Are You Imaginary?

Post 619

If I am imaginary, then I am asking myself a question plucked from the internet. But surely, that would mean that the internet is also imaginary. In fact, it would mean that my entire world is imaginary. My entire universe is imaginary. So that would mean that there is no point in answering this question because the answer would be a part of my imagination, therefore, the answer can be anything I want. So I can’t be imaginary because I don’t know the answer to this question. Unless, of course, I have absolutely no grasp of the question because I am, undeniably, remarkably dumb, which offers a possible rebuttal to my own theory, which isn’t great, is it?

If I am imaginary, then what am I? Am I an indefinable ‘thing’? Well, I’ve been called worse. The real question is this – is imagination a creation of reality or is reality a creation of imagination? But if it’s the latter, then isn’t imagination a reality of sorts? In truth, we can never really know what we are. Are we some creation of a larger mind? Is this the reality the manifestation of non-corporeal beings? Or did we create this world to save ourselves from natural disaster or maybe nuclear war?

It’s curious, isn’t it? I suppose to answer the question, one must define ‘reality’. What is life? Consequences and actions, ones and zeroes. We try to make sense of this through art, belief, language, literature, relationships, et al. But imagination is truly free of all that. It is whatever we want it to be. It is a freeing from the shackles of an inhibited and finite universe. This is what imagination is to me. So if our reality is imaginary, then it isn’t what I understand imagination to be.

Put it this way. If we were created by some super intelligent beings, that we are in an artificial world, why were we given imagination within an imagination? Why tempt the slave with freedom? All one would achieve is pissing the slave off more. To show them a life of joy only to rip it away is an act I don’t think anything is so cruel as to do. No genius would be that evil, so devoid of heart and soul.

I am not imaginary. I am as real as the molecules in the air. As the rays of sunshine warming my brow. As the kiss of a first love. The human race cannot be denied these things. We have these things, among other things, as anchors of the soul. They ground us on a planet that is real and breathing. They make us who and what we are. They are reality. And in any case, it doesn’t matter if we’re the brainchild of some super mad Martian genius from beyond the Moon, what matters is the life we live.

Let’s put it this way. No imagination could’ve conjured up the sunrise.

That’s good enough for me.

So no, I am not imaginary. But are you imaginary, readers?

Ciao :)(:

I’d love to hear your thoughts on this post. You can leave a comment and/or like this post below, or by clicking the title on the top of this post if you are on the ‘Archives’ page. Likes and follows greatly appreciated. Thanks.

Please feel free check out the latest posts from my other two blogs:

The Indelible Life of Me
New Post Every Saturday
Click Here to Read the Latest Post

Hark Around the Words
New Posts Every Sunday, Tuesday and Thursday
Click Here to Read the Latest Post


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