In early childhood there is a balance between the strange mysteriousness of being here and the fear and fascination of all that shows up for you here. The developmental push is all towards the latter, to uncovering your powers, to finding how well matched you are to the world. The mysteriousness then remains only as a counter current, an opposition to development, something which could only possibly be retained as the most private of possessions, since it is not generally recognised. Mostly it is lost and forgotten, or retained only in the ordered and refracted and prostituted form of art. And at this the garden of the world slowly begins to wither.