have known him many lifetimes, and that ours has been a relationship of deep and abiding love. “I am coming back to you,” is all he says, and I feel my heart leap with joy.

The unexpected vision and accompanying emotional surge forces me back to consciousness. The meditation had been so deep and relaxing that it find it hard to shake off the drowsiness. It was so real. I open my eyes to find my friend, Sam looking at me. “It’s a boy!” I blurt out. “You’re going to have a boy!”

I was right about the boy, but the message was not for my friend who was so desperately hoping for a child. It was for me, who although I thought I was finished my childbearing, was about to discover myself pregnant again. My dark haired, brown-eyed boy was born the next fall.

Mothers know that there is an unseen cord of consciousness that runs between them and their children. It is first experienced when they wake up seconds before their sleeping baby. Or maybe earlier, in the dream time.

Abuse of Power

Although I never met the man, I can imagine him as somehow mesmerizing, with a captivating smile, a soothing throaty voice, or sparkling dark eyes. From all descriptions he is an average middle-aged man, slightly balding, and plump around the middle. Without a doubt, he knows how to charm.

I first heard about him at a conference for healers. A reputable woman was promoting his work as ground-breaking, and rooted both in science and spirituality. His workshops carried a hefty price tag, but were reportedly worth the sacrifice.

I didn’t go.

“He’s very mysterious,” people reported back to me. “And very powerful.”

As always, I listened without commenting. New Age workshops were popping up everywhere, each one proclaiming to offer the answer. I liked to bide my time.

“He only works with women.”

My ears perked up.

“And only if you are chosen.”

Why is that? I wondered.

One by one, I watched the women flock to him. “He gets us,” one woman explained. “It’s like he can look inside and he knows exactly what each person needs.”

“He’s seeing my wife at three in the morning,” a distraught husband told me over the phone. “What kind of therapist meets with clients at three in the morning?” I was wondering the same thing. “I feel like I’m losing her.”

I agreed to talk to his wife.

“He’s helping me cleanse myself of the past and all the bad relationships I’ve had.” True enough, she’d had her share. But why the middle of the night? “It’s the time of the day when there are the least physical distractions and the psychic energy is stronger.”

Looked like red flags to me.

Then I met Kay. Kay was young, and beautiful, and highly intelligent, but something wasn’t right. She had enrolled in a therapeutic touch class, and while she seemed to be enjoying the course, I noticed she seemed agitated. I pulled her aside to ask if she was okay.

“Yes. The course is great and all. It’s just……..”

“Kay, if you have concerns, talk to me. It’s not my intention to make you feel uncomfortable.”

“Oh, no. It’s not you. Not at all. It’s just that I’m not sure I should be taking this course.”

“Does it conflict with your beliefs and values?”

“No, no. It makes so much sense. It’s my mentor. He doesn’t like us to study with anyone else.”

Why on earth not? I must have looked dumbfounded.

“Eventually, obviously……but for now, he doesn’t want us jeopardizing the work we are doing.”

A realization was dawning on me. I offered her the name that had come to mind.

“Yes, I work with him! Do you know him?”

“I know of him.”

“He’s amazing, so powerful, and he’s helped me so much. I just don’t know why I feel so guilty about taking a course like this. It feels so right, so why am I scared?

“Explain to me why you shouldn’t.”

“It’s part of the process. In the beginning, he requests that we set aside all doubt, and questions, and trust solely in him. He’s helping us gain faith.”

And he control, I thought to myself.

The next time I encountered Kay, she was visibly shaken. “Can we talk?”

Ushering her into a back room, I pulled up two chairs.

“I’m not sure whether he followed me or not?”

“Would he do that?”

“He knows everything. I can’t get away. I tried, but he found me. He says there is nowhere I can escape him. I am so afraid. I don’t know what to do.”

“Kay, back up a bit and tell me how you met him.”

“A friend of mine was part of his inner circle. He told her to bring me to him. He said he could help. I was having difficulties. I thought it was worth a try.”

“Did he mention you by name?”

“No, but he knew she had a twenty-three year-old, blonde friend at the university who was going through a hard time. My friend knew it had to be me right away.”

“No offense, Kay, but this is a university town, and the chance of anyone having a friend that fits your description is pretty good.”

I could see that my words had hit their mark. “Oh my God. You’re so right! What a fool I was.”

“No. You just wanted to believe there was an answer for you. It felt right at the time.”

