The Light of a Star

There are people that will come into our lives somehow that end up needing us. There are a few people whom we might see, know, touch, or experience in some way that we'll end up needing too. I'm not really talking about needing someone in the sense of "I'm a damsel in distress stuck on the side of the road with a flat tire and need someone to change it for me." Although I've been in that exact situation a few times in my life, today I'm referring to needing someone in a spiritual sense.

Some people refer to sensitives as lightworkers, and I think this can be true in many ways. Most of us feel the desire to "help," to "soothe," to point out the "good" in a "bad" situation, to even "protect," and stand up for the "right" principle when it goes against the grain of politics, greed, and the "way things have always been done." I think that we also literally have a sort of "light in our eyes" that goes deeper than a superficial smile, a random moment of happy, or a temporary display of kindness. It's a sort of deep compassion for humanity that makes us appear sweet, innocent, and vulnerable at times. It's a genuine feeling of appreciation that arises from within because we recognize the beauty in ordinary existence.

The description of lightworker can live up to its name when a sensitive fulfills a role they were meant to. The lower self, of course, doesn't always know why it is being "called" towards something, someplace, or someone. But when someone starts performing the "right" work and fulfilling the "right" role, a little something called the magic of anonymous spiritual inspiration starts to happen. That individual starts to help others through an intangible glow that provides both comfort and the desire to overcome the darkness of life. Not on purpose, not by intent, not by always knowing exactly what they're doing or whom they might be touching.

The act of performing the role may not last forever, but we can only hope that the results do. For a long time I've held the belief that hope, love, light, and triumph always find a way to sustain themselves in the end. I'd like to think that I won't be disappointed by this notion.

This isn't to say that a lightworker doesn't ever need a kindred spirit, so to speak. In my eyes there shouldn't be any shame or feelings of inadequacy when you view someone else as some sort of star shining in the distance. They're no better or worse than you. They're just a person, complete with their own talents and their own faults trying to navigate this tangible thing we call life. Yet inspiration and light are still exactly what they appear to be-a gift that promises something better than what we think we see.

Needing a reminder of that gift from time to time isn't a sign of weakness, a burden, or something to be ashamed of taking. Chances are that the source of that distant star doesn't see you as beneath them or too far away to touch. Your value is just as important as their own might be, because the star doesn't think of itself as any different. Not the slightest bit different from the rest of the lights hanging out there right beside it.