The ART OF UNLEARNING

We were born able to sing to birds and read clouds and see our destiny in grains of sand. 

But then we get the magic educated right out of us. 

~ Robert R. McCammon 

I don't know about you, but I've spent most of my life unlearning. In school, it was information overload - scientific facts and more facts crammed down your throat for years on end.

But one day I grew up and decided to think for myself. I decided to challenge the assumption that everybody in this world, from cradle to grave, must be programmed a certain way to suit the systems of this world.

I decided to get in touch with my inner child and see what she thought, how she felt about the matter. So here she is with a few questions that you could ask yourself to jumpstart the unlearning process. 

Art: Daniel Gerhartz

Remember when you stood transfixed in the glow - without having to know the physics of light? When creation called your name, whispered to your sensibilities? When every star and bird and leaf prompted your imagination? 

When you skipped down the road in lightness of being, your heart singing, "It's a Wonderful World?" Eyes wide open to trees of green, skies of blue, kangaroos in clouds, the man in the moon. 

Everything was sacred, everything blessed. Remember that part of early childhood? You lived in Eden, your little paradise. Sat on emerald carpets of moss in the yard amid toadstools. Marveled at ladybugs and small lizards. 

By night the black sky held you fascinated. A billion tiny pinholes, glittering diamonds above, ceiling of wonder. 

Do you remember those days? 

How vast and breathtaking the ocean looked at first sight? How the big, big water made you feel like a tiny pebble on the shore? How the waves made you dizzy rolling in and out? 

How the sand hugged your feet and the gulls squealed with glee? How the wind whipped your face and the sun kissed your skin? How the air smelled of salt and sea life and the ocean mirrored sky? 

How the damp air curled your hair as you dug toward China? How the shells scraped your knees when you hit the sand floor as a giant wave knocked you over? 

And on that wondrous day, did you even once feel the need to comprehend what make the seawater mouthwash taste so salty, or why it stung your eyes as you frolicked in the waves?

Were you overcome with the urge to understand ocean salinity: rain water washing mineral ions from the land...carbon dioxide in the air dissolving...underwater volcanoes and hydrothermal vents on the seabed releasing salts? 

What was that? You didn't need explanation? 

Neither does the little girl in the following story. 

Two chemists are walking along the shore, discussing the properties of water: its freezing point, its boiling point, how solid water is lighter than its liquid form, therefore ice floats. How, just before water freezes, it's at its heaviest and sinks, which circulates the ocean water, bringing oxygen down to plants and animals underneath. 

They come upon a  little girl playing and splashing in the waves. She sees them pondering the ocean and hollers, "Come on in, the water's fine." 

They turn toward the child and say, "The water is fine? What do you know about water?"

~*~

Think back to your own childhood. What was a piece of the world you knew was completely sacred before someone tried to analyze it for you?