Heaven is a state of mind where all of your fantasies are actualized. It is the shared recognition of “if only my blanket would arrange itself precisely around my right shoulder so that I don’t have to move the rest of my body myself because I am so comfortable already.” And just as you wish it, it is willed. Your blankets rearrange themselves perfectly.
I wish I had a pair of wings to fly me away. You are soaring through the air.
I wish I could live forever. You are no longer afraid of death.
I wish I knew my purpose. You are content with the moment.
Just as you wish for perfection and it is granted unthinkingly, whenceforth you wish for imperfection, your wish is granted with perfection also. Perfect imperfection is an oxymoron but that is okay. You got your wish.
Gravel roads and dirt beneath my feet. Summer rain on a lake. A sigh of flowers. Snowmelt. Rebirth. Nature without interference. This is a place you can visit, a true reality within your mind. If you can visualize it to a tight point of clarity; see the clouds, smell the sea, and feel as if you are entered into a standstill of a moment, who’s to say you haven’t?
For is reality anything more than the decision–be it conscious or not–to let the breeze blow your long hair and know you’re there? Who cares? This is heaven.
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