Reflecting Heaven, Back to Earth

Skywater
This round’s blog-off topic caught me a little off-guard. Well, they all do, which is the object of the game: a random question lobbed at you from the intertubes, requiring a reflexive response. It’s reminiscent of catching a glimpse of an approaching Frisbee in your periphery and either ducking the impending blow or rising to the moment by catching it and returning the volley as gracefully as possible. I tend to examine topics from an internalized, alternate perspective – some might say “skewed” – but there are enough viewpoints which take the direct frontal approach that I don’t feel the need to follow suit; I go rambling off in another direction. Careening across a verbal landscape, I will remain true to form or freeform, as it were.
I have been an armchair traveler for the most part; I do have a long wish list of geographical desires which I would like to experience some day but for the most part it remains just that – a list. I read constantly about places and times, near and far, and travel through the words and images of others. There have been a few realized exceptions, but most of my life has been spent quite close to home (which happens to be in one of the most beautiful places I know: Vermont, an oasis of lasting simplicity). The lasting appeal of Vermont has made it a popular destination for visitors from the northeastern megalopolis and parts further flung; the tourists come to enjoy the quaint villages, the bucolic farms, the burbling brooks and thickly forested mountainsides. It truly is “picture postcard perfect”; some decide to move here or build a second home and hold on to the vision of pastoral bliss they have experienced. We have a saying here, among the local transplants – “Welcome to Vermont! We dare you make a living.” And there is more than a kernel of truth in that expression. While the quality of life here is hard to beat, the struggle to survive and eke out a living is equally difficult to understand. And so we work – and work – and try to enjoy ourselves with the simpler pleasures at hand.

welcome to my village
While I have spent many years here, struggling with the demands of life at hand and dreaming of other realities, sunnier climes and greener pastures, I have begun to learn the depth of experience available right under my gaze and indeed, inside my gaze. Rather than waiting for “some day”, I seek to discover what is inside of “this day”. It’s a lowering, not of aspiration, but of focus, to the essence of the moment. The smallest details expand to fill the grandest canvas. When one’s awareness is permitted to fly free, to gather in all the bits of life floating by in the present, there is no pressing need to escape, to get away from it all, to pay someone else to amuse, serve, pamper, or divert. There is a world of experience already nearby, if you look for it. And then allow it to reveal all of its facets and nuances, never repeating and always wondrous.
I began to understand this in a very small way when I was quite young, maybe ten or so; I made a vow to myself (actually more a statement of realization) that ‘I’ would never be bored. That endless complaint of the disenchanted and restless adolescent and their older variants, so often heard and futilely addressed, “I’m bored…” would not be upon my lips. And it hasn’t, to this day. I still look forward to sailing the seven seas and traipsing through the halls of kings and priests, wondering at great feats of architecture and vast sweeps of scenic grandeur. To make the Grand Tour. To walk where legends and civilizations were born; to see the green flash of a tropical sunset, the fiery, steaming bowels of the earth convulsing, the technicolor rush of hundreds of rainforest birds aloft. But I am not bored with the offerings of my days and nights closer to home, as I eat, work, play, and sleep…
Riverine Dreams
The weight of a late summer afternoon, pressing down on my body as I lay in the grass next to a lazy river, hawks wheeling slowly overhead as the towering mountain across the valley lifts its spruces into the piercing blue sky. The smell of fresh concrete as I peel the cradling formwork away from our latest studio commission, all the careful preparation and the rush of mixing and pouring now seized in solid immutable weight. The dawning of understanding and the smile that lifts the corners of my mouth when standing before another’s work, soaking it in and turning it over in my mind, letting the representation become an inspiration in reverse. All these small details, charting a macroscopic journey through “now”. I am still learning the signs – I stumble, I wander, I digress, I lose the horizon. But there is always a new day and a new view to quicken my step and draw my eye.
I was raised with the belief that heaven (and its counterpart, hell) was a place that came after this life, some otherworldly reward for eschewing the dangers and disgraces of a temporal existence. The creation was fallen, the shallow attractions of this mortal plane were deceptive and destructive. If one kept their eyes above and beyond these temptations, there would be a slice of heavenly cake waiting on the other side – your just desserts. But I have come to the more gratifying realization that you can have your cake and eat it too. I find my slice of heaven right here, right now, wherever I am. Often rather close by, sometimes farther afield but always where you might expect it least – not in the obvious guidebook or entrancing glossy magazine, the latest hotspot revealed or the last great unspoiled discovery. It’s right in front of my nose and well within my grasp. I turn to a fellow New Englander, once again, who said, “Heaven is under our feet as well as over our heads.” (Henry David Thoreau) Watch your step and you will travel far.
Go here to see the full list of #letsblogoff participants; a panoply of polished perspectives!


