IMAGINATION AND YOUR GLEAMING SELF

The truth of STORY is the ability to expand, deepen and change perspective of writer and reader and – hopefully – the greater culture; IMAGINATION is energy propelling change and bridging participants in story mystique.  All my stories are true in this sense.  Creative non-fiction describes them best.  The protective liberties I have taken with those still living include combining personality aspects, scenes, and places.  This first story is an example of how Beauty and Pleasure are very much dependent on the suspension of disbelief otherwise known as imagination.  John O’ Donohue  writes this:

“Sadly, whether from resentment, fear or blindness, beauty is often refused, repudiated, or cut                                                 down to the size of our timid perceptions…we turn away from all that is wholesome and true, and deliver ourselves into an exile…”

 

“Well, she said it happened that way!”

“No, it didn’t: I was the one kissing her and I should know!  It was a great kiss but not like she said”

I was 14 and he 16 and we shared a kiss – my first – at a teenage party.  His confidence was outrageous. He gently lifted my chin close to his face and parted my lips with his tongue. That embrace released Butterfly’s across all of me. The cocoon of warmth surrounding us magnified the chilled air.

I repeated this to all my friends and each retelling transported me back to the scene.

Two weeks later, encircled by them, I died of embarrassment and shame to learn HE did not share my thoughts on our kiss.

I still remember how low the stars were that night.

The same thing happened to me recently on Facebook.  I commented about a big crush I had on a cute guy in 7th grade: a female class mate said, “Oh everyone had a crush on him.”

Have you ever had something Beautiful that brought you Pleasure and others saw it as coarse and ordinary?

Let this sandpaper world scrape you raw.

Blow off the wood dust!

Let Beauty and Pleasure finish you

Into your radiant, gleaming SELF.

Connie C. Cox©2018

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