He, the Seven Levels of Heaven and Beyond...a Fable
Introduction
For Joshua
"The sweetest thing in all my life has been the longing...to find the place where all the beauty came from...my country, the place where I ought to have been born. Do you think itall meant nothing, all the longing? The longing for home?"
Psyche in Until We Have Faces by CS Lewis
From Thanatopsis
So live, that when thy summons comes to join
The innumerable caravan that moves
To the pale realms of shade, where each shall take
His chamber in the silent halls of death,
Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night,
Scourged to his dungeon, but sustained and soothed
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave
Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.
-William Cullen Bryant
For Joshua
"The sweetest thing in all my life has been the longing...to find the place where all the beauty came from...my country, the place where I ought to have been born. Do you think itall meant nothing, all the longing? The longing for home?"
Psyche in Until We Have Faces by CS Lewis
From Thanatopsis
So live, that when thy summons comes to join
The innumerable caravan that moves
To the pale realms of shade, where each shall take
His chamber in the silent halls of death,
Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night,
Scourged to his dungeon, but sustained and soothed
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave
Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.
-William Cullen Bryant
1 - The Firmament
Once there lived a small boy who wondered. He was born fat and serious like a tiny Buddha entering a world too small for his questions. His mother and father loved him, as well as any imperfect mother or father could love their child, but it WAS a long time since they had been born...you understand what I'm saying.
Now this boy asked questions. Too many questions really. That is if you're a grown and sensible adult, but not if you're a little, wondering boy. He tried not to get discouraged at the exasperated sighs and the "please be quiet and play now" instructions, and "Just because-s" and silly answers like that didn't fool him one bit.
Most of all he wanted to understand the glory that was all around him, in the sky, and the snow and rain; in the plants and the air, and all the machines about him that whirred and ticked and made him crazy to see how it all WORKED,
Sometimes he tried to forget the glory for awhile, because it hurt too much, like a light that's too bright, or a beautiful thing that brings tears, or even just the knowing every lovely moment will be gone again soon. But he never entirely forgot, and the longings and questions sat there, in the back of his head like a burning little flame that sometimes made his head ache at night and the tears come to his eyes.
But don't think he wasn't a happy, normal little boy in every other way. His days were spent playing with his friends, and laughing and fighting with his sister, and they almost always ended with his father tucking him in and his mother singing him to sleep.
One morning this little boy woke up and realized he was turning seven that day. He had a funny feeling in his tummy and wondered what was different. He sat sleepily on the edge of his bed rubbing his eyes, listening to the morning sounds from the kitchen, the warm smell of his parents' coffee drifting up to his nostrils.
He was just about to put his feet on the floor when he heard a funny croaking coming from the foot of his bed, and because he wondered, he looked. There was a tiny purple frog, no bigger than his thumb sitting at the bottom. Intrigued, the boy leaned over and examined this new development. The frog looked at him with large intelligent eyes (well, as large as a tiny frog's eyes can be) and addressed him in a surprisingly large and articulate tone. "Today you can begin a journey of wondering, to the seven levels of heaven and beyond. Would you like to go with me and see what there is to see, or do you want to stay here and have your birthday party?"
This seemed to the wondering boy to be an odd choice, as it seems to me as well. Certainly the "seven levels of heaven and beyond" sounded full of glory and promise and answers, but what about his mother and his father and his sister? And there WERE the presents. But then he realized that tiny purple frogs with surprisingly large and articulate voices weren't really normal in his current world and that perhaps it was just a dream anyway, so he might as well go and see what he could see, and learn what he could learn.
He nodded his head at the little purple frog, who promptly took the boy's index finger between two tiny, cold flippers and jumped up, up through the roof, taking the wondering child with him.
The boy watched with intent interest as the house below him grew tinier and tinier, the toy landscape around his home finally fading into a faraway canvas of green and brown. When he couldn't see his house anymore he looked up and around. Tall clouds towered like mountains in the distance. Even higher he passed wispy clouds resembling the streaming hair and beard of some long forgotten deity. But soon even all that was behind him, and the daylight began to dim and the air around grew silver then grey then darker than the inkiest dark. All around in this blackness blazed the glory of stars and planets, the moon of his earth disappearing quickly beneath his feet in the gathering void.
It occurred to the boy he should be worried, but a strange peace held him. He noticed the tiny, cold flippers no longer held his finger. He looked at his companion, who had grown considerably , and was delighted to see the frog swimming through the atmosphere just like any green earth frog would swim through a brown country pond.
The frog looked back and spoke. "This is the first journey to the first heaven, which is the firmament." The little boy started to ask what a ferment was, but the frog wasn't finished. "All the stars and planets you see that are still so far away make up this firmament. It is a five-hundred year journey to that level.
The boy was a bit concerned about the length of the journey, but (he reasoned) they were traveling pretty quickly as it was, and his seven year old mind couldn't quite grasp the length of five-hundred years, so he put his trusting little head to rest and smiled. Soon he slept.
When he awoke, this small boy gasped with delight. The stars and planets were all around him now, shining and glowing in glorious shades. Bigger than the biggest anythings he could imagine, he was a tiny pinprick against these spheres that inhabited this heaven.
Now the little boy had seen science books, and of course because of his innumerable questions had begun to discover scientific explanations for stars, but these were nothing like the pictures in the books. Each enormous, and I mean enormous, (because of course they would have to be enormous to be seen form earth) star appeared as fragile as a bubble, but enormously full of light. And not only light, but song; for there was music beyond description coming from the core of each star.
Dimly moving and glowing within the depth of the orbs were magnificent figures, each different, some male and some female, or maybe neither; moving, twirling, dipping, and changing in size and color according to the mood of the song they were singing. Each song was different, but all mingled in perfect harmony. The boy had a vague memory of hearing in his bedtime stories of "when the morning stars sang together", but couldn't really remember exactly when.
