HERE IS A PARTIAL LIST OF SOME OF THE GREATEST BOOKS, MOVIES, AND OTHER RELATED MEDIA THAT HAVE INSPIRED ME ON MY PATH TO SELF REALIZATION

(1) Awakened Imagination –  Neville

(2) The Kyballion

(3) I Ching – Book of Changes

(4) Cosmic Consciousness – Richard Maurice Bucke

(5) Leaves of Grass – Walt Whitman

(6) The Secret – Movie

(7) The Science of Getting  Rich

(8) Thrive – Movie

(9) John Lennon

(10) Harbin Hot Springs

 

* This is a partial list and by no means complete.  I will surely add other influences to the list, as they come to mind. For now, I will attempt to flesh out details of some of these topics ,whenever I can, within my hectic schedule

Thank you, dear reader, for allowing me to share some of my greatest teachers that helped me advance on my personal road to self realization.

 

November 23rd, 2012

AWAKENED IMAGINATION

NEVILLE

Probably no other literature has  had such an immense  impact on my life as this small book which I stumbled upon many years ago, and which , by applying it’s teachings, I manifested a miraculous achievement, during a time of great tribulation in my personal life.

This event proved to me that I had, within  me, a great power to actualize circumstances in my outer life by utilizing the gift of “Imagination”.

This is a gift we all have inside of us, which can shape our reality, if we would only be willing to step forward and claim our Divine heritage.

This life-changing event, which took place many years ago, inspired me to write a story that documented the actual events as they took place.  Up to now, I have only shared this with close friends and associates, but now, because  I feel in my heart, that we are close to a climax of time when Humanity will experience a grand Awakening in Consciousness. I am moved to share my personal experience with any and all who might care to know.

I will let the readers decide for themselves what they think of the essence of this tale. I can only say that every word is the truth. I am not a professional writer, but I have tried my best to convey the details of this amazing story. Please accept my apologies for any  bit of profanity that was used, but I had to tell it like it was, in the way it actually happened.

I will  present two links: One is an introduction to the story and the other is a link to the actual story, which  I wrote in the year 2000, and slightly edited over the years.

I will have more to say about Neville as we move along and a  free download of his wonderful book: “Awakened Imagination”

May your highest dreams and desires become  reality with the discovery of your most precious talent: “Imagination”

Here is the link to the Intro:

INTRO to Stolen Car

 

 

