Can Of Dreams

Life is often hard and unfair. The cruelties visited upon us have a cumulative effect, beating down on our a little at a time. Very quickly we are disabused of any illusions about goodness being the rule and not the exception. We get very cynical about people, even displaying an unwelcoming attitude towards those who remain positive. Rather than finding out how we can harness what makes them so happy, we assure ourselves that they just haven't been mugged by reality yet, and we find comfort in the knowledge that soon enough they will be as hard-hearted as we are. What could forestall that and soften our own hearts as well? We hear a lot of promises, and our refrain becomes, "I'll believe it when I see it". We never do see it come to pass. Perhaps the mistake is in looking for something big to restore our faith in humanity. I've found something else that has done it- something small in stature, but large in impact.

It's canned ravioli. I, a man who has been around a little and experienced all too much of the above, went shopping for groceries the other day. It's not a terribly pleasant process, taking as much time as it does to find adequately nutritious and palatable food that fits within my tight budget. Most often, I rely heavily upon staples of the kind that gets airdropped into poverty-stricken nations around the world, hoping to liven them up a little with imaginative use of spice. It would be easy for me to not even see something better right in front of my face, but as I walked down an aisle with basket in hand I saw something that even my jaded eyes could not ignore. It was a pillar stacked high with cans. A label identified them as name brand ravioli at the price of 88 cents each. In disbelief, I searched all the signage for some indication of what was wrong with them. Surely, I thought, they must be dented or expired, maybe quickly being sold off in anticipation of much higher quality canned pasta

What I thought was too good to be true turned out to be as true as can be. I tried to maintain my composure in the store, fearing what it would look like to other store patrons if I gave in to the outpouring of emotion I felt in that moment. They didn't know what I knew then. They wouldn't understand why I was releasing the feelings that all others kept bottled up inside. I had been witness to a revelation. I gathered up a bunch of cans and rushed then to a checkout lane before whatever kind of technical or clerical error that had resulted in this obscenely good deal could be found out and corrected. I feasted like a king that night, and each night since. I will go on this way just as long as I can, and am not embarrassed to buck the stoicism that commonly holds sway. This is what my life is about now.

I understand of course that the canned ravioli may not last forever. In this oppressive world, even such a good thing as that must come to an end. I am in search therefore of what shall succeed it as the source of what keeps me going. I pray that some line of chili or soup will appear like the manna we learned of from the Bible in the way that the ravioli did. Imagine how much more tolerable the years in the desert would have been with something like that! Whatever comes to pass, I shall seek to spread the word of heavily discounted canned goods in the hopes that a utopia here on Earth may be forged on the strength of delicious non-perishable foodstuffs. It cannot fail, because the ravioli is really that good.