Childhood friends

Recently I read an article that discussed the separation between our everyday selves and our more subtle,  soul selves.  I found that interesting, because up until then, I didn't understand how we could identify or recognize the difference.  Clearly, when we enter into deep prayer or meditation, we have moved beyond our personality.  We leave this dimension of ourselves and slip into a deeper part of our inner mind, perhaps through some kind of invisible channel into our real self from which we connect to the divine, or God.  

In yesterday's post, I quoted Jesus who said only those who have changed into children could enter the kingdom of heaven, which seems to be another term for entering cosmic consciousness or unity with all there is, which clearly is the domain of God.  So, it must mean that we change into children when we separate ourselves from our exterior masks, our worries, concerns, stressors, everyday modus operandi.  

Childhood is a beautiful example because we all remember having been a child.  We remember our own innocence.  If you have trouble recalling how you felt as a child, a young child, then take a look at some old pictures.  You may recall events and then you may recall how you felt.  Perhaps you can re-enter your soul, which was still free of that external personality you would later don in order to cope with and navigate around in this competitive world.  

A child's self is in a perpetual state of curiosity, open to loving others, completely and totally without prejudice.

  

I remember when I was a young child, growing up in the City of Buffalo, my very best friend was a black girl.  I absolutely had no idea she was black.  She was my best friend.  We went to school together, played with dolls together, made tea parties out of maddy water from the garden hose, we rode our bikes together, we made a tree fort together and imagined worlds beyond worlds.  We had the best fun together.  I think I was six, then.  Later, she moved away and I missed her.  

A long time later, my mom was reminding me of something Anna and I did, and she called her "my little black friend."  I remember saying to my mom, "Anna was black?"  My mother insisted that she was. By then, unfortunately, I'd learned what "black" was. Then, in my innocence, I was color blind because we were not anyone or anything other than just being together at play. I was surprised that she was identified as anything other than my best friend. I was annoyed at my mother for saying that. 

As children we were connected soul-to-soul.  I'm sure we dressed funny and were covered in dirt from playing in the yard, climbing through back fences, exploring the world around us. I do remember she wore her hair in tidy braids, mine was usually a crumpled messy mass of curls, unbrushable, probably matted.  Hers was neat.  That's the only differentiating thing I can remember. Also, I don't remember thinking anything good or bad about her neat braids - only that she had braids.                                                     

I clearly remember this conversation with my mom because I was absolutely astonished. Unfortunately, through my mom's observation, I became less childlike and more observant of differences. I  realized, however, that my own love of another was without any observation at all, not noting any difference between us. We were one in play, in just connecting freely without any me-ness. There was no "me" and "Anna".  There was just the playing. Maybe that's what Jesus meant.  I don't know how we go back and unlearn our worldliness and re-connect with our natural born innocence, but somehow we must try.