Holding On To Paradise

Holding On to Paradise

Holding on to Paradise questions what the idea of paradise is. I explored delusional ideas about surrounding myself with perfection. Is it a blissful garden where nothing ever happens? Does it smell like coconut oil and sound like trickling water and birds singing? Or is it something totally different. Maybe paradise is where I am; a place where the only thing at rest is my heart. It’s a place where a lot is happening, it smells like the dinner we just had as I’m washing the dishes, and it sounds like raucous music, little keittens discussing homework. I can choose if I am living in paradise, its perception.