A year later: Seconds in Heaven

A collection of moments that transcend time and space to fill your soul

A year ago, I sat under a tree in the Blue Ridge Mountains, waxing poetic about life in this newsletter. I talked about research on dying, how the majority of near death experiences are not frightening. Most folks feel a sense of wellbeing at the moment they cross over and some get a glimpse of heaven filled with loved ones, pets, and the infamous light guiding them. I believe heaven exists, whether its manifestation is physical or spiritual. Maybe there’s a common function in the brain that creates it, or perhaps it exists in another spiritual plane. Either way, it’s comforting to learn from research that the transition from life to death in itself is not a scary thing. Why is it that here in the mountains of North Carolina that I think of such grave things? Perhaps it is that in general I’m realizing more days of my life are behind me than ahead of me. I hope I’m getting ahead of myself - I’m 54, after all. I suppose I could live to be 104, and therefore I’m at the midpoint; but alas, my parents are in their eighties, my husband is in his 6th decade, my 19 year-old kitty is surely on her last year, and my children are not children any longer, but full fledged adults and time seems fleeting. These mountains remind me of the beauty of life, all the tiny moments that make up my heaven and yours.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about moments in life that are a balm to relieve pain in all its forms. Many people in my circle, both in the therapy space and in my personal life, are in existential pain, feeling helpless in light of major political forces outside of our control in the U.S. and in witnessing the pain of others, or suffering pain and loss due to the effects of those forces. All this is happening alongside the full catastrophe of living (a term coined by Jon Kabat-Zinn). We all deal with the ups and downs of life in all stages.

Curating a collection of heaven moments

What if you could fill your psyche with moments of your choosing instead of waiting until after life is over to enjoy them? What if you could enjoy them now? What moments would make the cut in heaven? They are abundant, even in the midst of terrible tragedies.

Heaven moments are filled with beauty: Dopamine rushes precipitated by pleasure. That first ice cream cone. A walk with someone you adore. A baby’s first laugh. (I remember my quest to get my baby son to laugh every day so I could hear that hearty chuckle). A plant emerging from the ground, grown from a seed you planted. Poignant moments, like sitting beside someone deep in grief are an important part of it too. Heaven to me is not false cheer or toxic positivity. It reflects the depth of connection with others, and that well holds sadness too.

In stress or deep in depression, they are difficult to notice and even harder to remember. How would it transform your reality if you shift your focus and actively practice noticing them?

I’m visiting the mountains of North Carolina again this summer. This has become a summer tradition: a week of respite, immersed in music at a college campus with my dad. It’s like summer school and camp combined, taking classes for the week from a course catalog, eating in the dining hall, attending performances and jams. My dad’s been coming here for many years, and over time has brought my stepmom, friends and music partners, and me. I’m the one he hooked on the experience, and now I bring my husband who’s fallen in love with it. We rent a small house each year by the river: A homey place that feels like a family member’s home. After devastating floods last fall, we were relieved to find the house available again this year. The owner said he had spent days readying the place for us, as we are likely the first renters since the time of widespread destruction. “Welcome home,” he said, warming my heart.

Heaven moments abound. The lush green surrounds us with humidity that is refreshing for us Colorado folks in need of the replenishing moisture. Thankfully, the mountain breeze cools the air so the heat isn’t oppressive. A chorus of bullfrogs welcomed us when we arrived late at night, along with the haunting call of an owl. I can’t wait to see the fireflies at dusk!

We’re missing our sons who joined us last year for a few days before the music gathering, but now I have memories to revisit and dreams to conjure for future visits.

Last summer, we hiked along riverbanks to reach a waterfall cascading into deep pools, perfect for jumping. I watched these agile men, my sons and my husband, jump and somersault into the pool and clamber back to safety. Keeping up with them as we climbed around steep, slippery rocks to reach the swimming hole, I felt my strength return. It’s easy to forget your physical agility when you don’t practice. I loved the coolness of the water, the fresh scents of earth and plants.

Exploring my bank of memories with my husband, whose companionship and love is ever present, I find thousands more. Vacation makes me count my blessings, but in my daily life, I’m collecting them too: Laughing with my mother as we tried to take good selfies; drinking coffee with my husband on a Sunday morning while we play word games; playing my mandolin with friends; experiencing a transformative moment in therapy with a client; connecting with my coworkers for a few minutes between client sessions at work. I mustn’t forget chocolate indulgences and a good cup of coffee. Heaven must be filled with our favorite foods!

Take notice. In intervals of seconds, heaven moments exist in all of our lives. My collection grows until they blur together into happiness, for amongst the tragedies of life, there are millions.

If you enjoyed this piece, please leave me a comment. As a writer I thrive on connection with my readers. This is for you!