He teaches us to only ask for help when we have an urgency. “So, who has an urgency?” he asks, and the room is palpable with a sudden sense of urgency, so much urgency the tensely-held despair hangs thick in the air. I’m back in kindergarten with little children trying to behave, trying to be good, to wait their turn to be called on but crying out with their whole body “me, me, ME!!!,” holding their little hands up so intently that their determination breaks the sound barrier. The teacher is one known to bring relief to sorrow and to suffering. He is the one who knows grace, can call it in by name, and in whose presence there is serenity and peace, a reorganization to the way things should be, a re-tuning of life, a return to harmony. We all want that, and though he assures us that if he works with one person, he works with all of us, we do not have that same faith. We are children who have nursed on disappointment for far too long. We are tired and thirsty for peace. “Please, please, please!” He looks around at the silent tense crowd. “Me, me, me…” I try to pull myself together, look cool. “Don’t look desperate,” I tell myself. “Keep calm,” I think. My stomach’s jumped into my throat, my insides are turned out for everyone to see. I close my eyes and say a silent, quick prayer, one of those bargaining ones that we don’t admit to… “Just this once…” Understood is that unuttered part — “I’d do anything.” And holding my breath, I watch as he scans the crowd. He explains that the choice is not personal. It’s where the energy is strongest, where the person ‘pops’ out from the crowd. They are the one to do the work for everyone. “Please let it be me,” I think. “I can do this…” I waver on the precipice of wanting and surrendering. My heart is broken open, begging. I don’t think that’s a good thing, and I see out of the corner of my eye how antsy others are. Singlemindedly I focus. Please…
“I’ll work with you,” he says and my relief escapes from deep within me, meeting the disappointment of the others around me they can no longer hide. Tucking my head, I make my way quietly, timidly but assuredly to take the seat next to the teacher. My inner good girl teacher pet is thrilled. Yippie, it’s me, she thinks. I secretly hope this truly helps me. Isn’t that what we all want? Some quick fix to fix the things in side that are broken, seemingly so out of reach and beyond us.