2000-08-05 - 06:05 MDT

August 5, 2000

Mind's Eye

The process of change can be a good thing or it can be a falling back, giving ground, accepting reality or - - - at least finally growing up. As I gradually became awake this morning I had been dreaming of the verve and joy in life that was mine as a child.

Remembering that the whole world was made anew for me each day and that object I held in my hand was just exactly what I wanted it to be. The stick I held could be a spear, sword, rifle or the greatest of all - - - a magic wand. Other objects I used became what my seething imagination conjured them to be. My personality changed colors like a chameleon, some times the brave knight others the gentle, kind king.

Our imagination made things vividly real, that stick would become the latest made, fine, blued steel rifle with a stock of that curly grained wood that you could see clear into the very center of, or in an instant it would be a long strong lever to roll the big rocks from our path.

The imaginary characters in my play of life somtimes were taken on by playmates assuming the role - - - other times the sound and fury of fighting a raging sea, or a magical battle with clanging swords existed in my mind alone. I found it to be so for other boys as I grew into being able to inter-communicate thoughts with my friends.

Maybe because I was an avid reader my imagination was improved and heightened by that exercise. I was the main character in each book I read, sometimes a wizard, other times Hercules or King Arthur's man, Sir Lancelot. The games and activities we constructed with the raw material of imagination had the reality of an anvil dropped on a foot. I know that in one game, some times as an unlucky victim, oceans of blood would stain the greensward under my lifeless body. Other times the conquering hero would be me, bloody but still overcoming impossible odds.

Things we constructed in our minds were more real than the dusty, dirty, worn things we faced when our imagination lagged, and a hell of a lot more fun. Our blood would rush through our bodies to feed the excitement that we had from being in the world we had built on the spur of the moment.

During the depression years my imagination burned yet brighter and stronger, distancing me from the eternal beans and bologna or weenies. I did my chores blending my imaginary life into what I was doing to make a palatable blend, and at the meager table the food became some rare and delicious viands - - - at least as far as imagination would conquer what my taste buds said to me.

I had an imaginary friend, Big Bill to my Little Bill, but he was real to me then.

Did I become this stick in the mud man when I realized that the one thing not in the formulary of an imaginative kid was the ability to be patient, wait ? In my kids play I could make things change instantly, but gradually came to realize that my imagination had to face things as they came up and serve my time in the waiting line.

I am still that little boy, living that life of thrilling adventure . . . . . . . In my mind's eye.

Blog