When Sound Becomes Seed

The young child should not be exposed to strong inner excitations too early. What acts too strong upon feeling disturbs the healthy development of the will. —study from The Soul Economy

In the early years (ages 0-7), before the child's thinking awakens, they live in a world of sensations. The young child absorbs the world through color, gesture, shape, rhythm and sound. Everything they see and every tone they hear enters their inner world and gently awakens them day by day. And so it matters deeply how we speak to them.

Let's talk about the stories presented during the early years, particularly, the oral tales we begin to tell at this young age.

In Waldorf tradition, it is well known that in the Indo-Eurpoean language family the consonants carry the form of the story, while vowels carry its feeling. The sound of a consonant sculpts inner images. Vowels, on the other hand, carry a tone wrapped in emotion. Both are essential, but in the early years, balancing them is essential to the development of the child.

For example, if we fill the atmosphere with too many exaggerated vowels, we risk projecting too many emotional tones—flooding the delicate space where the child's own imagination was meant to unfold. Sure, it may hold their attention temporarily, but it is also soul-jolting (awakening).

Before the age of seven, children do not possess filters or abstractions. They are not "thinking" about what they see and hear, rather they become it. That is why exaggerated vowel sounds (especially those projecting adult emotions) can overwhelm a child's inner space. In other words, if we tell a story with big emotional tones we risk presenting a story that is too much about our own inner life, rather than the child's own inner life.

I understand, as adults, it seems almost instinctive to capture the young child's attention in a big (and busy) way. And it also seems tempting to turn storytelling into an overly dramatic performance with big voices, big feelings, and theatrical undertones—especially if the child seems restless. But what if the opposite is needed? What if it is our stillness, our restraint, and our clarity that allows the story to touch the inner life?

For when we begin to tell stories in the Indo-European language with clear form—focusing on the consonants rather than the vowels—we honor the child's need to enter the story in their own way. Can you hear the difference when emphasizing the consonants (rather than the vowels) in the following sentence part: "The big black bear..."? Does the bear seem to roar louder or feel bigger when spoken one way or another? Through consonants, the story takes form, like hills on the horizon, allowing the child's soul to wonder through the imaginative landscape. And by grounding our speech in this way, the child is presented with a clear path to walk upon, inviting sound to dwell without disturbance.

Perhaps this is why Steiner asks us to recognize that the child's soul (their true self) cannot be formed by the adult’s making (pushing ideals) but it must be formed through the child's own life experience. And it's here that we must offer support to the child's unique will forces, without imposing upon them. For they will not remember what is said, but how it is said (touching upon the invisible within). In this way, storytelling becomes an art, presented in a reverent simplicity, rather than mere entertainment. It is an encounter with beauty, truth, and goodness.

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AND

Learn more about the art of storytelling here.

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Read from other blog post below.

The Art of Discovery

The Wonder of Childhood

When Words Become Worlds