To reclaim joy is a sacred act—
Rescuing wonder from the floodwaters of shame.
This is for the one who still dares to laugh
While ash swirls in the ruins.
To the One Who still Plays:
A child is not born knowing fear
Or judgement.
For these things are learned.
Some of us are forged in fire,
Praise rained down on our ‘talent’.
Our gift exalted.
but the forge was not the gift.
The gift was the music,
The joy flickered on,
Even as fire reached to smother it.
Some joys are extinguished by shame.
Some joys are smothered in silence.
Some joys are snuffed out before bloom.
Some are called childish.
Some are sacred loves tainted—
For approval, for applause.
A child cries bitterly still in us
For the joys robbed.
Jealousy is grief unspoken—
A lash at the joy we long for.
“I don’t have time for silly things,”
We cry, bitter and worn.
But remember Anansi—
Trickster, weaver of tales,
Cunning, powerful, and alive,
Spinning joy from trouble,
Dancing with delight.
Remember that child
The laughter, the joy
The curiosity.
This is for the child who played in tears.
Now we play through joy.
Not to impress, but to remember who we are.
A return.
To the soul.
To the Sacred.
To the Self.
Go on. Play. The world needs your laughter more than an apology.
Afterword:
Even now, when shame creeps close, I ask:
Did it bring me joy?
If yes—I choose joy.
If no—I choose differently.
There is more than two paths.
Not for perfection.
But for growth.
For aliveness.
For you.
And for me.