Sometimes I imagine that I am a Shaman, living at the edge of the village in a small neat hut, and the villagers come to me with their esoteric needs, which I fulfull by throwing bones and chanting obscure chants that resonate with the universal sound.
Sometimes I imagine that I am a poet, standing on the stage in some darkened grotto, speaking my truth while a sax blows out cool clear notes in the background, and hipsters drink their espresso, chain smoking hand rolled cigarettes, hanging on my every word.
Sometimes I imagine that I am a child, wandering about in a morning field still wet with dew, finding wonder in micro-worlds of moss and insects and slugs, and the occasional flower that is so tiny to the adults vision, yet so large in my own.
Sometimes I imagine that I am a cat burglar, with still youthful sinewy strong limbs, scaling the palaces of the overly rich, cracking their hidden safes for jewels to distribute to the poor.
Sometimes I imagine that I am Kwai Chang Caine , walking the earth, going from town to town, helping those in need, and living my truth in strength and grace.
I have imagined that I was so many things throughout my life.
The truth is that I am all of that, and more.
So are you.
Sometimes, I imagine.
Writ for Carry On Tuesday