Ever since I was little, people put a lot of interest, energy and belief into the word truth, speaking the truth, honesty. It seems as though only honesty could save the day or make us all freer, more noble men.
Now, I’ve grown up and I am surrounded by a world that proclaims the virtue of honesty, concubine of realism and reason. Glorified on the golden altar of self accomplished characters, the strength of looking this cruel, cold world into its blank stare and proclaim life is what it is, what you can sense, see, touch, count (money) and who you network with.
I say the hell with this mental slavery we are being fed, because when it comes down to it, the only thing keeping you alive and not want to end it all on cold winter days are you dreams, illusions and hopes, your faith in a better world, which is intangible, uncountable, so little smellable.
It does not bring you money or friends or nice cars, or those complacent smiles but it does bring you closer to your own unique reason of existing and continuing to exist closer to the design you were born into.
Genetically or not, perhaps the instinct of dreaming is stronger than that of realism, perhaps dreaming is the survival of species not cold harsh pessimistic so-called realism.
When I had a cancer, fear definitely didn’t help brooding on what that could mean in terms of my life, on how those fucking evil cells might be multiplying inside of me with the plan to kill me while I was sleeping, it did not help to talk it out with people around me, it did not help to read all those horrible boards where people just as panicky as me, are telling their stories with a not so good outcome or just with years and years of going to the doctor and having surgeries.
When I felt that something bad might be up, my only salvation was thinking about what I wanted my life to be, wishful thinking, that’s what brightened my day and not some statistics on the possibility of survival, not the fake realism of a time when we’ve got it all so under control however medical miracles still happen.
The myth of realism concubine of the ultimate truth and reason is that it’s bullshit. It’s just there to give you some idea, to think you might be in control when you actually are scared out of your mind of living life. Yes, you made the mistake of being just another control freak, now get over there and take a chance on something for a change.
And if all of the above seems like another idealistic crap, if you’d be dying, would you be counting your money or your blessings?
Yes, cliché, but life’s biggest events are, the same old repetition of the obvious truth: you are not alone, you still have your imagination, dreams and inspiration to guide you to personal faith.
Believe, dream, and be unrealistically grateful, because the truth is you are a stuttering idiot, you don’t even know the workings of your own body, the feeling of holding your child, the strength of love, the power to say yes, the imminence of your own end.