The Heart of A Child (written for my brother)

           
"His talent was as natural as the pattern that was made by the dust on a butterfly's wings. At one time he understood it no more than the butterfly did and he did not know when it was brushed or marred. Later he became conscious of his damaged wings and of their construction and he learned to think and could not fly anymore because the love of flight was gone and he could only remember when it had been effortless" (Ernest Hemingway). For some reason unknown to me, society associates maturity and growth with the realization that we live in a tainted world in which all our endeavors are futile and trapped within our own mortality. As children we are told that we can do anything, be anything we want. Yet as adults we are continuously reprimanded for dreaming beyond the confinements of society's man made limits. Self awareness is taught to recognize the world as it is, rather than how it could be, logic is used to banish the need for emotions, rather than to acknowledge and appropriately express them. We believe that wisdom comes with age, but isn't the most profound wisdom in the heart of a child? Only a child can see the endless opportunities the world offers him, can truly believe in self actualization, can think logically without losing his ability to love. We were created in this blissful simplicity, talented, and perfect all in our own, undeniable way. Only once we started trying did we lose what was so natural and effortless to us: to dream.

Dream big and never grow up.
-your sister