Each star was continuously shooting out brightness, made up of bubbles of radiance that burst against one another in fits of luminosity and mirth. And the glory was more than his eyes and ears could take in and he wept for the loveliness of it all and woke in his room with tears on his pillow.
And the little boy tucked the memory of the glorious songs away in his heart, to pull them out again when he needed them, because he knew, although he was only seven, there are many days that can use a good song.
Now this boy asked questions. Too many questions really. That is if you're a grown and sensible adult, but not if you're a little, wondering boy. He tried not to get discouraged at the exasperated sighs and the "please be quiet and play now" instructions, and "Just because-s" and silly answers like that didn't fool him one bit.
Most of all he wanted to understand the glory that was all around him, in the sky, and the snow and rain; in the plants and the air, and all the machines about him that whirred and ticked and made him crazy to see how it all WORKED,
Sometimes he tried to forget the glory for awhile, because it hurt too much, like a light that's too bright, or a beautiful thing that brings tears, or even just the knowing every lovely moment will be gone again soon. But he never entirely forgot, and the longings and questions sat there, in the back of his head like a burning little flame that sometimes made his head ache at night and the tears come to his eyes.
But don't think he wasn't a happy, normal little boy in every other way. His days were spent playing with his friends, and laughing and fighting with his sister, and they almost always ended with his father tucking him in and his mother singing him to sleep.
One morning this little boy woke up and realized he was turning seven that day. He had a funny feeling in his tummy and wondered what was different. He sat sleepily on the edge of his bed rubbing his eyes, listening to the morning sounds from the kitchen, the warm smell of his parents' coffee drifting up to his nostrils.
He was just about to put his feet on the floor when he heard a funny croaking coming from the foot of his bed, and because he wondered, he looked. There was a tiny purple frog, no bigger than his thumb sitting at the bottom. Intrigued, the boy leaned over and examined this new development. The frog looked at him with large intelligent eyes (well, as large as a tiny frog's eyes can be) and addressed him in a surprisingly large and articulate tone. "Today you can begin a journey of wondering, to the seven levels of heaven and beyond. Would you like to go with me and see what there is to see, or do you want to stay here and have your birthday party?"
This seemed to the wondering boy to be an odd choice, as it seems to me as well. Certainly the "seven levels of heaven and beyond" sounded full of glory and promise and answers, but what about his mother and his father and his sister? And there WERE the presents. But then he realized that tiny purple frogs with surprisingly large and articulate voices weren't really normal in his current world and that perhaps it was just a dream anyway, so he might as well go and see what he could see, and learn what he could learn.
He nodded his head at the little purple frog, who promptly took the boy's index finger between two tiny, cold flippers and jumped up, up through the roof, taking the wondering child with him.
The boy watched with intent interest as the house below him grew tinier and tinier, the toy landscape around his home finally fading into a faraway canvas of green and brown. When he couldn't see his house anymore he looked up and around. Tall clouds towered like mountains in the distance. Even higher he passed wispy clouds resembling the streaming hair and beard of some long forgotten deity. But soon even all that was behind him, and the daylight began to dim and the air around grew silver then grey then darker than the inkiest dark. All around in this blackness blazed the glory of stars and planets, the moon of his earth disappearing quickly beneath his feet in the gathering void.
It occurred to the boy he should be worried, but a strange peace held him. He noticed the tiny, cold flippers no longer held his finger. He looked at his companion, who had grown considerably , and was delighted to see the frog swimming through the atmosphere just like any green earth frog would swim through a brown country pond.
The frog looked back and spoke. "This is the first journey to the first heaven, which is the firmament." The little boy started to ask what a ferment was, but the frog wasn't finished. "All the stars and planets you see that are still so far away make up this firmament. It is a five-hundred year journey to that level.
The boy was a bit concerned about the length of the journey, but (he reasoned) they were traveling pretty quickly as it was, and his seven year old mind couldn't quite grasp the length of five-hundred years, so he put his trusting little head to rest and smiled. Soon he slept.
When he awoke, this small boy gasped with delight. The stars and planets were all around him now, shining and glowing in glorious shades. Bigger than the biggest anythings he could imagine, he was a tiny pinprick against these spheres that inhabited this heaven.
Now the little boy had seen science books, and of course because of his innumerable questions had begun to discover scientific explanations for stars, but these were nothing like the pictures in the books. Each enormous, and I mean enormous, (because of course they would have to be enormous to be seen form earth) star appeared as fragile as a bubble, but enormously full of light. And not only light, but song; for there was music beyond description coming from the core of each star.
Dimly moving and glowing within the depth of the orbs were magnificent figures, each different, some male and some female, or maybe neither; moving, twirling, dipping, and changing in size and color according to the mood of the song they were singing. Each song was different, but all mingled in perfect harmony. The boy had a vague memory of hearing in his bedtime stories of "when the morning stars sang together", but couldn't really remember exactly when.
Each star was continuously shooting out brightness, made up of bubbles of radiance that burst against one another in fits of luminosity and mirth. And the glory was more than his eyes and ears could take in and he wept for the loveliness of it all and woke in his room with tears on his pillow.
And the little boy tucked the memory of the glorious songs away in his heart, to pull them out again when he needed them, because he knew, although he was only seven, there are many days that can use a good song.
2- The Waters Above and the Heaven of Heavens
And so the years passed, the sun rising and setting on a sometimes sad, and sometimes happy boy for seven more years. He didn't look the same anymore, his face changing as much as his size. He lived in a city now, with his mother and sister, and the sounds of the birds and the wind in the trees had been replaced with the noise of traffic and police sirens. He DID, however, love malls.
Those years had not been easy. His father died when he was twelve, and it seemed there were more questions than ever and the wondering wouldn't go from his mind or his heart. If he could dull the questions at times then he would, for it seemed to him that he might go crazy with the asking of them.
He had not forgotten the dream, if that's what it was, of his seventh birthday. Perhaps it was even clearer now then before, and as the years passed a lingering homesickness came over him to be there again, in the glory of the Firmament, where the stars swirled and dipped and sang.
