It's as though I am walking down a corridor. All the doors are neatly labelled, we might say each door is catalogued, quite like the threads on Central or like the books in a library.
So we can keep walking down the corridor and keep in touch with reality. Or we can open each door with our imagination.
Sometimes we get lost in the world of the imagination but we can always return to the corridor of reality.
What I like, though, is the relationship between the name on the door and the imagined inside.
Sometimes they throw light on one another, and sometimes they are greater than the sum of their parts, and so something new is born.
Yes, it is the marriage of reality and the imagination that gives new life, that gives life its deep down freshness.
And yet how imagination is banished from everyday life. How they long to tell us to 'get real' to 'stick to the topic' and 'get a life'.
My God, they keep telling us on Central 'this is not real life', as though real life has a moral superiority, as though the life of the imagination is morally inferior.
But how dull and boring, how quotidian, how smeared with grim and toil, is real life without the imagination.
The imagination is an eternal spring. They can try to cover it over with earth, but it bursts forth fresh and sweet in love with reality and in love with you and me.