Heaven can be seen along familiar roads
/The Boston Herald
Beverly Beckham
I am prepared for moments of divine intimation, while on vacation, while driving through the Rockies or sitting on a rock in Maine or walking along some tropical beach. Epiphanies, those heady moments of sudden knowing and peace, occur in the midst of beauty and solitude, not on crowded Route 138 in Stoughton.
But it happened there this week, on a road without charm and not a whole lot of trees, everything green and innately beautiful knocked down or paved over.
There I was driving along behind some SUV (Why must everyone drive these things that you can't see around or over?) And in total frustration, I raised my eyes to heaven.
And that's exactly what I saw.
Who was it who said we look too much to museums? That beauty is all around us only we are too preoccupied with ourselves to see?
On this day there it was, a sky so achingly beautiful that if you never saw another, this one would be enough. It was a single patch of sky, seen through a car window on an ugly strip of road. And it was totally magnificent. Yet here we are, here I am, going along, most times, almost all the time, not looking up, not even noticing, consumed with the traffic around me and the work day ahead of me, and the daily news and the yammering of DJs fanning the flames of my discontent. Isn't it too bad that the weekend won't be as sunny as the workweek? Hasn't it been a lousy summer anyway? It's too hot. It's too wet. It's too humid. The mosquitoes make it impossible to sit outside. The weeds are taking over the garden. The politicians are ruining our lives.
Everything in our lives is dipped in the negative. We are awash in what life isn't. The days aren't long enough. The sun's not bright enough. We're not in shape or smart or rich enough. Our houses are too small. Our cars are too old. Our vacations are too short, our lives are too harried. And on and on it goes. Constant lamenting.
A friend, who has been sick for years and has been confined by his illness to bed, has observed that people are so self-absorbed that they miss the wonders around them. Outside ourselves spins an entire universe. It isn't just the birds at our feeders or the flowers in our yards that are amazing, though look at them. There could be just one kind of each and that would be enough. But there are 1,000 different wildflowers in North America alone and 8,000 known species of birds that fly across the face of the earth every day.
Imagine?
And yet, they're just there, simply part of the background of our lives, barely seen, never mind observed.
We live in such good times in this country. We live in peace and in freedom. We have an excess of jobs. We have cars and trains and buses and planes we can get into and go anywhere. We have places to go, beaches and parks and movies and ball games. And friends to visit and things to do. And if it's all too much, if there is too little time and too much to do, isn't that a good problem? Isn't it better than having nowhere to go and nothing to do?
Every day, every ordinary day, is really extraordinary. You know this when life knocks you down, when you're sick and can't get out of bed. When you have a cold and can't breathe, you only then think about how lucky you are to be able to breathe. When your taste buds are on the blink, you only then think about how good it is to be able to taste chocolate.
It's the same for almost everything. It's the old cliche: You never realize what you have until you lose it.
Driving over a road like Route 138 in Stoughton has never seemed like anything close to a gift or a blessing. And frankly, most days it isn't. Most days I am focused on the long line of slow moving traffic in front of me. But on this one day when I looked up and beyond and outside of me, I got a glimpse of what I'm supposed to be seeing. It was only a glimpse. But I savored it.
