Today is Sunday, May 11, 2014 — a day designated as Mother’s Day. As much as I enjoy being acknowledged by my son on these days, I absolutely treasure the deep respect and love that we share all the time.

In our controlled, consumer lives we are guided by god-knows-who in this crazy thought prison to honor one another (by buying stuff) once a year. Once a year for mom. Once a year for dad. Once a year for made up holidays and imposed points of reverance– which are usually based on false global history or surreal religious ideas.

This morning I watched a video speaking of the tragic drugging and mind control of our children.

The video reminded me of the profound and sacred responsibility parents have and how, tragically, so many parents, having been controlled and manipulated in thought since birth, automatically give their power to anyone who claims to be an authority or expert.

As I watched the video, I remembered an encounter I had with Simon, an 8-year-old boy, and Mary, his mother, in the showroom where I work.

As I worked with design ideas and product suggestions with his mother, Simon curiously looked at stuff, touched stuff and chattered away about how he was experiencing it all.

Simon’s enthusiasm and energy brought joy to my heart and I started a conversation with him.

As we talked, Mary pulled him away, apologized for his “annoying” behavior and told him to sit down.

I assured Mary that I found him delightful and very imaginative. I suggested that he was probably very creative and energetic. She agreed, but said she had to give him medication to make him behave.

Mary then said to Simon, “This was going to be your day without meds, but if you don’t behave you will have to take them.”

Simon pleaded, “Please, mommy, no. I don’t want the meds. I hate the meds.”

Then Simon looked at me with tear-filled eyes and said with deep longing, “I wish I were a good boy. I want to be a normal boy.”

As Mary listened, my own eyes filled with tears. “There is nothing wrong with you, Simon,” I said and then stumbled on with words that I hoped would convey to him that he was good, creative, alive and beautiful.

“Promise me that you’ll remember that, Simon,” I said.

Simon held my eyes but didn’t respond. He glanced over at his mother, who was just watching us. I had no idea what she might be thinking.


Mary didn’t say a word about this exchange, but just kept on shopping.

When it was time to say goodbye, Simon and I exchanged a glance of connection and I hoped he could see that I knew who he really was.

To my surprise, Mary continued to visit me a few more times and made several purchases.

Each time she had Simon with her and each time was a med-free day combined with threats of meds for “bad behavior”.

During each visit, I reminded Mary that Simon was not only “just fine”, but was exceptional and brilliant. Simon always listened and watched his mother’s face as if hoping for a sign that she heard the words that could set him free.

I never knew if Mary heard me, but in my daydreams, I envision Mary’s inner voice breaking through, allowing her to honor Simon’s wonderful, challenging nature instead of trying to supress it.

The true mother’s heart of heaven and earth cries out for Simon and all the children out there who are being medicated into blind obedience.

May they survive all of this pain, rise up, reclaim their beautiful power, and protect the freedom and dignity of their own future children.

“When the power of love overcomes the love of power, the world will know peace.”
― Jimi Hendrix