Friday, September 20, 2013

kids at play

close your eyes fall into pleasant recklessness.  feel the sting of every scrutiny, the tick of every clock, and the weight of every bill lift away....
laughing at the ridiculous seriousness of it all.

picture freedom...
feel the caress of a clean breeze and get caught away in it, only to crash down, feet catching random divots of earth, running wildly with no goal, no intention, eyes closed and head thrown back...happiness welling up, ready to overflow into every sweet, warm crevice of your being.

that is play.

children are children because they have little accounting.  they are boundless and grow loose and wild in a world they constantly redefine.

anything can be anything.
anyone can be anyone.
they revel in their defiance of what is, and they take liberties and create, and make light and life and dreams wherever and whenever they please.  it's a power they have, and they own it because they take care to believe it.

i envy their ability to leave the world behind.
i envy their oblivion.
i envy their belief in what is "real."

they live light and untethered.
they don't fret for food.
they don't scrutinize their possessions.
they don't fear for the future.
they don't know the power or oppression of a dollar...
for if they did...
they would not be children at all, they would be victims, robbed of the essence of innocent youth.

 "play," (verb) to amuse or entertain; to take part in a game."

my kids are geniuses at play, rambling around in a loose reality that often blurs and folds into the actual substance of life.  red-faced and breathless, they crash upon me, excited and high on their exertion.
"love" must, undoubtedly, be the first "high" in life....making "play"  second.  ("accomplishment," perhaps, the third...)
and what becomes of us, 20, even 30 years later?  we take what personal time is left to ourselves, even our family to "veg,"  and we sit, glazed over, with sofa and screen, and a stranger is paid handsomely to entertain us with sport (play) or an act (a play).  and, so, this begs the question:  what happened to our own "play"?

"play," (noun) the performance of a story on the stage."

life has often been compared to a stage.
so...what's the title of my play?
"The Mom-Jeans Chronicles"  "Chaos in the Midwest"  "Doldrums and Dollhouses"
where is my plot going?
are the motions of my life pulling and tugging my limp marionette body beyond my control? 
would i rewrite any of the scenes?
thankfully, i am the playwright.

I hold the script and must decide...
is there room for a little whimsy?  more imagination?  more laughter from the belly over nothing important, but everything that matters?  at times, the "scenes" unfolding have become rote and dull, and it's time to release our white-knuckled grip on the tedious and expected duties that have done nothing but turn us into stiff, ashen, dry, respectable, clean, predictable, fresh-smelling, upstanding, sunscreen-wearing, boring "grown ups," and find that hazy place where reality and fantasy blur...where our children are waiting for us...

1 comment:

  1. Such beautiful writing! And I love the photos, too!! :)