Quantum Wantum

I was thinking about heaven, not your heaven

or history's heaven, but my heaven.

Let's say I embrace this crazy quantum world idea

and when I win the spacetime lottery

I get to choose the heaven I want from my memories.

Let's take today. A warm summer day,

sun hot on the skin but cooled by a light breeze,

the fragrance of tree-breathe in the air,

clean and freshly washed by last night's rain.

An occasional butterfly, an occasional bee.

The soft lullaby of leaves on waving limbs,

the laughter of children playing on the swings

and seesaws and slide and monkey bars.

A friendly couple walk by and smile and nod.

A blue heron wings its way nobly

above a steady river current.

Such calm.

Such Peace.

Even the happy ducks on the water say "Quant, Quant."

One could say this quantum heaven is like a resort,

the Seventy-Seven Billion Heavens Retreat.

You choose one of your favorite times and change

from space to space.

Get a new heaven as often as you get clean sheets.

It is heaven because it is;

it is heaven because you chose it.

I always thought that a heaven chosen for me

would be like a job I didn't want,

or a family I didn't want,

or a life I didn't want.

We could say that it is heaven for me

precisely because I chose it,

or it could be a kind of favorite, like berry pie

or double chocolate ice cream.

The possibilities are endless:

sail across a lake of crystal water,

slide down a forty-five degree slope

on two feet of dry powder,

quiet rest in a cashmere sweater,

a loving friend,

wood beams,

an exercise club for the imagination.

The probabilities are endless.

People say I cannot imagine heaven,

but I say that if I cannot imagine it

then it is not heaven.

Think of heaven as being where we are

bouncing on a bed in our pajamas.

In the Seventy-Seven Billion spaces of heaven

there is more than one heaven with pajamas.

And pancakes.