The Stolen Car by Thom LaCroix

I was in a hurry. I do remember that. Trouble seems to happen whenever I’m in a rush. I was just about to shut the door behind me when the phone rang again. I went back inside to pick it up. “Hello” Oh, hello! Sure, Mr. So and So, I’ll be there at six. O.K. See you then.” I hung up the phone and went for the door again. Made sure I had everything. This was only supposed to take a few minutes. My room was on the second floor of the Stanley Hotel. I had come up to make a fast phone call and grab a few things. I was lucky to find a parking spot right out front, on California Street. After backing the Plymouth along the curb, I jumped out, and slipped a quarter in the parking meter. As I began to walk toward the hotel, I suddenly stopped in my tracks. “Damn”, I thought. “I left my notebook on the front seat.” I turned around and walked quickly back to the car. Instead of going to the driver’s side, I unlocked the passenger door on the sidewalk. I reached inside to picked up the notebook that contained all my business contacts. Then I rushed upstairs to my room.
Fifteen minutes later I’m looking at the clock. I had an appointment on the other side of town. I was running a sign business out of this hotel room in San Francisco, a one-man show. Things were going pretty well. I had a few jobs lined up. The guy at the frame shop needed an estimate for a wall sign. It would take about 20 minutes to make my five o’clock appointment if I drove the back streets to avoid rush hour traffic. I picked up the measuring tape and some other odds and ends. Hopefully, I won’t have a parking ticket when I get out there. I gave the room a once over and locked the door behind me. I ran down the hall and descended the staircase, two steps at a time. I kicked the door open out to the street. My arms were full as I made my way half a block to where the Plymouth was parked. Just then, I’m struck by lightning!
My car! My car! Where’s my car! I look all around in disbelief. Then I look again at the empty space where I left the Plymouth. I shook my head as if to clear it. I began to retrace my steps. I had parked out front. I paid the meter. After that, I went upstairs —– “Oh, No!!!” The realization of what I had done. The last thing I did was open the passenger door for that notebook. In my haste, I had left the keys in the door. “Somebody stole my car!!!”
I stood on the sidewalk, dazed and confused. Thoughts ran helter skelter, looking for clues, but more and more, the grim reality sets in. I could just picture the criminal who came strolling down the sidewalk and noticed the keys. It must have looked so inviting on foot. There it was, free transportation, for the taking. All you need to do is discreetly remove the keys, walk to the other side, slip in the driver’s seat, and down the road you go! It must have been a breeze.
Upset was not the word. I was unglued. I was destroyed. That car was my ticket to freedom. Without it, I was screwed. And my portfolio! Photos of all the sign jobs I had done in the last five years, some of which could never be replaced! How can I continue running my business? What will I do? How can I transport lumber and paint and other materials? How do I get to sales appointments and everywhere else I need to go? It was a disaster. I felt disoriented and helpless. I was in a panic, but I knew I had to act. I ran upstairs, cussing. My anger grew steadily, but I knew I should call the police and make a stolen car report and that was my first task. After making all the necessary phone calls, I slumped in a chair and closed my eyes. “It’s gone”, I lamented. “They could be anywhere. On their way to Los Angeles, or highway 80 toward Lake Tahoe, or maybe Arizona, Oregon, anywhere.” It’s gone. Forget it. I’ll never see that car again. Never.
6 months earlier, I had purchased the car from a classified ad. It was a 1976 Plymouth Valiant, hatchback The engine was a slant 6. Because I had owned several older model slant 6 Plymouths in the past, I knew they were reliable. Those cars just seem to run forever. Strong transmissions and durable motors. Easy to work on. Low maintenance. Some people claim that it was the best American engine ever made. I drove over with my friend, Leon. He lived down the hall with his girl friend, Cat. We went to the address where it was parked, and it was immediately noticeable. The upper body had black vinyl along the hatch back. The roof and the rest of the car’s body was a peculiar shade of red, unlike any color I had ever seen. The paint was weathered in different areas from the sun. It wasn’t quite red. It wasn’t pink or purple. It was a kind of faded fuscia, with splotches of color changes from the climate. It needed a new paint job for sure. But it looked nice otherwise. It had Canadian license plates. This was highly unusual in itself. The owner, a man in his twenties, had driven it down from British Columbia, and, for whatever reason, had never completed the paper work, so it was still legally registered in Canada. I made a mental note, thinking this might be a hassle at the Department of Motor Vehicles when the time came to transfer ownership to my name. I had never purchased an out of country automobile, so I didn’t know exactly how much trouble it was. Leon and I continued our inspection of the car. The interior looked great. It was clean, well kept. Nice dash board. It had a built in stereo, tape deck, and quality speakers. That sold me right there. We went for a test drive and everything checked out fine. The owner explained that he wasn’t interested in dealing with the legal paperwork after having bought a new vehicle, and that he was willing to hand it over for $250 — as is. I thought it was a steal. There was no serious body damage. It ran like a top. The brakes appeared safe. It had an attractive appearance, even if the color was a little strange. The only misgiving I had was the Canadian license plate, which might be something to make the cops take notice. The legal paperwork was somewhere in Limbo. But I couldn’t pass it up. It was too good a deal. So I bought it.
I had many good times with that slant six. I made some money too. For six months, except for a minor brake job, the car gave me no trouble at all. I even took a couple of road trips. Down to Los Angeles one time. Up North, a few times, to the hot springs. But now it was history. Gone for good. That’s all she wrote, my friend.
That’s right. The old slant six was kaput. Illegally confiscated by thieves in the day. Whisked away to distant lands, where, by the slightest turn of the wheel, and the gentlest push of a foot, those deplorable bandits had made off in my precious, one-of-a-kind, faded fuscia Plymouth, further and further down the winding highway, far from it’s rightful place of ownership, while I am abandoned, left to hoofing city pavements once again. And as I lay there demolished, stretched out on the bedroom floor, pondering my future days panting after buses on smoggy downtown streets, I was shaken from my reverie by the sight of a small black book on the table. It was a book I had been reading: “Awakened Imagination” That was the first cue.
