As I stood on my small farm this evening, as it has on other evenings, this question comes: What more could one ask of heaven? My body, such as it is, does its purpose well, and generally without complaint. There is ever changing beauty to see anew each day. I lack for...well, nothing, mostly.
My complaints and fears are what get me up in the morning. My desire for novelty and for repitition.
Who would want to dwell in heaven, and have naught to seek, naught to care, naught to worry, and a full understanding of all awe and mystery?
I will lose this feeling, I am sure. Though, when it comes, it seems that to have these moments is worth any suffering I have had to get to this moment.
The thing that comes to me, though, the stick in the mud. It is what I do not do, and have not done that pushes me onward again. I gain advantage from those who must work, doing things that I would not, and could not stand.
My lifestyle is built on the desperation of millions in slums and in sweat shops.
Even, come the day, that I could call myself "self-sufficient". The country itself survives on the pain and suffering of others that we do not see, and so do not bother with.
That they could one day stand in a field, or sit in a warm apartment, or share their thoughts, hopes, and dreams on a network such as this.
I stand aghast. How can we bring them to this brink of heaven where we live? What is the secret?
That is what I would ask. Heaven is here for all. That is the kingdom. How can we make it?
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