Where would you like to live? Asked the Angel of Life. “Where I can be rich!” Came the first foolish answer. And they were condemned to earn ever more wealth. With nought to show in health or wellbeing. “Where the weather is warm.” Spoke another. And they received the sentence of spending time among swarming mosquitoes and tourists, and overpriced food forever spoiling in the heat. And the frail, obsequious yet obstinate temperament that characterizes those that are too weak to deem the cold a friend. “Where I have family and friends!” Wished a third. And the price they paid was to spend a lifetime in unhealthy obsession with the lives of others. With bitterness borne of envy and resentment. And useless dependencies of which there weren’t ever much need and managed yet, to always arrive camouflaged as care and unbridled affection. “Where there is safety!” Cried a fourth. And their punishment was to spend time dying in the suburbs. Isolated in the ignorant and privileged bliss of gated communities and residential zoning. Muttering to whomsover had committed the same stupidity how wonderful it was to live in constant fear of petty crime. “Where there’s much to do!” Yelled a fifth. And theirs was the time spent inhaling fumes and stepping over excrement and garbage in the streets. Passing a thousand folk every minute with nary a face willing to stop and smile. Never alone and always lonely in the city where only dreams lived, not humanity. “Away from it all!” Demanded the sixth. And they were imprisoned in a beautiful hell where natural beauty combined with tedium to birth tired gossip amid loneliness, spilling disquietude into each quiet hour. And then the seventh strode up and exclaimed: “Give me life that encompasses it all. For I wish to earn wealth and give it away before I’m turned its slave. And though I am of the cold and do not care for balmy tourist traps, I am prepared to spend some time in them so I may learn to accept my fate with dignity. And give me a while with family and friends. Albeit not so much I beseech thee that I become another frog in the well that’s forever happy to expound the benefits of staying put in place. For I am a man and not cattle or dog, that I may be bound to a pole without rope and in fear of an imaginary rod. And yes I’ll take a helping of safety and a dash of its lack thereof. For I do not live in fear of dying. I live to die a good death that might be had with complete awareness of life’s unsatisfactory nature and compassion in my heart for all. And I’ll live in the city as I will be the country bumpkin. For I know neither really holds me much in thrall. And preference for one against the other is for those that’d rather appear decisive than have ever made an informed choice at all. And this seventh was blessed to live the nomad’s life. Wearing heart on sleeve and carrying hearth in hand. Ever the willing adventurer. Ever willing to risk it all.
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