“What about all the other things? Could they be made up to? But, no, not possibly. You have no idea.” The look of terror reappeared. “Oh my God, he’ll kill me for talking to you!”

“You are okay, Kay. We’re safe. What else did he tell you?”

“He can command nature to do his bidding. He has spies everywhere. One woman went canoeing, off by herself, in a remote area, and he sent a hawk to greet her. She saw it!”

“Also possibly a coincidence.”

Searching my face for some reassurance, Kay continued. “He told me once that he sent a bear to follow me. I saw it’s shadow.” Before I could say anything she added, “Do you think that was just power of suggestion?”

“I think that’s a real possibility.”

Kay leaned back in the chair and let out a long groan. “Oh my God, I slept with him.”

“You what?”

“I slept with him, and he’s gross, well you know, old.”

“How did that happen?”

“He made me meet him in the middle of the night. He had all these candles and incense burning. The lights were dim, and there was meditation music playing in the background. I felt like I was in an altered state. I didn’t want to at first, but he convinced me that this would be good for my soul; that it would cleanse me of all my past sins. How could I be so stupid!”

I’d heard enough. This man was going too far. With Kay’s permission I called a friend who worked with the Victim’s Unit through the local Police department. Kay’s story was not new to her.

Kay moved away two weeks later. Unfortunately, she was not the only woman I would encounter who had fallen under this man’s spell. All of them attractive, intelligent women, whose only sin was the desire for enlightenment.

Win or Loss?

A cousin of my mother’s, and her husband, won a considerable lottery well into their retirement years. From the outside, it was a dream come true.

Mom and I ran into this cousin while shopping at a local mall one day.

“Hello, you lucky duck!” My mother greeted her.

After brief small talk, Mom’s cousin confessed that winning the large sum of money was not a blessing. “I don’t mean to be ungrateful,” she explained, “but it has caused a lot of trouble in our lives.”

“Lots of people calling you up?”

“Everyone, but that’s not the worst of it. Our family won’t speak to us anymore.”

“Why ever not?”

“We paid off the kids mortgages, bought them all new cars, and took them on vacation, but apparently, it’s not enough. And our brothers and sisters are mad we didn’t share the wealth. So, we’re building a big million dollar home that no one will come visit.”

“Well, call me up, I’ll come visit,” my ever-cheerful mother responded. Then more kindly, “I’m truly sorry to hear that Carole. No one deserved this more than you and Carl; you worked so hard all your life.”

My mother and I walked away startled by this turn of events. How odd life is. Here was a family whose lives were touched by good fortune, now divided by greed and jealousy.

Yet, I wonder how many others would tell the same tale?

The Nature of God

I heard a story years ago that merits repeating here. (These are my words, not the original.)

A three-year-old asked to be left alone with her newborn sibling. The parents, obviously, denied her request, but when she kept persisting, the grandparents suggested that the baby be put in the crib, and a monitor in the room turned on so that they could listen in. The adults were curious. As soon as the little girl thought they were alone, she whispered to her new brother: “Quick, tell me about God. I’m forgetting already.”

Imagine if we could all remember where we came from. If God was not a mystery, but one evolving, omniscient force to which we all were consciously attached. Imagine how that would change the world.

Yet, we do not have such memory. We have opinions, speculation: faith. Some would kill for their convictions, even without proof. God is a super-charged, elusive concept that can empower, or stifle life, depending on human interpretation.

I don’t know anymore than the next person about the nature of our origins, but I do know this: looking into the eyes of my newborn granddaughter there is a presence of something beyond the innocence of her being. Watching her approach life with such enthusiasm and hunger, makes me believe that there is an innate wisdom there that surpasses our mundane knowing.

I have more questions than I’ll ever have answers.

A Serene Marriage

I have been invited to Scott L’s house and even though I haven’t seen him since high school, I am excited. I first met Scott in grade school, and fell in love immediately. While we would be best of friends throughout our school years, our love would never blossom. I am hoping the invitation now means that he is ready to reciprocate feelings and we will be together. I arrive at his home to find my cousin Serene. I am delighted to see her, and surprised that she and Scott know one another. Scott is not here yet, and while we wait for him, we are connecting the dots. How they know each other and why Serene is here. It turns out that they are about to get married and that is why I have been invited. I try to be happy for them, as I love them both, but I can’t help but feel disappointed. I have wished for this for so long.

