Being the child that I was, I woke up one morning when I was about ten years old to the frightening realization that I was losing my ability to truly IMAGINE as only a child can do. I'm not talking about thinking up games and inventing plot-lines for toys. I'm talking about something greater than simple visualization and creativity. I am talking about the ability to believe in the happenings within a non-existent world. At that moment, I made a conscious decision to hold onto my imagination as long as I could, or as some might put it, I vowed never to grow up.
Now you have to admit that this rather existential concept was somewhat beyond the average ten-year old, but then I had always been an adult in a child's body. The dilemma I then found myself in was how to become a child as my body grew older. I set about practicing, exercising my imagination every day. By the time I'd reached my late teens, I could see what a substantial portion of the ability I'd lost. I am happy to say that the decline ended there, though. Now as an adult, I am more childlike than I was when I was young, if perhaps not as innocent.
So what happens when you close the door at your house? Do your toys come to life, leading a secret existence to which you are only given brief and tantalizing glimpses? Mine do, and there's no way you can convince me otherwise, not in an Infinity or Beyond!
