John Angiulo is an author of poetry and fiction who seeks to use science and art together in order to inspire positive change in people and the world. the Active Imagination is the ceaseless emanation of idea and imagery from a singular mind into the all- conscious world of our sharing. This blog will act as a pseudo-Cosmos in that the stars of my thoughts will burst into being and shine out for all the viewing universe to glimpse at their leisure. Encompassed in that are depraved louts lurking in gutters, the hopes of the mean average to attain a moments peace, the avarice and graft presiding over politics, and a trail through the forest of our being to the mountain top of our knowing.
Meeting a Dream
With torrential down pour and mostly empty seats, the small restaurant is what we call "completely dead." Sitting alone at the counter, waiting for a to go order is a young man with a us navy sweat shirt on and a baseball cap pulled low. I ask, in non-committal good natured-ness, how's it going bud? He looks up and with eyes now clearly intense and distracted he says, Shit is crazy. Life's crazy.
More committal now, I prod, Why, what's going on?
He proceeds to explain to me that he has been called from the reserve to be in the navy, his life's dream since he's had conscious memory. His conundrum being, he finally has a life he enjoys. He works maintenance for a township on public service vehicles. He has full benefits, vacation days and he loves his job; his passion is working on vehicles.
I offer the best advice I can, that it rarely makes sense to leave a good thing for something else. In surfing we have a saying, Never leave waves to look for waves.
Despite this, I can tell that the conflict continues within him.
His food comes out, I wrap it up and hand it to him. As he leaves, I'm on the verge of saying to him, Meditate carefully on this and I believe the universe will help you choose what is best for you. Before I utter these words he says, Ah, I'm just going to get shitfaced this weekend and make my decision.
And I stare at him in sorrowful awe as he walks out of the door, hat pulled low, into an onslaught of rain and life.
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