It was last weekend, tucked in the cozy bungalow of my friend San's rural home, that she read my aura. When she was finished describing the intense golden and pink glow that she'd sensed emanating from me, she went on to relate the meanings behind the colors. She then looked me square in the eye, and asked if she was freaking me out. To which I replied, just a little.
But now I see that she wasn't at all.
I, being too pragmatic for my own good, took it upon myself to do some investigating on the practice of reading auras, the different colors that can be seen, and the meanings behind them. In my research, I determined that I cannot alone surmise whether an entire movement, practiced by an unquantifiable number of individuals, is either true or false. But instead, chose to appreciate the connection that it gave me to someone I care about so very much—and took secret pleasure in the fantastical possibility that it could be real. All of it. And by that, I mean more than just the notion of sensing someone's true nature, or the concept of a teenage girl destined to shapeshift into a small, white fox, or whatever else our collective imaginations have created.
What if, in some small sense or another, every notion of fantasy births truth? What if the truth is out there, but we're just too blind and arrogant to see it?
I realize that these concepts are not new, and that my opinions on them are in no way unique. My admittance to these notions alone ensures at least one friendly Facebook message from someone I knew 10 years ago expressing their grave disappointment in my blatantly obtuse way of thinking. To which there is only one reply: get over yourself. We don't know everything.
I live most of my life in a fantasy world, and sometimes come back just long enough to get it all down on paper. But what if some of that make-believe is drawn from reality? What if it is mere practicality that keeps us from seeing all the world has to offer?
I won't pretend to have any further explanation. I realize I'm proposing more than I'm prepared to answer at this point in time. As a writer, I base most of my existence on: what if? So that's what I choose to leave you with tonight—what if?