Sometimes, on a cold winter night's walk, there is a certain fragrance in the air. It is not a describable scent, but one that can only be experienced. This scent evokes a reminiscence as I look up into the starless black sky, with the moon casting its mournful glowing rays into my eyes. Gradually, the sky begins to shift. All of the sudden everything is so much more simple. The night's sky is no longer a deep glance into a dismal, dying universe where whole planets collide in morbid fury, but a beautiful mystery of life's dance with death. It become the sky of the seven-year-old boy that I once was and long to become again.

As I look farther back into the short history of my life, I feel a healing taking place. As I push even farther back into not only my life, but the lives of my parents, and even to the lives of their parents, it becomes hard to ignore the deep pounding that begins to posses my mind. The pounding becomes a strange beat, then transforms into a melody of life, and then evolves into a concert of existence. In this beautiful ensemble of pain, pleasure, love, and hatred, the small events of my life that I view as good or bad take their places in this great song, and suddenly I am proud of the strange, exotic instrument that plays the tune of my life. When I become aware of this, suddenly things shift back to the spectrum of the present, though not in the way I had once viewed them, but in a more strange manner. And as my eyes shift their focus from the moon to the dying grass that is bent beneath my feet, I become aware of the warm glow that encompasses my heart.

But when I return to the world that I created when I gained my consciousness, my heart still glows and pulses to the song that only God could compose. Now, I look at the world through clear blue eyes.