WHO ARE THE CHILDREN, REALLY?

Who are the children, really? Many of our ideas about children are rooted in the same kind of fear and beliefs that form the artificial division between people of different races, gender and religions...the belief that those different from us, are less than, or in some way, so different, that we tend to marginalize, dismiss and patronize them, if not out loud, then in our thoughts. These attitudes are not naturally occurring in children or us. They are taught.

What would it take to step out of our adult/parent roles and beliefs, to see clearly who children are behind their size, age and appearing to be, disturbing behaviors? We were children once. We noticed how the adults in our lives knew little about who we were, what we knew or how we felt. . It wasn’t that they couldn’t, they just didn’t know how. They too, were following rules and beliefs they had learned.

If we were fortunate, we had at least one adult in our childhood that recognized who we were completely: able to connect with us beneath our size and age. We can be that for all the children we know and live with now

It is ONLY fair and just that children be seen as whole, exquisitely sensitive, wise, highly perceptive human beings that are no less, nor more than the bigger, older people in this world. As we free the children from our fears, we free ourselves. .

BEYOND HONOR STUDENTS

My child is an honor student...and so is yours. And that is the truth of things. All children are honor students. Why not?

All children, including us, belong here. They didn't come here to make trouble, or cause disturbance, to be mean, to be labeled slow, to constantly be compared to others, or even be required to compete against friends.

This is another perspective on life and children, and since it is my perspective, I like it a lot. Children are not deficient in anything, except maybe some specific vitamin....deficiency is someone elses' belief of what should be.

Could it be that children, including us at one time, maybe even now, simply want to connect with others, to use themselves in their own way.... a way that is creative, of value to others and ultimately appreciated for who they are inside, not how they perform for the recognition of others?

It seems, and probably really true, that what the world requires now is the ability for children and big people to see through not only their own eyes, but through the eyes of others ….to care about relationship more than being right, to feel comfortable with difference, and to value trusting oneself – thus, possibly avoiding the next war, or belief that “they” or “them” out there are an enemy.

Maybe even the people closest to us don’t need to change either. Maybe the change is ours.

WITHOUT AGE

What if I didn't know how old I was? What if the concept of age didn't exist, and I didn't know there had been one?(a concept). How would my life, or yours, be different if age numbers were not part of being alive? As a child, I didn't think about age. Even when big adult people asked me how old I was, I would wait for one of my parents to answer. I didn't know. Actually, I didn't care.

What do you know about me if you can assign a number to my body and spirit. I'm not complaining, although I could if I wanted to. This is more a wondrous question of the unknown. If no age stuff existed, we, or I, wouldn't believe I needed to look younger, 'cause there would be no younger or older. I'd just be me in that moment. I wouldn't buy stuff to make me look ....uhhhh, younger? My hair would be whatever color it was, no matter if the color changed. Color change wouldn't mean anything. Just interesting. My face would do what it does as time passed, if I believed in time. No money spent on deleting or hiding lines, wrinkles, and other things that form in or on my skin. I'd just keep on breathing, playing, being, and finding interesting people to know.

I'd save money, time, and worry if I had no fear of age, or lack of it. I'd be the little innocent child again every day, more concerned about caring for, and about others, "seeing them," instead of focusing on a reflected image in the mirror. No need for creams, skin exercises, anti-aging formulas -- or jokes about aging, memory, walking, sleeping .... or even beliefs that I am deteriorating because of a number made up by someone somewhere.

Which brings up the next question: What would I do if I couldn't worry? I might still worry, but just for the heck of it, what would I do if I simply could not worry? Just could not.

THE HOMELESS MAN

I assumed he was homeless as he sat on the curb playing his guitar, singing and smiling. His guitar case was filled with change and one dollar bills. His chosen location was just outside the Staff of Life natural food store in Santa Cruz, California.

He was there every day, making eye contact with anyone able to do the same comfortably or uncomfortably. I often stopped to talk with him. Part of my reason to stop was to remind myself I was a good person, and could embrace everyone, no matter what their perceived circumstances. I even wondered quietly, what I would feel like being in his position – sitting on a sidewalk, playing for money. Another part, a background thought that I ignored, was how easily I was drawn to his smile and ability to greet everyone, and do this as he sat on the sidewalk curb, playing and receiving money – sometimes food. Whether I offered him money or not was less important to me than my wanting to make connection with him.

One day, as I slowly walked past him, we made eye contact. “You know,” I said, “Someday maybe I will be where you are, and you will be where I am.” He smiled, pausing long enough for me to hear what I had just said. “Why would I want to be where you are?” he replied, smiling.

Stunned, I walked back to face him. I bowed in his direction. “Thank you,” I said, “Thank you.” I never saw him again.

EVERYONE MATTERS --EVERYONE

My uncle Solly died at the age of 88. He lived in Beverly Hills in a really big house off Sunset Boulevard. I discovered him after not seeing him for 30 years. I had to go see him with my son, Boye. I had to. I knew they would "recognize" each other -- not faces, but spirit, essence, soul. They would just know each other without a word. They hugged silently.

When I was a little boy, Solly was the only adult in my life that knew who I was inside. When he talked to me, his voice didn't change. He looked me in the eyes. He hugged me freely. He laughed easily, and together we could be authentically silly and ageless.

