Imagination, telling untruths, fabricating stories, not telling it the way it is, being in an unreal world, misperceiving real events and changing them to suit one's fancy. Instead of feeling pain to be turning the pain into beautiful happenings, seeing the color gray and instead perceiving its boredom, to see a gray as a gorgeous blue or turquoise green.
Seeing a dead fish on a seashore and instead changing it into a fossilized archeological treasure. Seeing seashells on a beach and imagining that they could be small beads to a lovely necklace and shine with incredible beauty. Fingering the shells in your hands and giving them dollar values, shells becoming coins, then you become a rich man in your imagination, holding a king's fortune in your palm.
When you remember a king's fortune as you handle the seashells, a fairy tale comes to mind. A fairy tale you heard when you were a child on your mother's lap, and you imagine being a character in that fairy tale--being held captive in a tower and then letting down your many locks of golden hair that you use as a rope to climb down from the tower to freedom, escaping oppression by swimming through the frothy sea to a prince's castle far away.
We go from grays, to rainbows, to seashells, to coins, to having long golden locks of a princess's hair, to swimming far away into a prince's castle. And O yes, that prince was the most handsome prince one could ever imagine!
The Song of Songs becomes the one and only song on your lips. And it is always springtime and happiness is eternal and everywhere.
This all happens in an imagination. Without an imagination, grays would be grays, and seas would be sewers.
How thankful to be in an unreal world, a world of endless treasure--the world of an imagination.
Seeing a dead fish on a seashore and instead changing it into a fossilized archeological treasure. Seeing seashells on a beach and imagining that they could be small beads to a lovely necklace and shine with incredible beauty. Fingering the shells in your hands and giving them dollar values, shells becoming coins, then you become a rich man in your imagination, holding a king's fortune in your palm.
When you remember a king's fortune as you handle the seashells, a fairy tale comes to mind. A fairy tale you heard when you were a child on your mother's lap, and you imagine being a character in that fairy tale--being held captive in a tower and then letting down your many locks of golden hair that you use as a rope to climb down from the tower to freedom, escaping oppression by swimming through the frothy sea to a prince's castle far away.
We go from grays, to rainbows, to seashells, to coins, to having long golden locks of a princess's hair, to swimming far away into a prince's castle. And O yes, that prince was the most handsome prince one could ever imagine!
The Song of Songs becomes the one and only song on your lips. And it is always springtime and happiness is eternal and everywhere.
This all happens in an imagination. Without an imagination, grays would be grays, and seas would be sewers.
How thankful to be in an unreal world, a world of endless treasure--the world of an imagination.
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