You know the feeling when your imagination takes you to a place or with a thing you want very badly? It’s always a different scenario but each of them hinge on your deepest, innermost desires.
Only as quickly as your mind goes there and imagines it enough for you to squint at possibility, the harshness of what and where you contrastingly are looks like a cartoon-exaggerated gap made for falling into.
It feels like getting a too-sweet whole milk drink at the coffee shop you never visit. Everything in you lighting up with the bliss that sugar brings then remembering that you don’t drink whole milk and the reason you never come to this coffee shop is because you always forget to say that. Like you tasting a semblance of what hope’d look like only to remember hope doesn’t typically work out for you. Stomach churning.
Maybe it’s reached the point where hope in simple imagination is stomach churning because you can’t believe any of it possible.
This is why I’m avowing myself to delusion.
Although reality sits across the spectrum of delusion, what is reality but a deluded thought come to life?
Electricity, peanut butter, television, considering slavery bad — all things that at one point many people thought delusional. And look at us now. The world loves peanut butter.
I reckon each time stomach-churning denial of better attempts to cramp me, I instead delusionally accept all that I daydream will happen, is true, is in effect, and is mine.
It’s hard though - untangling long-tied knots of brutal realism. But realism hasn’t worked. It offers early-wrinkles, non-genetically related early grey hair, and IBS. Realism is the cousin that went into accounting but Delusion is the cousin who went into risky but albeit profitable pyramid schemes. The ride to the airport from Delusion has some concerning pit stops but proves a memorable adventure.
A few years back someone expressed their want for a car to me in an impatient groan. I surpised myself in saying, whatever you want has always been and is already yours. You just don’t have it yet. Those words, succinct and sure, coming from a different voice as if I was speaking to another but those words were impinging for us us both.
I’m choosing delusion.
I’m choosing to believe that every joyful imagining entering my mind is a confirmation to my ownership of it. The want of every “it” gives butterflies as what is touches what is to come.
By rejecting “it” time and time again, I send my body, my spirit, and the present reality around me the message that I do not want it when it’s actually all I want.
Call it faith, call it hope, call it optimism.
Whatever it is, the cheeriest people I know are delusional. And when everything is wrong somehow they’re still happy.