J u n e   2 0 0 1

Guest Writer

by Beth Cooper

We had already given him what spare change we had. He reeked of alcohol. There was no doubt where the change would go.

Jeremie and I smiled, wished him well and headed down the sidewalk. The man held up a filthy hand. "Wait a minute," he slurred, "I wanted to show you something."

"We're really in a hurry," Jeremie laughed. We weren't. Jeremie grabbed my hand and we turned again to go.

"Just WAIT a minute!" the man commanded. He was no longer swaying, no longer shuffling. He stood still and straight, eyes clear, looking at me. No. Into me. "I'm Daniel," he said.

"Hello, Daniel," we murmured.

"Give me your hand," he said. Jeremie laughed again and put out his hand. Daniel regarded him for a moment.

"No, you," Daniel decided, turning back to me. "The other one," he protested as I put out my right hand. "Don't be afraid," he said, touching his right palm to my left.

Instantly, I recognized the touch of one who knows something of energy; how to move it, control it, feel it. My defenses instantly went up; I thought he was somehow taking my energy to feed himself. I didn't back away, but he felt my fear.

"I'm not taking," he said, "I'm giving. Don't be afraid of this. Trust yourself."

If I had the skills of an artist, and could draw what I felt as I lowered my defenses for just a moment, there would be light, blue and white and calming and good, pouring from his hand into my own. There was peace in that touch, and wisdom, and the promise of self-knowledge.

I looked at Daniel, saw his eyes closed in deep concentration, then saw him open them, stagger slightly and catch his breath. He looked intently at Jeremie.

"Did you see it?" Daniel asked.

Jeremie looked at me, then at Daniel, then confessed that he had not.

Daniel turned to me. "Did you?" he asked. My hand was still warm and crackling with energy.

"Yes," I answered. "I did. Thank you, Daniel."

Daniel laughed. "I'd give it to you," he told Jeremie, "except I'm far too tired. But what you have now is transferrable," he said to me. "You can give it to anyone. Share it."

And he turned away from us, a drunk once more, and staggered toward another passerby to seek some change.

See more from Beth in our archives.

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