I don’t really believe in a “Heaven” as referenced above, from one of my favorite songs. I find it fascinating that this word is used interchangeably with “sky” in many cultures, and clearly, many spiritual practices associate the mystical place with being somehow “above” us. Using that as a jumping off point, I wondered if I could paint the sky, one day, as it seems meaningful to all of us. Unless you’re in physical captivity (I’m assuming you wouldn’t be reading this) you can see the sky, from wherever you are. Just go outside. Sure, it might be smog, there might be buildings blocking your view. I’ve lived in NYC, Southside Chicago, Baltimore. I know sky-scrapers can get in the way (and what a terribly violent name they have!) Theoretically, we all share the sky. The “heavens” are accessible to all of us, in more ways than one. As a Buddhist, I believe that we all have access to this state of pure bliss at any and every moment, if only we knew how to get there. Every moment, everything shifts. Just like the sky.
When I was younger, I went to some prestigious schools. I was straight-edge, celibate, a perfectionist. I don’t remember why I was stressing on this one particular day, but the heightened Adrenal state I was in makes the memory incredibly clear, twenty-four years later. Knowing me, it could’ve been any number of things. What happens next is what’s important. I’d been in therapy a couple years, had found “a good one”, and had seen from experience that just “talking about it” sometimes solved everything. So there I was, sitting outside the school on a grassy hill, overlooking an old playground and a small woods at the back of the property. I was venting to my good friend (everyone’s good friend) Hannah. Man was she wise, and kind, and an amazing writer. She had a way with words, man- at some point, I asked her to let me read her essays for every class, so I could learn how to explain my ideas better. This particular day on the hill was no different. She waited til I was done with whatever bullshit I was spewing at the time, and then gently asked me to look at the sky.
“look, it’s at eye-level here,” she said.
It had never occurred to me where the sky was, from where I was sitting. But I immediately recognized that she was right, and it was fucking beautiful. My eyes had been facing that direction already, but I had been blinded by rage and fear and panic. While I was extremely skeptical that looking at the sky would help, I knew my dad did this too, so I gave it a try. We sat there for a few minutes, silently. I’ll never forget. Within ten minutes, I felt like a new person, couldn’t remember what I had been complaining about. She got picked up before I did, and I just laid on my backpack on that hill and watched the clouds pass over my head until I was crying.
