The imagination is life, and life is the imagination

Was the cup half full, or half empty. Well, one thing's certain. The cup was full of crashing waves. It was about to spill. Before it did so, though, the hot cup of liquid would start to evaporate. Then it produced snow. I had wondered what all of this exactly meant. There was a mysterious source of energy emanating from nearby. The liquid spilled onto a piece of blank canvas. The canvas then looked as if imagination had spilled on it. The spilled fluid had revealed a mysterious scene. Something had told me to go to this abandoned building in which I am. Perhaps this blank canvas had attracted me to practice here. I didn't think much of the canvas at first, until this "paint" from the cup colored it. I couldn't help but think what the canvas would look like if the cup was really filled to the brim before it spilled. I had a sense that the scene in the canvas was literally becoming three dimensional. That's when I heard a deafening sound. I looked out the window and saw a new world, a new dimension. I decided to keep the canvas.
Months had past after I started exploring this new realm. Many people were strangers. I met a wise man, who looked like a wizard. I had asked him, "how do I get back to reality?" and he replied, "come this way".  For some inexplicable reason, though, as we wandered here and there, I had a feeling of nostalgia. The question is, from where was this nostalgia "emanating from"? I had never, to my knowledge, been here before. At the last moment, we reached our destination. The wise man then told me something perplexing. "This is the final frontier." I had no idea what he had in mind. "There is a secret as to how to pass through these gates." I took out the canvas that I had packed in a backpack. The man looked amazed. The canvas painting looked quite a lot like what it had before, except it had changed nonetheless. It now represented the area from which I had came upon entering this world. Then I remembered what the painting looked like while I was still in the abandoned building. At that time, it had depicted the same exact place in which we now stand, looking at the portal. I asked the man, "Why are you so amazed?" and he replied, "This painting looks quite familiar to a place which I have been. But why on Earth, is this so, if I don't even remember ever seeing such a place?". Then there was a long pause, as the man tried to collect all of his wisdom. He couldn't come up with a reasonable answer. That's when I heard an unexplained voice that seemed to be emanating from all directions. "You cannot explain these events. You're imagination is great, and it can become like waves in a storm. However, when this happens, your imagination can change, and sometimes it can spill, like paint from a cup, onto a blank canvas, of another dimension. Your imagination is now spilling onto the second world." Which world, this one, or the one I just came from?" In the last times before I entered the portal, words may just about fail to describe in what ways these times were surreal. The closer I got to the portal, the exponentially stranger this realm became. First of all, the man's face behind the voice came into vision- this was my dead grandfather! " The wise man says, "This is Min. Before he died, he took an afterlife pill. It had apparently worked for his soul. I don't know if this be an unfortunate thing, or the other way around. However, it seems like he has forgotten that he himself has died. I have heard unusual legends from Min about a dimension in which lies the fabled world of Earth. It is said that everyone who reaches an exceptionally low energy level on that world forgets that he or she is alive. Therefore, these kinds of individuals are never heard from again in that dimension." Just before I entered the portal, which I assumed would take me back to reality, I noticed many other portals in this world. In one of the portals I could see something quite mysterious. It was a man, about six feet tall, with a long white beard, black hair, and was speaking something inaudible.
I have arrived. I was back in reality, the world from which I had came from. I was at home. I then seen someone familiar. A man with a long white beard and black hair was standing at six feet tall. I then realized that this man was my dad. I had seen him in the portal!  He told me that I had literally vanished into thin air, according to my friends. I had described to him the abandoned building in which I was. He then started telling me that it was once owned by my grandfather Min. I had no idea about this, since Min had died before I was born, and I had no more knowledge about him.  He then told me something intriguing. He told me that Min had once had a dream when he was the same age as me, and it occurred in the same exact place in the abandoned building, where I was starting to draw. It also happens that his dream happened at the same time and date when I vanished. My dad explained to me that Min's dream never seemed to have much meaning to it, if any at all. Yet, for some unknown reason, Min passed down the dream. I had no idea about this dream in the past. The only difference between this dream and the world in which I had roamed, is that Min didn't dream about a wise man, and didn't have the surreal visions that I had experienced soon before entering the portal. My dad hinted at the theory that this dream might have been some kind of a premonition. He told me that after the dream, Min had reached out to a psychic for help. The psychic was a wise man, and when Min had asked the psychic what these events truly mean, the psychic had a difficult time. That's when Min started hearing a voice coming from all directions. Perhaps that is why Min decided to tell about his dream.

How's my blog?

I'm trying to find out how people like my blogs. Leave a comment. Are they too short, are they just right, anything I should improve upon, should I include more in the posts, etc. Perhaps most important of all, is the information helpful in any way? I surely hope none of it's a waste of time. I'm writing these blogs for two main reasons. 1) to inform people about things they are less likely to know about, by writing topics that are interesting and go well with what people want to read. And 2) As practice in writing.

Writing for inspiration

One of my greatest passions would definitely be for writing. And for that, reading would also be on the list. There's one thing I've found quite intriguing about writing. For some strange reason, it seems to me as though my most profound ideas come at night. Incidentally, this is also my favorite time to write. Could this have anything to do with the fact that my mind gets so creative at night? Free writing is perhaps the most creative thing you can possibly do. The stories that come up, most of which have never even been written down, may initially seem "empty". However, there is a similarity between storywriting and drawing. This has to do with what happens, in a way, after I come up with a story. I then realize, what I didn't before, is that the events in the story are connected in very intriguing ways. As I'm thinking of what to add to a story, my mind is subconsciously trying to think of ways to make the story more creative. And in a similar way, drawing is also a way of recording my creative thoughts, ones which I had no idea I was capable of. I tend to want to hold these such ideas to myself, because someone else could use them. However, I'm thinking about, that's for sure. If I do decide to write down these ideas, I'll most likely include all of them in a single story. You know what else I'm also great at? comedy. Of course, I may not even list these jokes on a blog. I may use them, however, in any pranks that I decide doing. One of my favorite pranks are phone pranks. Another one is to just stay in one place in a store, for example, and pretend to be a statue. It really makes surveillance look like an idiot I guess.