Imagination yields beauty

Say Not the Struggle Naught Availeth

Yesterday everything was gray and dull. There was no point living. Why struggle when death comes as the end and a great future has been behind me ever since I passed the 11-plus?

Perhaps it is indeed, as Acorn Antiques has it, God’s way of telling me to watch Gardener’s World.

But today, after a good few zeds, what a turnaround! Still the infection, still the breathing difficulty, still the feeling that all my bones are out of joint. But gone the continuous snot, the sore upper lip, the throbbing sinuses, the aching teeth. No longer is my strength dried up like a potsherd; no longer doth my tongue cleave to my gums; no longer am I a worm, and no man; no longer is it that many dogs are come about me. Only Og, as it happens, beside me on the sofa, busy with an avian osteological specimen.

The Kraken waketh. The brain sizzleth. The eyes sparkleth. I’m feeling Rosie all over.

Is this what happens after celebrating the Holy Mysteries twice? Is it the combined effects of good sing, good liturgy and clouds of the billowing Basilica and Pontifical mixed?

All of the above.

Spring is sprung, de grass is riz, I wonder where dem boidies is? Dem boids is on de wing. Ain’t dat absoid? De wing is on de boid.

My Easter message is: imagination.

In his novel ‘The Power and the Glory’, Graham Greene has one of his characters say ‘hate was just a failure of imagination’. He is right, Now, turn that the other way up. Love is the blossoming of the imagination. Love is resurrection. Love is renewal. Imagination comes even after bacterial and viral toxins have done their worst.

Let imagination explode. Without it, we would still be scrabbling about in caves.