It’s about wonder, really. It’s about child-like awe towards the micro and macro. Each piece of the universe around us should be filled with awe, with questions, with logic and scientific answers. Most children only wonder, but what about the few that actually want answers, and won’t accept ‘because I said so’, The children that won’t apologize when they don’t feel sorry about it, the ones that have stashes of flashlights for 1 am when mom comes in mad that they’re reading that late on a school night. That child asks the question ‘why IS the sky blue?’, ‘why ARE bubbles round? How do they float’ more importantly than the childish question should be the adult ones, it’s the act of the question itself that is important.
Curiosity killed the cat, they say, but finding out’s what brought him back. However, the more I question, the more questions lack answers. What is right and what is wrong? In a system that is corrupt from its form of justice, those that teach, those that work, the laws governing the people and all the way to its leaders, how can one answer- what is right? Morality, judgment, religion, sexuality all seek in their various societal corruptions to rob you of the innocence of youth, and the beauty around you that you fail to see more and more every day. I feel society and its constraints leeching me of my color, as I struggle to retain my inherent curiosity. Wonder. What do you feel when you are surrounded by nature and the stillness with humanity’s absence? Do you stretch your arms open for a vast embrace of the green leaves, and frolicking infinite sky? Do you spin in a circle to fall on the grass?
It brings tears to my eyes, overwhelms me with awe, and fills to the brim the beauty of life. A child’s smile and concern, their excitement at pink sprinkles and frosting on a donut. As if all of life were that simple, that pure, and that ecstatic; pink sprinkles. The glittering dripping leaves in the sun after a rain storm, casting green light into the windows, a rainbow arcing ghost-like in the sky. The smell of fresh rain, the chill and burn in my fingers, are all like familiar friends that comfort and protect me. The moth that drowned in my paint water bucket, wings ethereal and splayed. The sound of antique keys tapping, the gentle dismissible hum of electricity, the dogs barking, cars hissing on the asphalt, birds calling, leaves quivering, all together in a humbling concerto.
Awe, speaks the trees,
Wonder, calls the birds,
Beauty, sings the Dahlias
So open-faced in their beds,
Innocence, bids the child
That lives in each of us.