from the newly released How to Raise an Indigo Child

A Different Kind of Memory

Birds of a Feather

Since he was born I have endeavored to faithfully record significant passages in Hezekiah’s life. So far I have filled two notebook size journals with his life experiences and began a separate dream journal when he turned seven. I see this as part of the duty of being a parent. We are witness to the first steps the soul takes on the journey in this world.
Because the first seven years lay the pattern, the foundation, for all that will follow, what occurs in those years is invaluable. I know, from teaching and counseling, that some day Hezekiah will find keys and missing links in these books. They will tell him what he has forgotten, offer him insight into the origin of ideas, thoughts, or emotions. I am a scribe serving a purpose far beyond the present, and in so being I make myself more alert, more attentive, more present in our togetherness.
Living and learning at the College of Metaphysics affords him multi-age relationships, making community the focus of his reality. Daniel and I purposefully choose the situations focused on age grouping. Parks are one of the many places this occurs.
One late winter day shortly after Ki turned seven, he and I went to the park. While he relished the chance to experience others his age, I absorbed the progress I had witnessed over the years. Before leaving the park on this day, I wrote the following.

I watched you teach yourself today at the park. We come here about every four months or so when we visit Granddad Jack. Living on a farm, as your Granddad does, doesn’t hold the luster for you that it does for all his city grandkids. For you, the cows and pasture, creatures and ponds, are an everyday occurrence. For you, going to Chillicothe to shop, or better yet the city park, is one of the highlights you look forward to.
I can see your progression with each visit. It is measured in your willingness to climb all the way up to the top of the two and a half story rocket. It is measured in how you can reach bars more easily, maneuver your body in new ways, and most importantly in how you relate to and interact with the other children present. Sometimes the fascination of the park wears off quickly. Today, you wanted to stay.
The park was filled with kids ages two to sixteen. You loved the energy. You would move from one area to another just soaking up the vibrations. I decided rather than chase after you, I’d choose a central location from which I could survey the entire play area.
You played on one of those colorful jungle gyms that combine slides with ropes and bridges and tunnels. Close by was a simple “n” shaped set, about six feet tall and eight feet long, that enables the kids to grab onto a ring that slides from one side of the “n” to the other. A quartet, two girls and two younger boys, were playing there. I noted them because you saw them, and my attention followed yours. Then you continued climbing through your tunnels.
Every once in a while I would glance over at the quartet again, observing the dynamics of ages and interactions between them. They didn’t appear to be all brothers and sisters although for certain the eldest girl, probably 15, was dominant, the leader. The younger girl clearly idolized her, clinging and imitating, in turn. She was probably around ten. The boys were younger, eight and six, I guessed. They would follow the older girl’s direction when she wanted them to do something although most of the time they did what they pleased.
As I watched, the smaller girl lost her grip on the ring and fell into the sand below. I immediately moved toward her. I could tell she was winded and after the shock wore off the tears came. You heard her crying. You stopped, moving closer to her, and stood very still. The natural urge to help was strong in you. Your attention very focused. I had seen this at other times when a child would be hurt - physically or emotionally - and you, and other children present, would draw near, just being there until the pain subsided.
Having participated in the projection of healing energies for years, I understood the need, the response, and the miracle. I also understood that beyond giving your energy, you did not yet know what to do. I knew this was something I could give to you.
I respectfully entered the space between the two of you, touching you briefly then bending down to ask the girl, “Are you all right?” I felt you come closer to me.
The older girl had squatted next to her and they both looked up. It was as if, when a stranger asked she was suddenly okay. She immediately stopped the tears and nodded. She started breathing more evenly and we moved a bit away. The four walked to another part of the playground leaving the offending playset behind.
You wanted to know what happened and if she was going to be okay and why she suddenly stopped crying. We talked about each question and what you might do if something like that ever happened again. Once satisfied, you returned to your play.

