James Stewart's movie, "Harvey" is a beloved classic. His six-foot, three-and-one-half-inch tall rabbit-style pooka was a comforting friend. If we are all honest with ourselves, we will admit that we all have at least one pooka in our lives, and maybe multiple ones. They may not be tall, and they may not be rabbits, but they are welcome invisible companions.
How can I say this? Well, there's a conversation that runs through my head almost continually. I've usually got someone I know in mind, and I am talking to them about something of interest to us both, usually explaining, and they are always very attentive and sometimes agreeable. However, sometimes we have arguments that I always win. It is very comforting either way. Why would this not be a pooka?
Sometimes my pooka is not someone real, or at least historically present to me. Laura Ingalls Wilder and I have had conversations. Jane Austen and I regularly chat. Am I nuts? I think not. But my imagination is acquainted with all sorts of people whose company I enjoy. They are there to listen to what is on my heart.
As of this moment, I haven't met Harvey. But when he does come, we'll go out for a drink, I'll pick up the tab, and he will listen to my worries, hopes and silly anecdotes. Harvey and I will get on famously.