Empty.

You lay there, covered by a blanket of fresh air, relishing the perfect grass against your skin. There is blue and there is green and there is gold. You have all you need because the rays of the sun quench your thirst and you feed off of happiness. You find contentment in the sun on closed eyelids. The rest of your body is alternately illuminated by and shaded from the sun which passes through clouds. You do not fear, you do not hate, you do not regret. That feeling of remorse over hurtful or embarassing moments is gone. You aren't uncomfortable, you aren't threatened. You do not feel like a stumbling soul lost in a world of other, more perfect beings. Perfection has been achieved by the wind tossing your hair with it's crystal fingers. Never have you lied, never have you fallen. Never have you changed, never have you been taught a lesson. Never have you been hurt. All is perfection until your mind starts to peel free and you see that neither have you laughed, neither have you cried, neither have you felt love for another. You have yet to fall and get back up, you have never tried and you have never failed. Never have you put aside all weighty doubts and exchanged them for life. Never have you lived. Lived like you only get one life and being overtaken by ignorant bliss in a field of joy is one way to waste such a gift. So you get up. And you go. And you laugh and you cry and you see pain and you wait for healing. And you bless and you regret and you fall and you get back up. And you believe and you love and you live.

Lydia