.
As infants,
we bounce into being
with scant regard
for any sense of self.
We play, creative and joyous,
diving into the unknown—
free in ways we
all too soon forget.
.
As we grow,
and our horizons expand,
the world reveals itself—
each encounter leaves its trace—
a thumbprint shaping our clay.
.
We name and frame ourselves,
trim the wild edges of possibility,
trading wonder for a résumé.,
finding an identity to fit.
.
The world prefers business cards
to question marks.
So we fold ourselves into forms
they’ll acknowledge.
.
For some,
the armour begins to chafe.
The knots we tied for safety
now bind us too tightly.
.
And every encounter—
a chance to loosen the weave,
to forget the name,
losing the avatar
we held so tightly to our chest.
.
We become as children again,
but this time:
wise, seasoned, free.
.
The world returns as playground,
and we resume play,
our innocence transformed
by the wisdom of
a lived life.
.
Even the gods we once bowed to
dissolve in the light
they were always reflecting.
.
What we sought to worship
becomes the gateway
into what won’t be held.