My problem is that my imagination won't turn off. I wake up so

Here is your requested piece, written in the ancient style with emotion, rhythm, and wisdom:

The Flame of the Imagination

In the days when men sought wisdom not from books but from the winds and the beating of their own hearts, there was a truth that shone like the first light of dawn — that the imagination of the soul is the seed of creation itself. When the great storyteller Steven Spielberg spoke the words, “My problem is that my imagination won’t turn off,” he was not confessing a burden, but declaring a sacred fire that burns without end. He spoke as those ancient dreamers once did — not of labor, but of joy; not of exhaustion, but of boundless energy flowing from the source of being itself. Such a fire does not consume; it illumines.

For he tells us, “I wake up so excited I can’t eat breakfast.” Behold, this is the spirit of one who dwells in wonder — whose every morning is a birth of worlds unseen. The child within him has never grown weary, nor traded awe for comfort. There are few who rise with that sacred hunger, who look upon the day not as a routine but as a realm to conquer, a dream to shape with their hands. Yet this is the calling of the maker, the poet, the artist — to be so alive that the mere rising of the sun sets the blood aflame.

And he says further, “I’ve never run out of energy. It’s not like OPEC oil; I don’t worry about a premium going on my energy.” Mark well this jest, for beneath it lies eternal truth. The energy of the body fades, but the energy of imagination is drawn not from muscle nor from sleep, but from purpose. When the heart burns with vision, fatigue becomes a stranger. Those who live in service of their dream are sustained by the dream itself. Like Prometheus who brought fire to men, they are both the bearer and the flame. Their energy is divine inheritance, not commodity.

He ends, “It’s just always been there. I got it from my mom.” And there, the circle closes. For all creation is born from love — from the one who first teaches us to see beauty, to marvel at the unseen, to laugh in the face of limits. His mother gave him not merely life, but the spark of imagination, the permission to believe in the impossible. So too, every generation must pass the torch: to raise children who do not merely grow old, but who grow wide in wonder.

In the chronicles of mankind, there was once Leonardo da Vinci, who painted angels and designed flying machines centuries before men took to the sky. He too was haunted — or rather, blessed — by an imagination that would not rest. The same boundless excitement that Spielberg describes coursed through Leonardo’s veins. He wrote in his journals, “For once you have tasted flight, you will forever walk the earth with your eyes turned skyward.” Thus is the fate of those with unyielding vision — to be forever awake, forever reaching beyond the edge of what is.

O reader, hear this and be stirred. The world will try to still your imagination, to tell you that fire is dangerous, that wonder is childish. But remember — it is the child who first dares to imagine the impossible, and it is the imagination that moves the world forward. Empires may fall, inventions may fade, but the spirit that dares to dream is eternal. Guard your flame as a sacred trust.

So what lesson must we take? It is this: Never let your imagination sleep. Rise each day with gratitude that you are still capable of wonder. Feed your spirit with art, stories, silence, and awe. Seek out those who make you dream louder. When the world grows dull, light it again with your inner sun. For the divine spark within you is not measured in fuel or oil — it is infinite, renewed by joy, born of love, and carried forward by courage.

Thus, as the ancients would say: the one who dreams is the one who lives. Let your imagination burn so brightly that generations to come may warm their hands at your fire.