What’s the illusion that ages with you? The older I get the more I realize we each have our special pets of illusion that we keep around to comfort us when we sense impending loss or experience sudden tragedy or fight stifling complacency. Some of our greatest artists are those who struggle to find a clear line between illusion and reality. They travel seamlessly between the two levels of awareness with sometimes painful jolts of entrance upon meeting a Doubting Thomas from another universe incapable of understanding the in-between.
It is both a blessing and a curse to know that this moment is fleeting, that our illusions are temporary shades of relating to a special friend who simply mirrors a fraction of our nomad soul. I wish I could ignore the obvious, the other world knocking at my door reminding me my real home is the illusion I hold closest to my heart. Few speak this language, some love the cadence of unfamiliar words, and yet others completely reject the discomfort that comes with meeting spiritual aliens who encircle our loneliest moments when we lie unrecognizable even as a reflection of our closest brother.
At the center of creativity is a driving force that seeks to prove our favorite illusion is not an illusion after all. We wish to paint this feeling into existence, write this longing into being, express our insanity in a way that makes sense, to join with love in its most tangible form. Then there are those postcards sent from heaven, fine nuances of spirituality with you as the sole recipient. You’re so excited you want to tell someone, “He lives,” “Love lives.” But our zeal is met with skepticism until one day we realize this illusion is our private dream to live and love and possibly lose alone.
But there’s more. Because there’s always more than meets the eye of evolutionary awareness where we momentarily believe “It can’t get any better than this.” Life is more than “He loves me. He loves me not.” Our unashamed vulnerability is finally met with synchronicity, a twin soul who understands the power of a dream, the delicacy of a thought, the sacredness of a shared illusion that lives on – eternal.