by Berenice Andrews.
Mother was deeply disappointed. Throughout the difficult pregnancy and birthing, she had fervently hoped that her adorable little girl, Shirley, had come to make her happy. (Her young husband had failed miserably.)
But Shirley was a boy … a large one. And, there was in him a “knowing” that in this beginning, he was all alone.
Shirley “fed” well and soon slept through the night. Mother was pleased. She called him a “good boy.” When he grew too large to be picked up, he sat in his playpen and intently observed his surroundings. By his first birthday, he could feed himself neatly, “toilet” properly and clearly sense his own being. By age three, he could (finally) walk. He could also smile politely at Mother’s friends, speak correctly and behave well.
And he continued to grow.
In elementary school, Shirley was the biggest “kid” in every class. But he was so quiet and agreeable, that his much smaller classmates accepted him. And, he was a “bright” student who enjoyed learning. Mother was pleased. She hugged him for his “A” grades.
By mid-secondary school, Shirley had completed his physical growth at six-foot one and two hundred pounds. In the meantime, he discovered that he enjoyed debating (he liked using words well). He also realized that girls were attracted to him. But he remained aloof.
Then, in his seventeenth year, there came another beginning.
Shirley met Karen, whose inner beauty opened his heart.
Together, they read Rumi’s poetry and pondered on its deeper meanings. Together, they eagerly observed the life cycles unfolding in Karen’s butterfly sanctuary. Together, they filled up with happiness.
Then, in their last year of secondary school, Karen was killed by a drunk driver.
And Shirley’s heart shut down.
He was, again, aloof. Mother was concerned. After all, she did have affection for him. He accepted it without comment. He told her that he would study criminal law. He went to the best law school in the country. Soon it became clear that this large, quiet man had an implacable purpose. After graduating summa cum laude, Shirley launched his next beginning … he would mercilessly prosecute criminally-charged impaired drivers.
Within ten years, he was at the top of his profession and had earned the respect of his colleagues. They were not his friends, but he didn’t notice. Within fifteen years he secured a judgeship and then established a fearsome reputation. He supported Mother handsomely and visited her occasionally. The years went by.. One day, she commented about his lovelessness. He looked at her keenly and said nothing.
Then, Shirley reached his fiftieth year.
For ten years, he had worked relentlessly as the “hanging judge of inebriated felons.”
There had been too many and he was bone weary. He left the court buildings early and walked along the street. It was a cool autumn day and he briefly recalled those times with Karen. He wandered into a little bookstore and came upon a thin volume of Rumi’s verses. He found himself reading: “We feel the flowing water of life, you and I, with the garden’s beauty and the birds’ singing. { … ], apparently two but one in soul, you and I.”
He quickly replaced the book and left the store. But a huge shift was happening in him. Arriving home, he lit a hearth fire and sat looking into the flames.
He felt something melting in his chest. After briefly resisting, he let go.
The grief rolled up, wave upon wave. He saw in the flames all his years of feeling abandonment and loss … he grieved. He saw Mother’s lifetime of unhappiness and discontent … he grieved. Then, in the flames, he saw Karen. He wept as he had never wept before, while she waited with love. When his grief subsided, they smiled at each other. And in his new place of open-heartedness, he heard her say: “Shirley, you never lost me, but you did lose your way. Dear one, you and I were always into life and its constant beginnings. Remember the butterflies? It’s life that’s calling to you now. It’s only life that matters.” Then she was gone.
And Shirley felt a deep inner peace.
He slept soundly and woke with the joy he had not known for decades.
Although he’d never prayed nor paid attention to those who did, he spoke the words that signaled his next beginning. He said “thank you.”
That very day he resigned his judgeship and informed his colleagues that he was starting a new career of enlisting and training those who would teach the young the inner work of overcoming the addictions that destroyed lives. Observing his new softness, some of his colleagues wished him well. And to his surprise, Mother heartily endorsed his decision. To help him get enough funding for this new purpose, she offered to downsize her lifestyle. He accepted.
Shirley and Mother (whose name was Edna) soon became a working team. She (finally) told him about her lost childhood, of how her mother had died when she was two and her father had “farmed out” his children. By means of Shirley’s legal connections, her siblings were located. He and Edna found themselves in a huge family … another beginning.
Meanwhile, Shirley was discovering a whole new layer of humanity … the one devoted to helping the many lost souls of this world. His program: “The Living Connection,” gradually spread throughout the country. People clamored to become teachers and messengers of the work.
More years went by. There were so many beginnings that Shirley lost count. And as far as I know, they’re still happening.
Now in her eightieth year, Berenice Andrews continues to follow her bliss as a shamanic teacher/healer. To learn more about her teachings and to become her student, consult her book, Rebirthing Into Androgyny: Your Quest for Wholeness, And Afterward and her web site, thestonecircleclassroom.com.
Author’s note: The Rumi poem quoted in this tale is “A Moment of Happiness.” Shirley’s prayer was inspired by Meister Eckhart who said: “If the only prayer you say is ‘thank you,’ that would be enough.”