And so, on the morning of his fourteenth birthday he was very pleased, but not surprised, (although he most certainly had not expected it) when he was awakened by a tiny sparrow perched on his chest, pecking daintily at his newly sprouting chin whiskers. He sat up carefully and the sparrow hopped to his shoulder and spoke in that same loud articulate voice he had heard before, coming from the tiny purple frog. "It's time", the sparrow said, "to go, once again, on our journey to the heavens. Are you still a wondering boy, and do you still want to know?
"You bet!" he said with growing excitement, and savored the old feelings as they flew through the roof and up and away.
It was the same as before, but this time a vast city disappeared beneath his fancy track shoes (for he loved them so much he never took them off), and then their earth's moon, and on and on and up and up and out and out, until once again the stars were all around him singing, And he thought his heart would break for the glory, for it seemed they were singing for him, for his loss and his questions and his sadness, and for all the growing up that was still to come, and he was comforted.
After a time, the sparrow brushed his cheek with a soft wing, and perching lightly on one of the boy's fingers, drew him up and beyond the singing stars. He gasped as their heads broke through a barrier of water and for a moment he panicked, holding his breath. They were completely immersed in water, but they had entered from below rather than above (which you can imagine would be highly disorienting). He looked at his companion, still perched on his finger, holding tighter now with its tiny talons, and saw that it was swimming through the water with its wings and smiling (if a sparrow can smile) quite cheerily at him.
"Breathe!" the bird said merrily, laughing (if a sparrow can laugh) at the confusion on the boy's face. "This is not your earth, and you are not what you were there. Here, in the Waters Above, there is nothing to fear, but all is peace and perfection." The boy didn't want to breathe, but it seemed he had no choice, and remembering it wasn't likely that sparrows could talk either, he decided to take a chance and let the tiniest bit of water into his lungs. It was as light as, or perhaps even lighter than, the air he had breathed all his life, so he opened his mouth, inhaled and looked around.
There was nothing really to see, except for the Water. And though it was comforting to pass suspended through this paradisaical pond, it DID go on and on, and it WAS probably going to be five-hundred years again, whatever THAT meant. The sparrow seemed to read his thoughts and, perching on his shoulder, spoke into his ear. "This is not our destination. The journey to the Heaven of Heavens, where the angels speak the holiness of all things, is beyond the Waters. Rest and I'll wake you when we get closer." So the boy closed his eyes, wondering what angels really looked like and slept.
When the boy woke, they were still in the Water, but all around him great shafts and beams of undulating light shone. It seemed there must be movement and light from above that penetrated these depths and he waited eagerly for what was to come.
It seemed awhile before they finally neared the surface, the Water changing from dark to silver shot with gold, till all around him was luminescent yellow-white, and then his head broke through. His eyes were blinded with light, and his ears were filled with the sound of a golden chanting, like the music of a million crystalline streams leaping down from heights beyond heights.
When he could finally see a little, the boy squinted around him and sucked his breath in with delight. He and the sparrow had stopped moving now, their feet planted firmly on what appeared to be the bank of a great sea. The sea sparkled like crystals, reflecting the light all around, which appeared to be coming from the angels who were everywhere. And it did appear that they were like he had seen in pictures, but larger and more happy and serious all at the same time.
Some flew above the sea and others walked singly along the golden bank. Many clustered together, speaking gravely, or merrily animated; all deep in conversation or thought, and their very words were light issuing from their mouths. The light, in fact, was so great, it was difficult to determine the angels from the atmosphere, all being a shifting and turning of different aspects of brightness.
Two angels, close by, saw him and approached. "Welcome, He Who Wonders," they said. "We were told you would be here sometime this half-millennium. Welcome!" The boy smiled in return, and remained silent. He was afraid that to speak would dirty this place, so he was content to listen. And in listening he began to hear the chanting of the holiness of all things, and he listened and he listened, for within the chanting he saw there were answers to some of his wondering; and whether the answers came to his ears or to his heart he couldn't tell, and really, he didn't care.
He could make out a little of what was said, and it went something like this. "In Holy Jerusalem, in the Holy of Holies, most Holy of all is the Foundation Stone. From this all was created. Holiness, holiness, holiness! Within all living things is a Holy of Holies, to be filled with the Foundation Stone of creation, most holy of all. Holiness, holiness, holiness! Breathe in the world's sorrows. Breathe out the Stone's holiness, and the healing of all creation continues. Holiness, holiness, holiness!"
it seemed a puzzle and a riddle to the boy, yet a puzzle and a riddle with the meaning right on the tip of his tongue. And although he couldn't fully understand or put the meaning into words, the holiness was all around and he was filled with hope, and he was glad for it had been a long time. he woke to find the sun shining full on his face and it was late and he was happy and he was fourteen.
Those years had not been easy. His father died when he was twelve, and it seemed there were more questions than ever and the wondering wouldn't go from his mind or his heart. If he could dull the questions at times then he would, for it seemed to him that he might go crazy with the asking of them.
He had not forgotten the dream, if that's what it was, of his seventh birthday. Perhaps it was even clearer now then before, and as the years passed a lingering homesickness came over him to be there again, in the glory of the Firmament, where the stars swirled and dipped and sang.
And so, on the morning of his fourteenth birthday he was very pleased, but not surprised, (although he most certainly had not expected it) when he was awakened by a tiny sparrow perched on his chest, pecking daintily at his newly sprouting chin whiskers. He sat up carefully and the sparrow hopped to his shoulder and spoke in that same loud articulate voice he had heard before, coming from the tiny purple frog. "It's time", the sparrow said, "to go, once again, on our journey to the heavens. Are you still a wondering boy, and do you still want to know?
"You bet!" he said with growing excitement, and savored the old feelings as they flew through the roof and up and away.
