imagination: the faculty or action of forming new ideas, or images or concepts of external objects not present to the senses

Climate scientists and activists have been sending out red alerts for years. But imagination can’t be forced. I look at photos of dark orange skies with disbelief. Friends and family in California and Oregon describe the darkness of morning with a mild, numb shock. We don’t completely believe it’s happening, even now. This is the stuff of science fiction. There’s the sense that it will end, that the fires will be extinguished, the air will clear, that our lives will return to normal, or at least something reasonably familiar.  

I wonder about the New Mexico version, but I already know. Water. The first image that comes to mind is: what happens if I turn on the tap and nothing comes out? I keep the “if” there because I can’t imagine what happens after that. Ten years ago my partner did extensive research into water issues in New Mexico. He started a blog. There was limited interest and he eventually abandoned the project. Who wants to conjure unpleasant images that aren’t here yet? Life has enough unpleasantness that can’t be avoided. I think of the Eight Worldly Winds in Buddhism: pleasure/pain, gain/loss, praise/blame, fame/disrepute. What struck me when I first learned of them was that they were called “winds,” currents that arrive on their own agency. No imagination required.