Far from heaven is the town where I live, I love, I sleep, I drink. Yes, much drinking is to be found here. But it is not uncommon for evil to take place. I walk, or rather I skulk into the bar, trying not to be seen, feeling inadequate, not wanting to do something stupid, or embarrassing, not wanting to draw attention to myself. All I wanted to do was remove the pain, damn writers block.
I sit at my normal seat, drinking my troubles away, feeling the cold liquid in my hand, not sure if I should drink it at first; I sit nervously, sloshing it around, thinking, and dreaming.
Meadows of heaven, the scene flashes through my mind, the piano plays, and a soft scale repeated quickly, with life, the green hills rolls over and the green grass comes into full view, I can smell it. The violins come in, slowly drawing the bow across the strings, the sound build up in a creshendo while a voice hums in the background. The glass falls form my hands as I cast it aside. My eyes greeted by the scene in front of me. The fullness of life, I could grasp it, I could taste the meadows of heaven. The music stops, everything halts, and for two whole minutes there is silence, until I can here in the background, the waves, rolling over each other with their own majesty, the wind softly rustling the grass with soft omnipotence. The voice, humming not five minutes ago returns, the piano plays its cords, tonic triads, and the violins return with it, the drums rolling over, the waves growing louder, the winds and grass mixing with it to form serenity, as the sounds of the instruments mash together, held by guitars and drums, into one glorious song.
I turn my head and see my home, Joburg, Jozi, so many other names, and I turned to the grassy fields, the waves, and the peace.
Meadows of heaven?
The streets of pain?
I turned my back on the grasslands and the sea, on the sky and the winds, pacing steadily to my home, the streets of pain filled only by people who reach for heaven. I have touched heaven; I have touched a far green country.
I cast my mind back to the Lord of the Rings, after following the story for days, weeks, as time had stretched onwards, the story had to be finished, and as I walked home I remembered the last line of the final book
And the ship sailed on, to a far green country, under a swift sunrise
A place to find peace, where hope is no longer needed, when e are at rest, where we can sleep.
I let something escape from my lips, a laugh, that had been building up inside me for the last few minutes.
I’ll sleep when I’m dead.
The sound of glass shattering on the floor brought me out of my day dream, the patrons of the bar looked at me, from over their whores and their drinks. In a sudden change of mind I shook my head in disgust, striding out of the bar with my head held high.
I will grow the Meadows of Heaven in the streets of Pain.