Rushing to Paradise

On Thursday I did something I haven’t done for years and years. Hub and I, and ED (eldest daughter) spent the afternoon on a large secluded property where we picnicked and walked the dogs. And after lunch on a quick hike ED and I picked what we could of blueberries calling out to us as we threaded our way down crude horse trails.

Hub, of course, picked no berries for the pail. He has a problem, always has, always will, that when he gets a handful of berries, his elbow bends and his mouth flies open. ED tried to trick him by slipping our pail as close as possible to him and saying, “you’re going to drop those soon if you don’t empty your hand,” but all to no avail. Again the elbow would bend as if to drop them in the pail and then of course the mouth would fly open and that would be the end of that.

But I digress. What I wanted to tell you is that when I got home and cleaned my meager three cups of wild berries Hub wanted them fresh with ice cream. But I couldn’t do it. Something was pushing me to do jam. Silly thought with so few berries. But I had four apples in the fridge so I peeled and diced them to make more fruit. And a while later I had two small jars and a desert dish of fresh jam. When it cooled I buttered some fresh home-made bread, made a cup of tea, and slathered my jam on that bread.

Now this is where words fail me. How can I begin to describe the pleasure of sinking teeth and lips into that jam? I fought brutally against that first overwhelming desire to cram it all in one great gigantic wad into my mouth. I must savor it all – take it little by little.

I sniffed the delicate aroma. So soft and sweet and barely discernible. The color – as beautiful as sapphires blended with navy skies. A sparkling blue that has yet to be duplicated in a world with 11,070,014 colors and 854 shades of blue and 4 falsely labeled ‘blueberry’ blue.

I took a bite and pressed it against the top of my mouth allowing it to fornicate with my tastebuds in that small dark space. I moved it to the back of my throat and succumbed to its caress. With no will of mind involved, it stroked my mind, my throat, my tongue, my heart, and pressed delicately through every vein. My life flashed before me. Childhood, games, hikes, special moments, a dear Mother, and all blessings that followed me, descended on me, visited me, and harbored me.

But then when I swallowed it, something quite unexpected happened. I felt it working, resolving that business of the food anxiety I’ve had for far too long. That rotating and disturbing thought of need and want. Of standing confused and undecided in front of a fridge door that offers nothing that appeals to me. Chronic hunger without knowing what I crave. Eternal longing for something nameless. But with that first swallow of wild blueberry jam, I knew immediately this is what I longed for, this is what I craved. This was the emptiness within.

It felt so good, feeling it doing its work of tenderness and benevolence. Blowing new life into healthy cells and crushing malicious ones. Rushing at a mad frictionless-pace through every physical and emotional atom of my body and renewing it. Redemptive deliverance.

Oh God – give me more!