Imagination soars again

Imagination soars again

By Jon Rappoport

In life and in art, so many people believe that, if they use imagination at all, it should be in a cautious way, a limited way, a way that doesn’t stretch the boundaries too far.

This is looking through the wrong end of the telescope.

One understands how elastic and malleable reality is, to the degree he exercises his imagination to move past conventional limits and out into the wild blue.

In fact, reality is imagination that has been slowed to a crawl, coalesced, bundled up, named, labeled, and slipped into a coma.

The most ponderous reading I’ve ever done is in the area of Western metaphysical philosophy—and that subject is filled to the brim with ideas that move, if at all, at a snail’s pace—and there is a barely a mention of imagination in its entire history.

No surprise. Why? Because, if philosophers elevated imagination to its proper status, they would have to admit that all their absolutes were merely temporary stop-gaps on the ongoing road of infinite inventing. Such a confession would immediately put them out of work.

So these dragons of the abstract keep buttressing their concepts, keep digging impenetrable moats around them, keep shoring up the foundations, keep laying brick and iron—and yet, one painter, working somewhere in an isolated room, is upsetting the apple carts of whatever is supposedly nailed down and known about Universe and space and time. He is finding universes without end, in the midst of “stability.”

Civilization keeps sinking deeper into its own stagnant juices, looking to support more irrevocable absolutes—but the artist is cut loose from the whole struggle. He is a revolutionary inside every cell and nerve impulse.

He knows he, and what he is inventing, are endless. They don’t move or exist by virtue of any clock.

There is no birth or renewal without the artist.

In the same way, the future of every single human being depends on what he can imagine and invent. This fact cuts across all excuses and denials.

The world is always waiting for the next great flare-up of an individual’s life-force and creative impulse. This is the carrier wave, the frequency, the restless motion that moves souls.

There are some people who hear the word CREATE and wake up, as if a new flashing music has begun. This lone word makes them see something majestic and untamed and astonishing. They feel the sound of a Niagara approaching. CREATE is a word that should be oceanic. It should shake and blow apart the pillars of the smug boredom of the soul. CREATE is about what the individual does when he is on fire and doesn’t care about concealing it. It’s about what the individual invents when he has thrown off the false front that is slowly strangling him. CREATE is about the end of mindless postponement. It’s about what happens when you burn up the pretty and petty little obsessions. It’s about emerging from the empty suit and empty machine of society that goes around and around and sucks away the vital bloodstream.

In the soaring sky, in the muck of old rivers, in the garbage and detritus of fading civilizations, this force is always on the move, always transmuting delay into the new fire of what would otherwise never come about…

Filed under: Uncategorized Jon Rappoport has worked as a free-lance investigative reporter for over 30 years. http://nomorefakenews.com/