The Village Child
People connect in different ways, that's just how it is. I'm glad we're all coming into ourselves a little more this year. This grief does not have to be prolonged; this grief can be transmuted into freedom. It is like what I wrote last summer: collective grief leading to collective connection. Grieve what did not work, embrace what does. He has said this to me a few times over the course of our friendship, and I want to leave these words here so I can remember:
thank you for everything
...
I watched a video about the village. All the points about power and patriarchy were refreshing. But she kept talking about the village and there was a soul thing happening within me.
"The village child" is a phrase that keeps entering my psyche. "I am the village child." I think I am a village child because I know myself to be a child. I am tethered to the child inside of me, so much so that she is outside of me, too. She is me, and I am her. There is not a distinct separation. My child self was simply me when I did not have the same vocabulary or experiences as I do now. But today I am still a child who holds all the childish traits. Sometimes I like to show off, sometimes I get too attached, sometimes my words turn to venom when I feel like I have been wronged. I like when people are nice to me, I like being held, I like when people coo at me and call me cute and precious. I could not be happier about looking like a fifteen-year-old to most strangers.
But that is the child part. What is the village child? That is the child who has outbursts and gets loud, the child who insists on being heard and feeling loved, the child who weeps over all the little things and laughs at inappropriate times, the child who is childish but loved for it all. The child who is forgiven for being bad and doesn't always understand why it is forgiven. People feel unhappy about its poor behavior or hurtful words, but when they see how sad the child becomes, how sorry it is for what it has done, how quick it is to punish itself before anybody tries to reprimand it, a sense of tenderness arises. A sighing return to gratitude. We don't want you to hurt yourself, but we are glad you understand why this upset us.
The village child is a grateful child. An angry child, a clingy child, a melancholic child, a complicated and confused child, but a grateful child. Any small act of care or consideration, the child bows at the person and thanks them with sincerity. When it exits the interaction, the child whispers to itself, "I hope that person has a wonderful rest of their day. I love them so much." People are happy to help the child, they are quick to turn their scowls into smiles when they notice the child gazing at them intently, eyes sparkling with trust. The child is androgynous and sways between masculine and feminine. By men, she is treated with care and camaraderie, never to feel unsafe or threatened. By women, he is joyfully welcomed into their spaces because they trust his intentions. By children, it is admired and laughed with. By adults, it is respected and supported.
Chapter IV. The Third Son, Alyosha
“Here is perhaps the one man in the world whom you might leave alone without a penny, in the center of an unknown town of a million inhabitants, and he would not come to harm, he would not die of cold and hunger, for he would be fed and sheltered at once; and if he were not, he would find a shelter for himself, and it would cost him no effort or humiliation. And to shelter him would be no burden, but, on the contrary, would probably be looked on as a pleasure.”
The child yearns for freedom. The child yearns for play. The child yearns to see other children with older bodies and developed brains. The child yearns for the village from which its soul originated and seeks to recreate.