In elementary school, a family on my street had a boy and a girl around my age. The girl was in my school year, and her brother was in the year below me. Sometimes we’d all hang out together, all the kids in the neighborhood, after school or on the weekends.
The girl was always very kind to me, then and in the years to come. She had a sweet heart and an earnestness to her, and she was very bright, too.
The boy seemed more troubled. I have my thoughts and speculations now about what his experience might have been like, and why, but the salient feature at the time was that he was always sort of mean—he was a bully. He played several pranks on me at the time that were cruel and hurtful, and although we became distant over the years and I had less and less to do with him, that trend continued in worse ways for him, as best I could tell from afar.
One day we were sitting on the grass on the hill on their front lawn. I still remember it now, where we were, and how it felt—it comes to me when I visit my hometown and pass that spot, or simply when this story crosses my heart.
We were all just hanging out, doing not much in particular, when the boy said something mean to me—I don’t remember what.
Out of nowhere, I said something none of us expected, not even me. I responded instantly, intuitively, firmly, assertively: “You could never know my secret powers!”
Everyone was stunned, confused. What had I just said? What did that even mean? What a weird thing Michael just did.
They laughed, and I was uncomfortable. Where did that come from? What was I even trying to say?
I didn’t understand then what had happened or what I meant, but it felt significant, mysterious, if uncomfortable and confusing. Over the years, I would remember what I’d said and puzzle over it.
And, in time, I found answers that satisfy me. I have my own heartcanons now about what I meant, why I said that. The core of it is something like this, addressed not only to the boy who bullied me but also to myself:
I am a good person, here to do good in the world. I am a bodhisattva. Walking the spiritual path, living my life as I already do and will continue to—this will lead me deeper into wisdom, and with that growth and maturation will come a kind of power, a spiritual power and strength, a suite of skills that comes not from fear but from love and compassion. This wisdom, this love, this power—the gifts—are things that you will never know, so long as you choose to be unkind, cruel, evil. That path will only bring you pain; you will not know the joy and fulfillment I do until you go down a different road.
In other words: “you could never know my secret powers!”
It was not my nine, ten, twelve year old voice who spoke, in his high-pitched voice, with a body small and fearful. It was my future self, my higher self, the one who writes these words and walks the world with a man’s body and the heart of an earnest, imperfect, well-meaning hero. He, I, spoke with confidence, clarity, conviction—for the sound of truth rings true for all who have ears to hear it.
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The art in this post was created by Sílvia Bastos, and is licensed under a CC BY 2.0 license. You can support her work on Patreon.
