Woodrow Wordsworth

What are words worth? Are they more precious when they are spoken or when they are written down? Or is it truly the thought that precedes the words that is priceless and unique? Can you buy and sell them or are they just worthless noise that never truly gets understood? Words for thought I suppose... Today I recount the fable of the world's youngest ever guru. He lives in the imagination that is in each and every one of us but has been covered up as we grow up. It lies dormant in the recesses of our childhood mind just aching to be awakened by spontaneous thought and joy; Revisited in a flash of music or a long-forgotten toy.

His name was Woodrow Wordsworth and all his classmates just called him woo woo, because of all the nonsense he would spew. He dressed like a wizard (merlin hat and magic wand in tow.) He would just spout crazy sayings without being asked, many of his teachers always took him to task. Imagination is a universe with a population of one, so he rarely was seen with schoolmates and often got lost in his thoughts. Exploring in his imagination was his favorite place to be, Woodrow always stated it was where me could be me. For that matter he could be anyone he wanted to be.

He would write in his journal when he felt the urge. Mostly he would play in his room and his mom could tell his mood by the way he was dressed. Good mood: Woodrow had his space suit on to protect him from feeling too high. Bad mood: Woodrow would have his scuba mask on to protect him from sinking too low. All other moods were covered by the wizard hat. He shared his journal with his best friend Olly the stuffed penguin. He would read his journal aloud to Olly before sharing its contents with his professor of philosophy. Being the youngest prodigy in the philosophy PHD program at the university hadn't changed Woodrow as much as it changed how everyone looked at him. Woodrow's parents let him stay in public school because they didn't want him to lose his childhood wonder. The reality was public school was only stifling his imagination with stigmas. In the years that followed it started to affect his unstoppable sense of awe and wonder so his parents pulled him out of public school and just home schooled him.

He told his parents he didn't mind being teased and called Woo Woo at school and emphatically stated he would really miss his friends if they didn't allow him to return to class. They stated his work came first and he needed to look at the bigger picture; not exactly what a seven-year-old wants to hear. He took off into his room and put his scuba mask on to make him feel better and proceeded to fall into a deep sleep. He began to have what felt like a lucid dream and the words for his thesis seemed to flow right out of him onto his writing journal. He was basically observing himself writing in his journal and watching the words flow from his periwinkle crayola crayon.

I am a being speaking into existence that which I am being. Choose happy over sad. Choose forgiveness over mad. Woodrow wanted to wake up so he could write for real in his journal but wanted to let the dream carry him where it wanted to go. Don't miss the mark, shoot from the heart. All these thoughts were bombarding his subconscious as he continued to observe his lucid dreams. Woo Woo it's the thoughts that you think, the words you write in ink. It's hidden in a smile and a wink. It's not describable by the realm of human senses, it's felt in your heart when you refuse to build fences. So, don't give me sight sound smell touch and taste, it's truly the feeling that I don't want to waste. That feeling that we try to describe with a word to explain what we think is seen, thought, or heard. Instead, simply stay in the moment and feel the sensation that is nice, taught by the guru who is known as Woo twice. When you learn Woodrow Wordsworth's lesson of imagination and awe, you will realize that happiness and bliss are not felt from afar. It is your essence. It is who you are!

Suddenly Woodrow was shaken from his lucid dream by his wife and realized he was no longer that prodigy 7-year-old and let out a loud sigh. The sigh however was followed by a huge grin emerging on his now wrinkled 52-year-old face. He now truly realized his imagination was still his best friend and the lucid dream had given him the ending to his new thesis he was having difficulty finishing. He asked his wife to pass him his journal and he proceeded to write his last paragraph for his thesis. He thought for a bit, then grinned and went to the junk drawer and finished his latest writing with an old blue crayon. Periwinkle I believe. I bet you are thinking how does this story end? It needs some suspense or a plot twist or bend. However, this tale is just as simple as simple can be. The true secret is to be happy by just being ME.

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P.S. I am looking for an illustrator for a couple kids stories I am starting to work on. I'm looking for cartoon type with the possibility of integrating real kids faces in the animation. Please reach out if anyone has any ideas or talented people willing to help. Thank you and Happy Holidays...