Thanks, John Donne.
Heaven certainly can't be anything like poetry or scripture would have
us believe...I imagine and hope that it's closer to something like an
endless jam session of music that never repeats...with the heavenly
father seated somewhere in the back wearing jazz sunglasses, nodding
his head to the beat, keeping it with his hands. The son of God(who
looks more like Jim Morrison than even he'd believe) passes some kind
of pipe(marijuana is absurd for heaven, so it isn't that)that contains
a substance that never runs out, doesn't wane in potency and is
possessed of a somehow clarifying element for all the senses...Jesus
throwing back all the answers to every question that ever made your
night-blind eyes search your midnight ceiling, all that knowledge
in a perfectly reasonable and digestible portion--dinosaurs and
molecules and Amelia Earhart and all those words you could never mold
into phrase.
And then there'd be that nervous guy(you know), who'd suddenly jump up and say "Oh, shit, man. What time is it? I gotta--"
The son of God, completely nonplussed by this urgent interruption, would be leisurely about glancing in that guy's direction, and smile with an understanding that is still greater than what we'll ever achieve and say,
"We are so done with time here."
And that's when you'd get it.
Heaven.
And then there'd be that nervous guy(you know), who'd suddenly jump up and say "Oh, shit, man. What time is it? I gotta--"
The son of God, completely nonplussed by this urgent interruption, would be leisurely about glancing in that guy's direction, and smile with an understanding that is still greater than what we'll ever achieve and say,
"We are so done with time here."
And that's when you'd get it.
Heaven.