Stillness Compassion

I’m on a plane and it’s getting really bumpy. Walking down the isle back to my seat, I pass a couple with a small boy, probably two years old, who’s crying his heart out, terrified. It’s quite a sound, and understandably the parents are distressed too. My own heart jumps inside my chest as I pass them; he’s sitting in his mother’s lap, while the father is frantically trying to interest him in a smartphone in a clearly hopeless attempt to stop him crying.
This was hard to see, being on my way home from dancing through Cycles with Jonathan, where we all bore witness to a hundred father wounds. (What a powerful workshop that is. Lost count of how many times I’ve done it, and it’s still so new and incredible every time.)
Our dear fathers, who teach us how to trust our own hearts, how to communicate from an emotional field. Or not.
Oh how I longed for them to put their arms around him and say “Yes, yes, beloved boy, it’s scary isn’t it. We’ve got you safe. Yes, it’s scary. We love you. We hear your cry for help.”
Deep deep sigh as I walked on by.
Sometimes the most compassionate move we can make is to do nothing but feel it.

River

I’m on a plane and it’s getting really bumpy. Walking down the isle back to my seat, I pass a couple with a small boy, probably two years old, who’s crying his heart out, terrified. It’s quite a sound, and understandably the parents are distressed too. My own heart jumps inside my chest as I pass them; he’s sitting in his mother’s lap, while the father is frantically trying to interest him in a smartphone in a clearly hopeless attempt to stop him crying.
This was hard to see, being on my way home from dancing through Cycles with Jonathan, where we all bore witness to a hundred father wounds. (What a powerful workshop that is. Lost count of how many times I’ve done it, and it’s still so new and incredible every time.)
Our dear fathers, who teach us how to trust our own hearts, how to communicate from an emotional field. Or not.
Oh how I longed for them to put their arms around him and say “Yes, yes, beloved boy, it’s scary isn’t it. We’ve got you safe. Yes, it’s scary. We love you. We hear your cry for help.”
Deep deep sigh as I walked on by.
Sometimes the most compassionate move we can make is to do nothing but feel it.

River