We’ve all had those dreams of unrequited love from which we awaken sure that we are missing something that only the other person can give us. Wishful thinking is one of the evils that spiritual teachers will caution against. While the emotional pull is so strong, the temptation is only that: a threat to the self.

There is no moment but now, and how we respond to what we have is all that counts. The more I dream about a love that never was, but could be, or wish for that perfect job, or dream home, or other life, the less I am contributing to my current circumstances. I am unhappy because I am choosing to be.

When we remember an old love, we are remembering a person frozen in time, unchanged. We have not allowed for the fact that they, like us, have lived life, suffered losses, had successes, and built lives for themselves. We are not considering that their current life and self may not even resemble the person we once knew. Wishful thinking is all about the ideal and nothing to do with the reality. It is wasted energy.

If I look at the dream metaphorically instead, I will consider what I loved about these two people and how fitting this dream is for my life today. Scott was loyal, straightforward, and trustworthy. Serene is bubbly, optimistic, and warm. If the Scott part of me, the loyal, trustworthy side, were to marry the fun-loving, warm side what possibilities could that open in my life? Well, I finally made the commitment last night and joined Weight Watcher’s. Could this mean that with the right level of commitment and attitude, I can make it work?

Sounds like a marriage of success! Now, that I can get excited about.

Racing Towards The Abyss

Ice, c’est Radio Canada. Il est neuf heures quinze, et maintenant…..

“9:15! If traffic goes my way I can be at work by 9:30, and with a half hour lunch, be done by 5:00”, I calculated while racing through the yellow light. My day had started early with a brisk power walk to get me going, a quick shower, breakfast for the kids, then off to morning French class at the University. Fortunately for me, my job offered flex time, so I could catch the early class before starting my shift.

I strained to catch the gist of the radio program. Something about the funding of English schools in Quebec, and a debate about immersion. A hole opened up in the line of traffic to my right and I weaved around the slow driver in front of me, just grabbing the tail end of a yellow to turn the corner and enter the parking lot. I would make it to my desk with two minutes to spare.

“Bonjour!” I greeted my co-worker on the other side of the cubicle. I had been thinking in French since I left school, and forgot to switch back. “When is my mind going to shut off?” I wondered. It seemed like it was always racing these days, but I did have a lot to juggle.

I landed this job in early February, at a time when most corporations were not hiring. I got lucky. Just as the receptionist was turning me away, the Human Resources Manager was walking into the room and caught my eye. “What are you looking for?” she asked. “Can you speak French?”

“As a matter of fact, I can.”

“Follow me.” She grabbed some papers off a nearby desk and led me into a conference room. “Write these tests,” she said pushing the papers towards me. “There is a job freeze on right now, but if you do well, I’ll keep your name on file.”

The call came that same afternoon asking me if I could come back for an interview.

“No one has ever scored so high on the tests”, she said. “We’d like you to start right away. There is an eight to ten week training program you’ll have to do first in Toronto. We’ll put you up, all expenses paid.”

I was both excited and anxious. I hadn’t worked full-time since the my first baby was born, and I while I was happy to be able to provide for the family again, I wasn’t sure how we’d all manage. I’d made the promise to my husband though, that I would support the family while he took some time off to establish a new business. He hadn’t been happy for some time, and so we decided to swap roles.

I completed the course in five weeks, wanting to reduce my time away as much as possible. A year of training on-the-job proceeded the initial training. I was exceeding all expectations within months and at the approval of my manager enrolled in a fourth year French course to be paid for by the company. A pay increase followed as I was now their bilingual representative. I was moving up in the world.

My husband was not having the same success. Caring for the house and children turned out to be harder than he thought, and he finally admitted that it just wasn’t “his thing”. I found a sitter, resumed the cooking, housework, shopping, and laundry. He bought himself a race car. He was looking into starting a mail order business. Worrying that my income wasn’t enough, I picked up a job working weekends at a restaurant.

Sometime in the middle of all this, my oldest sister’s health took a turn for the worse. The doctor’s wanted to hospitalize her, but she refused, saying she wanted to die at home. A nurse was assigned for eight hours a day, but she needed around the clock care. In the beginning, the family rallied around, and we all did our part, but that was waning. Now it was only my mother and I who were committed to seeing her through.

“Can I see you in my office?” My boss’s voice brought me back to the moment. I followed her brisk walk down the hall. “I have been reviewing your work and there are a few areas for improvement.”

