An imagination is a picture derived from an image received in the unconscious mind. Though these images are initially abstract, they bring in certain pulsations, feelings or sensations in the physical realm. Then the image begins to form and take shape in the subconscious mind. Finally, it is fully developed in the conscious mind where it receives the full cooperation of
Folks waver. They ride the sea of experience which has its polarities. They have triumphant times and times of defeat, times of joy versus times of terror, times of freedom against times of guilt. In all of these the soul gyrates.
Friends, many deceived souls secretly exult in utter exuberance,”it is unfinished.” Yes, “it is still broken.” O happy excuse. “Unfinished” in an abiding state conditions some to what broken feels like. We humans ooze into it and bask. We learn the ropes. We start to fear what “finished” may require or what it may imply as far as imposing on our comfort.
Realistically, many in frustration have thrown the towel in on “finished” or “fixed” so many times, they have developed another mechanism for escaping their cracked psyche. This “mech-dude” they love. Ego is his name. They adore his suave. He (ego), is so vital to folks’ survival now they could never betray him. He provides an insulated watch-post for monitoring inside and laughing at the world outside. He introduces us to a more sophisticated brand of deceiving —a lie that ain’t really a lie, if you know what I mean.
How is this possible? Simple. People love self-help books and hate group solutions in a lot of cases. Why is this so? Because folks long for significance. They can’t find it legitimately. Most’s outer world cannot bring value to them; they can’t trust its evaluations. These kind of souls learn to enjoy what they can accomplish in their own little heads. It appears more real to them; its a game they can win at. It is a playground for a phony, but even a loser can be a genius in there.
So in a nut shell the soul likes its self-fixing ability even though the repair is a camophlage at best. The ostrich put its head in the sand and we put our hand in an imaginative fabrication, self erected and “complete.” When adversity comes we rebuild. Thankfully one day God can get a person out.
God in contrast offers us “finished work.” Its a repair, nay, a complete makeover that operates aware of the “junk piled” soul. Here we have not a cover up but a “blow up” of the dichotomous, bender, elasticized, yanked wacky bungy jumping soul faculty.