The Little Boy Still Knows
Normally I step into the shower with a question, expecting and then receiving a response in the form of words . . . sentences . . . ideas . . . messages that I essentially ‘hear’ and then transcribe for myself and anyone else who might be tuning in.
But sometimes there is no question that I can find the right words for. Sometimes I don’t know exactly what to ask, or how to articulate my concern or issue. Sometimes I stand there in the flow . . . waiting for the Flow . . . with only what I feel in that moment, knowing only that my heart is asking for . . . something . . . even if my mind has not yet provided the words for that desire.
And so it was today, as I stood there, wanting . . . asking without words . . . hoping to be understood . . . waiting. As I waited, what came were not words, initially, but pictures. They were pictures of a little boy walking along a beach, with his mother nearby but not in the picture. The little boy had the open horizon of the sea and sky beside him . . . and on his face was a calm curiosity that was familiar but that I seemed to have forgotten.
I looked at the little boy and I recognized him . . . not just his face and form, but his heart, and how it felt to be walking with that horizon beside him and with his mother close by, knowing that all was well . . . knowing that he was loved and cared for . . . protected. . . . knowing only that his world was calm and bright with possibility, knowing only that he was loved and had no reason to question whether he was worthy . . . knowing only safety and comfort . . . knowing no fear or rejection or worry of not being enough . . . knowing no fear about what would become of him or what he would become.
I saw this little boy walk over to me and take my hand, urging me to walk with him, to be with him in his world, seeing what he saw, feeling how he felt. I stood there in the shower, letting myself watch me with this little boy whom I recognized and remembered. I stood there letting him take me back to a place where I could see and hear more clearly things I had forgotten.
I let him lead me back to that place of peace and quiet and comfort and joy. Then and only then did I hear the familiar words . . . the familiar sounding message . . . coming in response to the question I didn’t even realize I was asking .
Yes, you are loved.
Yes, you are worthy of love.
Yes, that part of you—that child you were and still are—knew this then and knows it now, and will always be there to remind you, to take your hand and to walk beside you anytime your heart calls out to the You, you really are.
It was a brief message, but the words and the pictures told me everything I needed to know, to feel what I needed to feel. And for that moment, I remembered again how it felt to feel–then and now—for the moment, complete.