It has become difficult for me to imagine. Surrounded by the million of sound bites, the eyes only resting when I am asleep. It is difficult for my mind to get clear, to create new ideas. Set in a world that demands of you an indoctrination that is the only way, the only way, so that one does not get any ideas to create a world that might just be better than theirs.
As I laid my body to rest, I practiced my imagination. I practiced visioning new stories to create, building upon the old stories that have embraced me for so long. I laid practicing, over and over, realizing that I could not imagine creating new stories in a world that tells me to hold on to the old ones, because it forces stagnation, yelling at me to remember, to hold on and to take pride in all that the ancestors have done.
I’m holding, I’m remembering, but I wish could remember how to imagine. I wish I could remember the feeling as a child when my imagination seemed so real and the adults in my life took joy in seeing my playful dance, celebrating as I twirled in the open air, with the sun putting a happy glow on my face, being free and accepted, allowing to create, making mud pies, and hearing, “that’s good baby.”
I am remembering how to imagine, I am remembering how to create, trusting to move from the “hold on” to the sound of “that’s good baby.”
Be Well My Friends