Less of a question, and more of a statement...

Sometime back in High School, our English teacher had us do an exercise that had the class attempting to find the paradise within.
We were all searching for our own "Happy Gilmore" place.

Mine was a majestically serene jungle-like surrounding, with nature growing wildly, but not overwhelmingly so. Flowing down the middle of this place there was a stream. At its center lay a waterfall with a stone dais in the water's path.
I imagined myself sitting upon the dais... the cool water gently falling over me. I could hear every sound of this special paradise, from the rush of the water, to the numerous sounds the relaxed wind would occasionally make as it frivolously passed by.
A very light mist would sometimes come to this place as I visited.


I realized soon after the exercise that this place existed inside me all along.
During that class was not the only time I had been there, for it had always been the place I was when I felt true serenity... I just had yet to realize how to define it.

Until that day, I had never experienced true honesty from within whilst using words. Yet not often enough does that feeling of the heart guide my hand in non-literary art.