....who wouldn't harm a hair on your head.
After all, this is a young friend who not too long ago asked me to sit with her and meditate...
* * * * * * * *
"OK! So.... show me what you do, T."
She settled into a cross-legged position, joyful and confident, beaming with a cascade of fabulously unkempt hair framing her face. "Like this!" she exalted, with eyes shining like the little star she is in our lives. What could I do, but settle in, too, and beam back?
She nodded in a sly and cocky, affirmative way that she has, closed her eyes like a contented kitten, and said in a clear, soft voice that crinkles in that way small children's voices do, "Teach love.... Teach hope.... Teach peace...."
Gently seizing on such sweet bliss available for the having in that moment, I dropped my eyes closed, too, and we repeated those exquisitely beautiful three-phrases-in-combination a few times. T opened her eyes, I opened mine, and we regarded each other for a moment or two at the level of not Mommy's friend to an adored child, but as loving human to loving human, and beaming a bit more than before.
And then it was done. She smiled almost impossibly bigger and asked excitedly, "Now can we make a movie?" It's one of her favorite things to do when she visits.
"Sure, T. C'mon." I tenderly took her sweet hand in mine, and realized that the essence of what I'd learned in that genuinely deep and simple moment was the best possible purpose of the meditation's intent: With lives grounded in love, hope and peace, we give our children a safe and happy place to play... and as Einstein wisely noted, "Play is the highest form of research."
* * * * * * * *
The moral (perhaps): What's an everyday person to do about the monsters in the world? Teach love... Teach hope... Teach peace... Then play.