The Precious Ones

Every day, in this world, Precious Ones are born.  They are beautiful children of the heart, born with the capacity to experience true pain and suffering merely by seeing it in another’s eyes, the slope of another’s shoulders, the lumber in another’s walk.  They come into this world looking like every other child.  But, their heart is different, somehow. Their compassion and empathy for those that are suffering knows no bounds.

What tools can we offer these gifted, Precious Ones?  What advice can we share to lighten their heart?

These children are the lost treasures of our society.  They are experiencing the emotional lives of an adult with the coping skills of a toddler, struggling to make sense of the tumultuous world around them.  They are told ‘Get over it!’, ‘Suck it up!’, ‘Quit being so sensitive!’ ‘Be a man!’

My question has always been...how?  How does a child get over the crushing sorrow of watching another human being suffer?  

At age 4, I sobbed through the entire airing of JFK’s funeral.  What did I do with all that sadness?  What tools did I have to process a grief so devastating it crippled an entire nation, when I didn’t even possess the emotional maturity to comprehend what I was seeing?  How could I be so deeply affected by something I was obviously too young to understand?

I don’t know. But, somehow, I just was.  I understood their pain by the look in their eyes.  I felt their loss, heavy and palpable.  

As an adult, I think it would have been wonderful to have my very own Shaman, a spiritual leader of great wisdom and compassion.  A man of nature that spoke quietly, listened carefully, and observed completely.  Every day I would visit him and he would ask, in his calm, soothing voice ‘ What is it, my Precious, Little One?  Tell me what it is you have witnessed today?’  

And I could have shared.  ‘ I saw a small girl all alone on the playground.  She is new to my school and no one will play with her.  Her heart is very heavy, Shaman.  I can feel it.  Her eyes are sad, her body slack.  Why won’t the kids play?  Why does she feel such pain?  I feel what she feels.  What do I do?’

My Shaman would lift me onto his lap and say ‘You are such a gift, little one.  You have the heart of an eagle, brave and bold.  You were put here to see the pain that others do not.  It is your job to deliver their message to all the world so that everyone else will see, too.  You are the messenger.  Spread the word.  Then, let it go.  For it is your calling to share your gift of feeling.’  

Then, he would be still and I’d know he was through.  I would slide off his lap and head for the door.  But, right before I’d leave he’d call to me and say ‘Precious One, beware! Your gift has the power to destroy you, as well.  Never keep The Message locked away, in your heart.  For, it is too heavy and will weigh you down.’ 

But, I didn’t have a Shaman.  I didn’t know what to do.  There was no one to hear my tale, because I didn’t have the words.  So, all the stories were saved, in my heart, stockpiled and stacked like old mail, undelivered.  I became weary, the burden to heavy.  I could not fly.

Time has passed.  And, I have grown.  The wisdom of the Shaman has come to me through maturity.  I still see the pain, and my heart grows full.  But, like an eagle, I carry it away to share with the world, as it is not meant to rest in my heart.  It never was.  For, it is through my gift as a Precious One that others will see, and hear, and know the pain and suffering of others.

If you have a Precious One in your life, a gifted child of sensitivity and great compassion, ask them to share what they have witnessed today.  Provide them an opportunity to deliver their Message.  It is why they are here.  It is what they are meant to do.  We are all meant to hear their voice.  Please let them be heard.