I IS FOR IMAGINATION

                       

::singing...it was just my imagination running away with me:: Well, it really was just my imagination running away with me! It does that occasionally. Maybe even more than occasionally.

Since I was a wee one, I have had an active imagination. It remains very hale and hearty to this day. Heaven knows it has gotten me into trouble and caused me unnecessary worry on occasion. No regrets, however. It is what it is. And I prefer to think it has been good for me far more often than not. Wait. I know it has been good.

 

My imagination is much like a snowball. It starts out fitting nicely in my hand. It is easy to manage and quite light. Suddenly, it drops to the snow-covered ground and begins rolling. Growing bigger by the second until it is the size of an iceberg, and I become a small ship attempting to get around it but unable to steer away from it. The closer I get to it, the larger it looms. It portends doom sometimes. Other times, I want to be as near to it as possible, because it gives me a magnificent view of breathtaking sights.

 

It can be exhausting. It can also be exhilarating. My imagination has been able to take me places I would have never thought of going. It has awakened me from sleep with ideas that came to life during those hours when consciousness was at rest. It has solved dilemmas I was having. Created fresh, new ideas to work with in many areas of my life. Those in my world know if something requires imagination, to come to me with whatever it is, and I will conjure up the "perfect" idea they are seeking. It has also foreseen situations that might develop (and indeed have), and made me think of the possible ways I should react.

 

Certainly I can recall times I wished I did not have such a vivid one. For instance, I used to be absolutely terrified to be alone at nite. This developed when I was about 19 years old and continued for many years. It bordered on pure, unadulterated fear. I would see shadows everywhere that were surely those of crazed murderers making their way to my bedroom. Heard noises that could only be made by people wrenching open my locked doors and windows. I honestly felt like I had a neon sign flashing atop my home that read, "I am all alone in here." An open invitation to every depraved soul (who resembled those from The Night of the Living Dead) to gain entrance to my abode. My heart would race, and I would wonder if I should pretend I was asleep. Sometimes I was brave enough to creep down the stairs to hunt for the intruders. After I would finally fall asleep and then awaken, I welcomed the early morning sunshine like a long lost lover. Somewhere along the way, the fear virtually disappeared. My imagination must have decided to forego leaving that kind of litter with me. In its place are other delights and creatures who wish me no harm.

 

My imagination has become an unseen shadow that has merged with my being. More often than not, it is a dear friend to me that I have come to rely on and trust its intentions.

 

And since I recently finished my second acrylics painting, which is of an insect (see, starts with an "I"!), I will post it here. My sister had taken a lovely photograph of a dragonfly resting on a reed above a pond, and I based this painting on it.

 

                 

 

"Imagination grows by exercise, and contrary to popular belief, is more powerful in the mature than the young." ~W. Somerset Maugham