It was the same as before, but this time a vast city disappeared beneath his fancy track shoes (for he loved them so much he never took them off), and then their earth's moon, and on and on and up and up and out and out, until once again the stars were all around him singing, And he thought his heart would break for the glory, for it seemed they were singing for him, for his loss and his questions and his sadness, and for all the growing up that was still to come, and he was comforted.
After a time, the sparrow brushed his cheek with a soft wing, and perching lightly on one of the boy's fingers, drew him up and beyond the singing stars. He gasped as their heads broke through a barrier of water and for a moment he panicked, holding his breath. They were completely immersed in water, but they had entered from below rather than above (which you can imagine would be highly disorienting). He looked at his companion, still perched on his finger, holding tighter now with its tiny talons, and saw that it was swimming through the water with its wings and smiling (if a sparrow can smile) quite cheerily at him.
"Breathe!" the bird said merrily, laughing (if a sparrow can laugh) at the confusion on the boy's face. "This is not your earth, and you are not what you were there. Here, in the Waters Above, there is nothing to fear, but all is peace and perfection." The boy didn't want to breathe, but it seemed he had no choice, and remembering it wasn't likely that sparrows could talk either, he decided to take a chance and let the tiniest bit of water into his lungs. It was as light as, or perhaps even lighter than, the air he had breathed all his life, so he opened his mouth, inhaled and looked around.
There was nothing really to see, except for the Water. And though it was comforting to pass suspended through this paradisaical pond, it DID go on and on, and it WAS probably going to be five-hundred years again, whatever THAT meant. The sparrow seemed to read his thoughts and, perching on his shoulder, spoke into his ear. "This is not our destination. The journey to the Heaven of Heavens, where the angels speak the holiness of all things, is beyond the Waters. Rest and I'll wake you when we get closer." So the boy closed his eyes, wondering what angels really looked like and slept.
When the boy woke, they were still in the Water, but all around him great shafts and beams of undulating light shone. It seemed there must be movement and light from above that penetrated these depths and he waited eagerly for what was to come.
It seemed awhile before they finally neared the surface, the Water changing from dark to silver shot with gold, till all around him was luminescent yellow-white, and then his head broke through. His eyes were blinded with light, and his ears were filled with the sound of a golden chanting, like the music of a million crystalline streams leaping down from heights beyond heights.
When he could finally see a little, the boy squinted around him and sucked his breath in with delight. He and the sparrow had stopped moving now, their feet planted firmly on what appeared to be the bank of a great sea. The sea sparkled like crystals, reflecting the light all around, which appeared to be coming from the angels who were everywhere. And it did appear that they were like he had seen in pictures, but larger and more happy and serious all at the same time.
Some flew above the sea and others walked singly along the golden bank. Many clustered together, speaking gravely, or merrily animated; all deep in conversation or thought, and their very words were light issuing from their mouths. The light, in fact, was so great, it was difficult to determine the angels from the atmosphere, all being a shifting and turning of different aspects of brightness.
Two angels, close by, saw him and approached. "Welcome, He Who Wonders," they said. "We were told you would be here sometime this half-millennium. Welcome!" The boy smiled in return, and remained silent. He was afraid that to speak would dirty this place, so he was content to listen. And in listening he began to hear the chanting of the holiness of all things, and he listened and he listened, for within the chanting he saw there were answers to some of his wondering; and whether the answers came to his ears or to his heart he couldn't tell, and really, he didn't care.
He could make out a little of what was said, and it went something like this. "In Holy Jerusalem, in the Holy of Holies, most Holy of all is the Foundation Stone. From this all was created. Holiness, holiness, holiness! Within all living things is a Holy of Holies, to be filled with the Foundation Stone of creation, most holy of all. Holiness, holiness, holiness! Breathe in the world's sorrows. Breathe out the Stone's holiness, and the healing of all creation continues. Holiness, holiness, holiness!"
it seemed a puzzle and a riddle to the boy, yet a puzzle and a riddle with the meaning right on the tip of his tongue. And although he couldn't fully understand or put the meaning into words, the holiness was all around and he was filled with hope, and he was glad for it had been a long time. he woke to find the sun shining full on his face and it was late and he was happy and he was fourteen.
3 - The Myriads upon Myriads and the Prince of the Army
The next seven years passed for the boy with as much craziness and distress as any normal teenage years, his mother's hair obtaining a certain distinguished gray streak in the process. And soon he was no longer a boy but a man. His mother had remarried, and in a flurry of homesickness had moved them all, lock, stock and barrel to a pretty little island just off the coast of a busy city.
During this time the boy had developed theories to help him understand the nature of life, and the reason for troubles, for in all probability he'd had more than his share. One of his favorite ideas was that each human, during their time on earth, was being prepared for a great cosmic battle. Those who were able to overcome troubles and defeat adversities would then be more valuable in the great army to come. Like any other boy turning man, he longed for the days of knights and dragons and chivalry, wondering if he had perhaps been born into the wrong century. He believed when it was time, he would discard his old skin like a hermit crab grown too big for its shell, looking for garments to fit a new self, and the boy, now a man, would stand wrapped in celestial armor, shining like the sun, ready always to vanquish evil and sadness and pain. But that was far away and really just an idea and perhaps that was all...
The two previous visits to the heavens were still clear in his head, but he had some doubts as to the reality of them. However, as his twenty-first birthday drew near, anticipation DID begin to grow in his belly and on the eve of his birthday he wondered. It was the wee hours of the morning before he finally slept and it seemed only seconds later he was woken by, you guessed it, that loud, articulate voice.
The young man, for he WAS a young man now, opened his eyes eagerly, wondering what strange form his guide would take this time, and saw nothing. He blinked and looked again, but was disappointed. He was beginning to think it was just a dream when the voice spoke again. "Not everything that IS can be seen with the eyes, sometimes you need to see with your heart."
The young man sat straight up and strained his eyes in the direction of the voice, but all he could see was his cabin wall. The voice laughed and a strong hand took his in a firm grip. "Come on, it's time for the Third Heaven where the myriads upon myriads gather with the Prince of the Army of God."
