Recently, a friend told me that a very successful actor friend of mine was considering transitioning to becoming a healer. 

My natural response was “Oh, he already is. He always has been.”

Every time, I had seen this person on stage, he was channeling something bigger then himself, something real and painfully true, that it sometimes hurt to watch him. Now, he is at a point where his perspective is growing and evolving, and his career path may follow, but I had the sudden realization, that no matter what he did, he would be a healer. It was about how he lived his life; openly, generously, vulnerably, and close to the surface of his skin. As he grows and evolves, he is able to heal others more and more, but whether or not he chooses to stay an actor, or totally shifts gears, he has always embodied something divine.

I began to realize, with startling clarity, that being someone who heals others has very little to do with how society categorizes them and much more about how they operate in their life. 

I think of all the people in my life who have led to my own healing, and oftentimes, they were unexpected, and didn’t fit my traditional view of a “healer.” It was the trainer at my gym who encouraged me to keep breathing as I swung kettle bells and move through my anger.  It was the woman who would stop when she saw me crying after a botched audition on the street, and just put her hand on my arm. It was the yoga teacher who took some extra time with me when I was having a tough time and struggling. It was the 17 year-old checkout girl at the super-market who gave Levi a gift on the day we left NYC and a note that she would never forget him. It is the people who give me the gift of faith in humanity or who gives me permission to move through my own pain. They are the ones who take personal responsibility for their fellow human, who help others feel seen and held.

It makes me think of one moment when I saw a young man on train. A homeless, toothless, likely drug-addicted, HIV infected woman in her mid 50’s had just entered and was asking for spare change. She told her story (similar to a few I had already heard that day).  The boy was alone on the subway (my guess was around 12 years old). As she made her way through the subway car, largely ignored, he rose from his seat and stood in front of her, making direct eye contact, and smiling serenely. Chills ran through my body as I watched them interact. He handed her a bill, and held her gaze as if he was looking deep inside her.  No eyes down. No looking away. They just stood standing and looking at one another for what seemed like minutes but in reality was likely 20 seconds. The train pulled into the station and before he left, he put his hand on her heart. She started sobbing.

I felt like I was in the presence of something holy. 

The day, my healers were a twelve year old boy and a homeless addict.

Especially at this time, when so many in our world are experiencing darkness, pain, contraction, confusion and desperation, it becomes crucial to look for the light.

Look for the people who are connecting with others, who are giving, who are loving big, who are seeing one another. Look for the people are lifting one another up. They are everywhere, everywhere, everywhere.

Healers are  on every train, every street, every restaurant. They aren’t perfect but they connected to something big, and painfully real, and they live close to the surface of their skins. They don’t have to be smart, or wealthy, religiously or politically affiliated, or in any way “together”. They could very well even be the addicted, the HIV infected, homeless and begging. It isn’t about how society categorizes them or what is happening in their physical existence, it is about what is behind their eyes.

You will know them when you see them. Just start to look.

I wish you peace and love.

Happy Holidays.

Rock On & Be Well,
Beth

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