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The camp for physically handicapped children and adults was in the Santa Clara mountains of northern California. There were five two-week sessions per summer. This particular session was for younger campers. I was in my second year of college, and this was my first summer as a counselor at the camp.
Counselors, after the campers were in bed, usually met in the middle dorm that served as the kitchen, dinning room and recreation room the summers before the lodge was completed. I had my midnight snack, as we called it, and was on my way to bed. Entering the boys' dorm, I proceeded toward the counselors' room that was in the middle of the dormitory. Then I heard a small voice call, "Hamster," which was my camp name.
I stopped to look to see from where the call came. In the dark it took a short time for me to spot the cot on which the caller laid. I did and went to it. Speaking softly I said, "Hey, little guy, you're suppose to be asleep."
"I can't go to sleep," he replied.
The child acted as if he was cold so I pulled his blanket up around him as I asked, "Why can't you go to sleep?"
"It's the wind outside," he answered.
"What about the wind?" I questioned bending over him.
"It blows through the trees and scares me."
"The wind won't hurt you," I assured him. "All you hear is the wind wrestling through the trees. They are just talking together, telling each other things." As I was saying that they wouldn't hurt you, I looked to see I was talking to a sleeping boy.
I quickly moved onto the counselors' room and to bed having both a good and a strange feeling. I felt good that I had helped the child get to sleep, but I wondered where the things I had told him came from? I had never talked about the wind and trees like that before. Why had I said that to him, I wondered. I thought, maybe camp is getting to me; some of the girl counselors were pretty much into nature. But, still, I felt it was something else; something unique seemed to have happen.
Many years later, after studying the Goddess and her love for us, this incident arose again in my mind; and with it came the answer. The Mother let me help her put her child to sleep. She had permitted me, for the first time I think, to see wind and trees as living things communicating with each other; and, though I didn't know it then, when seeing this, I saw her for the first time. The child is probably a man now who probably doesn't even remember the occurrence. I don't even remember his name, but I wish I could remind him of our first meeting with the Mother.