Go to the place where your imagination lives.

The child spot.

The dreamer place.

Experiences of life can stifle and numb this part of ourselves.  As Westerners we live in a culture increasingly interested in what is ‘right’.  What is just?  What is the tribal definition of justice?

In an increasingly fearful community, we endlessly analyse events and behaviours and place them up against the mirror of judgement in order to maintain a grip on order.

We have lost our glasses through which we see glory, and, then become free to imagine what a life without eyes of judgement looks like.

I am working on retrieving some of my lost functionality – my lost imagination.

“The soil under the grass is dreaming of a young forest, and under the pavement the soil is dreaming of grass.”

— Wendell Berry, Given

To dream of pure friendships,  of mountain walks, of witnessing miracles, of beauty, of sleep…..