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I find and lose and refind my heaven, an unrefined and raw heaven that appears at its convenience—or, more aptly, appears when I remember to call it into existence.
Oh, how can it be, that I lose or forget that state of grace? What a forgiving Universe to let me forget and remember, lose and refind, the very essence of my life,
my native home, my birthright.
At the very least you'd think I'd keep a list of all those actions (or lack of same) that bring me once again to where I am always, unbelievably, welcomed.
It is astonishing how carelessly I let it go, making my farewells with all the insouciance of the proverbial spouse stepping out the door to buy a paper. Bye-bye Old Heaven, Old Home. See you later. Alligator.
So here's my sometime list of the things that call me back to Heaven. I'll post it on the fridge where I'll be sure to see it.
At the top of the list is sound. Sixty years it took me to find my sound. My monthly toning group begins each meeting with the body's groans and ends ninety minutes later with deep, resonant ohms. The overtones echo through the cells of my body, which will long hold the memory of the sound. Sound ripples, stirring the fluids and connective tissue of the body. I feel it change my cells. Movement begins within me and changes the composition of who I had thought I was, in my forgetting.
The list I will post on my refrigerator is brief but effective. One item only: SOUND. Is sound my heaven? Or is it simply (simply!) the track that takes me there?
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