[excerpt]--------- And then, just as they came to the Six Pine Trees, Pooh looked round to see that nobody else was listening, and said in a very solemn voice:
"Piglet, I have decided something."
"What have you decided, Pooh?"
"I have decided to catch a Heffalump."
Pooh nodded his head several times as he said this, and waited for Piglet to say "How?" or "Pooh, you couldn't!" or something helpful of that sort, but Piglet said nothing. The fact was Piglet was wishing that he had thought about it first.
"I shall do it," said Pooh, after waiting a little longer, "by means of a trap. And it must be a Cunning Trap, so you will have to help me, Piglet."
"Pooh," said Piglet, feeling quite happy again now, "I will." And then he said, "How shall we do it?" and Pooh said, "That's just it. How?" And then they sat down together to think it out.
Pooh's first idea was that they should dig a Very Deep Pit, and then the Heffalump would come along and fall into the Pit ...
---------------- [end Excerpt. Winnie-the Pooh, by A.A. Milne. Copyright 1926, by E.P. Dutton & Co., Inc.]
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Thinking about the "news story" last week where some people believed they were going to be whooshed up to Heaven Saturday (last Saturday), I was trying to figure things out and understand them. The way it looks to me now -- (theory): no one really thought that was going to happen, they simply enjoyed talking about it. And joining others in talking about it.
Humans need connection, and people sometimes connect through something they believe, and maybe sometimes some people pretend to believe something, in order to connect. Pretending to believe something can be fun -- when we read a novel or watch TV or see a movie, we pretend to believe, in order to enjoy it, and relax. (Dramatists call this, "suspending disbelief": it's like -- your story, even if it's fiction up front, must have emotional credibility that lets the audience suspend its disbelief and -- 'go with' the story.)
When I was pre-kindergarten age, the Catch-the-Heffalump chapter was one of my favorites in the Pooh stories: hearing it read aloud before bed, however-many-times, I was inspired to actually DIG -- a "very deep pit" in an effort to see if I could catch a heffalump. I was allowed to dig, in a corner of the garden, in our yard, in Ohio. Pretty soon the neighbor girl Sherry and also two or three boys from the neighborhood who usually ignored us girls were also in the corner of my father's garden, digging.
(I think now, they were probably not allowed to dig in their own yards - !) It was a bit of a trend, for a couple of days. When the other kids first showed up & asked what I was doing, I had stated the goal of Digging A Very Deep Pit To Catch A Heffalump. I don't know if they believed, but no one argued. They wanted to dig.
And even though I was pretty little, and loved those Winnie-the-Pooh stories -- I knew there was no such thing as a Heffalump. I pretended to believe, because it was fun to pretend, fun to act out what was in the book, and fun to dig.
I think the boys pretended to believe -- because they wanted to dig. (A little more direct-action oriented -- typical.)
When you're a little child, you can pretend and not be labeled crazy or nutty. Once you're an adult, it's different.
Jackie Kennedy once commented that children have such wonderful imaginations, and that's a quality which seems to be snuffed out in so many adults.
Lee Silber (Time Management for the Creative Person) writes, "Resarch shows that 90 percent of five-year-olds are creative, but only 2 percent of adults are. What happens? The scientific explanation is that you learn to rely more on the left side of your brain (the rational side). The simple explanation is that the muse gets flabby from lack of use. Either use it or lose it."
When you are a child, you can pretend to believe in Heffalumps and dig a hole in the garden with the neighborhood kids, and just have fun and social strengthening / bonding, whatever, and Society does not Criticize.
But for many adults, much of the time, what's lacking in our lives is Relaxation-Through-Creative-Play (I think). Adults are completely wrapped up, trying to Make Money And Take Care Of Family. Any "free-time" thing they do almost has to have some Significance and Usefulness in order to Justify doing it. You can't go around digging holes for pretend Heffalumps.
However, the folks who were getting into the idea of listening to one guy who's predicting the end of the world, last week could -- I think -- justify some Relaxation-Through-Creative-Play, which they probably needed very much, to have some respite from worry and stress, by Pretending To Believe that they were going to -- possibly -- be elevated in Heaven -- right quick -- on SATURDAY ...?!
If these same folks had gone outside to dig a Heffalump hole, they would have felt silly; they wouldn't have been able to "justify" it as being somehow "productive." But the Heaven Elevator thing was tied to RELIGION -- and therefore unassailable. No one, they may have felt, could criticize them for wasting their time in Relaxation-Through-Creative-Play.
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[excerpt] "Oh, dear, oh, dear, oh dear!" said Piglet to himself. And he wanted to run away. But somehow, having got so near, he felt that he must just see what a Heffalump was like. So he crept to the side of the Trap and looked in....
And all the time Winnie-the-Pooh had been trying to get the honey-jar off his head. The more he shook it, the more tightly it stuck. "Bother!" he said, inside the jar, and "Oh, help!" and, mostly "Ow!" And he tried bumping it against things, but as he couldn't see what he was bumping it against, it didn't help him; and he tried to climb out of the Trap, but as he could see nothing but jar, and not much of that, he couldn't find his way. So at last he lifted up his head, jar and all, and made a loud, roaring noise of Sadness and Despair...and it was at that moment that Piglet looked down.
"Help, help!" cried Piglet, "a Heffalump, a Horrible Heffalump!" and he scampered off as hard as he could, still crying out, "Help, help, a Herrible Hoffalump! Hoff, Hof, a Hellible Horralump! Holl, Holl, a Hoffable Hellerump!" And he didn't stop crying and scampering until he got to Christopher Robin's house.
[end excerpt -- Pooh, Milne, Dutton]
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