Well that DID sound interesting, and the young man was all for it, so off they went through the roof; the island and ocean and city and moon all consecutively disappearing beneath his speeding, bare feet. And then there were the stars, and the sea and the angels, all more glorious than he remembered and his heart was full again.
As they were passing through the final layers of the angels chanting the holiness of all things, he asked his companion, who had been silent but very present the entire journey, about the five-hundred year thing. it seemed a problem to him, as each journey, although it was long, did not seem to him to be THAT long and he wondered. There was an "aah" from beside him and the voice answered. "Do you remember where it is written "a thousand years is as a day and a days as a thousand years"?
"Of course," he thought. Why hadn't he remembered? He nodded to the air beside him, still luminescent with the remnants of holiness.
"It is your answer then," spoke the voice. "When you are outside earth time, there is no measuring stick for 'time' anymore. Time simply IS." And although it was still hard to understand, the young man was content.
He and his companion had finally left the sound of the chanting behind and what they now began to hear was like the distant roar of pounding surf upon the shore. His heart began to beat with excitement as the roar became more distinctive and the clamor of shouts and the clang and sizzle of metal upon metal filled the air. Like a curtain being drawn back, the scene before him appeared.
if you could count the trees one by one in a northern forest extending thousands of miles beyond your horizon, or know the number of kernels of wheat that wave in their expansive fields in the burning days of late summer, then perhaps it would be possible to number the army that marched and rode upon the ground, or those that flew and wheeled in the air above the young man.
There were those mounted on proud stallions, carrying standards of bright red. There were rank upon rank, fading beyond his sight, of brave-faced,resolute men and women, all with a smile and many with laughter. And though there was a multitude, each stood out, distinct and individual, and the young man knew each was important and all were necessary.
Then there were the flying beasts above, each carrying what appeared to be a noble officer, higher in authority then the others, but of no more importance. These beasts were golden, winged lions that roared and cavorted above the victorious cries from below. And higher yet than all of these was an angel of immense proportions, seated upon a snow-white, winged horse. He was clothed all in white and silver, and from his mouth issued the orders to this great army, which fell like light to their ears and they roared their approval.
Beyond, the young man could see a dark and boiling cloud of activity approaching, and without fear or hesitation this sea of gladness swelled forward to meet it. There was a mighty clashing of light and darkness for what seemed an endless time, until slowly the darkness diminished and the assembly of gladness returned with boisterous singing.
The voice of the young man's companion came from beside him, and the young man let out his breath in a whoosh, as he realized he had been holding it. "This which you have seen in the third level of all heavens is what has always been, what is and what will be until all evil is gone, which is imminent. The prince of angels, Michael, who is riding on the white winged horse, perpetually leads this army into battle against all darkness. This will be until the ending of all time, when the NOW becomes forever."
Cryptic...but cool.
And so the young man stepped outside his cabin later on in the day to a world as fresh and new as perhaps the first day of all time had been, and he pondered. For he had seen there are still dragons to overcome, only perhaps the costumes were different and the dragons appeared tamer, but they were dragons still the same and they must be defeated.
During this time the boy had developed theories to help him understand the nature of life, and the reason for troubles, for in all probability he'd had more than his share. One of his favorite ideas was that each human, during their time on earth, was being prepared for a great cosmic battle. Those who were able to overcome troubles and defeat adversities would then be more valuable in the great army to come. Like any other boy turning man, he longed for the days of knights and dragons and chivalry, wondering if he had perhaps been born into the wrong century. He believed when it was time, he would discard his old skin like a hermit crab grown too big for its shell, looking for garments to fit a new self, and the boy, now a man, would stand wrapped in celestial armor, shining like the sun, ready always to vanquish evil and sadness and pain. But that was far away and really just an idea and perhaps that was all...
The two previous visits to the heavens were still clear in his head, but he had some doubts as to the reality of them. However, as his twenty-first birthday drew near, anticipation DID begin to grow in his belly and on the eve of his birthday he wondered. It was the wee hours of the morning before he finally slept and it seemed only seconds later he was woken by, you guessed it, that loud, articulate voice.
The young man, for he WAS a young man now, opened his eyes eagerly, wondering what strange form his guide would take this time, and saw nothing. He blinked and looked again, but was disappointed. He was beginning to think it was just a dream when the voice spoke again. "Not everything that IS can be seen with the eyes, sometimes you need to see with your heart."
The young man sat straight up and strained his eyes in the direction of the voice, but all he could see was his cabin wall. The voice laughed and a strong hand took his in a firm grip. "Come on, it's time for the Third Heaven where the myriads upon myriads gather with the Prince of the Army of God."
Well that DID sound interesting, and the young man was all for it, so off they went through the roof; the island and ocean and city and moon all consecutively disappearing beneath his speeding, bare feet. And then there were the stars, and the sea and the angels, all more glorious than he remembered and his heart was full again.
As they were passing through the final layers of the angels chanting the holiness of all things, he asked his companion, who had been silent but very present the entire journey, about the five-hundred year thing. it seemed a problem to him, as each journey, although it was long, did not seem to him to be THAT long and he wondered. There was an "aah" from beside him and the voice answered. "Do you remember where it is written "a thousand years is as a day and a days as a thousand years"?
"Of course," he thought. Why hadn't he remembered? He nodded to the air beside him, still luminescent with the remnants of holiness.
"It is your answer then," spoke the voice. "When you are outside earth time, there is no measuring stick for 'time' anymore. Time simply IS." And although it was still hard to understand, the young man was content.
He and his companion had finally left the sound of the chanting behind and what they now began to hear was like the distant roar of pounding surf upon the shore. His heart began to beat with excitement as the roar became more distinctive and the clamor of shouts and the clang and sizzle of metal upon metal filled the air. Like a curtain being drawn back, the scene before him appeared.
if you could count the trees one by one in a northern forest extending thousands of miles beyond your horizon, or know the number of kernels of wheat that wave in their expansive fields in the burning days of late summer, then perhaps it would be possible to number the army that marched and rode upon the ground, or those that flew and wheeled in the air above the young man.
