Life without Imagination

It has been quite apparent, after a number of failed attempts to even simply compose a 25-word prose as I have done before, now I am truly convinced that my creative soul has left me. It lurks behind my back, teasing, provoking and annoying the heck out of me. Oftentimes in crisis I have desperately pleaded for it to come and settle into my being, a momentary engagement will suffice and yet, it remains to be adamantly elusive.
It is a struggle to live my life without the wonder and joy of walking freely above the ground. I used to fly and swim with the clouds, I glide with the wind and I dance in the orchestral music of the moonlight cicadas. A mere few months into my new journey, I feel so utterly consumed and exhausted to the core. Although, I am happily obliged to twirl and stumble on the macedoine of the daily circus of my work life, I can’t help but contemplate on moments of deprived silence. As I expect myself to contradict my own assumptions, it might seem too premature to conclude that my weariness can be attributed towards my daily obligations and undertakings. For I am certain, that to say that my rout’nary engagements wears me down is an absolute understatement.
Perhaps I thirst more. Perhaps I need to cut down or totally obliterate the predictable occurrences that shape my day or my life in general. Predictability and logic kills the opportunity to shift perspectives. It goes to say, “Why paint a wall in orange, when it fact it will remain a wall in white and still be perceived as an object? ” It is a debate I impose upon myself. I see myself slowly melting into a yet unforeseen mold in the midst of this quiet, solitary war. There is not a day that I don’t invoke God’s divine spirit, the true spirit that will breathe life and purpose to my existence. And there’s not a day that I cease to search.
As I go on through my life, I continuously journey to find the answers, one day at a time. In confinement, I can see myself as a functional being, I can see myself deliver and obtain concrete results (again, it is a predictable foresight) and yet it is in confinement as well that my soul die hungry of the liberty of imagination. As for now, I carry out ways to keep me on a steady place. I have not determined my exact destination nor am I planning for it. Funny, but a mentor recently told me that I should grow roots. They too are obviously concerned of my strong propensity to wander away.
The desire to see the world out there fuels my imagination. And my imagination is the single most defining factor that keeps my sanity intact. My imagination is the balance that I seek between the world of reason and the inconceivable. I can endure a life with incomplete grasp of my senses but a life deprived of the simple, sufficing grandeur of imagination is unthinkable.

I believe that one day, I shall stumble upon the missing piece of the puzzle, I shall find that road and my eyes will see light and colour once again. My feet will walk in the clouds and my soul will glide freely in the heavens. I can achieve and bask in the perfect harmony of two opposing worlds; the one my soul has and the reason behind my human existence.