A few times, we snuck into one of the local farms and stole an ear or two of ripe corn, and sat on the fences, nibbling at it, watching the sunset till our mothers called us for dinner.
Back then, the Earth seemed so magical. So bountiful. It was hard to imagine that anyone could go hungry. Could be hungry.
Anyone whose been reading my posts up till know understand probably where this was an age where Magic was still apart of the world for me.
You know... at one point, a child grows up. And he realises he's no longer a child. He's no longer a little boy.
When I was so very young... I used to watch these films with my family. They were called the Tales of Beatrix Potter. Things like Peter Rabbit. Tom Thumb and Hunca Munca. Tailor of Gloucester. Tom Kitten. Does anyone remember those old films? Those old, magical films?
The last time I watched any of them was when I was 7. I hadn't seen them, or even thought about them, in over 12 years. And then, just the other day... those mice and rabbits and kittens crept back into my brain. I suddenly remembered those old tales, and I searched ferverously for them online. For some reason, I had to see that bit of mychildhood again. I found them easy enough. And watched something I hadnt seen in over a decade. Something that I had forgotten, and had forgotten that I had forgotten.
There's not quite like nostalgia. The old music, artwork and voices... is it shameful to admit that I cried when watching them? Watching those old films of rats trying to bake a kitten into a pudding? Of a rabbit running away from Mr. McGregor? Of Jemimah Puddleduck being seduced by a fox? I don't think so. I don't think it was shameful. Embarassing. Or childish. I was crying over what I had lost. What I no longer had.
My childhood. My youth. Those long passed warm summer morning amidst the blackberry bushes. I didnt think much of them. So Id give anything to go back to them, one last time.
I work in a family buisness and am just trying to keep up with raising money to pay for college tuition. After that, its the work force for me, probably punching numbers into a computer for the rest of my life.
But... before that happens. I'd like to share with you all something. At the beginning and end of each Beatrix Potter film, a song would play. One that I didnt understand when I was younger, and had forgotten. A song that I havent heard in over twelve years, and has affected my spirit journey more now than I think it ever could be.
Beautiful, isnt it? When I heard that song... it all came rushing back to me.
That one bit though.. always gets me...
And all of this world
Is for children who play
Days that never end
always should remain
Truer words have never been spoken. Not in the whole history of the human race. Oh sure, you'll fire at me with your Plato, and your philosiphers, and your opinions and your generals and your leaders and a whole host of other wise "intelligent" people.
The Earth is rich and bountiful, with food for us all. It's beauty is never ending and never surpassing. Each sunset and sunrise a gift of art. Each day a gift of life.
What have we done with ourselves? My God... what have we done TO ourselves... there's so many things... I cant even begin to name them. So many unnecessary horrors. Such stupidity...
Why do some people go hungry? Who watches a sunset anymore? How do we spend our gifts of life? By trying to accumulate scraps of paper? And these arent the only ones. THere's millions and millions more... so utterly... unbelievably useless things...
We were given this earth. And we've all but destroyed it.
All of this world is not for politicians. All of this world is not for bankers. All of this world is not lawyers. All of this world is not leaders. All of this world is not for buisnessmen. All of this world is not for people punching numbers into computers. All of this world is not for people trying to get those scraps of paper. All of this world is not for those who desire power. All of this world is not for those who let each day run by, wasted. All of this world is not is not for those who abandone others because its convenient. All of this world is not for atheletes. All of this world is not for celebrities. All of this world is not for the rich or for the poor. The list goes on... and on... and on...
All of this world is for the writers. The Artists. The Poets. The musicians. For those who can stand by a river's edge and skip a stone. For those who can be content to lay under a roof of stars and fall asleep to the sound of crickets. All of this world is for the lovers. The Parents. The farmers. The story tellers. The stargazers. The thinkers. The dreamers. And the children. Anyone who can still gaze at the world with a child-like wonder and still be awed by all it's beauty and fantasy. All of this world is for the children who play.
All of this world is no longer for me.