It’s hard to put into words the intermingled feeling of happiness, freedom, comfort, peace and appreciation. I guess that is because there isn’t a word for feeling all those things and more at once, particularly at such a great level, for such a sustained amount of time. If I had to assign it a word, the word would be Heaven. I feel Heaven around me, always. How could I not, having eyes and ears and all. Heaven rustles the trees above me, bringing a coolness to the warm summer air. It twits through the branches, alighting soundlessly, but only for a moment. Heaven soars through the skies in slow motion, a tinge of purple against the pinks of the evening sky, shifting shape as it reflects the last of the day’s sunlight. Heaven rolls thick through the valley, translucent among the fields that fade into obscurity well before the tree line. It shines brightly in the eyes of fellow Heaven dwellers. Living in Heaven is a good way to be. This is the land in which my heart birthed its first notion of incomprehensible beauty. Beauty far beyond a pleasant sight. Beauty as an understanding, a feeling, a way of life. Endless and unknowable, even if studied for a lifetime. Dissatisfaction, sadness, loneliness and hopelessness are difficult to render in a place that is built of everything which cures such woes. I’ve hardly felt a twinge of their sting since I came to live in Heaven, quite possibly the best decision I’ve ever made. I cannot imagine life outside of Heaven at this point but I cannot rightfully scoff at those who live elsewhere. Many who live elsewhere dream of being in Heaven often, yet still cannot bring themselves to call it home. Everyone can plainly see the beauty of Heaven but from the outside it appears to come at a price. They feel that there is a lot to be sacrificed to live in Heaven. It is out of the way, far off the beaten path. It is a simple life. A slow life. A modest life. Some times in Heaven we lack the conveniences of life elsewhere, which society has long since convinced itself are necessities. Many people seem not able to detach from the fool’s gold of life elsewhere. In Heaven, the cars are old, some rusting. The clothes are ragged, work torn. The homes are small, needing maintenance. The sun is what shines here. The morning dew is what shimmers in the light. But because of that, life lived here is full and happy. For some reason, it is customary in our culture to live in Heaven only at the end of your life. Some do this as a reward for a life lived as one was told it is meant to be. For others, it is the first chance to finally escape the bindings of life, which seem to wither away as old age encroaches. Whatever the reason for delaying a life lived in utter beauty, I won’t settle for it. Still, I can’t scoff at those who live elsewhere because I suppose that if everyone lived in Heaven when they were as young as I, then Heaven would not be the word I would use for my home. I feel lucky to have found Heaven so early. I acknowledge its splendor and am endlessly grateful and indebted for being allowed a role in the inner workings of Heaven. I just wonder, why do we not all seek out and live in Heaven, making our life here on earth as rich and exquisite as I have found it to be? Why wait for Heaven?