There were those mounted on proud stallions, carrying standards of bright red. There were rank upon rank, fading beyond his sight, of brave-faced,resolute men and women, all with a smile and many with laughter. And though there was a multitude, each stood out, distinct and individual, and the young man knew each was important and all were necessary.
Then there were the flying beasts above, each carrying what appeared to be a noble officer, higher in authority then the others, but of no more importance. These beasts were golden, winged lions that roared and cavorted above the victorious cries from below. And higher yet than all of these was an angel of immense proportions, seated upon a snow-white, winged horse. He was clothed all in white and silver, and from his mouth issued the orders to this great army, which fell like light to their ears and they roared their approval.
Beyond, the young man could see a dark and boiling cloud of activity approaching, and without fear or hesitation this sea of gladness swelled forward to meet it. There was a mighty clashing of light and darkness for what seemed an endless time, until slowly the darkness diminished and the assembly of gladness returned with boisterous singing.
The voice of the young man's companion came from beside him, and the young man let out his breath in a whoosh, as he realized he had been holding it. "This which you have seen in the third level of all heavens is what has always been, what is and what will be until all evil is gone, which is imminent. The prince of angels, Michael, who is riding on the white winged horse, perpetually leads this army into battle against all darkness. This will be until the ending of all time, when the NOW becomes forever."
Cryptic...but cool.
And so the young man stepped outside his cabin later on in the day to a world as fresh and new as perhaps the first day of all time had been, and he pondered. For he had seen there are still dragons to overcome, only perhaps the costumes were different and the dragons appeared tamer, but they were dragons still the same and they must be defeated.
4 - The Level of the Canopy of the Word
Now seven years begin to pass more quickly as one gets older, perhaps due to the fact that the percentage of one year diminishes more and more in comparison to the years spent alive. In any case, the young man, now a grown man, was prepared for his twenty-eighth birthday, realizing a special gift had been given to him, possibly because he wondered, or maybe it was simply random, for he was sure there were a whole lot of people who wondered as he did.
He had grown more serious and more joyful as the years passed. There had been purpose given to him from the time of his last birthday, knowing this life was a preparation of things to come, and he was learning to face his dragons with courage and to save his maidens with chivalry. He did all this dressed simply in jeans and armed only with love, but these were the armor and the weapons of his day.
He and his sister were living in a compact little condo nestled in the heart of the busy city across from his mother's island, but they often got together and their love grew stronger, not less.
On the morning of his twenty-eighth birthday the man had risen early, shaved, and sat quietly on the edge of his bed waiting for the inevitable voice to materialize. He had been sitting for perhaps an hour in happy expectation when he felt the bed move beside him and turning to look he saw his father sitting next to him, appearing quite pleased with himself.
You can imagine the surprise of the man, as he hadn't seen his father since he was twelve, and the image of him had faded rather completely from his mind. But there he was, as solid as the computer by his bed. "Hey, kid." his father said, which, the grown man remembered, was JUST like him. "Time for the fourth level of heaven, to the Canopy of the Word. Are you ready?" And of course he was, so putting his hand in his father's warm and very real one, he and his father sped upward and outward and beyond.
And so, through the firmament and through the sea; on past the angels STILL chanting the holiness of all things, and then upward even more to gaze upon the eternal armies in their eternal gladness, eternally trouncing their foes. It seemed to him all of this was in itself a lifetime and in his finite mind perhaps it was all he could absorb.
While still in thought, he found they had stopped and he was gazing at a large canopy, the colour of soft moss in spring, which filled all the space around where he now stood. It was supported by what appeared to be slender tree trunks, their roots gripping the stone beneath his feet. Where the leaves and branches would normally appear there was only lovely undulating fabric stretching into infinity. it looked to him like an eternal forest.
The ground he stood on was smooth, white rock which also reached as far as he could see. Upon the rock were an infinite number of symbols and words which were etched, row upon endless row, into the stone. He turned, questioning, to his father. It was so different here. No loud and vibrant singing, no chanting of the holiness of the Stone, no glad and roaring victory cry. All was silent, except for the ripple of a warm wind through the covering; nothing but the canopy and the ground and the words upon the ground.
The man's father moved forward from his side, walking along the aisles created by the supports which held up the canopy. He followed. "See here," his father said, motioning to one side and then the next, "and here, and here. All that you see are the words of God alone. If you walk far enough," he said, lifting his head to gaze far beyond the horizon, "you may even see the very words He used to speak all things into existence. All things spoken by Eternal God are forever and never fade away, forever settled in the heavens."
"Look." His father motioned with his hand, kneeling down upon the rock to inspect some words more closely. The man joined him and looked. There were words he had learned as a child, chiseled deep within the rock. "In the beginning was the Word, and Word was with God and the Word was God..."
He knew there was no possibility of changing these words. And he knew the permanency of them was symbolic of the permanence of every spoken word, whether the Almighty's or his own. He had wondered and considered, at times, the creative power of words, knowing God had used Words alone to create all things, and he pondered how often he had created good or bad with his own.
He like this place of silence and intransience. It gave him a feeling of solidity and being; in fact, he couldn't ever remember feeling so solid and real; so "himself". He looked back at his father who smiled, and the smile stayed with him as he slipped back down, down, down, all in a blur, till he found himself sitting on the edge of his bed again. His hand was still warm from the touch of his father's and the sense of solidness stayed with him for the rest of his life.
He had grown more serious and more joyful as the years passed. There had been purpose given to him from the time of his last birthday, knowing this life was a preparation of things to come, and he was learning to face his dragons with courage and to save his maidens with chivalry. He did all this dressed simply in jeans and armed only with love, but these were the armor and the weapons of his day.
He and his sister were living in a compact little condo nestled in the heart of the busy city across from his mother's island, but they often got together and their love grew stronger, not less.
