Blurred Vision

There are those moments in life, those fleeting paragraphs in the ever-scrolling story where an opportunity, a dream comes into such clear, unfettered focus in the mind's eye as to be breathtaking. The vision of the potential future is magical in its clarity, convincing the heart to pursue with abandon this glittering, splendid mirage. "There is truth here. The vividness alone surely tells you this. Go on, this is your destiny. The fates are aligning. Surely you feel it?" the mind whispers to the fervent, eager, endlessly gullible heart. How can something so palpable, so life-like, accompanied with such surety, such boldness, not be real?

The imagination, now powered by the free-wheeling hopes of the heart, absorbs the one crystal dream and blazes forth, wild landscapes unfolding anew from the passion of potential, opulent and rich, tantalizing the very core emotions of our being. The newest layers of speculation are giddy and reckless, yet no less defined. The hopeful tangents spin and weave and dance at first only in the fancy, in the quiet moments set aside for random thoughts. But soon they are encroaching into daily consciousness, filling the pauses and gaps in concentration, making the nerves tingle and the heart smirk with mildly restrained enthusiasm.

And yet... insidious reality begins to creep in along the edges, smearing the pristine wonderment, the image fraying first in the finite details. The unknown, the mystery which originally fuels the untethered flight, weighted with time drags the roller coaster to its inevitable downward drift. In the peripheral vision the clarity is gone. The transition happens almost imperceptibly, but with unparalleled swiftness, for attempting to focus on the fuzzy edges, the core gem, the yearned after destination itself begins to fade. Once started, the vision blurs from the outside in, dampening the spirit. The heart falters in its cavorting, tripping on the previously invisible string of the "if only." Ironically, only a concrete event occurring in reality can kick start the flailing fantasy.

My heart is still convinced of the head's braggerty promises of destiny, but the hopes are proffered not now in statements, assertions and convictions, but in questions, tentative queries to the universe, beginning to sense the forthcoming disappointment nothing but a reality more poignant and fantastic than imagined can scatter.