Think of the absurdity of love: Who would chose to resist it's undertow, only to surrender to reckless loss of control? Can we blame imagination for this collapse? It is the projections of pleasure & safety which uncurls the grip on our regular, more reticent selves, those sensibilities which maintain self-control. These delicate fantasies; these secret plans— surely it is hidden whispers of bliss which hurl us off cliffs of all that would normally be considered sensible?
What greater vulnerability than the temptations of an over-heated imagination, spinning potential for validation which love lends to defenseless, self-hypnotized victims? The mind awaits experiences of what imagination has outlined as worthy. There is joy when this expectation is realized; there is sorrow when hopes are ground away under discordant circumstance.
Love through the filter of imagination is potential. It is the realization of entitlement—we deserve love. Without it, we are empty & striving, rejected in some severe, invisible manner. The moods of love lift us from isolation & collects the heart into a swirling whirlpool which never drowns nor pulls asunder. Spirits dance & twirl, satisfied in self-worth.
No mind considers nothing. To rest is to perish; to lose faith in love is to live in exile.
{Paintings by Josephine Wall}
