Imagination

Past. Future. It’s only a vast game of imagination in which humans are particularly infatuated with playing. Like a child deeply ingrained with the characters she creates, making truth of goblins and fairies, so that she can almost see them, touch them.. We too mold our life story in some dramatic act; fancying some invisible audience is watching it play out. This is humanness. It’s rich with the color of emotions, passions, and dreams. Were we meant to become enlightened? To be, shall I say, apathetic? To do away with attachment and thus love? To do away with desire thus imagination? Is the ego so terrible, the identity so false, that we must strive to achieve oneness and with it, emptiness?