Reason and Imagination

Bearing your soul in words is a dangerous proposition. Admitting to yourself in a permanent fashion is much more difficult than simply bypassing it with nonsensical mental talk. I will be the first to stipulate that I make a good argument in my head for why things are not as my heart says. That is why I do not trust my mind near as much as I trust my heart and soul. Often I have conveyed through my writing that it is through these words I escape. If I did not write you would no sooner find my name plastered across the screens of your local news station for crazy, maddening acts.

Most anyone can live in a world with dimensions, we do it everyday. Do not cross this line on the road. Only go forward when the light is green. Sleep in this bedroom. All of these things are constraints upon an existence not of measurement. My body is merely the temple of a soul that does not belong here. People all have their ways of pushing against the box with which we live. Some jump from airplanes only to be sure that there is in fact gravity pulling them down. Others climb mountains just to make sure the vertical trip does actually end. I write to be sure I am not mad.

As a child I lived for the opportunity to express myself. Buried in some Shakespearean play or novel I escaped back to a time I lost. At a young age I found comfort in the constraints of computers. Everything was black and white, one and zero. I found comfort in having the ability to define the constraints of my time and space. As this started so early in life for me I was devoid of the opportunity to live in the fairy tale kingdom of imagination. I discounted the wolves blowing down the house because it was physically impossible for an animal of their size and stature to generate the force needed. I was robbed of the wonder and lessons to be taught.

Writing gives me back the imagination buried deep within. Realizing as I type away that my own life is total nonsense helps me discern that nothing is logical. It is illogical that I am as blessed as I am, illogical that there is a Heavenly Father who loves me. It is through my illogicalness that I find reason. For left with reason I would be insane.