I couldn’t believe it. “I don’t understand,” I protested. “I thought I was meeting all the quotas.”

“You are,” she said, matter-of-factly. “There is always room for improvement.”

Driving home from work that night, I felt particularly exhausted. What more could I do? I arrived home to realize I had forgotten to pick up the kids. It was Wednesday night. Stuart wouldn’t be home till late. He was meeting with the car club.

Don’t ask me what happened next; the night, like many others, passed in a blur of cooking dinner, trying to keep the kids from killing each other or themselves, completing homework, baths, and then bed. Then when my husband got home, I’d grabbed my schoolwork and headed to my sister’s for the night shift.

I don’t remember Thursday at all.

Friday, Stuart headed off to the racetrack for the weekend. He’d be gone five days. It was the Thanksgiving long weekend. Even though he had a cell phone, he didn’t anticipate it would work where he was going, and the track did not have a contact number. I would not hear from him again till Tuesday evening.

It was later than usual before I got all the kids to bed that night, and even though I still had work to do, I just couldn’t face it. I decided to go to bed early. I was asleep within minutes, but not for long. I was jolted out of my sleep by an all too familiar image – myself alone with the children, living in a townhouse complex. Although I had dreamt of this place many times, with no emotional attachment, this time I woke up crying. What was wrong with me? The tears just wouldn’t stop.

Saturday was recreation day, and each of the children were enrolled in different programs. Marie was taking art, Ester dance, and John was attending some sports clinic, all held in the same building. This had been our Saturday morning routine for two months now, but somehow after I loaded us all in the car, and set out on our way, I could not remember where we were going. I drove up one street and down another, and with each miss, grew more and more anxious. Ester began to scream in the back seat. Marie asked me what was wrong. I didn’t know. I started to tremble. The tears started to come again. I turned the car around and headed for home. Our street ran off a main road, and all I had to do was turn left and we’d be there, but suddenly, I froze, mid-intersection: mind, body, and emotions no longer under my control. Ester screamed louder and the other two began to cry. A siren flashed behind me and a police officer stepped up to the driver’s side.

“Is there a problem, Ma’am?”

I looked at him through a flood of tears. “I don’t know where I am.” I handed him my license. He was young, and I could just tell he hadn’t expected this.

“Ma’am, your license says you live just down this street. Do you want me to follow you there?”

“Yes, please.” I don’t think I’d ever felt so humiliated. We crawled down the street and into the driveway.

“Is there anybody you can call?” he asked.

“I don’t think so. My husband’s away, and my sister’s dying, so my parents aren’t available.”

“Well, you need to call somebody.”

“Thank you, officer. I will. I’m so sorry to have bothered you.”

In the end, I called my Dad. Between choking sobs, I told him I needed help. He came right away.

That was the day I discovered that I have limits. In those days we called it a breakdown, but in retrospect it was a breakthrough: the beginning of a new way of being, one that took me out of the rat race.

(Image: fineartamerica.com)

Children As Mirrors

When I think of my grandchildren – one now six months, and one on the way – my heart swells and tears fill my eyes; I love them so much. I hope that I have extolled upon my daughters that children are a blessing to be cherished.

One thing I can tell them is that children will be their greatest teachers. Honest, straightforward, and ever curious, children will tell it like it is, question inequities, and challenge everything. Like little parrots, children repeat what they hear, and mimic gestures and behaviours. They will also reflect the good, the bad, and the ugly.

My moment of revelation about how intrinsically linked mothers and children are came when performing therapeutic touch on the mother of a boy with severe autism. His constant spinning and screaming was a source of anxiety for the young mother seeking my help. She had hoped I could calm him, however; he was not receptive to staying still, so I offered her a treatment instead. Amazingly, as soon as the mother began to relax, so too did her son.

All the way home, I thought of my own children, and questioned how many times their anxiety or distress was merely a reflection of my own emotional imbalance. Over time, I had to admit there was a definite link. If I would return home tired and distraught, that would be the time my children were acting up. If I was feeling happy and positive, the children would reflect that back.

In therapeutic touch we have an analogy that the therapist is like a tuning fork: when s/he is centered and grounded then the client can follow suit. The same goes for children.

Another way of looking at this, is that children are mirrors for their parents. When my oldest, Marie, is being impulsive, she is reflecting my own tendencies. When Ester is feeling anxious, or John is burdened by being overly introspective, they are exhibiting the very traits I myself struggle with. The challenge for me, as parent, is to a) take ownership of my shortcomings, and b) work to heal them so that my children can do the same.