The second cue came a moment later when the phone rang. It was a friend of mine. I told him the whole story of the stolen car. I explained how I had parked half a block out in front of the hotel, and how I had walked back to unlock the passenger door to get my forgotten notebook. Then I went upstairs to make a phone call, and when I later came back down, I discovered the car was missing, and I realized it was because I had mistakenly left the keys in the door, and the thieves made off with the car. I was telling him how much I missed driving that car and playing my favorite tapes on that great stereo system. It made me sad when I told him the car was probably thousands of miles away, and I’d never see it again. Then he said something out of the blue: “There’s a good chance the car is still here in the city”, he says. That was the cue.
That one simple statement changed everything. It got the ball rolling again. I hadn’t considered that, maybe, the car might still be here, in the city, possibly close by. For some strange reason I had just assumed the car thieves had driven the vehicle across the bridge, far and away, to points unknown. But my friend’s casual remark got me to thinking; perhaps the car might still be here, in San Francisco. Who knows. Maybe there was a slight, one in a million chance it could still be around. And with this wild and crazy notion emerged, for the first time, a tiny speck of hope. A moment before, there had been only blackness, utter despair, but now, there appeared a teeny, weeny shred of light, an infinitesimal pin hole that shone dimly through the darkness which surrounded me. I glanced over at Nevilles’ book again: “Awakened Imagination.” What was he saying? Appearances were not the true reality. The true reality was our Imagination. We create our own circumstances by what we imagine it to be. And if we are to manifest our desires, we must assume the feeling of the wish fulfilled, we must be swept up in our imagination to such a degree that we already possess what we want, that we already are who we want to be. Rather then thinking (of) the end result, we should think (from) the end result. This is the secret. I began to feel a quickening inside. The little pinhole began to spread open as more and more light broke through. The longer I pondered Neville’s words, the stronger the desire became to have my car back, as the vibration inside me grew quicker and quicker, and the light before me grew brighter and brighter, I knew, now, what I had to do.
I would put Neville’s words to the test. I would get my car back. Yes indeed. I decided, then and there, that I would use this devastating situation, having my car stolen, to put everything on the line. This was an opportunity to learn a great spiritual lesson. Neville’s little black book, so simple, yet so eloquently written, was the culmination of a lifetime of searching through hundreds of books, seeking the answers to the mysteries of life and the attainment of self mastery. His simple message, that Human Imagination is Christ, which lives inside man, and that all circumstances are a creation of our Imagination, was the distilled wisdom I had sought all these years. Now the time had come for me to get my head out of the books, and apply those principles to real life, to put my faith to the test, as it were. All that reading, all those discussions about esoteric matters concerning exalted teachings handed down through the ages by illuminated masters in their mystery schools meant nothing. These were only words. Idle talk and speculation. What did it matter. Had I wasted all those years tracking down all this information to try and elevate my consciousness, only to be disillusioned? Was there a living, breathing spirit behind those words, whispering the promise of fulfillment, or had I deluded myself. Was I near the truth or was my search a lie?
I knew this would be a test of faith. But what is faith? What does it mean? I had always heard the word, in my early youth, raised as a Catholic, but long ago I had decided to walk away from the church and away from all organized religion, for that matter. I made this decision while still very young. Since that time, and throughout my subsequent years of searching for the truth, I came to believe it was revealed through symbolic language in many different teachings. I tried to look at the holy scriptures with new eyes, not as a literal story, but as a symbolic way to express the truth through parables and stories. I pondered the words of the bible concerning faith. When asked, “What is Faith”, it is spoken: “Faith is the substance of a thing hoped for, the evidence of a thing unseen” But how can this be? How can the feeling of hope have any substance? And, furthermore, how can there be physical evidence of something not seen? It is a contradiction that cannot be resolved with rational thought. As Neville points out, the act of faith takes a leap into the eternal when we trick our senses. The circumstances of our lives need not be dictated by the evidence of the five senses, but, rather, we may create our own circumstances by that which we envision in our mind. The internal life is the true reality. The external life is but the reflection of the real life. Imagination is that divine act of conjuring a vision so real, and with such intense passion, so as to by-pass the appearances of 3 dimensional reality. And with that intense inner vision, backed by divine faith, which means we believe that our wish is already true, it does, in fact, become manifest. Through Imagination and faith we step into God-ship. Was I strong enough? Was I truly committed? Did I have what it took to go beyond lip service and give myself over entirely to a complete act of faith?
Here’s what I did. First, I re-read the book. It didn’t take long. The book is very short, very easy to read. Only eight chapters, one hundred and forty nine pages. Chapter one is titled: “Who Is Your Imagination?” It begins with a passage from William Blake’s Jerusalem: “I rest not from my great task To open the Eternal Worlds, to open the immortal Eyes Of Man inwards into the Worlds of Thought: into Eternity Ever expanding in the bosom of God, the Human Imagination” Neville quotes Blake often, and one can understand why.
But I didn’t have time to waste. My car was gone. I had to get it back. Now was not the time to contemplate poetry. I needed to act. Every minute wasted meant my chances of recovering the car would be less likely. I skimmed through the pages. If I was to retrieve my car, I had to act quickly. I needed to apply the magic formula with 100% certainty.
Says Neville: “Determined imagination, thinking (from) the end, is the beginning of all miracles. I would like to give you an immense belief in miracles, but a miracle is only the name given by those who have no knowledge of the power and function of imagination to the works of imagination. Imagining oneself into the feeling of the wish fulfilled is the means by which a new state is entered. This gives the state the quality of is-ness.
Hermes tells us:

