Sometimes I think that my imagination is too much for my body. That I don’t know how to adequately express it in my waking moments, and that it sometimes overpowers me, leaks out of my eyes and my ears and my fingertips. But not in the artistic ways. In the ways like a river overflows; the buildup is just too great and some of it has to go somewhere.
Sometimes, when I write, my mind blanks. I zone out. I have no idea what I just wrote, even if I’d been writing steadily for long periods of time. It’s as though my imagination has put me on autopilot, and takes over, frustrated to the point of seizing control when I least expect it. Often when I draw, even, I will have an incredible image in my mind. I will of course then begin my drawing on nice, white printer paper. And all of a sudden I don’t know how to draw. I can’t figure out how to get the image from my mind to my paper. And then during some class, I will begin to doodle. Just a pair of eyes at first, gradually becoming a full face, maybe a complete body. And before I know it, my subconscious mind has created a completely brilliant drawing.
And were I to say this anywhere else, I’d be considered a complete loony, but sometimes I think my imagination becomes near tangible. I’ll be completely alone, yet I swear I can hear a ghost of a whisper. I’ll slip and fall and something will catch me, place me upright again. There will definitely be something there, and yet, there is nothing.
My imagination is a being in itself. It is people, and places. It is sound, and thought. And it is so completely overwhelming that I can’t keep it inside, to the point that it overflows, pouring out my eyes, my ears, and my fingertips.