The Collage

He had painted a grand collage of all the things he wanted and then hung the thing above his bed.  Every night it was the last thing he saw; every morning the first thing.  He carried a picture of it everywhere he went.  The things in the picture were always on his mind.  He had heard it was possible to will things into existence.  If you thought about the things you really wanted long enough and hard enough they would appear in your life.  Like magic.  Call it will-power.

After years of willing the things he wanted most were still but images.  Two-dimensional.  Intangible.  Mere apparitions that kept him awake at night.  He could not stop staring at the life he craved.  The house, the car, the view, the solitude, the freedom, a life where the types of flowers are picked and planted, and of course Japanese maples, and cherry trees that shed white-pink petals along the long and straight driveway and old weeping willows in a random manner about the field and the willows if not planted soon would never be tall enough for him to find happiness, and the house like a castle with marble floors and a tall iron fence to surround everything which in the picture is perfect.  The gorgeous wife always submissive, and the handsome son trying to be like Father.

Mind full of images like a bowl full of rain overflowing like a bath while the toweled bather loses her mind in the kitchen cleaning or on the internet searching and I thought it was good to visualize the future exactly as you want it.  Thoughts direct action.  Thoughts have gravity.

Finally he tried to stop visualizing the things he desired.  But he could not.  A thought kept running through his mind: sometimes some things take time.