Heaven Here on Earth

Table of Contents

Introduction

What

Ecstasy in Motion

Riding the Dragon

Summit of Silver

Thank You Times Three

Through the Rainbow

The Blood of Earth

Bridges

Upon Awakening

Middle of Night Ode to Joy

On the Dark Side of the Earth

Edge of the Flames

Things That Do Not Fade

Angel in the Room

The Mother Goddess Mountain

The Upper Falls

Snow Light

Window Full of Rain

Road to Nowhere

Walking Backward

The Movement of Trees in the Forest

A Day Without Wind

Still Life with Cactus Flowers

Patient as a Predator

The Doing of Dishes

The Hands of God

An Oasis in Space

Life at Three Miles an Hour

The Swallow People

The Vallecito Lake Monster

House of Many Rooms

Dream Mesa

Earth Quakies

The Gray Season

Colors of the Cold

Waking the Bears

The Little Girl Who Loved Lilacs

Teacher in a Wheelchair

The Can Lady

The Only Hippie in the Oklahoma Panhandle

Epiphany on Grand Mesa

First Light

The Land of Yonder

The List

References

About the Author

© 2018 by Curt Melliger

All rights reserved. No part of this book, in part or in whole, may be reproduced, transmitted or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic, photographic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without permission in writing from Ozark Mountain Publishing, Inc. except for brief quotations embodied in literary articles and reviews.

For permission, serialization, condensation, adaptions, or for our catalog of other publications, write to Ozark Mountain Publishing, Inc., P.O. Box 754, Huntsville, AR 72740, ATTN: Permissions Department.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Melliger, Curt – 1956 -

Heaven Here on Earth by Curt Melliger

A Collection of stories about how and where he found Heaven in his travels across the lands.

1. Heaven 2. Religion 3. Metaphysical 4. Spiritual

I. Curt Melliger, 1956 - II. Heaven III. Religion IV. Metaphysical V. Title

Cover Art and Layout: www.vril8.com

Book Design: Tab Pillar

Published by:

PO Box 754, Huntsville, AR 72740

800-935-0045 or 479-738-2348; fax 479-738-2448

WWW.OZARKMT.COM

For Dolores LaChapelle

***

Special thanks to Don and Joyce Downing, Mrs. Jeane Larsen, John Marshall, Deb Getchell, Kim Miller, and Corinne Sandner

***

What, Summit of Silver, and Middle of Night Ode to Joy originally appeared in Mountain Gazette.

Bridges, Earth Quakies, and The Little Girl Who Loved Lilacs originally appeared in Durango Telegraph.

The Swallow People originally appeared in

Bird Watcher’s Digest.

Teacher in a Wheelchair originally appeared in Chicken Soup for the Soul.

The List originally appeared in Oregon Coast.

Introduction

The other shore is right here.

—Jack Kerouac

Down through the ages a number of sages have suggested that heaven is actually on earth, or at least available here by way of various means. However, most modern religions have strayed from their beautiful message and instead insist that this current existence is one of sin, suffering, and the curse of possessing a mortal body. They advise us to repent of our wicked nature, reject the pleasures of the flesh, and postpone the ultimate until death allows us to finally approach the divine.

Well, they’ve got it all wrong. We don’t have to wait to experience heaven. Indeed, heaven is waiting for us.

It lurks behind bushes, below bridges, and inside abandoned buildings. It hides on top of high mountains, in deep cool canyons, and at the bottom of the lake. It resides within storm clouds, bolts of lightning, and the colors of a rainbow. It abides on the other side of walls, doors, and stained-glass windows. It exists beneath your feet, behind your back, and in front of your eyelids when they are closed. For paradise is always present, whether we notice it or not.

This book explores how, where, and why heaven is accessible to mere humans. But it is not attained through traditional methods such as doing penance, saying prayers, or paying a steep price. Because, you see, ecstasy is free.

The gates are open.

Curt Melliger

May 7, 2018

Cortez, Colorado

What

What moves the legs when it is no longer I?

What causes me to climb mountains into the sky?

What touches me on the shoulder just before reaching the summit?

What is that heavenly glow that I see just above it?

What lends me its strength when I have none left? What gives me assurance when I should be bereft?

What forces the smile just after I’ve cried? What gives me a lift? What gave me a ride?

What stood on the highway, what stood on the shore?

What gives us birth and opens the door?

What sanctions creation instead of destruction?

What gives us smooth sailing instead of obstruction?

What introduced us to our family what gave us love?

What causes the sunshine to come from above?

What is this thing that set me free and allows me to see that all is holy?

I do not know or can not say

writing by a window full of rain.

Ecstasy in Motion

The word ecstasy is usually associated with sex, mind-altering drugs, rock and roll music, skiing bottomless powder, or intense religious experience. But perhaps this ultimate of mortal pleasures is possible through the simple act of doing something we all do each and every day.

Move.