About forty five minutes later, the quartet was working together to cover a low, broad slide with sand. The leader was packing the sand as the younger ones would pick up handfuls and drop them onto the slanted surface. Feeling more secure and comfortable from having been around these people a while, you wanted to help. You started imitating what you saw the others doing, picking up sand and putting it on the slide.
After a few trips, the older girl said with a hint of irritation, “Let it drop from the top.” You didn’t seem to notice her emotion, nor did it seem you listened to her command because you kept putting sand on from the side where you could reach the slide. Instead of showing you what to do, when you came with a handful, she looked you in the eye and said sternly, “Would you stop that!”
You dropped the sand in your hands and moved a couple feet away. You got the full effect of her desire and emotion. You separated yourself and started playing in the sand alone. You were hurt and dejected. My heart strings tugged, and I decided to give you space. I would continue to lovingly watch you and we could talk later.
Very soon after this another boy, a twelve year old new on the scene, arrived. With six other slides available and with no consideration for the quartet’s efforts, he ran over and climbed the ladder of their slide. Looking up, the girl was clearly amazed that he was clueless about the work going on. She had the petulant, “can’t you see what we’re doing here! this is our space!” look on her face. She really believed her glare would deter him.
It didn’t.
The boy came down the slide, intentionally wiping down as much of the built-up sand as he could. “Why did you do that?” she yelled. The boy just smiled back at her, infuriating her even more. She stood there, mouth agape, hands on hips, while the boy ran off.
You quietly watched the whole interaction.
Stunned, the girl went back to covering the slide with sand. One of the boys in the quartet threw sand at her, and she asked the same question, “Why did you do that?”
Then another girl who was with the 12-year-old slid down the slide, wiping out the rest of the sand. At that the quartet left, abandoning their efforts. I thought about cause and effect, about karma and intention and how opportunities to learn present themselves as many times as necessary for the learning the soul needs. I thought about how this is the real learning in life, and how the manmade “ologies” we create too often distract us from our purpose in life rather than point us in that direction.
I wondered what you thought about the whole scene, the chain of events that had unfolded before your eyes. I wondered how much you had learned by watching. Soon your actions told me. With the slide free, you felt invited again. You could pick up where the others had left off without fear of being pushed away. You wanted the experience and you had waited until it was available again.
You began picking up the sand, bringing it over to the slide. At first your efforts were solitary. You built alone. Soon a boy about your age joined you. The two of you built together. You or he would slide down, wiping out some of the sand, then you would build again. A little girl joined in, then another. You’d attracted like kind, birds of a feather, a gentle group who worked together carefully, without any prodding, and with few words. It was a mystic kid group, no one person dominant, each one seeing what part they could play, responding to the desires and actions of one another. It was as if everyone else at the park respected the space you created, either contributing or leaving you be.
This was a lesson in observation for you and for me. I could have joined in your park experience at any time – teaching, instructing you or the other children, guiding, influencing the play. Instead, I waited. I’m very glad I did for by waiting I learned more about you than any amount of words can say.


Intuition is the direct grasp of truth. It is learning through observation, from the inner subconscious mind’s point of view. When the conscious mind is still, receiving, we see and we know. When we draw upon subconscious understanding we align our minds with a greater truth and we experience ourselves, our children, everyone with the deepest sense of compassion and wisdom.
Some months later Hezekiah, Daniel, and I were driving along the highway. Ki wanted to listen to a tape of Greek myth stories tailored for children. He asked if he could push the tape into the machine. Ki did so gently, but nothing happened. A quizzical look came over his face and turning to me he asked, “Do I push this button?”
Daniel read the words printed on the buttons for him. Hezekiah reached over and pushed the on/off button which does not have letters.
Feeling our surprise he asked, “Do you know how I knew?” He turned to Dan, “I watch you and mommy do it.”
The human idea of “do as I say not as I do” quickly filtered through my outer consciousness. I was bemused by it. How often do adults cheat themselves and their youth with that thought? The thought holds the distance between thinking ideals and living them. Hypocrisy has no place in the world of someone who is connected to his or her subconscious mind. This is one of the reasons Indigo kids value, and expect, honesty.
Having acknowledged the limiting human thought and I laughed, saying, “You learn through observation very well, Hezekiah.” I was proud of myself for directing my attention to a higher thought worthy of a spiritual teacher, and even prouder of Kiah for demonstrating a growing, active, reasoning mind that can learn anywhere, any time, through experience and through observation.


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