“That which is, is manifested; that which has been or shall be
is manifested, but not dead;

for Soul, the eternal activity of God , animates all things.”
Neville continues: “The future must become the present in the imagination of the one who would wisely and consciously create circumstances. We must translate vision into Being, thinking (of) into thinking (from). Imagination must center itself in some state and view the world (from) that state. Thinking (from) the end is an intense perception of the world of fulfilled desire. Thinking (from) the state desired is creative living. Ignorance of this ability to think (from) the end is bondage It is the root of all bondage with which man is bound. To passively surrender to the evidence of the senses under-estimates the capacities of the Inner Self. Once man accepts thinking (from) the end as a creative principle in which he can cooperate, then he is redeemed from the absurdity of ever attempting to achieve his objective by merely thinking (of) it.”
“Construct all ends according to the pattern of fulfilled desire.”
“The whole of life is just the appeasement of hunger, and the infinite states of consciousness from which a man can view the world are purely a means of satisfying that hunger. The principle upon which each state is organized is some form of hunger to lift the passion for self-gratification to ever higher and higher levels of experience. Desire is the mainspring of mental machinery. It is a blessed thing. It is a right and natural craving which has a state of consciousness as its right and natural satisfaction.”

“But one thing I do, forgetting the things which are behind, and stretching forward to the things which are before, I press on forward the goal.:”
Philippians, 3:13