Sadly, it is oftentimes only when we lose the capability to move that we come to comprehend how important, enjoyable, and even ecstatic physical motion actually is. Or, as the old adage concisely states, You don’t know what you got till it’s gone.

Most normal, healthy, active people take a great deal for granted. We possess so many abilities, on so many levels, and can so freely and easily go wherever we want that we rarely, if ever, pause and ponder just how wonderful, how magical, how miraculous it is that we are able to move at all. For it is pretty special.

In fact, movement is so very vital to living beings that when it slows and then stops they cease to exist. A bird that injures a wing and can no longer fly through the sky will die on the ground. A horse that breaks a leg and can no longer run will be put out of its misery. A fish that is removed from water and can no longer swim will perish in a way that is painful to watch. And a plant that no longer receives nourishment from its roots will wilt and wither away into dust on the wind.

While caring for my dying father I learned more about the amazing human body in four months than I had during the previous fifty years. Through numerous discussions with doctors, specialists, and hospice nurses, I began to perceive how the various systems (respiratory, circulatory, digestive, lymphatic, immune, etc.) work together to create a picture of perfect health when we are young and strong and capable of doing almost anything.

On the other hand, I also found out how many things can go wrong with the body as it ages, how when the systems do not function in fluid synchronicity with each other they decelerate at an alarming rate and start failing, one by one, as we near our demise. Indeed, when a person slows down to the point where he cannot rise from bed by himself, the final curtain is about to close. Eventually the heart stops beating, the blood quits flowing, and the cessation of all activity signals the end of life.

Therefore, if you are reading this while completely healthy, you should understand that you are living in a state of grace approaching perfection. You currently possess a priceless gift that should not be taken lightly because it can be lost at any moment and might never occur again.

So count your blessings. Count them one by one. Consider them as you stir from a deep slumber, discover yet again that you are still alive, and realize you are now reenergized and raring to jump out of bed and begin your busy day. Contemplate them as you use the bathroom all by yourself, shower without assistance, get dressed, fix breakfast, and chew your food. Appreciate them as you walk out the front door and go to work, or go for a hike, or go on a journey around the world. Celebrate your nearly unlimited advantages, and then reflect upon how the vast majority of them are unavailable without the earthly yet heavenly ability to move.

If you wish to fully fathom the essential importance of physical mobility in human affairs before you grow old, before you falter, before you kick the bucket, I have a few easy—or not so easy— experiments for you to conduct.

First, try standing totally still in one spot for an hour, or half hour, or even five minutes. Notice how the muscles start to cramp, the skin begins to itch, and your entire body aches from the excruciating inactivity. Next, sit in a chair for a lengthy period of time. Feel the back tighten like a torque wrench, the legs go numb as if from cold, and the mind turn to mush from lack of movement. Now lie in bed, in one position, like a cripple, like a comatose patient, like a corpse, for as long as you can, until you cannot tolerate the torture for one more second. Then revel in how utterly delightful it feels to finally turn over, to stretch stiff limbs, to flex sore joints, to hunch the shoulders, to arch the spine like a waking lion, to MOVE.

To join in with the dance once again.

Because, you see, immobility and the lessening of momentum leads to gradual death, while motion and keeping the ball rolling offers a life filled with exhilaration. Furthermore, we incredibly lucky human beings are such splendid configurations of almost impossible animation that our mere ability to move somehow allows us to draw near to the divine, to sway with the cosmos, to choreograph our bodies in tune with the flow, the rhythm, the pure and primal sensuality of the living, sentient, never stationary universe that surrounds us like water in the ocean does a swimming sardine.

Yes, the sacred capability to move about, at will, on a whim, on the spur of the moment in any way or fashion or direction we choose is perhaps the most precious present a person could ever receive. If you believe me not, visit a prison, nursing home, veterans’ hospital, morgue, or any place where physical activity is severely restricted, limited, or impossible. Then you will begin to understand that the simple yet marvelous act of movement is indeed unadulterated ecstasy.

Especially when you consider the alternative.

Riding the Dragon

Oh golden realm, oh realm of ecstasy, Where the plumed birds wheel

In the blood red night, oh love, Tonight, tonight

We shall drink from forbidden fountains.

Come with me. Let us ride the back of the dragon,

And pull down the moon and the stars…

—From a Viking poem

When you are hanging onto a tiger you do not wonder how you got there, how you’re going to get off, or what you are going to do with the rest of your life if you should somehow, some way survive the ride.

You just hang on.

I have always been attracted to adrenaline rushes. For better or worse, I love those seconds, minutes, and even hours when everything is on the line, the hairs on the nape of my neck rise up and I find myself feeling half scared to death, and yet, curiously, fully alive. Indeed, I am fascinated by those rare events, planned or not, when we are allowed to touch the raw nerve, the main pulse, the primal source of the universe. In other words, I am interested in the place where goosebumps come from.

