Throught a Glass, All Too Brightly
When the summer heat comes to Palm Springs, I’m usually confined to the indoors, as most of us are. It’s the only way that you survive the desert unless you’re genetically equipped to deal with the heat.
As I went to the refrigerator one day to get some more lemonade and vodka, as the temperature neared 115, I opened the curtains and looked out into my garden. I immediately had a thought, or perhaps had a thought given to me, in the form of metaphor that expresses how I feel at this point in my life.
I feel as though I’m looking through a glass at heaven. It’s right there in front of me. It’s just as clear as can be. The problem is that all I can do is glimpse it occasionally. I can’t yet in anyway possess it or actually enter into it. I’m stuck on the other side of the glass looking through it at where I want to be – the Garden.
“That’s where I want to be and that’s where I’m going to be,” I think. Eventually this division will be gone. It will be cool enough outdoors that I can go right out into the Garden without feeling as though I’ve walked into a blast furnace, and in that day I will open the door, or it will have it opened for me, and I will walk out into the cool beauty of the Garden, bless it forever. In the meantime, I’m kind of stuck here, in my very pleasant minimum-security prison.
Of course, I’m very grateful to God, or the goddess, or to the Force or Power responsible for all this, because my lot could be much less comfortable.
My trailer is cool, and the air conditioning system hasn’t broken down yet. It will eventually, like all things in this world, but I don’t live in the past or future anymore, so for today I am grateful that I am so comfortable.
I’m not in any kind of real pain, other than just homesickness. I want to be in heaven, and not here, but I can live with that, because I know it’s coming.
I look around and see my player piano and my piano rolls, which go back to the turn of the 20th century. I’ve got my parent’s old dance records. I’ve got drawers full of wonderful old videos, singing and dancing from the golden age of Hollywood and around the world.
My bed is comfortable. I have food in the refrigerator, sun in the morning, and the moon at night. I got rhythm. I got sweet dreams. Who could ask for anything more? Just ask me.
As I went to the refrigerator one day to get some more lemonade and vodka, as the temperature neared 115, I opened the curtains and looked out into my garden. I immediately had a thought, or perhaps had a thought given to me, in the form of metaphor that expresses how I feel at this point in my life.
I feel as though I’m looking through a glass at heaven. It’s right there in front of me. It’s just as clear as can be. The problem is that all I can do is glimpse it occasionally. I can’t yet in anyway possess it or actually enter into it. I’m stuck on the other side of the glass looking through it at where I want to be – the Garden.
“That’s where I want to be and that’s where I’m going to be,” I think. Eventually this division will be gone. It will be cool enough outdoors that I can go right out into the Garden without feeling as though I’ve walked into a blast furnace, and in that day I will open the door, or it will have it opened for me, and I will walk out into the cool beauty of the Garden, bless it forever. In the meantime, I’m kind of stuck here, in my very pleasant minimum-security prison.
Of course, I’m very grateful to God, or the goddess, or to the Force or Power responsible for all this, because my lot could be much less comfortable.
My trailer is cool, and the air conditioning system hasn’t broken down yet. It will eventually, like all things in this world, but I don’t live in the past or future anymore, so for today I am grateful that I am so comfortable.
I’m not in any kind of real pain, other than just homesickness. I want to be in heaven, and not here, but I can live with that, because I know it’s coming.
I look around and see my player piano and my piano rolls, which go back to the turn of the 20th century. I’ve got my parent’s old dance records. I’ve got drawers full of wonderful old videos, singing and dancing from the golden age of Hollywood and around the world.
My bed is comfortable. I have food in the refrigerator, sun in the morning, and the moon at night. I got rhythm. I got sweet dreams. Who could ask for anything more? Just ask me.
posted by Old Timer at 9:56 AM
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