Finding fairytales

Why do our imaginations die as we get older? Certainly I place some blame on the increasing speed at which we live. It tethers our minds to the earth, unable to glide freely amongst the winds. I have written as much before. This is not the only problem though.

Our eyes start to see the world as it “is”.  We see only what is “true”. We no longer see towering trees as guard posts to fortify. No longer see headphones as a mind control device. Only the static of science and what “is” exist anymore.

“Could be” has been forgotten. We think only idealist fools and children think in “could be”s. The world that “is” forces children into itself, stealing their “could be”s. Perhaps that is the most fiendish part of losing our imaginations. We are fooled into handing them over; they cannot be literally stolen. If it cannot think in “could be”s, no one else can nor even should.

There is a flower in the rocks though: our minds can never be taken from us, can always be recovered. At any moment, we may reclaim our thoughts from the limitations of “maturity”, or more accurately the lies that purport to be maturity. An imagination is worth fighting for, worth finding if it has been lost.

Look to the freckled face of the night sky with wonder. Stand mouth agape as leaves flutter in a vortex centering on you. Grin as you see the dog of your neighbor sprout wings and fly after squirrels. The world is only as interesting as our imagination.


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