The Wisdom of Five

What if children are the sages we try to return to as adults?

The young contemplator hosing down her brother. (Photo credit, author)

When I was about five, I’d sit in front of a mirror and stare at myself. Stare and stare and stare at a small brunette body sitting on the floor in front of a full-length mirror that ran the length of a bedroom door. I focused on myself unblinkingly, until I hit a daze-y, hazy state, and felt a lift-off, a separation that took…