“The Boy With Fire In His Eyes”
From a very young age I can remember being curious. I could never quite put my finger on it but I knew there was something different about me, something unexplainable. There I was, this young boy with a great fire in his eyes, beginning to experience the world for the first time.
I look back into my childhood and I can always remember being a great believer in magic and mystery. I knew other worlds existed outside of the one I was living in. I had a wild imagination. I knew there was so much more to life then what I could see.
The young years were rather tough on me. Being an overly sensitive child I can remember everything that happened would penetrate my skin rather deeply. I guess you could say I was a little mischievous and too curious for my own good. Physically I hadn’t lived long but in my head I felt I was so much older. I felt like I had already lived a thousand years, like I knew so much more than I should at that time, an old soul if you will.
From a young age I was interested in science, what was explainable but more so interested in the unexplainable. I can remember learning about magic. I began reading books about casting spells and performing rituals. My thoughts turned to worshipping the Earth and all the living things on it.
I can remember spending time in the garden with my grandmother. I can remember her garden being full of wild mint, a fragrance that to this day I still value very much. I would learn from her how to care for the garden, and the Earth. She taught me the four basic things required for the gardens survival:
All the magic begins with a single, tiny seed, some dirt, water, and the sun.
As I began to get older I tended to forget about the boy I was. I was taught that being the odd one out, being different, wasn’t right. I was told in order to survive I would need to blend in, to be a part of the crowd, to keep my ideas and views to myself. If I were to be accepted in this world I had to be just like everyone else.
It lasted for a good while, but the older I got the more disheartened I became. I remember struggling with myself, my head would tell me one thing and my heart would tell me something else. My heart and my head were at war, I was at war with myself, and for many years I struggled. My head was always cloudy. My light started to dim.
I began to lose myself; I started to conform, I became the image of what people wanted me to be, not me.