Turn on the light, turn on the light.
When we watch a movie, read a novel, or ponder a poem, we try to enter the world of another person’s imagination. We allow that person to decide what the rules of the universe are going to be, asking only for some semblance of verisimilitude (and sometimes not even that). Then, after we’ve been captivated a while, we return to our conventional reality, and must decide for ourselves if it is indeed more real than what we have just witnessed.
To my mind, literary art is most effective when it keeps us suspended in this state long enough to open us up to the possibility that “conventional reality” is, in fact, the ultimate fiction, and what we really need is to go beyond it and the multitude of lesser lies that we live by to realize our true state of being.
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