“It is necessary to have an aim in life”, explains Neville. “Without an aim we drift.”
“What wantest thou of me?” is the implied question asked most often by the central figure of the Gospels. In defining your aim you must want it.” “It is lack of this passionate direction to life that makes man fail of accomplishment.”
(The desire factor was certainly there for me. I passionately wanted my car back!)
Says Neville, “The spanning of the bridge between desire—thinking (of)—and satisfaction—thinking (from)—is all important. We must move mentally from thinking (of) the end to thinking (from) the end. This, reason could never do. By its nature it is restricted to the evidence of the senses; but imagination, having no such limitation, can. Desire exists to be gratified in the activity of the imagination. Through imagination man escapes from the limitation of the senses and the bondage of reason.
“There is no stopping the man who can think (from) the end”, says the writer. “Nothing can stop him. He creates the means and grows his way out of limitation into greater and greater mansions of the Lord. It does not matter what he has been or what he is. All that matters is, “What does he want?”
My answer was simple: “I wanted my car.”
At that point, I had only one, single-minded, all consuming purpose: to get my vehicle back. I had already established that fact. I wanted this car so much, I was willing to put everything else aside and give 100% percent of my focused attention, to the exclusion of all other matters in my life, so that I could fully reclaim it. I strongly believed in Neville’s words. They resonated deep inside me, to a place where my heart knew it was the truth. And now I would prove it. I would stop at nothing because I had nothing. The moment had arrived for me to become someone greater then I had ever been. I did not even entertain the thought of failure. I was unflinching in my resolve, despite what seemed to be an impossible goal in front of me. Nevertheless, once I had made the committed decision to do it, I was 100% percent certain that I would, surely, get my car back. There was no doubt. I closed out all other possibilities. My imagination became the only truth.
This was the kind of intense desire Neville spoke about if one would attain one’s wish. Intense feeling was the secret. One must feel the wish fulfilled. It must be an emotional experience. To think (from) that place.
Neville suggests we should ask ourselves a question: “How would I feel were my wish realized?” Over and over I repeated this question, slowly, “How would I feel were my wish realized?” allowing those words to flow deeply inside as I drank in their meaning. I tried to imagine what the quality of emotion would be if I were sitting in my car at that moment. This was very important. Neville would speak of the importance of imagining the scene as vividly as possible, the more detailed the better. Imagine a scenario which represents the attainment of one’s wish. For example, if money is the objective, imagine holding up a check for the amount you desire, written out to your name. You see yourself smiling as you cash the check at the bank. You hear the bank teller say: “Thank you, Sir. Have a nice day”, as she hands you the cash. Or, if your desire was to become a successful entertainer, then imagine yourself, onstage, right now, bowing, as the audience applauds wildly, shouting encore! You feel the thrill of the moment as the dazzling lights beam across the stage. Or, let’s say you wished to reconcile your differences with a loved one, with whom you’ve been estranged. Just imagine that the person is standing in front of you, saying: ” I’m so happy we worked things out” and imagine shaking hands and hugging as you feel the relief and the joy of finally having everything resolved. Get the picture? And once we have imagined a graphic scene which best dramatizes our fulfilled desire, and it is something that feels natural, then keep repeating that scene over and over in your imagination. By repetition, we impregnate the subconscious mind with our conscious beliefs. By repeating this idea, again and again, eventually, the seed from this conscious thought will penetrate the subconscious mind and that idea will grow into reality.
What was the most pleasurable experience I could imagine with regard to my car? I had to think this over. I needed to imagine a scene which would best illustrate the enjoyment of driving my automobile, a scene which would feel natural enough to me, so as to transport myself, mentally, into the car, and to think (from) the position of actually sitting in the drivers’ seat, cruising down the road. Music, I realized, was the compelling force which would stir my emotions the most. That mysterious power of music, which vibrates the ethers with melody, rhythm, and harmony, can sway the hearts of men and women like no other force on earth. I would use this force to aid me in manifesting a miracle.
Therefore, upon careful consideration, I decided to construct my own personalized enactment of the completed event. It would be a short, moving picture, in my imagination, that would depict the final outcome of my being reunited with the Plymouth. Then I would repeat this singular vision many times, as often as possible, till it became real; that is, until it became more real then the real-ness of anything I was able to witness through my five senses in this so called reality.

Here is the scene I chose:
I’m cruising along in my automobile. It’s a warm summer night and I have all the windows open. I feel the cool breeze blowing trough my hair as I insert my favorite tape into the sound system: As the music starts to play, I smile and say,” Gee, It’s great to have my car back!

