Each and every one of us is a child, adulthood does not exist–an oppression definition–forces the condition of not playing anymore–preoccupied by something more
Instead of passing back the ball
“I am an adult”–legally, arbitrarily–claiming it only makes it sound child-ish
Child-like–is what growing up is all about–the vision envisioned by the child in us, being it, against all doubt–is being a grown up
Older version of us is there to defend, protect the playfulness of our child-like essence
For why else live any life, if not inspired by the child’s desire to be–that makes sense
Strive for a life unchild-like, is only to survive by any means, means being mean to the child inside
Self-love is above all to be whole–by passing back that ball
But as we grow up, we fall down, as obligations push us around–we forget who we are–no longer the star we once believed with all our heart
Now we work hard, instead, we use our head
One day it catches up to us, and we no longer are what we were, so far, so distant, from that infant–to see and explore, a world outside our door
We educate, to get a job, our fate sealed, it is not like we have a choice, so distracted by that voice from others to do as told, eventually, it internalizes, and we forget
We forget to pass the ball back
We forget to play, and say what we think–to converse with another about the universe
Instead we pay the bill, fall ill, and still go to work–because we must
What choice do we have–really–it becomes noise, but do not forget we have a voice
Speak it, strong and loud–“it’s allowed!”
We are part of this world–we have the right to exist, to be, free
Playfully
And pass the ball back, once again…