Crazy Person in the Woods

I have this awesome dream of running away to the woods.  It's this weird idea of leaving every ounce of reality and living completely in my imagination.  Running away from adulthood, responsibilities, realities, etc. and just living in a story in my mind.  I would love it.

I would build a house, deep in the woods of an enchanted forest. It would start small, but eventually would become a castle.  I could talk to the animals, have a small garden, fight dragons and ride unicorns.  It would be magical.

I don't know why I have these deep longings to be away from reality.  Ever since childhood I have lived more in my dreams than in the real world.  It's a place full of adventure and beauty and love; a place where anything is possible and people are good and knights really save you and every girl is pretty and there is no such thing as murder or rape or abuse.  The more I grow up, the more I am expected to be an adult, and think like an adult, and to give up those unrealistic dreams and to stop living in my fantasies.  But life gets so dull without the imagination.  A simple stroll in the park can become something so much more.  The trees can be whispering songs that we had forgotten, the stars are actually dancers in the sky, the wind may be carrying a distant traveler, the path may be leading someone beautiful and unexpected.  Or a long drive is an adventure rather than a dread, spurred by the beat of the music and the anticipation of where the road may lead.

And music is the door to opening this new world.  When I hear the piano or the sounds of strings or the simple rhythms of a song, I am taken away.  The scenery changes and the characters come out to play.  It's like the music being to paint a whole new picture in the air.  I could spend hours just blankly staring at a wall, listening to music and just watching the images in the notes.  I am transported.

Sometimes I think if only others could see what I see, then they would understand. Nothing is simple, nothing is just what it seems, but some people just don't understand.  It's the curse of the artist's mind, I guess.  But I am grateful.  I see beauty where others might not, and then I can try to share that beauty with others.  I miss painting, though.  Sometimes I am overtaken by my imagination that it's like I forget which is real.  Sometimes I fear I will become one of those crazy people that are unrespondent to the world around them because they really are living completely in their mind.  I wish I could just take the people I love and mix them in with the worlds in my head.  But then again, if I only lived in a dream, that wouldn't really be living at all.