An innocent man is undeceived and unafraid. He sees things as they are.
The truth is loveable as a lamb but ego is terrified by it.
So that we can appreciate what babies enjoy every day, perhaps we could declare one day of the year opinion-free. It wouldn’t exactly be a day off; we just wouldn’t have any opinions.
“You are my son, whom I love. With you I am well pleased.” Few and widely spaced are boys whose fathers tell them that. So they cobble together a sense of themselves from other sources. Now they are men, divorced from the ceremonies of innocence, twisted by compensatory behaviours and lost in their lusts.
As a young boy, there was a brief period when I thought I was a tiger. I felt fleet, powerful, at the centre of things. Then it passed and I drifted into error.