He introduced me to classical music when I was six, by making up stories to match the intensity of the music. Today, when I hear music, I see stories -- any kind of music. He taught me photography. He held my hand. He layed on the floor with me. He showed up when I was hurt. He liked me. I liked him.

I also had two parents that were nice and available, and fed me good. But Solly added the ingredient of recognizing that I was more than a small body of any specific age. He didn't need to teach me anything. He wanted to. And he taught me things that mattered. That we all matter.

RED LIGHT IN THE DESERT

One lone traffic light hung silently from a cable stretched high across a two lane road in the middle of a California desert highway intersection. The light was red for me as I slowed down to stop behind the only car waiting for the light to turn green. No other cars were around at this four way stop. As I waited, I noticed that we were in the middle of what is referred to as nowhere. I could see for miles in every direction. This was desert country. No trees or buildings or obstructions to the horizon.

As my car idled behind the car in front of me, I could see down the cross road highway in front of us, both right and left, for many miles. There were no cars or trucks to be seen. We were the only vehicles around for miles. Yet this gently swinging red light signal in front of us kept both our cars waiting ....waiting for the light to turn green so we could legally move on.

I carefully looked again to my right and left, and could easily see an empty highway forever. I wondered why this couple in front of me, in their very large four door car, didn't simply decide that it was totally safe to ignore the red light and drive on. Maybe even consider that the light may be out of order. My own curiosity asked, or rather demanded that I see how long they would wait before taking matters into their own hands. Me and my car sat idling for over five minutes while the light remained red, and the couple in front of me, remained waiting for a potential green light.

Ten minutes passed. The light was still red and no cars had passed in any direction. My curiosity was satisfied. As I slowly drove around them, I noticed their facial expressions implied they were actually following the rules, and the law --literally. I crossed over the empty and lonely highway through the red light, and beyond into the darkening desert sunset. Looking back in my rear-view mirror, I saw they were still there...waiting.

Now only a speck in my rear view mirror, I left them behind. At least I left their car behind, but I felt disturbed about their way of doing things. In my view, they seemed stuck in following rules, unable to make their own decision in unusual situations. I asked myself where is that part in me that may seem "stuck" to others, but not to me? Fortunately, I'm stuck in thinking of one.

ORIGIN OF THE UNIVERSE: EILEEN

Eileen was the owner of a breakfast coffee house across the street from the university in Albuquerque, New Mexico. One Sunday morning, Meigra, my partner, and mother of our son, drove three hours from Taos, New Mexico, where we had been living, and unexpectedly discovered this simple outdoor breakfast cafe by "accident." As we sat outside in the warm sun, a woman we did not know, walked over to our table. Standing quietly, she made eye contact, leaned slightly over the table and said, "I recognize who you both are." A long silence followed.

I thought about being scared, but instead, I was excited.

Her eyes were unlike any I had seen before. The pupils had a yellowish ring around the edges. She asked to sit down. Although this event could have seemed strange, it was not. "My name is Eileen," she said, "I'm the owner of this restaurant." At this early Sunday morning breakfast time, people were waiting in line to be seated. The restaurant, inside and out, was crowded with students and families waiting to be served. Yet, Eileen, the owner-waitress, chose to sit down with us for reasons we had yet to know.

Instinctively, I knew I didn't need to know. My mind's need to make sense of things was suspended. "I'm going to sell my restaurant that I've owned for nine years," Eileen began. "I'm going to Mexico this summer for two months and discover the origin of the universe. I will camp out on the beach." She paused, again looking into our eyes. We were both still completely present, listening deeply, attentive. In this moment, not making sense made sense.

"I want the two of you to come with me. Will you?" "Yes," we both answered immediately. She smiled and pushed her chair back to stand. She returned to supervising the kitchen and serving customers.

A week later, on a quiet middle-of-the-week day, I drove down from Taos to meet with Eileen again. We agreed to meet at a riverbank walkway running through Santa Fe. We spoke of the upcoming adventure to find the origin of the universe - exactly what that meant didn't matter. Nothing more was said, or needed to be said. There was an implicit not needing to know. Eileen agreed to meet one more time following week to plan travel details.

Returning a week later, I found her restaurant had been sold, and the people that knew her well had no idea where she was, or what she was doing. Friends that had known Eileen for the nine-year life of the restaurant, knew nothing of her whereabouts or her intentions.

A year later, I again tried to find her. No one had seen her. We moved back to California where I continued to teach some university classes, and facilitate couples and groups in learning how to "work" with themselves, and practice changing any given perception of the world and daily life. One day, in the middle of a so-called group process, I asked a woman who had volunteered to explore a chronic body symptom, "When did you first notice this physical symptom?" In the next few minutes, I found myself asking more open ended questions, focusing or tracing back when a specific symptom was first noticed, whether it be a body symptom or an emotional one.

Automatically, I found myself seeking out the origin of things - some event or trauma that may have taken place months or years ago, yet I had no hidden agenda or destination in mind. Nor was I thinking like a therapist or psychologist. I was simply being present and attentive. Within minutes, when the origin was remembered, the symptom or feeling was instantly relieved. Sometimes tears, laughter and shaking followed.

In a dream one night, it came to me that whomever Eileen was, real or not, I had been reminded to Not have to know the why of things, but instead help find the seed and origin of symptoms and events that consistently grab our attention.