Every child comes with the message that God is not yet discouraged of man. ~Rabindranath Tagore

When you open to the Divine, to the core of you, expect to go to new levels and don't think it will be a cozy walk through fall leaves. Often, it is brutal and telling. As was my experience yesterday. Since accepting my role as a Reiki practitioner, I am reaching for new floors within myself, and the pushing to see clearly, to make right choices is grimly showing me how much further I must walk toward the edge of the cliff if I'm ever to fly.

I was on the 4 train, heading back to Brooklyn. I just wanted to close my eyes and get home; take a long walk to get there, stare into the store windows, buy some dinner or go to the grocery store. The Sunday before Thanksgiving, I was grateful, and once again too much in my head. As I walked onto the 4, I was staring opposite from me at four children holding big boxes of candy, the lids torn off for easy selling. A boy and three girls, all under 12. I scanned their faces, hair, improper clothing for this early winter weather, and I saw poverty and something eerily wrong. I looked for the parents.

My heart said to ask the oldest one, a boy, what was going on? Where were his folks? But I became scared. Something told me this was so drastic and so uncommon that there was more to this, and of course, even more reason for me to speak up. I stood as a statue and watched the others stare at them, too. Perplexed, I watched them. One girl sat silently. All three girls had dyed hair, blond, their dark roots growing out to half of their lengths. The other two chatted silly talk to each other, one playing with a thumb puppet, the only toy object between them. The boy met my eyes and fell flat. I knew they were in trouble. I looked again for a parent. I moved over to stand in the doorway closest to him. Talk to him! my heart shouted. I stared at the red button I could press and talk to the conductor. I ran my message over in my head. Panicked, I froze.


I just stood there, solid fear. We rode for a few more stops. Speak, speak, but I just stood there, as stone. And then they got off at 59th and Lex and out they went and I saw they were with a boy a bit older, a teen. I should have run off the train and talked to him. His eyes looked defeated, please leave us alone, I felt coming from him. Were they selling the candy on the streets for sustenance? In my 15 years here, I've seen teens selling, and one kid during school break, but they'd walk up and down the train, selling their candy for $1.Were they just amassed in a school project? Was I overreacting?

These children got up and left. You are creating drama where there is none, my mind rationalized. But none of them wore winter coats, and it was cold, is still cold.

I walked home, sad for them, sad for me. I thought of Johnny Cash and how he wore black in homage to all the sadness in the world. The only way I could prepare dinner, and continue to gather happiness and hope was to vow to dedicate my life to those children. To do what I have to do - in service and love - to tell them through my feeble, wobbly heart, still learning, still reaching for wings of courage -  that I failed them yesterday. I failed me.

I rise and do better today. The chances for it never stop.