Living the Life

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Abstract

I don’t want to be, calculating steps to a future I can’t create, being the inspiration I can’t feel, leading the way on a path I can’t see.</p><p id="12fe">Maybe . . . imagination is the mother holding me to her breast, whispering loving words and praying for the best.</p><p id="8d66" type="7">Maybe . . . imagination is the mother I never had.</p><p id="cee9">I write often about my mother dying when I was an infant. I never knew her but always sensed her presence. I feel the same about imagination. Never one for goals and believing in a rosy future, I did what I had to do, day in and day out, never expecting more than I had.</p><p id="97b6">But, like my mother, imagination was here. Hidden. Silent. Ghostly. Hoping for the best while working to knit a path to something better.</p><p id="d046">It took many years but we got here — imagination,

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Mother, and me.</p><p id="f366">© <a href="https://dennettrm.medium.com/">Dennett</a> 2021</p><p id="df08">With gratitude to <a href="undefined">Galit Birk, PhD</a> for allowing me to be a writer for her lovely publication <i>Being Known </i>and for her July prompt, <i>Imagination:</i></p><div id="7a8b" class="link-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/be-known-with-us-bf4c0e1925fe"> <div> <div> <h2>Be Known With Us</h2> <div><h3>Open your heart and write for us</h3></div> <div><p>medium.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/1*zLudgn9QI7F3i2h_CuzN6A.jpeg)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div></article></body>

A poem

Did I imagine this or was it a gift from the unknown? A question with no answer.

But, here I am, where I should be, was meant to be, a home beyond my imagination, a life beyond my dreams.

Was my imagination that grand, that full and complete, even when tainted with depression?

Or, perhaps, my imagination exists in a world of its own, dreaming of what could be while I’m stuck in what is.

Maybe my imagination is the blood that flows, keeping me alive when I don’t want to be, calculating steps to a future I can’t create, being the inspiration I can’t feel, leading the way on a path I can’t see.

Maybe . . . imagination is the mother holding me to her breast, whispering loving words and praying for the best.

Maybe . . . imagination is the mother I never had.

I write often about my mother dying when I was an infant. I never knew her but always sensed her presence. I feel the same about imagination. Never one for goals and believing in a rosy future, I did what I had to do, day in and day out, never expecting more than I had.

But, like my mother, imagination was here. Hidden. Silent. Ghostly. Hoping for the best while working to knit a path to something better.

It took many years but we got here — imagination, Mother, and me.

With gratitude to Galit Birk, PhD for allowing me to be a writer for her lovely publication Being Known and for her July prompt, Imagination:

Being Known / July Prompt / Imagine

Living the Life

A poem

Be Known With Us

Open your heart and write for us