This I Believe
Imago Dei; I believe we were all created in the image of the greater one. I don’t necessarily mean one specific god or religion. Just a higher power, a spiritual pull that I have inside me. And that greater power created me in his image. He creates, so I as well have the need and want to create. You have the need and want to create, to cause something to come into being as something unique that would not naturally evolve. To evolve from one’s own thought of imagination, as a work of art or invention.
I’ve created. I could write a million words. Millions of letters, strung together to form a witty composition, with no real beginning, middle, or end. I could write about the thousands of white dots on my ceiling, the one’s I make shapes and images out of at night when I am trying to sleep. Changing them, stretching my imagination so far that they become something they’re not. Connecting the dots with imaginary lines, like someone’s looking at me, changing my life, I have no say. He’s connecting my dots with imaginary lines. I’m connecting the dots with imaginary lines.
I’ve created. I’m 5 again and I’m playing with my Lite-brite. I spend hours and hours pushing the tiny colored pieces into place. I make shapes and images out of them in the dark, only that one small light bulb as my source of light. This is my masterpiece and I will finish. Orange, red, yellow, and green. I never did finish, my light burnt out long before it was complete.
You’ve created. A song written. Synchronized, cut, and produced to precision. A moment captured, the moment hanging on your wall in the den. The swirling and crossing designs on that disposable napkin. Notice. Create. I want to remember it all. I wish there was a playback button for all the images I have in my head, my own personal creations. I want to install a memory chip in my brain so I can store them all. To stop time, freeze it. Full color, detailed, beautiful, remembered. I hate how memories fade. I want to remember things perfectly. To stop time, freeze it. Whenever I remember, I always remember the insignificant details; like the color of your shirt (that color goes nice with your eyes), or the way the tone of your voice when up and down when you were speaking. I want my ears to broadcast. To be tuned into my own personal radio. I want to create a constant beat.
Imagine a plague you catch through sound waves. The virus of information. Imagine an idea that occupies your mind. After knowing, a meat patty from that hamburger joint down the rode isn’t just a nice meal. Its cows forced to stay pregnant and pumped with hormones. It’s the inevitable calves that live a few terrible months, squeezed in veal boxes. It’s that brutal war over seas. The blood, the brutality. That special on the news your grandmother is watching, glued to the television. The one about all the dead troops. You never could watch your cartoon. This is the plague of information. But turn off your TV’s, and cover your ears. This is when you turn on your radio to oldies and rap music, to football. Anything, so long as it’s loud and constant and lets you pretend your hamburger is just a hamburger. Here’s big brother entertaining and distracting so I don’t start thinking or creating too much for my own good.
You’re so creative with your reviews of what other people do, how satisfying that must be. Just pretend that you don’t make your living from selling advertising, tracking trends, or clever recitings. Do something. Say something. Create something. Anything that will catch my attention.
We must pay attention. Attention; like the way the clouds were flying by above my deck at an impossible speed. I didn’t know the clouds could move so fast. Attention; like the sound my boots make on the freshly fallen snow, you know the sound. Attention; like making shapes on my ceiling out of the decorative dots. I always see this silly man, with a silly beard. Connect the dots! Attention; like watching the white lines on the roads. I see the streets in my mind, crisscrossing, intersecting, sliced, parallel, and connecting. Noticing frosty windows, world maps, the smell of new carpet, pencil shavings on the desk. Colors, blurs, and flashbacks.
Experts in ancient Greek culture used to say that people back then didn’t see their thoughts as belonging to them. When ancient Greeks had a thought, it occurred to them as a god or goddess giving an order. Apollo was telling them to be brave; Athena was telling them to fall in love. Now people see an advertisement for cheesy potato chips and rush out to buy. They like to call this free will. At least the ancient Greeks were being honest. Well I have a thought. And that is to create. The higher power, my inner pull is telling me we were all meant to create. Imago Dei; the idea of creation.
They are busy holding your attention every moment you’re alive. Making sure you’re always distracted, they are making sure you’re fully absorbed. So your creativity withers, until it’s as useful as your appendix. Tune out, tune in, tune out. Except you want to be tuned in. You want to pay attention, to defy the laws of society. I want to be tuned in. I want to take my attention and focus it on a creation. I am a reflection in the mirror. I am a reflection of my creator. I will create.
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