Once upon a time, creation came easily. It was as accessible as our next breath, as familiar as a best friend who lived right along side us.
As Robert Fulghum wrote:
“Ask a kindergarten class, ‘How many of you can draw?’ and all hands shoot up. Yes, of course we can draw—all of us. What can you draw? Anything! How about a dog eating a fire truck in a jungle? Sure! How big you want it?Excerpted from “Uh-Oh: Some Observations from Both Sides of the Refrigerator Door” by Robert Fulghum
How many of you can sing? All hands. Of course we sing! What can you sing? Anything! What if you don’t know the words? No problem, we make them up. Let’s sing! Now? Why not!
How many of you dance? Unanimous again. What kind of music do you like to dance to? Any kind! Let’s dance! Now? Sure, why not?
Do you like to act in plays? Yes! Do you play musical instruments? Yes! Do you write poetry? Yes! Can you read and write and count? Yes! We’re learning that stuff now.
Their answer is ‘Yes!’ Over and over again, ‘Yes!’ The children are confident in spirit, infinite in resources, and eager to learn. Everything is still possible.
We could (and Mr. Fulghum does, in his essay) explore when the disconnect between our spirit and “Yes I can!” occurred. But that’s not my goal here today.
In the twilight of Elul, with bright light of Rosh Hashana shining just over the horizon, we have hopefully done the hishtadlut – the work – of examining our soul, of considering how our actions reflected our truest nature, and whether it matched our dreams and expectations for who we want to be.
Hopefully we can imagined a better future for ourselves, and have started to plot a path from the “here” of our current condition to the “there” of the new us. All that is left is to create that new reality.