Maybe it's me. But the older I get - the more I'm
certain that nirvana isn't as elusive as one might
think. Can there really be just one perfect spot?
A single point of fulfillment? The manifestation
of pure paradise seems futile to me. Sans pain
there is rarely gain. Hence I find that every day
is filled with moments of heaven. When time
stands still and all is good. This morning I took
out the trash. Stopping to take in a deep breath
of the fresh winter air. Basking in the sunlight
beneath a crystal blue Montana sky. Now if that
isn't nirvana then I don't know what is. Could it
be that heaven is within reach on a daily basis?
The truth is that throughout each day there are
moments of glory. When it all seems right. Like
the thrill I get each morning when I look over
to find Frank at my side. Or the random video
chat with my teenaged grand daughter. Both
proof that there must be a God who balances
life's bad and good. Proof that life itself is just
a balancing act. One in which we deftly adapt
to whatever comes our way. The yin and yang
of such things provides impetus to keep going.
Offering glimpses of paradise. Enough to tide
us over when life itself is hell on earth. Subtle
assurance that ultimately things will get better.
In her later years my Mother was all gloom
and doom. Angry over the challenges she
faced as my Dad sunk into Alzheimer's hell.
Finally after years of fighting she accepted
the inevitable. In her beloved's final hours
she climbed into his hospital bed and held
him. Drifting off to sleep. Then suddenly
Dad's belabored breathing became quietly
calm. Soon thereafter the room filled with
what can only be considered a golden glow.
And suddenly in our darkest hour I saw the
light. Which made saying goodbye all the
easier. That day we saw heaven on earth.
