eternity

When I was a child, some nights I'd settle in bed in the darkness of my room and imagine what eternity looked like - forever, all stretched out and inevitable and invisible. What did "never-ending" actually mean? The bigness of it felt heavy against me and my fear caused me to rise from bed and crack open the door. I'd only sleep after the hallway light illuminated my own realness, and I could forget the sensation of not having a body or of having an invincible soul.

Tonight I wonder what it would be like to have eternity invade my bedroom. What if I had stopped fighting against forever with the light of a doorway? What if even now it marched right over and I watched it work?

I imagine the hands of every clock in my room would spring to life, dancing in careless circles. All the collaged pieces of art on my walls would embrace a new, unrestrained freedom. They would switch themselves around and become beautiful. I imagine my drawers and the door of my closet flying open. I'd watch as winter coats escaped in the heat of summer, sick of feeling like too much without enough appreciation. I'd watch forgotten dresses shine and waltz across the floor. All the photos strung here and there would fade to nothing. From my bed, I'd see all the people who were captured in them float above my head, like the portraits in Harry Potter, but without the boundary of frames. They'd smile and laugh. I'd watch them seep through the gaps in my blinds and the glass of my window, and then they'd look like fireflies joining the night. I imagine that even my high school yearbooks would soar up from under my bed, seeking redemption. Every embarrassing picture would turn into stunning shine, cliques would dissolve, and each person would be wearing a prom crown. Scribbled personal messages would leap from the pages, able to embrace the reality of things like "friends forever" or "love always." My worn journals would start doing somersaults of celebration and ink would burst from their seams like fireworks. I imagine that I'd see undelivered love poems flee toward the window with purpose and destination. Memories would weep to be present again. Unfinished stories would shed their frustration. Scratched out verses and paragraphs would break free from bondage, shimmering with potential. Prayers would erupt with bright colors against the night. The strings of my guitar would strum on their own, some haunting melody. My mix CD's would tumble from their box in the closet and play like magic, without a stereo. And in the sound of all of this together would be the most precious harmonies.

I imagine that I, too, would begin to levitate from my mattress, up from my sheets. My body would have the force to push through the ceiling as if it were made of air, and then the roof, and then I'd be out flying in the sky and sparkling with magic. I'd see the world like no one has seen it before, not just this moment happening, but every moment that has happened or will. All of it would be a painting with the most brilliant colors. I'd keep rising until everything that exists became an ocean at my feet, and then a speckled dreamland. Before you knew it, I'd be sitting next to the moon.

The beautiful thing about growing up is when our fears become our longings. How sweet the sound seems to my ears: the gorgeous symphony of so many things singing, aching for Heaven.