“Real isn’t how you are made,” said the Skin Horse. “It’s a thing that happens to you.” This haunting quote is from the Velveteen Rabbit and is about toys being ‘real’.
It’s 4:18 in the morning as I nibble on an apple and some aged cheddar, pondering this question of being real or not, and the idea of whether we are ever – just ourselves?
The photo contains but a small sampling of things that may take up our time. We discuss weather, sports, food and on and on. Of course we all talk about ourselves . . . but do we ever mention our real selves?
We declare that we are a salesman, a doctor, an artist – but are we really a salesman, etc.? Or, did we buy into a vocation just like we’d select a toy off a shelf?
Could it be that we were created as perfect little toys, but due to all that goes on in the life of a child we miss that thing that happens to you?
Instead of becoming ‘real’ we end up being a composite of all the other people with whom we grew up. We become a blend of subtle, life-long conformity, perhaps void of any of our original traits.
Everyone gives up his or her identity to what – fit in? Fit in to a make-believe world of lies.
As children, anything was possible. The Infinite was our playground.
Now, nothing is possible. And our playground belongs to someone else.
The Infinite 