I spent nearly every waking moment doing one of two things: Either going through this mental drama, or searching for my car in the city. I would spend the daytime riding buses all throughout San Francisco, looking every which way, left and right, scanning back streets, checking all directions. Then I would walk. I’d walk for miles, all around the different neighborhoods: North Beach, the Marina, Haight Ashbury, the Tenderloin, Soma, Polk Street, Fisherman’s Wharf, the Mission District, Excelsior, Twin Peaks, the Castro, Russian Hill, Knob Hill, all the other hills, and every inch of downtown, obsessed with my search, hoping to catch a glimpse of the odd colored Plymouth, maybe turning onto a familiar street or, by chance, parked behind some alley where I would gleefully discover it. I gave up all social contacts, as well as my other personal interests, while I concentrated my attention only on this. I was oblivious to almost everything else around me. And, all the while, I would hear that same music playing in my head. But, the important thing to remember, is that I had absolutely no doubt whatsoever, that I would find my car.
Meanwhile, if I was not into pursuing the car physically, I was into receiving the car, mentally, in my imagination. After hunting through the city all day I would eventually go back to my room, toward evening, and quietly lie still. I would enter a relaxed, meditative state and bring myself to a place where I would float on the thresh-hold, between wakefulness and sleep. (This is the magic place Neville speaks about, just before falling asleep, where the subconscious mind is most open to suggestion) There, I would picture myself sitting in the car, actually feeling the breeze as it caresses my forehead. I can hear the music play as my head rocks up and down to the rhythm. I remain fully present in this sensual experience of sitting in the driver’s seat. I gaze at the dashboard and see the clock, the speedometer, and the headlight switch. I look at the heater gage and windshield wipers. I imagine the texture of the car seat, pressed against my back and the smell of the upholstery. I can sense the engine’s power as I step on the accelerator. I feel the pulse of the music while I reiterate the same phrase: “Gee, It’s great to have my car back!”

“How would I feel were my wish realized?”

Each night, before I fell asleep, exhausted, I would repeat this same visualization, embodying the scene with as much emotional energy as I could muster. And as I drifted off into sleep, I would be there, in my mind, sitting in the car, feeling the thrill of riding down the road. I shove in my favorite music tape, and once again, I utter those words: “Gee, it’s great to have my car back!”

For seven days I did this. I was relentless in my pursuit. I gave it my all. I followed Neville’s instructions as best I could, with all the enthusiasm and dedication I could summon from deep within myself. I combed every street corner I could find, with the tenacity of a gutter rat. I went at it, day and night, with the voracious zeal of a Tasmanian Devil. I put 100% of my steadfast attention to the task at hand, mentally, spiritually, and emotionally. I did all this till I could do it no more, until I finally collapsed from utter exhaustion. Then I gave up.

“On the seventh day he rested”

