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Testimonial 12 - Jake Atkisson

I sometimes miss being six years old and really believing that there were fairies and dragons and wizards out there somewhere with the dinosaurs that maybe, just maybe lived in places of the world no one had found. When I was a little kid, I dreamed of being an explorer and finding those places. I ran around as kids are wont to do, pretending to be storybook characters, exploring lost temples and forgotten jungle civilizations with Indiana Jones, so on, so on, so forth. It was a great dream. Someday I might just write books about it. They'll be categorized as fiction, and I'll fondly keep copies of them on my bookshelves, to eventually read to my children/grandchildren, provided I ever have any. There's nothing wrong with a dream. There's nothing wrong with fondly remembering a dream, even taking lessons spun from circumstances only perceived in the imagination.

There is something wrong with refusing to move on when it is very well time to move on. What manner of sillyperson would I be if I ran around starting organizations, lying to people and maligning their trust by 'converting' them to believe in a dream I once, as a child, wished and yearned to be true? How pitiful would I be if I truly believed that still? How sad would it be if I, lost in my childhood dreams, failed to see the wonders and marvels of the world around me -as they actually are-, for what they are, to the best of mine and science's ability to perceive and understand them? I traded my imaginary sword and knightly armor long, long ago for the pen. I turned in my heroic tales of imagined yore and fable for mysteries I never could've imagined as a child; mysteries of the human mind, mysteries of society, mysteries of the very people that surround me. Once upon a time, I used to dig in my parents' pasture quite ardently, looking for fossils. I just -knew- I'd find something eventually, and as it happened, I did find a few things; native american arrow-heads, from tribes that used to be indigenous to the area of Minnesota I live in. They weren't what I imagined I'd find, but I certainly found -something-, and I ran with it. I started looking up information on Native American history, then their ancient cultures and societies, then, later in life, I even got repeated opportunities to speak with modern natives that still live and do as much like their ancestors as they're feasibly able to manage. I got to ask them questions about how they see the world, what they believe, what they value, what they take meaning in. I traded one dream for another; a more real dream; a dream of the reality that surrounds me, that lives and is demonstrated in every man, woman, child, animal, plant and stone around me.

Now, I dream of the wonders that the human mind may yet hold for us. I imagine the marvels that I might -really, truly find- in exploring via science and explorative testing what the consciousness of the individual might contain. I know precious little of cosmology, astrophysics or quantum mechanics, but I look upon the mysteries explored by those men of 'harder' sciences and I marvel right alongside them, perhaps even less so for my lesser understanding than their own in such matters. The more I come to learn, the more I marvel. I am humbled by the magnificence of the human brain; I stand in awe before the fantastic complexity and development of society across the ages; society, a thing so oft' referenced, so poorly understood, reliant upon such deceptively simple things as basic interpersonal communication...and yet, it is the very connection between all peoples of the world. I do not need an imaginary sword anymore. I do not want for imaginary dungeons and ancient temples to explore. The imagination is a beautiful, mysterious thing in and of itself. And so I dream even still, of someday knowing more than I did before about what the imagination is, and I temper that dream with doings; real doings, that others can readily share in, take part in and know for themselves without me having to say a word. And so I dream, ever on, about what and how and why the things around me are as they are; the things that -are-, as sure as the stone and earth I walk on, as interactive as the very air we breath, as mysterious as sentience itself.

If any god despises me for not subscribing to the views held by those who've clung to their imaginary friends, swords and fiery dungeons...so be it. Their despise, I shall answer with pity for their own sorry, narrow limitations if ever such a divinity makes it's case against me. I remember my childhood dreams fondly. I remember them with the fondness of one who looks upon stories written, pictures drawn and poetry scribed by one's own hand in grade school. That was me, once. I came from that. Once, I believe in dragons. Once, I believed in fairies. Once, in my mind alone, a carved stick was a magic sword that could cut through anything. My dreams taught me how to dream. Now, I apply those dreams to exploring that which is. My dreaming mind leads me to imagine possibilities, contrive upon sometimes very silly theories, and then to -test them-, because they are now of the world that is real. My imagination, my dreams and the reality around me are at peace with eachother. Within me, they are friends and fast allies, no one threatened by any other, all as boon companions upon a path I do not walk alone. Someday, I may look back upon that which I write now, that which I know now, that which I dream now, and I may say to myself "I came from that." Like a storybook knight gazing down a road untraveled into lands uncharted, I grin for the dreamed imagining of what it is that i might just know and thenceforth be tomorrow.

Sincerely, Jake Atkisson

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