Fantasy…

From http://wikipedia.org/…

“A fantasy is a situation imagined by an individual or group that has no basis in reality but expresses certain desires or aims on the part of its creator. Fantasies typically involve situations which are impossible (such as the existence of magic powers) or highly unlikely. Fantasies can also be sexual in nature. Another, more basic meaning of fantasy is something which is not real, or cannot be real.”

Much of my life has been lived chasing this elusive lie that we call fantasy, and I am starting to think that I want my money back…

The thing is that while I can see that I have done this, that I still do this, and more to the point while I see that dreams of “what may come” are intrinsic to the human experience, the root of human achievement and the tranquiliser we all need in the face of the harsher, less appealing realities of our lives I am of the opinion that I need to find a way to see truth as more tangible than the lie.

If I may borrow from myth, I need to find my mirrored shield in which I can regard the harmless reflection of my mind’s yearnings and creations; do I not risk being petrified, locked in an endless torpor of my own stone dreaming if I continue to stare directly into the face of this Medusa’s gaze of fantasy that is stalking my waking world.

Or is there another way to see this?

Are not my friends’ and family’s lives filled with fantasy made flesh through the real application of their various will; can I not leverage the power of belief, in myself, in my worth to carve my world into the image that I long for it to hold?

We all want certain things to be true for us… We all need to feel love, both to give it to others and to feel the warm tide of its return. We all need to feel as though we have marked the World in our own small way; perhaps in ways larger than even our most grandiose ambitions. We all need to grasp the small joy of the little things and yet not miss the chance for more durable joy when it comes within our reach.

Is fantasy the spur we need to rise above comfort, to transcend the quotidien and be all that we can be?

I suppose that fantasy, like any stimulant, is really only safe in moderation. Like anything that is so subtly and yet so lethally double-edged, it is all too easy to simply enjoy it for its own sake, rather than use it for a purpose.

How do I embrace the realities that I need to understand are unassailable in order to protect myself from the insane belief that anything that I want can be attained? How can I make absolutely certain that I do live up to those things which I am truly able to achieve?

What is my fantasy, you may ask? I hope that they are not too much to ask for… I suppose that more than anything else I need to find out if the people who are not blinded by the lustre of their jewels can tell me truly whether or not I can hope genuinely to capture my heart’s desires.

Foremost amongst my dreams is to be loved by someone that I love. It would be completely fair to say that I have experienced this already; perhaps it is greedy to want to have more than I have been allotted, unseemly to not value the love I have given and received already in my life? Very few people truly find a lasting love that shapes and protects the greater portion of their lives. Marriages fail, partnerships fall apart, lovers fall out of love or simply lose their way; do I have a right to hope for something that eludes so many? More to the point is this kind of love, that I want to believe exists, actually a myth? I’m not sure that it is real, but the example of others, people that I am close to, suggests that it might be… Can I lash my hopes to that raft? Will it float when the reign of love washes over me? Will that flood ever come again? It sounds oh so melodramatic to wonder, but what those who either have it or do not need it do seem to forget is how keenly the pain of its lack cuts into my heart like a sharp sliver of ice.

And then there is my other great wish; to create something, anything that will transcend my life and my circle and stand the test of time, long after I am gone from this world. Is it so unreasonable to hope that I could, perhaps, take a piece of my soul and fashion it into a form that a stranger might take into their own heart? What is all this sweet work worth if no one ever hears the cries of my being, if no one can know me from my words, my work, my song alone?

At times these fantasies seem humble, attainable, even inconsequential; even more they seem unoriginal, and yet they lose none of their power in those moments when I remember that almost everyone who has, does, or will live wants the same or very similar things.

Yet tonight these dreams seem grasping, ungrateful and distant; as though the blessings of my life should not only be enough but might also be in jeopardy if I continue to swallow the lie that is woven by my darker half, my unconscious, my pride…

So I ask you, be you stranger or closest friend, must I embrace reality in all its harsh and painful rigour? Is the better course to always chase the end of my own personal rainbow, or is there another way? Can I find a glass through which I can gaze on the middle road and find a footing that will lead me safely to my own Jerusalem among these dark and foreboding apparitions of what might be?

Will I ever be able to look into someone else’s eyes and tell them this:

"And I thank you for bringing me here
For showing me home
For singing these tears
Finally I've found that I belong here"

or will I forever only know this instead:

"I never thought you could leave me, I figured I was the one
but I understand your sadness so I guess I should just hold my tongue"

While we are at it (by way of an explanation for the quotations):

"What came first, the music or the misery? People worry about kids playing with guns, or watching violent videos, that some sort of culture of violence will take them over. Nobody worries about kids listening to thousands, literally thousands of songs about heartbreak, rejection, pain, misery and loss. Did I listen to pop music because I was miserable? Or was I miserable because I listened to pop music?"

Seriously; this inquiring mind really wants to know… Feel free to guess if you must, ok?