destruction, the womb of creation
She was about to make something from the pieces of broken wood and paper. Well, broken now, because she carefully broke it down. It was her most favorite toy, until now.
She was ferociously breaking down the crafted wooden shapes with her tiny four year old hands, in no particular order. They used to be carefully crafted pieces of wood and accessories in a box , that assembled into prearranged forms like an airplane, bird or something.
She broke the pieces of wood decisively, in no particular order or shape but fully engaged in the “Destruction process”.
From the expression in her face, it seemed like she was arranging the pieces of wood in a way that made sense to her. But not to me. Though it didnt need to.
She asked me for paper so maybe she wanted to make something.
I didn’t know yet what yet. I atleast presumed she did.
Not that I pressured her to deliver a Form. I was happy with it Not going anywhere .
I was happy, if breaking it down was all she wanted do.
It didnt always need to end up in Form, like a predictable Hollywood movie ending.
Nevertheless I was curious what she was upto.
As if reading my mind, like she often seemed to, she lifted up her head to disengage from her project and look at me. As she did, her jet black lustrous curly hair slid to the sides of her head.
This also cleared her face to spotlight her deep shiny big black eyes formerly curtained by her locks. She had her mother’s beautiful round eyes. “What should I make, Papa?”
I paused for a second or two engaging her deep eyes. I didn’t want to answer her question.
“what do you want to make, my darling?”.
Stressing on the word “you”.
She returned her gaze to broken pieces of wood and paper, going over some invisible thought in her head.
“I dunno” She shook her head.
“what would make you happy, Papa?” she finished, looking into me.
I was caught completely thrown off balance by her question.
Make me happy? Did this come from a four year old?
Involuntarily, my heart started to well up with intense emotions. Some of which steamed up, to my eyes, condensed and rolled out as into tears.
I could not even start to fathom the depths of her endearing question. There was so much purity in it.
I think it took me a minute or so to regain my composure.
“The most happiest thing you could do for me, my darling” I replied “…..is for you to ignore what I expect of you and do what You feel like….”
She looked me for a second then went back her wood and paper.
Her focus now returning to her project. The topic and question, now completely forgotten.
Well, you know, attention span of a four year old. But the larger picture of it all didnt escape me.
She was learning her first lessons in Detachment…..the formula to moving from one reality to another. Especially the faded one.
After all, what we presume to be “real” is what we have identified with. A “reality” that seems to have life only within the context of certain time and space. Beyond it’s shelf life, that “reality” has died, while we still hang on to the corpse.
Perhaps in this misguided feeling, that we can somehow resuscitate it to life.
In her case, it didnt take her long to destroy her favorite toy and creating something New with it. Even though she didnt know what Form it was going to take. For that matter, she seemed unconcerned with Form.
Destroying, seems to be a paramount step on this road to called our Growth.
If Growth, was about making changes, then Change is about leaving an Old place (of beliefs and concepts) and moving to a New place. At the center lies our ability to Destroy the Old. In our head.
She reveled in a child’s curiosity, enthusiasm and creativity.
All coming from a state of pure Playfulness.
Something lot of us seem to quickly divorce from, at the cost of “becoming adult” and “getting serious” about “life”.
Whatever happened to Playing, I wondered?
(Fiction)
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