Children are teachers because they offer us the opportunity and the incentive to become better people.

Grandchildren teach us how to fall in love all over again.

I’m so glad I enrolled in the school of parenting!

Mickey Mouse Meets Gestalt

Looking out from under the big white wooden chair, I can see Mickey Mouse approaching with a kettle of boiling water. He’s going to pour the water on me, and even though my family are all around, and I am screaming, no one notices.

“I had this dream repeatedly as a child, from about the age of five.”

“What is the significance of the white chair?”

“My father used that chair to teach us how to skate. We had to push it around the rink until we learned to stay up on our own. I remember being very frightened, because my father wasn’t a patient man and I didn’t want to upset him.”

“What would happen if you upset him?”

“He would yell, call us names, tell us how stupid and incompetent we were.”

“Why Mickey Mouse?”

“I don’t know. I’ve often wondered about that. Mickey Mouse would have been the prominent cartoon character back then, and I loved watching the Mickey Mouse Club on TV. I really wanted to be a Mouseketeer.”

“In Gestalt therapy, the belief is that each aspect of the dream represents a part of you. Would you be willing to try something with me?”

I nod.

“I want you to put yourself back in the dream and let me guide you. Imagine you are five years old again, and let me know when you can picture the scene.”

I close my eyes and remember. “Okay.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Frightened, very frightened.”

“Tell me what’s happening. Talk it out.”

“Mickey Mouse has a kettle of boiling water and he’s going to pour it on me. I scream, but no one is paying attention. I can see my Dad and my sister Joanne, but they are not looking my way.”

“What do you want to say to them?”

“Help me! Help me! Can’t you see I’m in trouble? Somebody stop this from happening!”

“Tell them what’s happening.”

“He’s going to hurt me. That man is going to hurt me. Please, somebody stop it! Listen to me!”

“Tell them what you need.”

“I need you to hear me. I need you to see what’s happening. I need you to see me. Nobody sees me….” I break off crying.

“Tell me why you are crying.”

“My childhood home was very chaotic. There was always lots of fighting going on, and although I don’t remember much of the early years, my mother says I was always tossed over the fence to the neighbour’s house, so they could look after me. ”

“Why do you think this dream has stayed with you?”

“I never felt like I mattered in my family growing up. There was so much going on that I felt insignificant.”

“In every family there is a rivalry for attention. How did that play out for you?”

“Well my oldest sister was always sick, so she got most of the attention, and my next sister withdrew into herself, and later we found out she was schizophrenic. My youngest sister was a handful, throwing tantrums and being difficult to get along with. I tried to stay out of the way, and not cause any more trouble.”

“So what did you try to do to get noticed?”

“Achieve. I tried to be the smartest and the most successful?”

“How did that work for you?”

“It didn’t. I never felt like I could be good enough, and when I did do something worthwhile I got shot down for bragging about it.”

“Do you still feel that way?”

“Not so much. I’ve struggled with not feeling good enough, but I don’t need the glory anymore.”

“Why do you think that is?”

“Maturity. Life experience. When I first learned how to do Therapeutic Touch I did a lot of volunteer work, and I soon realized that there were many people whose lives were worse off than mine, and that by giving a little bit of my time, I could make a difference. It felt so amazingly rewarding to help another, that I realized how unimportant everything else was.”

“So what would you tell that little girl today?”

“Well, first of all, I’d reach in under that chair and offer her my hand; then I’d pull her to me and give her a great big hug and tell her that I love her.”

“Tell her as if she is here.”

Come on, Sweetheart, lets walk away from all this commotion. You are okay now. I am here, and I can see you, and I’m not going to let that man hurt you.

Why doesn’t anyone see me?

Because they can’t right now, Honey. They can only see their own pain, but that doesn’t mean you’re not important. You matter very much.

Are things going to get better?

Eventually, but not for a long time. But I want you know that you will be okay. You will be better than okay.

Why are you here?

Because I think it’s important that you know you are perfect just the way you are.

“Do you feel better?”

“I feel like I have had a breakthrough.”

“How so?”

“I understand now that the little girl in me sought attention for a long, long time, and I don’t need to do that anymore. It feels lighter. Achievement is good in and of itself. The need for glory only taints it.”

“And Mickey Mouse?”

“Well that’s just what we become when we seek out fame and fortune, I guess. Burned.”