I'm just very amused by five-year-old humor.

In the words of Kesha, “I’m just very amused by five-year-old humor.” What appears at first as a lighthearted confession hides a deeper wisdom about the nature of joy, innocence, and the power of laughter untainted by the burdens of age. For in this simple statement lies a truth that the ancients knew well — that childlike humor, though simple, springs from the purest waters of the soul. It is the laughter that comes not from mockery or cleverness, but from wonder — the laughter of life itself discovering its own beauty.

In her words, Kesha speaks not merely of childish jokes or silly laughter, but of a return to the sacred state of childlike spirit. The five-year-old knows nothing of cynicism, judgment, or pride. They laugh at the absurdity of the world — at bubbles bursting, at faces made in mirrors, at the strange joy of sound and color. Their laughter is uncalculated, spontaneous, and pure. To find amusement in such humor, as Kesha admits, is not immaturity — it is awakening. It is to drink once more from the fountain of simplicity, where joy flows freely, untouched by the weight of intellect.

The ancients, too, revered this quality. The philosopher Lao Tzu once said, “The wise man is like a child.” In the stillness of his mountain solitude, he observed that when a person grows too serious, they forget the dance of existence. To rediscover laughter — the innocent kind — is to return to harmony with the Tao, the rhythm of life itself. It is said that even Socrates, the stern teacher of wisdom, would laugh heartily with his students, for he believed laughter to be a mark of humility — the reminder that no matter how much we learn, we remain children before the mysteries of the universe.

In this way, Kesha’s amusement becomes a quiet act of rebellion against a world that worships sophistication and scorns simplicity. Our modern age often prizes wit that cuts, irony that wounds, humor that divides. But the laughter of a child unites all who hear it. It knows no malice, no performance, no pretense. It is the language of the heart before the mind learned to lie. To cherish such laughter is to protect the innocence that the world tries to trade for cleverness.

Think of Charlie Chaplin, the great silent clown, who spent his life making the world laugh with gestures so simple that even a child could understand. Yet behind his simplicity lay deep wisdom. He knew that the purest laughter is not born of ridicule, but of shared humanity — the recognition that all of us, no matter how proud or pained, are foolish in our own beautiful way. Through laughter, he healed nations torn by war and despair. Like Kesha, he understood that to laugh as a five-year-old is not to regress, but to remember what it means to be truly alive.

Such laughter is not weakness; it is strength. To find joy in the simple, to giggle at the absurd, to smile when others frown — this is the courage of a soul that refuses to be hardened by the world. The humor of the young is the music of hope, the spark that rekindles light when darkness grows heavy. It is the laughter of the spirit saying, “I still believe.” The wise do not outgrow this; they grow back into it, after the storms of life have humbled them.

So let the teaching be this: never lose your sense of wonder, nor your joy in simple things. Laugh freely. Find delight where others see none. Do not chase cleverness — seek sincerity. When you laugh as a child laughs, you touch eternity, for that joy is the echo of creation itself. And when the world grows cold and cynical, remember Kesha’s wisdom: to be amused by five-year-old humor is to keep the heart forever young, open, and luminous.

Therefore, dear listener, go forth and cultivate your laughter. Play, be silly, smile at life’s foolishness. Let others call it childish — for they have forgotten. The gods, if they laugh at all, surely laugh as children do: freely, joyfully, without restraint. In the laughter of the innocent lies the secret of eternal youth — and the soul’s remembrance of paradise.