There are colors you may like best
But orange to me is a treasure chest
It is the only stanza I remember of my second grade poem of my favorite color at the time. I remember my friend David struggling to make his poem rhyme. Blue, stew, glue, chew. My poem was at least twenty times longer and I wrote it effortlessly in only two minutes. I would give anything to see it once again. I gave it to my mom whom I’m confident kept it safe for many years, but many things happen in the course of fifty years.
I would like to think that I have grown in creativity, but that might not be true. When one is seven years old, he or she may be at the height of challenging the impossible and refusing the concept of mind limitation.
After childhood, we are quickly taught the multitude of things that cannot be accomplished. Worse than that, we believe what we are taught. Fortunately, I chose to ignore those who said I was not capable, and rather chose to remember the words of my mother that “all things are possible through belief.”
A Zen master may ask you, “if you didn’t know how old you are, how old would you be?” My answer is always the same. Seven.