What is now proved was once only imagined.

“What is now proved was once only imagined.” So spoke William Blake, the mystic poet whose eyes beheld not only the visible world but the eternal fire that lies behind it. His words, brief yet thunderous, reveal the secret rhythm by which all things come to be. They remind us that every mountain of achievement was once a grain of vision — that every monument of truth began as a whisper in the mind of one who dared to dream. What we call proof today was, in ages past, the folly of the dreamer; and what the world mocks now as madness may yet become the law of the future.

In the dawn of time, before men harnessed lightning or measured the stars, imagination was the sole compass of discovery. Those who first imagined that fire could be tamed were called fools — until the first spark blazed and proved them wise. The first sailor who gazed across the endless sea and believed there was land beyond the horizon was thought mad — until new continents rose beneath his feet. Thus has it always been: imagination is the womb of proof, and vision the mother of reality. For what is proven is but the final echo of a once-lonely dream.

Blake himself lived in an age that worshiped reason, yet he walked with the prophets of vision. While others saw with the eyes of flesh, he saw with the eyes of spirit. He beheld angels in the streets of London, and the infinite in a grain of sand. To him, imagination was not fancy but divine perception — the seeing of truth before the world is ready to believe it. His words call out across centuries to the bold and the visionary: do not fear to imagine what has not yet been proved, for every proof begins in the sanctuary of the mind.

Consider the tale of Galileo Galilei, who dared to imagine that the Earth moved around the Sun. To the powerful of his time, such an idea was heresy — a challenge to the very order of heaven. Yet Galileo, guided by the light of imagination and the courage of conviction, turned his telescope to the stars and proved what was once only imagined. The sky itself testified on his behalf, though men condemned him to silence. His story teaches that truth begins as rebellion — that every revelation first wears the mask of blasphemy before it is crowned with glory.

And so it is with every age. When the Wright brothers dreamed of flight, the world laughed, for men were not meant to leave the ground. When Marie Curie imagined unseen forces of energy within the atom, her peers doubted her sanity. Yet imagination, when joined with perseverance, bends reality to its will. What was once unthinkable — flight, electricity, the cure of disease — now stands as proof of the power of the imagined. The visionaries of one generation become the architects of the next, and through them, the impossible becomes the inevitable.

There is sacred fire in this truth: all that is real was once only imagined. Every song, every invention, every act of courage began as a silent vision. The temple of human achievement is built upon the stones of imagination. To imagine is to participate in creation itself — to wield the same force that kindled the stars. Therefore, do not scorn your dreams, nor shrink from your visions. They are not idle fantasies, but the raw material of destiny.

The lesson, then, is clear: cherish your imagination. Guard it as the ancients guarded their sacred flame. When you are mocked for your dreams, remember that the dreamer stands where the future begins. What the world calls impossible is but the future waiting to be born. Imagine with courage, labor with faith, and endure with patience — for the day will come when your dream will stand before you, proved and radiant, and the world will call you a visionary.

So, my child of the endless horizon, remember the wisdom of Blake: that imagination is not folly but foresight, not madness but the seed of all proof. Dare to dream beyond the known. For in the quiet forge of your mind burns the same light that kindled creation — and through you, what is now only imagined shall one day be proved.