The Little One Who Screamed

 

On the flight home, the woman in front of us was traveling with twin three-year-old girls. One of them had enough of travel, of the flight, she was not happy. She began to fuss, then wail, and it went on for a long time. Riley took off her headphones… glanced at them and looked at me.

“You know,” I said, “there is a Buddhist practice, where you breathe in their suffering, and breathe out compassion.”

She smiled.

I asked, “Should we try it?”

She nodded.

She took my hand and linked at the elbows, sharing the arm rest between us, we began. Her hand much more delicate than mine, it was cold.

Breathing in their suffering.

Breathing out compassion.

In short time, I didn’t consciously feel the coldness of her hand. I wasn’t consciously breathing in their suffering, breathing out compassion. I went to that indescribable place in meditation where time doesn’t exist.

This breath in.

This breath out.

We were probably only at it ten minutes or so, when I had the conscious thought,

“She stopped crying.”

I slowly opened my eyes and turned my head. Riley was softly looking at me,

“She stopped,” she smiled.

“You are a powerful soul,” I told her softly, “You have been since the day you were born.”

She squeezed my hand and beamed love at me through her eyes.

I do believe her meditations, her intentions, her prayers are strong. She’s such a pure heart.

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