Call it riding the dragon.

Remember the tingly feeling you got all over your body riding the fire engine at age six when they suddenly turned the siren on. Recall how it felt to ride a bicycle down the sidewalk all by yourself without Dad holding on. Thrill to the memory of your very first ride on a rollercoaster. And how it felt when you got off …

Now think what it’s like to ride a surfboard on a large moving wave, a raft through raging rapids, a horse at full gallop, a freight train through the Canadian Rockies at age eighteen, a hotrod Camaro across Nebraska at 130 miles an hour.

Of course, doing this sort of thing (i.e., voluntarily leaving the safety net of society) requires your utmost attention, your complete participation, your finest coordination. Therefore, you will need a crystal-clear mind, a sure and steady hand, and nerves of titanium alloy steel. Or none of the above.

One of my first experiences with regular adrenaline rushes came when I was a kid bombing cars. No, this was nothing like the horrific explosions we hear about in Iraq. Rather, my buddies and I would sneak out at night and throw eggs, tomatoes, rotten apples, snowballs—whatever was in season—at unsuspecting automobiles passing by, and then run like hell when the occasional angry motorist would give chase. We would race down alleys and over fences and through darkened backyards hoping we didn’t get caught or arrested or clotheslined by a clothesline. The splendid excitement of our little game was so intoxicating it became addictive, and we loved to brag about our good shots and narrow escapes until the very next time we could go bombing.

With outrageous gleams in our youthful eyes.

Over the ensuing years, I discovered other energizing entertainments to keep my battery charged. There was hitting a baseball with the sweet spot of a wooden bat and hearing the roar of the hometown crowd while sprinting around the bases. There was streaking Main Street on a Saturday night as naked as Adam without his fig leaf. There was riding a leaky rowboat down a swollen river during spring flood. There was piloting a railroad track machine along a rickety old branch line at breakneck speed. And there was descending a wet mountain in a lightning storm as fast as my legs could run while every hair on my body was standing straight up (and living to laugh out loud about it crouching in a small cave while a massive hailstorm covered the slope as white as winter in a matter of minutes).

Nothing in life is so exhilarating as to be shot at without result.

—Winston Churchill

I found that I enjoyed exploring the wild places of this planet— the wilder the better. I loved skiing backcountry powder, prowling deserted beaches at dawn, following a cougar’s fresh paw prints in the sand, suddenly seeing a bear in the forest, finding bald eagle nests, and peering over the edge of a fearsome towering precipice I had just spent six hours climbing. I relished jumping off a forty- foot cliff into a frigid alpine lake, submerging my body in secluded hot springs and then rolling around in the snow, and staying up all night watching a meteor shower in the desert. I got my kicks doing the wild stuff, the crazy stuff, the worthwhile stuff. After so much mediocre.

For we human beings are not meant to settle for the mundane, the ordinary, the merely sufficient. We need the thrill, the excitement, the adrenaline building, building, building until it finally reaches its ultimate and unavoidable climax. Simply put, we need the rush.

Witness the death-defying dance with gravity as the skydiver exits the airplane, the hang glider pushes off from the rim of the mesa, the water skier sails over the jump, the pole vaulter clears twenty feet, and the Acapulco daredevil times his descent to coincide with the incoming wave. See the Olympic downhill racer leaning a tiny bit farther forward than the other skiers, nailing every turn, smoking every straightaway, and winning the gold medal by one-tenth of one- tenth of a second. Observe the ice skater as she performs a flawless routine from opening flourish to final bow. Hear Eric Clapton take off on a soaring solo and not let up until he gets it just right.

Listen to the Alleluia Chorus at full volume.

Now watch someone run the table in 8-ball, pitch a no-hitter in baseball, or bowl a perfect game. Watch the fearless young men ride the bull, the bucking bronco, the kayak over a waterfall, the rappel down an overhanging cliff, the Pipeline curl on a monster day. Watch them leap from high bridges with only a bungee cord attached to their ankles.

Think about Charles Lindbergh crossing the Atlantic Ocean for the very first time in an airplane, Edmund Hillary and Tenzing Norgay climbing Mount Everest in 1953, John Glenn circling the earth in a tin can, Evel Knievel attempting to jump the Snake River Gorge on a rocket-powered motorcycle, and the tightrope artist calmly walking between two skyscrapers. All without a safety net.

Indeed, there are so many risky, hazardous, almost-suicidal things that we humans don’t have to do, but we do them anyway. Why? Because we can. Because they are such fun. Because we love breaking rules, dodging bullets, and getting away with murder. Because surviving a ride on a tiger is one of the finest gifts we could ever receive.

Now, these unforgettable experiences are readily available on this incredible planet of ours, but only if we are willing to take a chance, a little trip, a magic carpet ride, an occasional walk on the wild side. To do this, all that is necessary is a love of adventure, a healthy dose of pure adrenaline, and perhaps a change of