Three things in human life are important. The first is to be kind. The second is to be kind. And the third is to be kind.
I am writing this on the day before the U.S. presidential election and there are only a few drops, a mere dribble, left in the proverbial cup of kindness. Weeks and weeks have passed with candidates hurling unkindnesses at each other. Slings and arrows.
Deeply weary of it all, I looked across the table at my youngest grandson Truman a couple of days ago and with feelings of wonderment and gratitude, said, “Tru, you are the kindest person I’ve ever known.”
Wide-eyed, he looked back at me. I watched him take the words in. He was unable in that moment to bring forth his own. But as he bowed his head, I saw the slightest smile of deep and quiet pleasure. It’s true. He’s a master in the art of lovingkindness, a term used by the teachers and the faithful across a range of religions.
Truman is on the autism spectrum. And he is a lightworker. He faces challenges every day in a body that does what it will, what
it must, all too often. He does his best to put “mind over matter,” to “normalize” and gain control. He’s acutely sensitive to sound and touch and taste and smell and feeling everything intensely. He must somehow make sense of what he sees—learn to focus on what’s “important,” when there aren’t the usual filters, when so much comes at him at once. He works diligently at translating his thoughts into words. And so often when he speaks them, they have a profound eloquence.
His mother Liv has called him “an expert on joy,” despite experiences being teased by kids or dismissed by adults who don’t understand his ways. She once posted about a family outing to an apple orchard, when just such an incident occurred.
She wrote: “There was a hard moment. There were tears, hurt feelings. That felt really bad, and he wanted to feel good. So wiping his eyes, he asked if he could roll down the hill we were standing on. Yes, he took that sadness and literally rolled with it. And at the bottom I snapped this picture of him blissed out in the grass (which, by the way, he used to be deathly afraid of). And just like that, he felt so lucky to be alive again. And so did I.”
I posted this anecdote when he was six: Last night Tru told me he was really sad because his friend S______ had to go to another school and he would miss him. Only later did I discover that the boy repeatedly stole stuff from Tru and has been mean to him and others. It is so like Truman to have found something to love in this boy, to trust in what was buried deeper in his heart.”
When a teacher asked Tru and his classmates to print something each of them deemed most important, Truman’s placard read: “I’m nice to people because I don’t want anyone to be sad.” It’s an echo of what the 13-year-old autistic author Naoki Higashida writes in his bestselling “The Reason I Jump”: “The hardest ordeal for us is the idea of causing grief for other people. It’s unbearable if we’re the source of others’ unhappiness.”
Years ago, while on a three-month sabbatical in Santa Fe, New Mexico, I happened to see a front page story in the local paper about a nationally renowned pair of intuitives—a healer and her musician husband—back in town after an extended tour. On impulse, a visiting friend and I signed up for separate sessions with the healer/bodyworker. Midway through mine, and face down on the massage table, I was feeling supremely relaxed and at peace when I heard a gasp and a thud. Lifting my head, I turned to locate the source of the noise and saw the woman getting up from the floor, with a mix of confusion and amazement on her face.
“Well, that was a first!” she exclaimed; then told me she’d suddenly experienced a huge wave of children flooding through a blue portal, coming right at and over us. It was the surprise and sheer force of that tsunami-like wave that had knocked her over. Through the years, I’ve had plenty of reasons to puzzle over what that massive wave of children signified.
The image came to mind when I read Dr. Meg Blackburn Losey’s first book “The Children of Now,” and later, sequels about so-called “transitional children” being born in increasing numbers.
I couldn’t help but recall the vision of that powerful wave when I attended a conference focusing on kids with special traits,
gifts, and needs. Here were educators, psychologists, school social workers, district superintendents, doctors, along with parents, attesting in presentation after presentation to these kids’ “difference” and the call for greater understanding and support. This was before the explosion in autism diagnoses—today with one in every 68 children diagnosed on the spectrum.
They are part of that wave. In “The Reason I Jump,” Naoki Higashida, asserts that they are “on a mission.” Yes, he acknowledges that those on the spectrum, like him, have a disability, including impaired communication, excessive rigidity, and emotional detachment, in widely varying degrees.
But he is also conscious of why so many, like him, are the way they are. “We are here to help the people of Earth remember what truly matters.”
Just yesterday, during an online summit about what those on the spectrum bring to enrich humanity, I watched a young man, autistic and nonverbal, do brilliantly what I’ve been struggling to manifest since I received instructions from Spirit last January. Joao Carlos Costa— who, at age 19, also authored a book published in his native Portugal—fills pages with automatic writing. It’s in English, no less, though he’s never had a formal lesson in this language. He trusts implicitly in what comes from the pencil to the paper with little or no editing when it is typed and transferred via computer to print.
And what flows out of him? Inspired messages to a world in a precarious state. Theirs is a pledge to help move us from states of fear to those of love. To raise the vibrations in families and on the planet, he reports. To see that power is not external but comes from within, to connect others with their inner light.
Each of these volunteers—so-called disabled and different souls—is actually an emissary, a hero who embodies lovingkindness. Henry James surely understood the word to include elements of generosity, respect, love, compassion, and light. And if we reject this call to change? Joao Carlos Costa writes that many more souls are ready to reincarnate to honor this evolutionary imperative. Others, already among us, are blessings in disguise.
How about a vote for practicing a little more kindness, starting on election day, no matter who “wins”? It’s a start.
Act of kindness: Tru’s portrait of his mom, drawn during Quiet Time at school,with the message “I will be by your side. I will never forget you.”