364: The Delusional Visionary
Granted, I don’t think many, if any, of us were born visionaries. Borne into the world by our mothers, screaming, crying, maybe even laughing, but not yet visionaries. Barely, if any, of us have any memories of our first few moments being held by our mothers or fathers. So I don’t think we were born immediately with the purpose of a visionary.
Things change though, as we grew up. Exposed to disease, other people, life as it was then. Strange dreams, unusual happenings, bizarre intellectuals. The first scab of a wound on the knee. The first of many growing pains. As life goes on, and people change, and people grow up, a visionary is born from a baby who once knew nothing.
At what point in our lives do we become visionaries? Was it that first kiss, the first love, the first book we read, the first house, the first what? For this little girl, it was all the firsts she’d ever had that made her a visionary. A visionary of creative arts, especially language, of imagination, of dreams, of things hazy that only made sense to her in her vivid sleep. However, it was her last love, all her lasts, that made her delusional. Crossing the line, the boundary, that separated her from the insane, and finally, irreversibly, into the realm of madness, condemned to never experience the mundane ever again. Is this what it feels like to be a delusional visionary?
Growing up with the last love of her life, bearing his children at the wrong age, forgoing her numerous fantasies as a young adult, forgoing her never executed obnoxious misdeeds, what was it that made her so delusional, but still a visionary? She watches her children play in a garden surrounded by white picket fences. She lives in the idea of an American Dream, not her dream but someone else’s. There is no pool in her backyard but she takes her children to the pool and watches them test the temperature of the water with their feet before they slide into the water. Their feet never touch the bottom while they’re floating on the surface. Face down in the water, they float lifelessly. She cannot help them. There is no pool. She does not own a backyard with a pool. Moreover, she has no children.
Once a month, we let the delusional visionary out into the residential gardens for exactly twenty-four hours. How did we decide this? The world is always changing. Every five seconds, the world changes. A famous celebrity posts a controversial tweet. A leaf falls from the highest bough of a tree. A child is separated from her mother in a supermarket. A teenager loses her footing climbing a sheer cliff and falls to her death. A woman wakes up in a cold sweat with the heavy imprint of a nightmare still fresh on her mind. Another woman gives birth to a child. A mother watches her father die of leukaemia. A grandmother signs her last will and testament before drawing her last breath and passing on into the afterlife. All this, in just five seconds.
So it would be best for the delusional visionary to have a taste of the outside world, 24 hours every month, on the Ides. It would not hurt for her to sample the world that continually changes every five seconds.