I am Blue Sky

"Your own mind is a sacred enclosure into which nothing harmful can enter except by your permission."

~Ralph Waldo Emerson

I read once, in some spiritually based article about psychology, that our thoughts are clouds over the clear blue sky that is our true inner "self". I like that metaphor. I imagine the constant stream of critical, dark thoughts that arise out of insecurity about our performance, social convention, and self worth swirling ominously around fluffy white pockets of joy.

I often spend the day pummeling my mind with an array of perceived deficiencies which, in turn, make my daily tasks more difficult, prone to misinterpretation and error as they sift through a cluttered web of chemtrails made with half baked intentions and fragmented inspirations.

When I imagine the ever-present storms that my thoughts must create around me, I am struck how my every-day personality must be nearly wholly made up of swirling masses of perceptions, reactions and judgements. I am like the planet Jupiter, made almost entirely of dense thoughts that obscure my elemental core. The world seems too much with me and in reality never touches me at all.

There was a time in my life, from early childhood up until about aged 13 that I lived almost wholly in my imagination. I read fiction voraciously from the time I was seven years old and pulled from these books the characters, settings and plots that were as real to me as any object in the tangible world around me. It may have been caused by unusual amount of solitude I experienced through the ages of five 'till nine.

I can still conjure up, twenty-something years later these familiar vignettes:

• I am a ballooning spiderling, on a veil and a prayer.
• A marooned aviatrix pushing through the boundless Congo jungle.
• I am Nimuë, turning an already swallowed poison into a harmless sweet syrup.
• I am a princess of Amber traveling to Tir-na Nóg'th, Frakir tightened about my wrist.
• I am a Priestess of Avalon, white hand moving swiftly to hide runes in a velvet bag.
• A Bene Gesserit who walks gracefully, yet without rhythm, so not to attract the sandworm.
• I am the only one the Commander trusts to return the stolen microfiche.
• The only one the Black Stallion will let ride.
• The only one who can hear the ghost of the murdered girl howling for revenge.
• The only one who repair the last rocket's engine.

I had a dragon who grew in real time after appearing in my room at age 7, and leaving me to wander off to explore the world after he and I were fully grown. (Julian found me when he was about the size of a German Shepherd and flew off to seek his fortune when he was about the size of a school bus.)

I had fairies and angels that followed me around murmuring inappropriate jokes at inopportune times or giggling and chanting when I was trying to fall asleep. Small creatures that seemingly had no purpose (and no social skills) vied for my attention. And then there were the glowing orbs of light that would swirl around the room as I lay calm and trance-like, sleepless in that endless darkness of a child's experience of night.

All these things faded away over time. Perhaps they were poisoned by my adolescent mind as the attractions of the outer world eclipsed the enchantments of the inner. I remember these things with a smile, shaking my head with relief that I never gave anyone a reason to examine my mental health. Though now as my self actualization develops I am drawn again inward to the pursuits of my imagination. My fantasies are now based on real people and events. A motley group of desires -- writing a book on tropical isle, a pair of boots certain to possess magical powers, something shiny, a gentle soul reaching out, a force as strong as it is kind.

We are stuck between the need for security and a longing for adventure, seeking out entertainment that provides a safe glimpse into a fascinating parallel world. Enjoying a story that plays on the big screen on merely in the mind.