Let me always be as curious as a child
who stares at farm animals as if they’re aliens
who picks up empty crisp packets as if they’re ancient artefacts
who spends train journeys at the window, gazing at passing strangeness
who can’t walk straight along a path, pulled away by strangeness
who examines leaves and stones like a scientist
who questions the world like a philosopher
who sees miracles behind the mundane, like a poet
and sees the suchness
behind concepts, like a sage.
Let me always be as joyful as a child
whose mind is so full of the present
that they can’t remember yesterday or conceive of tomorrow
who wakes with excitement every morning
eager to explore to a bright new world
that blazes with nameless forces and forms
who savours the adventure of each day
as adults only do on special occasions, like holidays and birthdays
who feels exhilarated by mundane events
as adults only do when they’re drunk or high
and finally falls asleep, exhausted by fresh experience
and sinks into the deepest, most nourishing sleep
so that they can rise again, early the next morning
fully recharged with joy.