I was utterly spent. No more could I think about it, not even for one more minute. I felt wasted and dejected. The time had come to accept my defeat. I had failed. My confidence was out the window. Maybe it was all just bullshit anyway, and all I am, really, is just a small speck of dust, powerless to the shifting winds of life’s coincidence. My desires meant nothing. My imagination meant nothing. My existence meant nothing. I laid down on my bed and slept a long time.
When I awoke it was the eighth day. I felt empty inside. Everything looked gray. I walked outside, dragging my feet. I was in a peculiarly passive state. There was people and traffic on the streets, but everything appeared ghostly. Nothing seemed to matter. I was neither happy nor sad. The time had come to just get on with my life, to take care of the mundane chores one should do in order to survive. That’s what life was about: survival. Only now, I’d be surviving without a car.
I hopped on a bus and headed for Downtown. My mailbox was on Market and Valencia. The U-Haul Company rented out small mail slots for 20 bucks a month. It sounded like a formal address, which worked as a good front for my mail order business. 1850 Valencia Street, Suite # 219. Very formal. I stepped off the bus and walked a few blocks. I slipped in the key and took out the contents, mostly junk mail. As I tore open the envelopes, I walked back toward Market Street with my head looking down at the letters, not really paying attention to my surroundings. About a block away, at the corner of Market and Octavia, I looked up at the red traffic signal. It was close to 5:P.M. and the rush hour traffic whizzed by on Market Street. I paused for the green light.
Suddenly, a reddish car drives by. I look to my right as it zooms past. Canadian license plate! It’s the Plymouth! I started to run. I wasn’t thinking, just running, fast as I could. It was three blocks away and the traffic was heavy. I’m running faster then I know how, faster then I’ve run since High School. I get about a block away and the light turns green, and, Christ, he’s moving again! I don’t know if I can catch up! The streets are clogged with cars but, somehow, he’s staying two blocks ahead of me. I’m trying to keep my pace and running out of breath. What will I do if I catch up to the car? Think about that later. What if it’s more then one? What if they’re tough guys? Think about that later. Just catch up to the car! Please!!
Then I see my chance. The light turns red at Franklin. This is the major intersection where motorists turn left off Market Street to follow the main route North to the Golden Gate Bridge. I’m still two blocks away and I’m running between two rows of cars. I jump over someone’s hood. “Hey, what are you doing?” he yells. “Get the hell out of the way”, I shout back. I’m getting closer. I can see inside. It’s just one guy. He’s skinny with long hair. He doesn’t look too dangerous. The light turns green. The row of cars begins to slowly crawl. I can make it. I can make it. I’m just a few cars away. He’s moving now. I’ve got only one shot. The passenger door is unlocked. What luck! He’s moving through the light. I swing open the door and jump in the front seat. The guy at the wheel looks over at me. “Hi”, is the only thing I can say. “Hi”, is what he says back. I’m gasping for air. I hold up my finger to indicate that I need a moment to catch my breath. “Pull over”, I manage to say, my lungs hungry for air. “What?” he asks, in a stupefied tone. “This is my car. Pull it over, mother-f***er. Now!” I’m wild eyed and panting. He’s trying to figure it all out. “Don’t f*** with me, I’ve got a gun.” I put my hand under my jacket, pretending to reach for a pistol. “I’ll blow your f***ing head off right now.” “Pull over!” “O.K., O.K., take it easy, no problem” “Shit”, he says. “I knew something was wrong with that Canadian plate.” I’m rifling through the glove compartment. I pull out the registration. “See, that’s my name,” I say, and I show him my driver’s license with the same name. “I’ve been looking for this car all week. Did you steal it, asshole?” “No, man, I didn’t steal it. I traded the car for an ounce of speed, two days ago, up in Lake County. Look, man. I don’t want any trouble, O.K.?” “Shut the f*** up”, I snarl back, in a threatening tone that even surprises me. I’m doing my best Dirty Harry routine but I don’t know where the hell this stuff is coming from. “Drive over there!” I order him to move on to a side street. “Don’t f*** with me! Do you want to go to jail now!” “No, no, man, really. I didn’t steal it. No shit. I don’t want any trouble. Look, you can have that new stereo.” I look on the floor where there’s a half open box containing a new Sony tape deck. “I was going to install it today”, he says nervously. “And you can have those tapes, too” “And take those clothes, too.” I peek in the back where I see it cluttered with cassettes and clothing and other crap all over the seat and floor. “Shut the f*** up”, I tell him. “Pull the f***ing car over.” “Where’s the portfolio?” “You mean with all the pictures?” It’s over there on the floor.” I pick up my portfolio containing all those pictures of my sign jobs, the ones I thought I’d never see again, and breathe a sigh of relief. He parks along the curb. “Give me the keys.” He takes out the keys and hands them to me. “Now get out.” Without saying a word, he opens the door and steps out of the car. I move into the driver’s seat. He leans over and says, “Thanks, man. Have a good day”, and then he walks away. I watch him stroll down the street till he turns a corner and disappears. I pause a moment to let everything sink in. Here I am, sitting at the wheel of my old Plymouth. I’ve got my portfolio back. Can this be true? Wait a minute. I start the engine up. It’s still running like a top. I shuffle through all the scattered tapes. “There it is!” “My favorite tape.” I slide the tape into the deck. Sweet music starts to play. I put it in drive and I’m cruising down the road. “This is amazing”, I think. I reach over and turn up the volume. I can feel the cool breeze gently against my face as I smile and say, “Gee, It’s great to have my car back.!”

 

 

This was roughly scanned and posted on the internet and will suffice for now till I can find a better copy. This is a copy of the actual book which inspired me to share my story. Please copy and paste into your browser.

 

Awakened Imagination by Neville

 

 

 

Or try here: Awakened Imagination

 

This was roughly scanned and posted on the internet and will suffice for now till I can find a better copy. This is a copy of the actual book which inspired me to share my story. Please copy and paste into your browser.