A glimpse of my truth is described beautifully in a poem by Kabir, “I will give back the pure soul that was given to me at the time of my birth as pure, as clean as it was given to me. I will give it back that way when I die.”
Remaining watchful, today I became aware of my childlike innocence as I entered into play with four children. We five children agreed to play Indians. One of the boys was 11 years of age and is gradually but systematically being programmed by everything and everyone. I noticed he kept his distance, so I selected him to be one of the Indian powwow leaders. He then entered into his innocent self. We all donned our Indian head-gear, gathered in a circle and appointed an Indian princess. We banged drums, played flutes, beat tambourines (I played my harmonica); we ate sunflower seeds, made peace signs and united in Indian calls with flourishing imagination. We were having big group fun on the safety of my front porch.
Just as conditioning and conforming creates a made-up identity, my spontaneous day led me to die to my made-up self and to once more become an innocent child with freedom to express the simplicity of being and to play and have fun. As I Corinthians 15:31 says … I die every day.