The Child Who Cried

There was a child

crying alone—

it was dark

and there was no way home.

Why are you crying? asked the moon.

“I don’t know where I am,” said the child.

You are with me, the moon said.

Rest a while—

if my light is not enough to guide you

the sun will be here soon.

Its light is brighter than mine.

I will keep shining for you—

do not cry for fear of the dark.

True to its word, the moon shone bright

all throughout the cold night

and come morning

the sun lit the sky

and illuminated the way home.

Much later, the child became lost again

and cried bitterly in the moonless night.

Why are you crying? asked the stars.

“I am all alone,” the child said.

“Even the moon has left me.”

The moon only goes away for a little while.

After all, it shines so much

it probably needs a rest, too.

Think of the moon as sleeping

and rest with it tonight.

We are here with you.

We do not get tired as easily.

We were here before you.

We will be here after you.

Our lives are very, very long

and there are so many of us—

even if you can’t see us

we are always here.

So if you are lonely, look to us.

We will keep you company

from the first darkness to first light.

Do not cry from loneliness

because your senses say no one is with you.

True to their word

the stars stayed with the child

all throughout the night

and bid goodbye at the morning light.

For several nights after that, the child sat

with the moon and the stars.

Later, in the middle of the afternoon

the child cried at the playground.

Why are you crying? asked the sky.

“I miss the stars,” the child said.

“I wait all day for sunset and then I fall asleep.

“When I wake up they are gone and I am lonely again.

“I have no friends in the daytime.

“I have nowhere I belong.”

I am here, the sky said.

You can be my friend.

I will try not to rain on you

but sometimes I can’t help it.

I feel sad, too

and I have to cry.

It’s okay to cry

but you don’t have to cry alone.

We will cry together

and we can play together—

I am always here.

Day or night

fog or rain

I can be your friend.

You are safe to cry

to share your secrets

to be silly

with me.

True to its word

the sky was a wonderful friend.

The child still cried sometimes

but every time it rained

the child felt comforted

that the sky was crying, too.

It was okay to cry.

But later, the child ended up confined

to a windowless room.

There was no access to the sky—

no clocks or sense of time

and wherever the room was

it seemed to be soundproof.

There was no birdsong

no patter of the rain

nor whistle of the wind.

There was nothing but dirt on the ground

and concrete all around.

The child, bereft of all friends

sobbed inconsolably.

Why are you crying? the dirt asked.

“I am lost,” the child said.

“I don’t know where I am or how I got here.

“The door is of concrete.

“I can’t open it with my strength.

“No one outside can hear me.

“I am all alone.

“Even my friends can’t find me.

“I’m scared.”

It’s okay to be scared, the dirt said.

I am sometimes scared, too.

I am often ignored and few are my friends.

But I am still here.

I will be your friend.

You can sit with me.

If you are tired, lie down

and I will keep you warm.

This will not last forever—

your friends will still be there

when you return outside.

True to its word

the dirt kept the child company.

The days or nights passed

in uncertain time

but the child was not as scared.

Later, reunited with friends

once again under the sun, moon, and stars

playing with the sky and the rain

the child was very happy.

Wherever there was dirt

the child invited it along.

Between earth and sky

it seemed impossible to be friendless.

But one day

very much later

the child discovered grief again.

It was hard to define why the tears

kept falling, falling.

Why are you crying? a new voice asked.

The child looked around for the voice

but could not determine its origin.

“I don’t know,” the child said.

“I look to the sky but I can’t feel the rain.

“I look to the sun but I don’t sense its warmth.

“I look to the stars but I can’t see their light.

“I look to the moon but, even when it is full, I am lost in the dark.

“Even with the dirt beneath me, I can’t find my legs to stand.

“I am weightless, substanceless, formless.

“I am lost even in my own room.

“I am alone even surrounded by people.

“I am not here.

“I am nowhere.

“So, how can anyone find me?

“How can anyone be my friend?”

I will be your friend, the new voice replied.

Wherever you are, I am always with you.

We cannot be truly lost

to each other.

The voice was coming from inside.

“Who are you?” the child asked.

I am your body, the voice answered.

We have been together since always.

I will offer the first form

a weight

a substance—can you feel me?

The thump-thump of your heart?

The in-and-out of your breath?

Even if you can’t, that’s okay.

I will be your first anchor.

Boats lost in the sea

need an anchor to find ground.

Breathe in and out—

Feel your lungs, chest, stomach?

The water may run quite deep—

it may take a while

for the anchor to take hold.

If it takes time

to feel me

and to feel the dirt beneath you

to sense the light from the stars and moon

the warmth of the sun

that is okay.

You will feel again.

It may not be the same as before.

It may not restore to you as expected.

but I am here for you—

I will be your friend

as long as my strength allows.

True to its word

the child’s body

followed the child everywhere.

It offered an anchor

a shelter

a place to come home to

and little by little

the child began to feel again.

But the child became busy—

growing up was hard work.

Days went by and sometimes

the child forgot to look at the sky.

Forgot, in the late-night cramming,

to gaze at the stars

or even glance at them out the window.

The sun rose while the child slept.

The moon waxed and waned

but the child missed the changes.

Sometimes, the child forgot to eat

or just ate whatever could pass for food at hand.

The ground remained steadfast

but the child forgot about it

rushing this way and that.

Sometimes, some days

the child forgot its own body—

that most stalwart companion

except when the body rioted

and the child fell ill.

The crying came again—

the child wept and wept

curled up on the floor.

“Why am I crying?” the child asked aloud.

“What is this immeasurable grief?”

“I am marooned,” the child responded wanly.

“If I have friends, I can’t reach them.

“I am alone even unto myself.

“I think I am destined to friendlessness.”

Are you your own friend? a new voice asked.

Even on an island

could you enjoy your own company?

Could it be fun just with you?

The child stopped crying.

“Can I be my own friend?

“If such a thing were possible, would I be willing?”

The child got up from the ground.

Friends were always outside.

They offered companionship—

advice, tenderness, encouragement

and they knew when they needed to be strict

no-nonsense, fierce.

They were lighthouses, anchors

a form of home.

“Could I be that for myself?” the child asked.

“If I can’t now, could it be learned?

“If learning takes time, am I willing to be patient?”

The child pondered on this.

Willing to try meant willing to fail.

“Could I fail without hating myself?”

Friends did not hate each other

if one of them failed.

“I will be my own friend,” the child announced.

“I will be my own home.

“My own lighthouse, safe harbor, anchor.

“I will treat myself with kindness, and not scorn.”

If I can’t, I will practice, the child thought.

Two minutes a day.

Five minutes a day.

Ten minutes a day.

I will try

and I will fail sometimes.

But I will try again

anyways.

I will fail less and less

and one day it will be natural.

It will come to me like walking

like breathing.

It will become a part of me

like my body

the ground

the sun and the moon

the sky and the stars.

True to the promise

the child practiced every day—

even if only for two minutes

or for just one choice—

being a friend to itself.

The child was its own lighthouse

a safe harbor

an anchor

a home.

With time and practice

mistakes and trying again

self-friendship became second nature.

One day

the child realized it had been

a very long time

since the child had felt lonely

and friendless.

Everywhere the child went

no matter what the child faced

there was no more loneliness like before

because the child had so many friends

and the child had a best friend

in earth and sky

in body and soul

in night and day.

And one day

the child was not known as

The Child Who Cried

but became

The Child Who Smiled.