I find it difficult to believe in the real and the imaginary. The real, after all, can only be beheld in and by the imagination. And, of course, the imagination’s being and activity are surely real. No, something is all screwed up here. The real and the imaginary only arise together. At least to us. So I do not ‘really’ think that ‘reality’ is real in the sense of being as it is without our imagination or participation. We cannot encounter anything like this. Ergo: the ‘real’ is ‘imaginary’. This does not mean we cannot say what is more or less real or imagined; rather that there is something suspiciously wrong with the peculiar ways we often divide reality (and many of these are the children of specific modes of inquiry which have become ways of knowing).