A Heaven In Hell
I was struck, awed - it was so appealing to the eye - by a
Chinese painting of a charming couple in a paradise, of flowers, birds,
butterflies, willow trees, sunshine, ... but now, I think that’s but a petty love.
It was too easy, too nothing at all as there was no “despite”, “against”
something seriously. I’d rather paint a paradise of lovers in hell, you know?
So did I tell my MM. (Maria Magdelene).
Heaven is where my lover is, even in hell. Without my lover,
even heaven is hell.
So a lover would say, assert.
But it could also be said of a loving mother and her little
children.
I needn’t tell you any more. That’s sufficient, dear.
But though superfluous, yet to help, stir your imagination
...
Just picture me enjoy, care about the most delicious foods,
the most precious wines, beers, honey, nectar, the most beautiful operas,
symphonies, oratorios, paintings, the most beautiful lakes, woods, mountains,
valleys, sceneries, ... yet I even more
care, enjoy, her being near, beside me at those moments. - eh, I mean, you
- rather than all those niceties of
life.
And you would stay with me despite my growing into an old
scarecrow staying with me in a little old leaking cottage, or it might be a
shed, sleeping on a rickety couch, eating the simplest cold fares, though dark,
... Where you are, even in hell, - you
might be an old scarecrow like me – there was light, warmth, there was heaven.
“That was your fancy, you, dear scoundrel” she, my MM said
laughing.
How wonderful were there still one liker, - except he can’t feel, see - who could, dare,
to like, to love this post, this thought, - it’s the thought that
matters - when nobody, no one ever would.
April 2013
This is my book. You can read it.
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