How and when did my imagination get unplugged, locked away? Oh, I understand the elementary explanations of the transition from child to adult, from carefree to inundated/saturated/inculcated. But, really no residual moments for fanciful imagination? Do you remember playing with cars, planes, guns, dolls, rigged up costumes, baubles and cast offs and being able to create vast imaginary settings all day long?
The other day my four year old grandson wanted me to play with him. This entailed the yard, hiding places, my body and my imagination. And, as children with imagination do, he started instructing me how to play the game, where to stand and how to make believe. He coached me on approaching a certain spot in the yard and crouching down, to avoid the ‘monster’. My mind faltered.
All this was in his imagination and to him was easily transferable to me. I remember a group of kids quickly relaying instructions to play an imaginary game and within moments everyone was flitting about in some imaginary world seemingly in synch. Such a sad thing to lose, but inventors or writers or visionaries must have some form of imagination? Alas, this man doesn’t have much anymore. When one says “left to your imagination” I’m one that needs the tangible…in my hands, before my eye type. What a shame that life’s routines, bumps, falls, crashes, fears have combined to compartmentalize the mind and somehow hidden imagination….at least for me. Playing with grandchildren is demanding upon the mind, exhausting. Why is that? Perhaps because they are knocking on a door that has been padlocked for awhile. Now where did I put that key?
Do you remember laying on the lawn, looking up toward big, puffy clouds and ‘seeing’ creatures in the clouds? Now, when I look at big clouds I am struck by senses or feelings and less so imagined thoughts.
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