My imagination runs away, persistently.

She steps outside contained limitations to explore and discover plains of elsewhere and elsewhere is never as far away as you think.

She’s my feeler, sensing her way through clusters of unhindered realms, each one so very real, so very alive and vivid. Although not in my tactile surroundings yet, all comes… this She has proven time and time again.

I use the word She as she’s powerfully receptive but She can fight as fiercely as She cries. ‘She’ is only a distinction, a label to differentiate between her absorbent nature and the active opposite. Yet without one, the other is aimless and even aimless requires our aims acknowledged. So, She is all and in-between. She’s active in her receptivity, and in this unity the perfect circle is formed – Perfect for expansion.

And she expands beyond boundaries, beyond self-inflicted restrictions, to where creative nectar glistens. The very nectar that oozed through our veins before birth, the nectar that eased us into existence. The very nectar we waste on attempts to sweeten others, to glue their needs to our wants.

We’re addicted, all of us. It’s in our blood and bones, our cells suffocate without it. To imagine drives our reasons. Truly, it is imagination that answers our questions. It fills our pockets with scented flower heads, keeping our palms fresh as we rummage through the daily grind.

Imagination is as real as reality is not.

So I let her run, some days I pray she’ll lose herself and not find her way home but she always returns and with a gift. I’ve learnt to take all she offers, no matter the depth of discomfort her gift may bring. To turn your back, to sever the tongue that devours her essence will destroys her hunger and with no fire in her belly, she’ll die, in an instant.


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