Yoda is an iconic figure in Star Wars movies. He is a beloved character with a distinctive appearance and voice. But most importantly he is very wise. I have discovered that there are real Yodas who dwell among us.
One can’t help to be captivated by Yoda in the stories. He is an extraterrestrial humanoid, green, small, and when he talks his entire body speaks with a yodel-like voice that uses an uncommon sentence structure. His wisdom is dispensed gently and assuredly to Jedi leaders (i.e., the good guys) of Star Wars Resistance: “Wars not make one great,” Yoda says to them as his pointed ears move and his eyes squint then gently close. He then calmly finishes his wise thoughts and exhales as they listen. He is their most revered guide, mentor, and teacher. It is evident to all that he deeply sees the unseen.
Yoda wishes the Universe to prosper, to use our collective strength to create the greater good and summons the Jedi to use the Force, an inner strength, to achieve this. Yoda teaches us that we too can be Force-filled when we share interdependent wisdom and knowledge with one another.
Of all times, Yoda, we need you today. Where are you? But perhaps that is the wrong question. Perhaps there are Yodas, even many, in our midst if we look: a teacher, mother, uncle, or friend. Perhaps a stranger we meet by chance. Sometimes Yoda’s wisdom comes along in surprising forms and at unexpected times. Last week I found such wisdom in the form of a four-year-old boy who I will call “Charlie”.
Charlie met my husband and me when we were staying at a tourist resort in Hawaii last week. His parents sought warm weather for a very special get-away from their chilly east coast home where his mom has been treating COVID patients for the past two years. Charlie is small with a head full of curls and a grin that makes you smile back. He looked my way. We exchanged grins.Then he walked over to me.
“You have a bagel on your head,” he said, convinced of his claim, with a twinkle in his eyes.
Shocked, I tried to swipe it off. “How about now?” I asked. “Any more? They’re always there. I don’t know how to get rid of them.”
“You can’t,” he advised. “You just let them stay.” He grinned more and giggled. I was instantly besotted with this little person who wore an oversized island-style shirt of green palm leaves and tropical frogs. But a surprise was yet to come. He had more to teach me than how I had to accept incurable headwear.
Charlie also reminded me how much I have missed being around really young children. My own children are in their twenties now. Some of my friends are new grandparents but it doesn’t look like a new generation is coming my way anytime soon. So in Charlie’s company I enjoyed being a sort of adopted grandparent. He showed me how he was the wiser of the two despite our time-on-earth difference.
“What’s that?” he said as he stopped at a 3-D life-size figure. It was a Japanese warrior placed in an alcove on the way to our breakfast tables. It looked a lot like this:
Startled, I wondered how much it would scare Charlie. I instantly felt the need to protect him – if it was scary to me, it must certainly be scary to him. I was about to say something but he held my hand fast and started: “I think – I think he needs a friend.” He looked up at me. If I had been the one who started I would have explained the significance of this warrior, his military wardrobe, maybe something about his courageous (though frightening) face. Charlie’s assessment was astounding. I kneeled down to hug him and agreed. He had looked beyond the figure to see much more than knowledge alone. More than what I had seen. Charlie was wise.
Our paths crossed again, this time in the pools. Together we swam up to a statue of one of the guardian spirits of island lore, the great Mo’o, the dragon who watches all who pass. Charlie clung to me. “Is he a real dragon?” – No, not real. “Is he friendly?” – Yes. I’ll pat him for us. “I’ll pat him too,” said Charlie. We wished Mo’o good luck with his guarding duties and laughed since he was likely unaware that he had a bagel on his head.
Charlie is of compassionate heart and understanding beyond his few years. Yet he needed, as caring and imaginative as he is, my reassurance that what seems real is not. He is a reminder that our children look to us adults as sources of real knowledge, sensitivity, and trust.
I only wish the world’s threats were only in mocked-up fighting figures or immovable statues of danger. Sadly, that is not the case and one day Charlle will know that some are real. But I believe in this small boy who already shows he has the Force of inner wisdom. One day he may find that compassion and truth together are a combination for greater good. He is a very young Yoda.
Saying good-bye to Charlie was difficult for me. “Will you draw me a picture?” I asked. “And send it to me? A bagel perhaps.” His mom said that morning that he didn’t want me to go. I will miss him too.
Yoda, or at least his spirit, is found in unlikely places and in unexpected forms. Keep your eyes open, for a small boy may come up to you and tell you that there is a bagel on your head. Resist telling him it isn’t so. Because he will laugh then tell you so much more you may need to hear. Charlie popped up into my life and showed me Yoda is among us. And that he makes the world a better place.