I’m rereading Henry Miller’s The Rosy Crucifixion for the umpteenth time. Each time I come across the following passage, like I did tonight, my mind sparkles and I become wide awake, exalted. Thanks Henry, again.
The prisoner is not the one who has committed a crime, but the one who clings to his crime and lives it over and over. We are all guilty of crime, the great crime of not living life to the full. But we are all potentially free. We can stop thinking of what we have failed to do and do whatever lies within our power. What these powers that are in us may be no one has truly dared to imagine. That they are infinite we will realize the day we admit to ourselves that imagination is everything. Imagination is the voice of daring. If there is anything God-like about God it is that. He dared to imagine everything.