Memory as Medicine

Being quiet keeps me out of trouble, but it also exposes me to sensitive people who can see through my silence.  Stripped of the emotional clutter that comes with talk, laughter, tears, or anger, a quiet person is more transparent to eyes that can see beyond the surface.  That was demonstrated to me quite vividly when I was in Nepal last fall and met a goddess face to face.  (see "Oh My Goddess," 12/12/12)  The fact that a living goddess is able to see into a person's soul is no great surprise, but it can come as a bit of a shock when a seemingly ordinary human being does it.  Many years ago, when I was going through a very dark period in my life, I met just such a person.
She was a child of no more than five.  I was at a pleasant, intimate patio party on a sultry summer's eve.  Despite my despair, I had mustered the courage to get out of the house and try to come out of myself for a few hours.  The group of us sat in a circle, enjoying conversation and wine.  Beneath my loose, cotton frock I was hiding long, red, angry cuts on my inner left thigh, which I had inscribed there with a razor earlier that day.  I was emotional mincemeat, but I kept my mouth shut and watched quietly from the sidelines.  I was doing my best to disappear, and succeeding, because no one paid any attention to me. 
A little girl, who was the daughter of a young couple at the party, ran excitedly around the gathered adults, being cute and winsome all the while.  On one of her rounds she stopped directly in front of me.  Without addressing anyone in particular, she pointed straight at me and blurted out "I like her," and then quickly resumed her party circuit.
It happened so fast I thought I might have imagined it.  Suddenly my mood changed from despondent to bewildered.  What was that all about?  And what did she see?  When I finally ceased puzzling over the incident - because I knew my questions weren't going to be readily answered - I felt brief but intense elation.  An innocent child had seen something in me that she liked, and announced it for everyone to hear.
Like the Devi I met in Nepal, the little girl saw through the thin veil of my silence.  I was quiet and completely at peace when I met Kusali Devi, but she recognized my years of pain and emotional upheaval.  I was meek and withdrawn when the little girl noticed me, but she could see a light shine.  I can't imagine what motivated her to speak out like that, but I'm glad she did.  It's a memory I cherish, and makes me feel good all these years later.
The very young and the very old are more attuned to the unseen world, probably because they're on the way in or out; crossing the bridge between the world of the spirit and the world of matter.  The little girl spoke to me from that place.  She was an angel in disguise.
This meaningful memory came back to me just recently, after many years of being filed away in the recesses of my mind.  I won't let that happen again, especially now that I've written about it.  But the remembrance of it is enough, and is salve for my soul.
- G. P.