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Do you recall those carefree windy nights when we, as
children cuddled in our grandmothers embrace, fascinated by endless
stories? There were tales of young maidens captured by ogres,
Do you recall those carefree windy nights when we, as children cuddled in our grandmothers embrace, fascinated by endless stories? There were tales of young maidens captured by ogres, valiant men destined to protect all they loved and of course, assorted talking animals and their misadventures. Our heads buzzed with mixed apprehension and joy as we waited to find out if the big bad man ever did find the cursed treasure.
They were times we looked in every crevice, looking out for those trolls that your mother said carried away children who didnt drink their milk. Youd never find them and yet you knew they were always around you, watching.
We all grow up hearing of monsters and heroes. Its a basic form of human initiation. Personally, I believe its important to the developing psyche. Adults tell you theres more in the world than you see. Theres always someone looking out for you. Never are you truly alone. Here in the most innocent of ways, you learn. You learn that there are those out there who have been in pain, there are those that are different, bad people will come for you and there will be heroes. You learn that miracles happen, hope when disappointment seems the sane option is justified. All your perceptions are crafted by these tales and what else matters but ones view of the world.
When then if a child has never heard stories?
Its criminal to let imagination die. The world is no more a marvel. Magic is unheard of and everything you see covered in a veil of the mundane. You see things for what they are and no more, a bitter existence ungraced by the desire to experience. Glassy eyes and an ever stifled yawn your only companions.
We are fuelled by our desire to design the ultimate utopia. A land that has been given colour by tales that younger versions of ourselves basked in, thrived in.