My OperaIf I saw you in heaven (totally fictional - just something I thought of when listening to Tears in Heaven)
Wednesday, June 25, 2008 10:20:38 AM
"What is heaven?" He asked.
The candle on their table flickered, illuminating its surrounding with the reddish, dim flame. It shone on her right side and reddened the sharp lines of her profile, while leaving the other half unseen - covered by the remnant of darkness and the smoke from the cigarette between her fingers. He looked at her through the watery yellowness of a glass of ice tea, which somehow gives the place a glance of aristocratic luxury. "This?" She answered.
He chuckled. "What is 'this', Kate?"
At the next table, a little girl, about five or six, laughed out loud at the cream on her - even younger - brother's nose. Their mother wiped it with a handkerchief, her manner gentle and attentive. Not only her hand, but her arms, her eyes, her hair - all her body - were engaged in the action, as if wiping cream off a son's nose was the only thing worth doing in this world. Kate's eyes swiftly moved past them.
"When I was small, heaven was home." She said, finally. "Now, sometimes it still is."
"Cheers," He raised his glass, "very few people can say that." She responded with a smile of matter-of-fact attitude, half acknowledging, half questioning. "Can't you?"
"It once was." He said at once, without any contemplation.
"Then?"
"I changed."
The words came out like a reflection, prefigured by the previous answer, unaware of the restraint from the mind. He was astonished by the softness of his tone and the indifference it contained. Why did it matter, he didn't know; he couldn't see its implications, just as he couldn't see what it was in her eyes when she stared at him. Not pity. Not understanding. Not interest. "Higher standards?" she asked.
"No. Different standards. Or to be precise, lack of standards."
"What is heaven, to you, then?" She smirked, emptying her glass.
"Define heaven."
"That's exactly what I asked."
"Oh," He laughed, turning to the next table. "Heaven is a fallacy. It belongs to the same category with concepts like imaginary numbers. You take something that doesn't exist, give it a name, and..." He stopped to look at the shining red berries on top of the little girl's ice cream. She bent her head to take a closer look at them, then eagerly showed them to her father. "I'm listening." Said Kate.
"You know what... forget about it."
She chuckled. " You want to know what 'this' is?" She put her hand on her left chest, where her heart is. " 'This' is heaven."
"By what standard, Kate? By what standard?"
"By every standard. By common sense. You'll always find heaven if you look for it inside your heart."
He laughed, raising his glass before finishing the last drops of tea. "How about this," He smiled at her, tapping his head. "You told me to define heaven", he said. "I couldn't name what it is, but I knew what it isn't."
"What is it not?"
It isn't happiness, nor satisfaction, he thought. It isn't fulfillment. It isn't suffering. It isn't an emotion, nor a state, nor something you can name. It isn't something to seek for. It isn't...
"It isn't that." He pointed at her hand, still on her left chest.
She had been sitting still, waiting, perplexed. The dark corners on her face looked hollow and bottomless; although her cheeks, her forehead, her chin - everything exposed to the reddish dim flame - seemed burning, burning like the suppressed anger or a hidden passion suddenly revealed. Her confused face finally turned to a faint smile, which seemed to say "we can never reach an agreement, can't we?"
Heaven doesn't exist, he thought, not because it's an impossibility, but because it's a contradiction.
"Hey, why are we talking about heaven, after all?" She asked casually.
Would you know my name, if I saw you in heaven
Would it be the same, if I saw you in heaven
I must be strong and carry on
'Cause I know I don't belong here in heaven
The candle on their table flickered, illuminating its surrounding with the reddish, dim flame. It shone on her right side and reddened the sharp lines of her profile, while leaving the other half unseen - covered by the remnant of darkness and the smoke from the cigarette between her fingers. He looked at her through the watery yellowness of a glass of ice tea, which somehow gives the place a glance of aristocratic luxury. "This?" She answered.
He chuckled. "What is 'this', Kate?"
At the next table, a little girl, about five or six, laughed out loud at the cream on her - even younger - brother's nose. Their mother wiped it with a handkerchief, her manner gentle and attentive. Not only her hand, but her arms, her eyes, her hair - all her body - were engaged in the action, as if wiping cream off a son's nose was the only thing worth doing in this world. Kate's eyes swiftly moved past them.
"When I was small, heaven was home." She said, finally. "Now, sometimes it still is."
"Cheers," He raised his glass, "very few people can say that." She responded with a smile of matter-of-fact attitude, half acknowledging, half questioning. "Can't you?"
"It once was." He said at once, without any contemplation.
"Then?"
"I changed."
The words came out like a reflection, prefigured by the previous answer, unaware of the restraint from the mind. He was astonished by the softness of his tone and the indifference it contained. Why did it matter, he didn't know; he couldn't see its implications, just as he couldn't see what it was in her eyes when she stared at him. Not pity. Not understanding. Not interest. "Higher standards?" she asked.
"No. Different standards. Or to be precise, lack of standards."
"What is heaven, to you, then?" She smirked, emptying her glass.
"Define heaven."
"That's exactly what I asked."
"Oh," He laughed, turning to the next table. "Heaven is a fallacy. It belongs to the same category with concepts like imaginary numbers. You take something that doesn't exist, give it a name, and..." He stopped to look at the shining red berries on top of the little girl's ice cream. She bent her head to take a closer look at them, then eagerly showed them to her father. "I'm listening." Said Kate.
"You know what... forget about it."
She chuckled. " You want to know what 'this' is?" She put her hand on her left chest, where her heart is. " 'This' is heaven."
"By what standard, Kate? By what standard?"
"By every standard. By common sense. You'll always find heaven if you look for it inside your heart."
He laughed, raising his glass before finishing the last drops of tea. "How about this," He smiled at her, tapping his head. "You told me to define heaven", he said. "I couldn't name what it is, but I knew what it isn't."
"What is it not?"
It isn't happiness, nor satisfaction, he thought. It isn't fulfillment. It isn't suffering. It isn't an emotion, nor a state, nor something you can name. It isn't something to seek for. It isn't...
"It isn't that." He pointed at her hand, still on her left chest.
She had been sitting still, waiting, perplexed. The dark corners on her face looked hollow and bottomless; although her cheeks, her forehead, her chin - everything exposed to the reddish dim flame - seemed burning, burning like the suppressed anger or a hidden passion suddenly revealed. Her confused face finally turned to a faint smile, which seemed to say "we can never reach an agreement, can't we?"
Heaven doesn't exist, he thought, not because it's an impossibility, but because it's a contradiction.
"Hey, why are we talking about heaven, after all?" She asked casually.
Would you know my name, if I saw you in heaven
Would it be the same, if I saw you in heaven
I must be strong and carry on
'Cause I know I don't belong here in heaven
