How Heaven Feels to the Saints
“Uhmm,” the popes and martyrs and holy persons said. They were surprised by the question. “Heaven is like wandering mindlessly in eternity,” they said. “It is like a certain warmness, a great ambiguity, a distinct expression, a passionate love. It is the most wonderful feeling.” We were silent for a moment. “Like being high? Like love and happiness?” we asked. They thought about it. “No,” they said. “Heaven is not like that… lust and satisfaction, you said. It is not a worldly feeling. You should be wise enough to know that.” “Yeah, we are wise enough, you know,” we arrogantly replied. “Then,” they said, “you know analogies, yes?” We agreed. “You also know that hell is the counterpart of heaven, yes?” We agreed. “So, hell feels like a gigantic furnace, yes?” We agreed. “And heaven feels like…?” “A large fridge?” we asked. They laughed in ridicule. We blushed in embarrassment. Heaven and hell don’t work with analogies.
“Heaven is still a great mystery for us, they said, now seriously. “It is like the merging of reality and dreams. There’s no war, no poverty, no blood, no body. Just spirits, like feathers chopped into very minuscule substances. Like vapor. Like us.” We were confused. They pondered over it for some time, saying “hmm” and “uhm” a lot of times, as if wanting to say something but deciding against it. “Look at us,” they said. We looked frantically everywhere. Finally, we gave up. “We can’t see you.” “Yes, indeed,” they said, “but we can see you.” “So?” we just said. We felt like being cheated. We couldn’t see the flow of our conversation. “Oh…” they just said. Maybe, they also couldn’t see the point of it all.
“So,” we started again. “Yes, yes. Hmm, what does heaven really feel like for us, huh?” they seemed to ask themselves. “Yes, is it cool to be there? Is it okay to die?” we asked again. We waited. We feared that they have already left us. We turned to go, but their voices seemed to suddenly float all over us, and around us. “Look at us,” they said again. “But we can’t see you!” we replied, annoyed. “Yes, indeed,” they said, “and we are in heaven right now, but we are still close to you, you see.” “We want to see. We want to feel heaven.” we desperately said. “Do you want to die now?” they asked. Now, it was our turn to be surprised. “Why?” we asked. “You know, sons, you will only feel heaven when you die.” It was over.
We turned, ever so silent, ever so confused. And as we walked away, they said, “You know, sons, there is a very thin line between life and death. Between heaven and earth.”