I worked at a summer camp last year as a counselor for girls. Last year on this day happened to be an arrival day. It also happened to be my birthday. As is today.
I worked in a camp an hour north of Philadelphia in eastern Pennsylvania. You'd think "Camp Laughing Waters" would be running with brooks and sweet meadows, but not really. A hot, hot place, long fields of stripped forest turned into open space, which destroyed its natural protective barriers from the heat.
In the first week of my having actual kids under my care, there was a little girl who cried a lot missing her mom. She had a cute, smooth chubby face and curly shiny locks. Her eyes were deep blue, especially when she was crying.
When I first got to camp, I realized I was probably the most sensitive person there, along with a couple others who were more recently integrated into depressing mainstream society. In a way this was my integration, because I was someone who just avoided it like the plague, with good reason. I was the moon-child.
When I met that little girl, it was like, something in my heart softened, and I knew what to do. The other counselors, God bless them, really had no idea how to handle kids' emotions for the most part. This little girl was crying and the other counselors were trying to distract her and make her feel better. Well, if there's anything I know about feelings, it's that we need to face them head on and give ourselves a mode of action in order to feel strength and empowerment, to raise our vibration.
It was night, I walked beside her on the dark path, our flashlights illuminating the way in blue light. We walked up the curving hill and found ourselves looking at the moon. I let her cry. Then I told her this.
The moon can hear you. You can ask the moon to tell your mother that you miss her.
The little child's eyes went clear, her face sober and determined. She looked up at the moon, and said in a steady, sincere voice,
"I know this is impossible, but if you could, please, let my mother know I miss her and, somehow, if it would be possible, let her know I need her and that I need her to take me home."
I looked at her. "Okay?"
She nodded. So much maturity filled her eyes than just moments before because she had been given a tool to empower herself. She no longer felt helpless. She felt helped.
Her mom never came, but I do wonder if she heard that call that night, stirred a little in her bed as the moonlight glided through her open window. Her mother was a story writer, just like myself. I like to think that she had the sense to be tapped in to the moon that way. I think perhaps that's the reason her daughter was open to it. She was already touched by magic.
I feel for and understand kids who don't feel supported by the rules of the system and the authority figures in it so much because I was one of those kids. We are just more sensitive, more alert to the realities of life and the movements of nature. We are the ones who cry when the energy is off. We tell you when something needs to be changed for everyone's benefit. Because we can feel it all.
***
No comments:
Post a Comment