Long ago, people did not know
why the stars appeared in the sky.

They did not know why thunder roared,
or why the seasons changed.

But when night fell,
they looked up at the sky.

And they created stories.

That star was the light left behind by a boy who had lost his way.

The sea was the breath of an ancient giant.

And deep within the forest lived a being
that had watched over the world since long ago.

Those stories were not born simply to explain the world,
but to help us hold on to a sense of wonder.

As time passed,
we came to understand why the stars shine.

We learned why thunder roars,
and why the seasons change.

The world came to hold more and more answers.

But one day, a thought occurred to me.

We may know more than ever before,
but has the way we see the world grown any deeper?

Or have we simply
grown accustomed to it?

Joseph Campbell described myth
as one of humanity’s oldest ways of relating to the world.

Myths, then, do not exist simply to give us something to believe in.
They exist to help us see the world again.

They invite us to look up at the night sky,
to fall silent for a moment before the sea,
and to remember the heart of a child
who can see a small stone as a treasure.

A search can give us endless information.

But wonder cannot be searched for.

It comes quietly to us
through stories,
in the presence of nature,
and in the smallest moments of discovery.

Perhaps what children need
is not more information,

but eyes that can still see the mystery in the world.

That is why we want to keep telling children stories.

Not in the hope that they will become people who know more answers,
but people who love the world more deeply.

IYAKI