I am overlooking the night sky. This particular piece of night sky is illuminated every 30 seconds with the blinking lights of incoming planes that are landing at London's Heathrow Airport, a huge, wildly busy international airport.

I find it mind-boggling to see plane after plane, day after day, night after night, glide along this flight path and to ponder the sheer volume of people who are arriving in a steady stream. I wonder what their dreams are. My mind imagines all sorts of scenarios - a visit, a return home, a vacation treat, a business trip or perhaps, even more delicious, the start of a new life.

In part, I can relate to the start of a new life, at least from a spiritual point of view. I come to the UK for extended visits because I feel a strong, inexplicable pull to be here. I find a sense of home here that is more soul-related than logical. I am someone who arrives at Heathrow with glee in my heart.

So, here I am, happy as a clam as I meander through the various streets and parks of London. On a recent excursion I walk through the greenery of Hyde Park and conclude the day with a visit to Harrods department store and, more specifically, their Food Hall, to purchase some of their world-class whole-meal scones, which, for me, are an ecstatic experience unto themselves.

As I head back to the subway for the ride to my temporary home, I am literally stopped in my tracks: There, on a heavily trafficked sidewalk near Harrods, sits a mother, dressed in a blue and white sari. She is cradling an infant in her arms. She is begging aloud - it sounds more like a moan than a plea - for money. There are a few coins placed on the edge of her dress.

I can barely breathe. I am staggered at this site. The juxtaposition from the abundance and opulence of Harrods to this woman with her infant, sitting amid the swirl of rubbish and legs and feet, reduced to asking for money on the streets, is painful for me. It doesn't all quite compute. The dissonance of the images is too jarring.

I wonder what happened to this woman's dreams. Clearly, no one envisions a life as a street beggar for themselves, much less their offspring.

Of course, I give the woman money, but that doesn't erase the image from my mind. I am haunted. I speak to some of the locals, and they tell me this particular sight of mother and child is frequent around London. They also suggest that a) it's a racket and b) the child probably belongs to the mother's daughter. They advise me not to give money and to ignore the sight.

This doesn't help. I am still bothered.

I later am told the story of a couple in Peru who carried an infant, all swaddled in blankets, aboard a flight to Colombia. This infant, their child, had been killed and eviscerated; its body was filled with coca leaves and used as a mule for transport.

That really doesn't help. I am even more bothered.

Granted, I may be overly sensitive, a rube of a tourist and full of naiveté. Maybe this begging-mother-with-infant-on-sidewalk is a very effective and lucrative strategy. And yes, perhaps, it is a scheme, but what has to happen for a person to participate in such an endeavor? I would think the need for survival is at the top of the list. And really, how much money could a person make holding out their hand for bits of change?

You have to admit that mother and child in need is an iconic symbol. Something happens to most humans when they see a mother and child in distress; there is often a visceral response to help.

From a marketing and advertising perspective, this scene must be considered a home run, given the evocative wallop it packs. And as for positioning, what could be stronger that the stark contrast of the upscale stores with this woman and child plunked on the edge of a sidewalk begging, presumably for food or shelter?

What is wrong with this picture?

This doesn't feel right to me, and yet I have no answers, but surprisingly I have more images.

I think of all the Madonna and Child images that fill our museums and art books. It is a cross-cultural and universal theme. No one would argue that there is something sacred about the image of a mother and child. It speaks of birth, creation, the ongoing wheel of life and hope for the future.

And I think one of the reasons the image sings to us is that, hopefully, most of us have been the child who was held lovingly and protectively by a mother. The mother-child bond is a potent and long-lasting emotional umbilicus. It evokes emotion and sentiment; it speaks to our basic, non-linear brain. It grabs us in the gut.

I am reminded of Michelangelo's Pietà, in which Mary is holding a crucified Jesus — again, mother and child, albeit an adult child. This particular statuary is a personal favorite; to me, it symbolizes acceptance, compassion and holding, all aspects of the Divine Feminine. I often think that we each take the position of Mary in holding the wounded, and, of course, there are many times when we are the wounded as well.

And, speaking of holding the wounded, I also have my Mother Teresa image.

Mother Teresa started with one order of nuns and eventually became a college president. One day, she encountered a woman dying on the streets, and Mother Teresa decided to stay with this woman and hold her as she transitioned out of physical life. Soon after, Mother Teresa left her order and founded another order of religious dedicated to the uncared for and unwanted and unloved.

All of these images - the mother and child begging on the sidewalk, the mother and child revered in works of art, Mary holding Jesus, Mother Teresa holding the dying woman in the street - all of these images touch my heart.

Alas, I don't have a way to make this pretty, shiny new or sanitized. I have no real answers, nor am I ready to shelve away an image that has so completely captured my attention, grabbed my soul by the throat and stretched open my heart.

I operate from a place where I believe we are all connected to one another; what happens to you happens to me. The expression "There, but for the grace of God, go I" comes to mind.

I don't know specifically how to help my soul find peace with the image of the begging mother and child. Mother Teresa, a no-nonsense, crusty, get-it-done type, probably would tell me to get a grip and do something. OK, but what to do?

I am reminded of Caroline Myss' book "Invisible Acts of Power." Myss shares assorted first-hand accounts of various acts of service and affirms the positive energetic impact that comes from helping one another. I like this concept.

There is the story of one homeless person, who said that a kind, heartfelt word of encouragement, and being looked in the eye as a real human being, made all the difference in the world.

That I can do.

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Dr. Adele Ryan McDowell, Ph.D., is a psychologist, empath and shaman who likes looking at life with the big viewfinder. Her email address is {email ARMCDOWELL@aol.com}ARMCDOWELL@aol.com{/email}. © Copyright 2007 by Adele Ryan McDowell.