Everyday Threads

Imagination is a beautiful, faithful, constant companion. It is maybe not the best word to describe what I mean: it is about making present what is not immediately visible to the eye. Which does not mean it does not interact with that which is visible, is moved by it, away from it. It works also, I believe, in some psychological states, independently from it. It helps to maintain connections between things and persons not present in the visible environment, being temporarily or permanently departed. It helps to build pasts and presents through memory. It can be propelled into activity through singing, dancing, talking, being quiet. The movement of beginning awareness (unreflected most of the time) can happen on the outside, the passing of a bird, the sound of a steam liner, the touch of a cat’s fur; or it happens interiorised, a memory triggers another one, seemingly unlinked to the world of perception. This is what happens in dreams. In a daydream, a funeral, desire, a fat snake moving semi-underground, coloured like a fire salamander (I kicked it, and it turned into a dog…), an army of children, and family. These were the elements (of course, also post-conceptualised). On waking up, I spun the threads and turned them into narrative, telling them to my friend. I gave them some cake to give to someone who had fixed my bike. Someone’s voice wandered over the fence, and called for Tio, who came and went to make hay with her niece the next day. She was reminded of the time she got married, years back, to a good man she learned to respect but never loved. They passed the chapel along the road, crossed themselves, thought, briefly, of those departed, and mumbled a prayer for the living.
I got used to this place. It feels like I have been here for all time, and I agree with Aino: I cannot imagine myself anywhere else either. I will miss it immensely. I followed the challenge to be tamed, for better or worse. I am still working out the implications. One thing is certain, however, despite these flights of the imagination, I will leave, in a little over three months. I am also still working out the implications of that (bloody researchers… never finished, never concluding…). Yours in all happy vagueness, fx-shell