So, what does this mean to you? Is it cotton candy clouds, wafting in effortless waves across a blue bird sky? Or a warm wind across a Caribbean ocean, so teal blue that it hurts your mind just to imagine it? Is the smell of a puppy's breath, or hearing a little kitten offer up a faint little mehw? Bliss. How do you envision the words? The dictionary has it as complete happiness, and I would probably concur.
http://youtube/7I01BwClpSk (I think I have attached that link correctly, but Bliss is NOT my abilities with computers)
When I was a little girl, Bliss to me was climbing a tree, up atop the world, and being able to see out above the valley. It was the feeling of absolute freedom as I walked, alone, along the beach at the end of the Pierpont Blvd, at my parents' beach house. It was the magic passion (that really sounds crazy, doesn't it?) of a warm Santa Ana wind as it brushed across the night skies, allowing me to feel God's arms all around me. When I was a little girl I would love to sleep in the backyard, under the skies, with my dog Coco at my side. I would listen to the wind and watch the moonlight dance reflections, like Fred Astaire and Ginger Rodgers, on the silver screen. I would lay there, in the night, and dream about running away to some far away place, and be able to run my own show. I'd be my own boss. I'd have control.
Bliss comes in the form of camping out in the desert southwest. Moab, Utah brings me joy. I can count a million little, tiny stars, strewn across a black velvet sky, and wonder about life. I see the wisdom of my Daddy. I can talk to my heart and soul, and somewhere in the vast eternity of darkness, I can hear his reply. "You pull yourself up by the boot straps, Ann Corry". Bliss is traveling the highways of this country, looking out at the landscape as it jets by. It's the people I meet along the way.
Later, Bliss was the moment my children were born. December 1, July 4th, December 14th - BLISS, BLISS, BLISS! Bliss was the day I met and married the most wonderful of companions - my husband John. Bliss was the last time I held my Daddy's hand. Bliss was knowing that I would see my son Michael and my Daddy again someday in heaven. Bliss will be the day that my daughter Eryn has her baby - a son Christopher Corry. Bliss was meeting my biological grandmother - a special gift. Bliss is hearing, "I love you Mom", coming from my son Bryan, even after I have nagged him almost to death. Bliss is the feeling of clean, crisp cotton sheets, the feel of cashmere on my shoulders, the cry of a newborn baby, the way a baseball glove feels on my hand, the sound of leaves as the winds zip through them. Bliss is soft rain. Bliss is a well written book, a symphony of words. Bliss is music. To tell you the truth, bliss is life.