How do you know but ev’ry Bird that cuts the airy way,
Is an immense world of delight, clos’d by your senses five?
— William Blake
This reality we imagine — what is it? We humans, with our surface differences, our arts, cultures, religions, and philosophies, have made, and daily remake, through our faculties, organs, and senses, a world upon which we generally agree, a life we see as governed by immutable laws, a predictable pattern with established variables that occur within a visible spectrum, as if existence is not sufficient unto itself, but a mirror.
But what happens if we accept the possibility that everything is imagined, and that reality, as we assume and propose it, does not exist outside ourselves? What if life is a veil, which, though seductive and alluring, keeps us from seeing the face it serves to hide?
“Mom, can I go play at Billy’s house?”
“No. I told you to stay away from him.”
“Because he has an overactive imagination, that’s why. He’s not healthy to be around.”
“You mean he’s sick? He doesn’t look sick.”
Recently Linked: A special thanks to Trent Aitken-Smith for sharing yesterday’s entry, “I ask myself,” in UniqueScene. You can read more about Trent and his publication here.
In the Forum: the Legolas matter.