Chowrangi

Children have the simplicity and unity of actions that are spontaneous. We like them because of what in us is called selfishness, the naturalness and undisguised directness of their instincts. We like their unhypocritical candor; they don’t smile to us when they long for our annihilation.

The new born baby is dirty but marvelous, ridiculous in actuality, and capable of that ultimate mystery. Can you conceive it, that this queer bundle of sound and pain will come to know love, anxiety, prayer, suffering creation, metaphysics, death? He cries as he has been so long asleep in the womb of his mother; now suddenly he is compelled to breathe, and it hurts; compelled to see the light and it pierces him; compelled to hear noise and it terrifies him. Cold strikes his skin and he seems to be all pain. But it is not so; nature protects him against this initial onslaught of the world by covering him with a a general insensitivity. He sees the light only dimly, he hears the sound as muffled and coming from far away. For the most part he sleeps.

When he starts growing, he learns the nature of things by random movements of exploration. The world is a Chinese puzzle for hi, and these haphazard responses of grasping, biting and throwing are the pseudopodia which he puts out to a questionable and dangerous experience. Curiosity consumes and develops him; he would touch and taste everything from his rattle to the moon.

Other posts by Commoner

• Israeli Massacre Goes On - January 7th, 2009
• Gilani's Fight - January 7th, 2009
• Unfortunate Remarks - January 6th, 2009
• Collective Urgency - January 6th, 2009
• Dismal Performance, Huge Rewards - January 5th, 2009
• Blood in Gaza - January 4th, 2009
• Troops Movement Should be Halted - January 3rd, 2009
• Reconciliation Joke - January 3rd, 2009
• Bent on War - January 3rd, 2009
• Attack on the Victim - January 2nd, 2009