Who is the powerful person in the
world?
Is it not one who can heal others
of their smallness in self-perception?
One day I noticed that Tara's nametag was pinned on slanted. I was determined to draw her attention to it and then re-pin it straight. I recalled seeing her in conversation with another girl, busily straightening out the collar of the other girl's dress while they talked. Had she pinned the nametag on slanted, on purpose? Was this an invitation to gently interact? I puzzled about that. The thought seemed exciting. Should I simply go up to her and re-pin it straight?
Of course, actually doing what I was hoping to do, like rearranging the nametag on her dress, is something quite daring, too daring perhaps even to contemplate.
When she came near, I couldn't move, and this wasn't for the lack of opportunities. I was the first in the bar that day. Tara had stopped at my table three times for a chat. But I simply couldn't get my nerve up to do this simple loving thing. Three times I could have kicked myself. The next time I saw her, her nametag was straight.
So, who was I to complain about the renowned Russian scientist for his omissions in an otherwise marvelous presentation, courageously delivered at the conference? It struck me as odd that while I complained, both he and Tara had moved much farther ahead in challenging conventions than I had allowed myself to go, so that she, a tavern girl, was now gently nurturing me, a diplomat, in the art of interacting as human beings. And more than that, to my shame, I had failed the first grade.
The little episode with the nametag made me even more ashamed when I remembered that I had intended to step forward in the convention hall during the ovation for the speaker, to congratulate the man. It would have given me a perfect opportunity to gently start a dialog with the man to explore the omitted issues by which his presentation would have been more complete, and the audience more enriched. But there too, I couldn't move. As if my feet were nailed to the floor I just stood there without the slightest sense of power. By this stupid impotence a great opportunity to contribute something of substance was squandered.
I wondered after the episode with the nametag whether Tara might have sensed some of my frustrations with myself after I couldn't get my feet unstuck. I had met her in the lobby after the session ended. I wondered if her sensing my frustration had prompted her to nurture me gently along in order to awaken my sense of power as a human being.
I should have responded better to her during the nametag episode, than I had. I could have cried afterwards over my stupidity. Three times had a great opportunity been wasted that evening, and all for my lack of power that was in essence just sheer self-denial. Maybe she did teach me after all what she had intended to teach. That's just the way she was. Helping people came easy to her in the flow of her loving.
Should you ever allow yourself to 'meet' Tara, you will soon find a beautiful rapport developing between you and her that is special and unmistakable, that you might feel you want to protect even if it forces your impotence to the surface. My advice for you would be to open your eyes and your heart. When you come walking into the tavern, or you aren't seated at tables that she is serving that day, she will notice you and instantly wave. Don't be surprised if she waves to you right across the whole bar. It feels wonderful when this happens. You feel as though you and she are the only ones there, and all the others are but props of a stage setting forming the background. That's when you will agree that fact, fiction, and fantasy do indeed come together in her without being a contradiction to one-another. What should be illogical under normal circumstances becomes absolutely logical with Tara.
