Imagination is more important than knowledge. For knowledge is limited to all we now know and understand, while imagination embraces the entire world, and all there ever will be to know and understand.
My active imagination has been the boon and bane in my life.
As a kid I could lay in bed at night and imagine the life I’d live. It was regularly near or on the beach, there was always a dude involved, and I was smiling. It was filtered softly, like a direct-to-market pharmaceutical advertisement. I’d always fall asleep feeling warm and safe and like everything was okay – no matter what happened that day. (I am glad that’s not how it turned out.) I was constantly adding to my imagination.
As I aged, so did my imagination. After two decades of reading, an aging imagination darkens, develops, deepens, derives … and my imagination now is intense.
As an adult, I no longer spend my sleepless evenings imagining that drug commercial. I waste these nights thinking about what could go wrong … what might happen … all those “what if”s in my life. (Anxiety is a bitch.) These unbelievable situations used to plague me regularly; properly applied dialectal and cognitive therapy skills work wonders. Nights were ugly; my imagination was not my friend.
My imagination has started to bloom again. I’m weeding carefully and watering regularly this time around.
I know where my brain can take me if I’m not careful; digging in this dirt unearths more dirt. It’s not clean.
I have stories in me; I know it. I also know that they are tender stories easily overtaken by weeds and devoured by beetles of intimidation.
I can cultivate my imagination; with the right thoughts, the words will grow.