A child’s mind flows with the stream and doesn’t get hung up on the rocks. It’s free and imaginative, cutting to the fun of it all. And that mind only needs itself as an audience. But as it grows older, rocks are discovered to be in its way. They were always there, but they paid no mind and just flowed around them. Then the rocks grew bigger and denser. The water turned turbulent. The rocks piled into a dam until the flow stopped. There the mind churned, losing imagination, throwing itself painfully against the piling rocks. The rocks that were always there. Look away. The stream has cut a path that the mind forgot to see. Flow with it. And leave the wretched rocks be. For the mind is always free, if it simply lets go and flows like that of the imagination of a child.
By Frank Rocco Satullo
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