everything really was beautiful and nothing really hurt

Vonnegut speaks in the simplest of terms sometimes. In this beautiful easy way to read and feel and see. And I've read that line (everything was beautiful and nothing hurt) about a dozen times but today I think I finally GET it. Maybe it was the setting in which I was reading that line again. Or just thinking about my past few years and how it is applicable to specific places and dates.

This past week. Dark Washington night, Pacific coast, no cell phone reception, hoodie and beanie on riding bikes withe one of my best friends through low lit streets. The cold air cutting us on a June night. The low roar of a nearby ocean just over the cliff. Weaving in and out of unfamiliar streets. Smiling. Nothing behind us or nothing ahead of us.

Another instance. Sitting on the beach years ago. Comfort food bought to ease some pain. Blanket. Sunrise dusted by clouds. low lapping of a gulf shore. Body weight rested on elbows. Nothing except that moment. No one existed but us.

Another time: Sitting at the coffee house today, clouds so high strung up on the thinnest threads like cotton balls drifting. The trees blew slightly. A girl next to me smelled like someone I once knew. A special needs son and his older mother walking by. He blows on a hollow pen that makes a noise like I've heard on the World Cup. She holds his hand. He shuffles his feet. I wonder if everything is beautiful and nothing hurts for her. How she manages. What resolve and love she has. Their simplicity of love.

Is everything really beautiful and can nothing really hurt? I suppose so. I suppose there are times as I've mentioned above where everything seems in that instant and good. That that one moment is how eternity could be spent. The best place ever if even for just a second. And I have to remember those times when they aren't there anymore, like when a stewardess flips out over turbulence or low fuel in an airplane forces you to land. Or when I'm terrified. Or when anything can shake me. Even the strongest of us have our weak moments. And I suppose it's those moments that refine us. Either way I know I have these moments to pull from, to remember and focus on when the world is falling apart like puzzle pieces, one at a time. And the ends don't match up, don't ever seem to match up. And nothing makes sense anymore.

But those moments do. Like riding borrowed bicycles at night with a dear friend, under barely visible lamp light, riding towards the Pacific Ocean in a place a thousand miles away. And all you have is the air and the heat of a single beating heart and a smile that says everything is beautiful and nothing hurt.