On the morning of his twenty-eighth birthday the man had risen early, shaved, and sat quietly on the edge of his bed waiting for the inevitable voice to materialize. He had been sitting for perhaps an hour in happy expectation when he felt the bed move beside him and turning to look he saw his father sitting next to him, appearing quite pleased with himself.
You can imagine the surprise of the man, as he hadn't seen his father since he was twelve, and the image of him had faded rather completely from his mind. But there he was, as solid as the computer by his bed. "Hey, kid." his father said, which, the grown man remembered, was JUST like him. "Time for the fourth level of heaven, to the Canopy of the Word. Are you ready?" And of course he was, so putting his hand in his father's warm and very real one, he and his father sped upward and outward and beyond.
And so, through the firmament and through the sea; on past the angels STILL chanting the holiness of all things, and then upward even more to gaze upon the eternal armies in their eternal gladness, eternally trouncing their foes. It seemed to him all of this was in itself a lifetime and in his finite mind perhaps it was all he could absorb.
While still in thought, he found they had stopped and he was gazing at a large canopy, the colour of soft moss in spring, which filled all the space around where he now stood. It was supported by what appeared to be slender tree trunks, their roots gripping the stone beneath his feet. Where the leaves and branches would normally appear there was only lovely undulating fabric stretching into infinity. it looked to him like an eternal forest.
The ground he stood on was smooth, white rock which also reached as far as he could see. Upon the rock were an infinite number of symbols and words which were etched, row upon endless row, into the stone. He turned, questioning, to his father. It was so different here. No loud and vibrant singing, no chanting of the holiness of the Stone, no glad and roaring victory cry. All was silent, except for the ripple of a warm wind through the covering; nothing but the canopy and the ground and the words upon the ground.
The man's father moved forward from his side, walking along the aisles created by the supports which held up the canopy. He followed. "See here," his father said, motioning to one side and then the next, "and here, and here. All that you see are the words of God alone. If you walk far enough," he said, lifting his head to gaze far beyond the horizon, "you may even see the very words He used to speak all things into existence. All things spoken by Eternal God are forever and never fade away, forever settled in the heavens."
"Look." His father motioned with his hand, kneeling down upon the rock to inspect some words more closely. The man joined him and looked. There were words he had learned as a child, chiseled deep within the rock. "In the beginning was the Word, and Word was with God and the Word was God..."
He knew there was no possibility of changing these words. And he knew the permanency of them was symbolic of the permanence of every spoken word, whether the Almighty's or his own. He had wondered and considered, at times, the creative power of words, knowing God had used Words alone to create all things, and he pondered how often he had created good or bad with his own.
He like this place of silence and intransience. It gave him a feeling of solidity and being; in fact, he couldn't ever remember feeling so solid and real; so "himself". He looked back at his father who smiled, and the smile stayed with him as he slipped back down, down, down, all in a blur, till he found himself sitting on the edge of his bed again. His hand was still warm from the touch of his father's and the sense of solidness stayed with him for the rest of his life.
5 - the Level of the Storehouse of Snow and Hail
By the time his thirty-fifth birthday was approaching, he had been married for six years. His wife was lovely and fun and tormented, and his little girl, Lucy, who was four years old, was his pride and joy. The years had been busy, sometimes too much so, but the solidness had kept him from spinning out of control and their home was one of peace and happiness with the occasional really good fight with his wife thrown in.
He was ready and waiting again when his guide came to get him on the morning of his birthday. He had spent the years wondering (when he had time) what he would see and learn at the fifth level of heaven, but for the life of him couldn't think what it might be.
His guide this time was a lovely winged horse that flew in his window and whisked him away and up just as before, but this time solidly seated on a broad, strong back. The heavens, as he passed them were dear to him, and each felt like he was revisiting a room in an old and well-loved house. They no longer faded from his mind in the passing years, and the joy of each reunion was almost too sweet to bear.
After sweeping over the silent green infinity of the Canopy of the Word, he and his traveling companion were suddenly swept upward by a mighty blast of cold air, and darkness surrounded them. The cold, however, was refreshing and the darkness was like a velvet blanket. The chill remained, but the darkness began to lighten to the softness of grey that swirled and danced in the air. Distinct white shapes that floated and dipped around him and his mount began to stand out against the grey. Focusing, he saw these shapes were large and intricate snowflakes. They were the size of dinner plates, but light and airy as goose down. There were also large particles of ice crystals spinning through he air, more compact than the snowflakes, and he saw the snowflakes were weaving in and out of the ice crystal. Like no snow storm he had seen on earth, these were following a path that seemed to be set out for them, tracing patterns like a child's Spirograph drawing set in the air all around.
The ice crystals colliding with the man and the winged horse vanished on impact, taking up their dance again as they reappeared on the other side of their bodies. The whole scene was so magical, and he was so entranced, he failed to notice, until they were at the very steps, they were standing before an immense temple-like structure, with pillars of ice which soared at least two or three hundred feet into the air (at least that was as far as he could see before they disappeared into the swirling snow). He gaped at the size of the structure, bending his neck back as far as he could. Then dismounting, he set his foot upon the broad stairway and climbed to the top. Made also of ice, the doors were wrought in exquisite patterns of frost. They too soared up beyond sight, but undaunted, he place his hand upon the door and it swung open.
There was a world of so much brightness and purity he had to shield his eyes from the brilliance. All things perfect were here. If you can think of tiny pink babies and white roses with a single drop of dew on the petal; or swans on crystal lakes with bright green willows drooping over them then you will understand. Icicles, and snowdrops pushing through the snow, crystal clear mountain springs tumbling over slate blue boulders and dashing through cool dark caves; all of these things were here in a wonderful tumble of flashing and laughter and fragrance and sound.
He turned to the horse in wonder and found a small winged cherub there in its place. Its rosy cheeks glowed with delight, and it giggled from way deep down in its dimpled little belly.
