In January, my mother-in-law said something that stuck with me. My husband had just conducted a concert on short notice for the Greenville Symphony Orchestra. They called two weeks before the show and without needing to think about it, he said yes.
When we got the news, we celebrated briefly — wide eyes, a hug, a walk — then immediately positioned ourselves towards what we thought success looked like, which we defined on that walk. The music was difficult and uncommon, so he would need time and space to prepare.
In the end, the concert was a triumph. The audience would not stop clapping; the music sprung to life; they were excited to have heard it. People seemed to enjoy themselves, which is important to John — a happy orchestra sounds better, he always says. And if you can’t enjoy yourselves, what’s the point?
A week after the performance, I called John’s mom to give her a full report. I said the musicians seemed to have fun working with John, which made him happy, and described why I perceive that to be the case, which has to do, in part, with rehearsal style and the way he prioritizes invitation and collaboration over giving commands. She listened and took in the news. Then she surprised me.
“Our eyes should always be on eternity,” she said, seeming to switch gears. “Time is a limited concept; it is not eternal. People don’t get much chance to focus on eternity, and I think that is what happened. In rehearsal, and in the music, everyone caught a glimpse of eternity.”
I paused. What more could I say to that?
***
Every wisdom tradition offers a goal to its followers, a destination to hold in mind as they navigate the ups and downs of everyday life. Keeping an eye on the end game motivates them to attempt to overcome the condition of being human. They train their eyes on whatever promise of freedom calls to them from the other side.
The Buddhist inches towards nirvana by seeking enlightenment. The yogi practices in hope of reaching kaivalya. The Hindu strives for moksha. The Christian trusts they will one day get to heaven.
Despite differences in philosophy and approach, every tradition’s end game has one thing in common with the others. Each destination offers an ultimate and final liberation, a total freedom and release from the shackles of our humanity. They save us, to use a Christian term, and free us from our fixations, to reference Buddhism.
In the Christian tradition, the words “heaven” and “eternity” are used interchangeably. The promise of salvation is eternal life, or being in god’s presence forever on those golden streets. Yet the word “eternity” is used so often, and contrasts our lived experience of time so defiantly, that we tend to lose touch with its meaning and magnitude.
The word “eternity” has two definitions. It can be used in an everyday sense to mean infinite, unending time, a concept that is hard for us to understand despite its simplicity, or it can be used, in a theological sense, to mean eternal life after death. I remember frequently trying to wrap my mind around the concept of eternity as a child.
But maybe those two definitions — infinite time and heaven itself — are actually one and the same.
***
As a kid growing up in the Southern evangelical church, I was frequently instructed to “deny myself” and “take up my cross” to follow Christ. It was clear that I was supposed to be excited about doing those things, and “surrendering myself to god,” with its promise of eternal life on the other side, but the idea of denying myself and turning away from the world, away from its intrigue and wonder and beauty, which I was discovering for the first time in those years — was not appealing. The surrender was presented as something unpleasant to bear, or a “cross to carry.”
Denying yourself to reach god may be the fundamental work of Christianity, but in adulthood, I have come to believe that divinity is not separate from us at all. It is within us, around us, and beside us at all times. We — along with the butterflies and squirrels and lizards in my backyard, along with the people we do not understand and the ones we do — are divinity incarnate.
If we are, to reference Carl Sagen, made of divine star stuff, then reaching heaven — or freedom from our fixations, to put it another way — might be less of a struggle, and more pleasurable, than we are conditioned to believe. Maybe we do not have to deny the core of ourselves to get in touch with divine magic.
Maybe we are divine magic, and our job is simply to recognize it.
When I think about “denying the world” on my own terms, rather than the terms that defined my childhood, I can get behind it. If I want to reach the well of divine love and wisdom within myself, for example, I must deny the world’s definition of success, capitalism’s demands for my time and attention, and the constructs society pushes on us every single day.
Through that lens, denying the world becomes a critical part of my journey towards freedom. Now I understand. Every time I honor myself by resisting the world’s labels, its impossible grind, and its mainstream demands, I am dipping my toes into heaven.
***
At the grocery store this week, having just started this essay, I picked up a magazine with Pema Chödrön on the front and flipped serendipitously to a page highlighting a quote from her about enlightenment. “Enlightenment,” it said, “isn’t about reaching a destination or achieving something we don’t have already.”
Heaven, I thought, translating immediately to the vernacular of my roots, isn’t about reaching a destination or achieving something we don’t have already.
When I was promised heaven as a child, that gift on the other side of “denying myself” and “taking up my cross,” I imagined a joyful reunion with departed grandparents on streets literally glittered with gold and angels singing a transcendent chorus all around us. The whole thing felt far away and unreachable, like a fantasy.
But if eternity is both infinite time and eternal life, and time is a construct we place on ourselves, then pushing the limits of time as we know it aside, eternity is always happening right now and we can always experience it. In a poem crafted intentionally without punctuation called “Seven White Butterflies,” Mary Oliver cited Blake and Whitman when she wrote that “all eternity is in the moment.”
In that case, eternity is not some far away goal on the other side of death. It is present in the moment you are experiencing now.
So if eternity is nowness and eternity is heaven then heaven itself can be found in the fireflies appearing and frogs croaking and moon rising. We may catch a glimpse of eternity, as my mother-in-law suggested, in notes we rehearse or meals we share.
It does not matter where we find it. Eternity is ours to see. Heaven is available now, and if you listen closely, you might hear the angels sing.
Between you and me—
For the grammar nerds out there, I found Mary Oliver’s introduction to her punctuation-free poem to be adorable. It’s required listening for anyone who has ever been precious with a comma. I also loved hearing Ocean Vuong discuss where his artistry meets his spiritual practice and his ancestry on “Life As It Is.”
For my family, this year has been incredibly chaotic, filled with the stress of loved ones declining and passing away, helping other family members navigate those situations, constant doggie health monitoring, and spreading ourselves across multiple places geographically. We are also managing career opportunities that, however wonderful!, and however grateful they leave us, present a lot to manage in terms of scheduling.
Lately I have noticed myself longing for a period not shaped by stress. An easier chapter! Yes! Then about three seconds pass before I realize that, not knowing when things will calm down for us, and embracing the challenges accompany growth, my best option is to recognize whatever fun, laughter, and lightness exist in my life right now, rather than pining after something else. And honestly, laughter is almost always there when I look for it, which lightens the load.
Wishing you a little levity of your own this week. Take care out there.
The audio version of WE’RE ALL FRIENDS HERE is published every Wednesday. Last week’s, which was about making happiness simple, even during stressful times, is available on Spotify, Apple, Substack, or wherever you listen to podcasts.
WE’RE ALL FRIENDS HERE is written by Lauren Maxwell. Can you help us grow? Send this to a friend who looks for eternity and ask them to subscribe. Share it on Instagram and tag @lauren_only. You can also become a sponsor, which makes this publication possible. Every gesture of support is appreciated!