Downtown Park Rapids today, I watched out the bookstore window as a mother and her young son threw snow at each other. The boy, maybe seven or eight, got snow in his face. The mother wrapped him in a big hug, kneeling down to gather him up in her arms. I could see they were both laughing. The scene mesmerized me.
My son Sam is home on winter break from his first year of college. He announced with great pride that he had survived his first semester and now knows two things about himself; he doesn’t need to eat or sleep. Apparently during finals week, skipping his night’s rest and meals helped him get all his work done. Not surprisingly though he came home with strep throat. A trip to the emergency room Christmas morning after I just upped our health insurance deductible to the catastrophe-only level ensued.
I confess here, though, that in some ways I appreciated that Sam was a little sick. I am a Reiki master and he let me do Reiki on him. For long minutes, I could place my hands on his head, his shoulders and pour love into my boy. It wasn’t that many years ago that he wouldn’t let me touch him at all.
When my daughter was a baby, I used to hold her, imagining my love for her as something I could pour out from me into her, somehow making her stronger, happier, healthier. She would sleep so peacefully in my arms as I swayed. The mother sway. Stand in a group of women and start to sway and within minutes they are all swaying.
I recently did a past life regression for a woman who went back to her own birth. She described the look on her mother’s face when she first held her new little daughter, and her words moved me to tears. “Pure love,” she said, and in the trance state, her own face reflected that love. Another client regressed to a life where she described watching her ten-year old son as he was busy at play. She became overwhelmed with emotion saying, “I can’t believe how much I love him.” During that same session, she moved on to a life as a little boy herself who died suddenly of a high fever. It was so difficult for her to leave the grieving mother behind. “I don’t want to go,” she said sadly.
I don’t recall the title of the book I read about a woman who requested a reading from Edgar Cayce– that is the hazard of reading a lot. She was disturbed because she was pregnant and seeing visions of her deceased mother standing at the foot of her bed in the middle of the night. Cayce told her that it was indeed her mother watching over her. To paraphrase Cayce, he pointed out that if the woman’s mother had loved her so completely while alive, why would that love not survive death?
The love a parent feels for a child and child for the parent may only be one kind of love but it is like all love; it is powerful, forgiving and sustaining. It transcends time. While I watched the mother hugging her son on the snowy city street today, I could feel their love radiating outward, brightening the very sky.
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