"Do you like it?" the little cherub gurgle. "Why of course you do," it answered itself and went off into gales of laughter as though a hundred perfect fingers were tickling his perfect chubby tummy.
The cherub remind the man of his beloved little girl, Lucy, and he smiled, feeling a deep-down belly laugh pushing its way to the surface. He burst into laughter too and the pair of them bent and swayed with the joy of their happiness.
"What is this place?" he asked when he could speak, wiping away the dewy tears littering his cheeks.
"This," said the cherub, in an important little voice, "is the storehouse of snow and of hail."
The man looked puzzled. "We're too far away for this to ever reach the earth," he questioned. "What is it really?"
"Well it's not EARTH snow and hail, that's for sure," agreed the little cherub. "This stands for everything pure and perfect, for there are a FEW things left,' it said, (looking suddenly a little serious), which still are. One day ALL the hail and ALL the snow WILL reach the earth, and on THAT day everything will be washed clean again. Grumpy people won't know how to grump any more, and bad nasties will only want to do nice things to others. There won't be any more garbage on the streets or in the air, and the perfects things will all come home again. Until then Almighty God is saving them, up here...where they can be happy."
And as the man looked around him at this fresh, boisterous, perfect place, that didn't actually make sense in earth sense, he smiled with hope, and with his hope came a determination to make and keep his tiny corner of the world a little more perfect; for his Lucy and his wife, and maybe even for himself.
When he found himself at home again, he was standing in his back yard. He thought for a while, wondering what he could do. Lucy popped her sleepy head out the back door just then, hair all over and yelled, "Daddy! It's your birthday today, what we gonna do?!"
He smiled, walking over to pick her up, and held her soft face against his cheek. "Plant a garden, darling," he said. "Plant a garden."
He was ready and waiting again when his guide came to get him on the morning of his birthday. He had spent the years wondering (when he had time) what he would see and learn at the fifth level of heaven, but for the life of him couldn't think what it might be.
His guide this time was a lovely winged horse that flew in his window and whisked him away and up just as before, but this time solidly seated on a broad, strong back. The heavens, as he passed them were dear to him, and each felt like he was revisiting a room in an old and well-loved house. They no longer faded from his mind in the passing years, and the joy of each reunion was almost too sweet to bear.
After sweeping over the silent green infinity of the Canopy of the Word, he and his traveling companion were suddenly swept upward by a mighty blast of cold air, and darkness surrounded them. The cold, however, was refreshing and the darkness was like a velvet blanket. The chill remained, but the darkness began to lighten to the softness of grey that swirled and danced in the air. Distinct white shapes that floated and dipped around him and his mount began to stand out against the grey. Focusing, he saw these shapes were large and intricate snowflakes. They were the size of dinner plates, but light and airy as goose down. There were also large particles of ice crystals spinning through he air, more compact than the snowflakes, and he saw the snowflakes were weaving in and out of the ice crystal. Like no snow storm he had seen on earth, these were following a path that seemed to be set out for them, tracing patterns like a child's Spirograph drawing set in the air all around.
The ice crystals colliding with the man and the winged horse vanished on impact, taking up their dance again as they reappeared on the other side of their bodies. The whole scene was so magical, and he was so entranced, he failed to notice, until they were at the very steps, they were standing before an immense temple-like structure, with pillars of ice which soared at least two or three hundred feet into the air (at least that was as far as he could see before they disappeared into the swirling snow). He gaped at the size of the structure, bending his neck back as far as he could. Then dismounting, he set his foot upon the broad stairway and climbed to the top. Made also of ice, the doors were wrought in exquisite patterns of frost. They too soared up beyond sight, but undaunted, he place his hand upon the door and it swung open.
There was a world of so much brightness and purity he had to shield his eyes from the brilliance. All things perfect were here. If you can think of tiny pink babies and white roses with a single drop of dew on the petal; or swans on crystal lakes with bright green willows drooping over them then you will understand. Icicles, and snowdrops pushing through the snow, crystal clear mountain springs tumbling over slate blue boulders and dashing through cool dark caves; all of these things were here in a wonderful tumble of flashing and laughter and fragrance and sound.
He turned to the horse in wonder and found a small winged cherub there in its place. Its rosy cheeks glowed with delight, and it giggled from way deep down in its dimpled little belly.
"Do you like it?" the little cherub gurgle. "Why of course you do," it answered itself and went off into gales of laughter as though a hundred perfect fingers were tickling his perfect chubby tummy.
The cherub remind the man of his beloved little girl, Lucy, and he smiled, feeling a deep-down belly laugh pushing its way to the surface. He burst into laughter too and the pair of them bent and swayed with the joy of their happiness.
"What is this place?" he asked when he could speak, wiping away the dewy tears littering his cheeks.
"This," said the cherub, in an important little voice, "is the storehouse of snow and of hail."
The man looked puzzled. "We're too far away for this to ever reach the earth," he questioned. "What is it really?"
"Well it's not EARTH snow and hail, that's for sure," agreed the little cherub. "This stands for everything pure and perfect, for there are a FEW things left,' it said, (looking suddenly a little serious), which still are. One day ALL the hail and ALL the snow WILL reach the earth, and on THAT day everything will be washed clean again. Grumpy people won't know how to grump any more, and bad nasties will only want to do nice things to others. There won't be any more garbage on the streets or in the air, and the perfects things will all come home again. Until then Almighty God is saving them, up here...where they can be happy."
And as the man looked around him at this fresh, boisterous, perfect place, that didn't actually make sense in earth sense, he smiled with hope, and with his hope came a determination to make and keep his tiny corner of the world a little more perfect; for his Lucy and his wife, and maybe even for himself.
When he found himself at home again, he was standing in his back yard. He thought for a while, wondering what he could do. Lucy popped her sleepy head out the back door just then, hair all over and yelled, "Daddy! It's your birthday today, what we gonna do?!"
He smiled, walking over to pick her up, and held her soft face against his cheek. "Plant a garden, darling," he said. "Plant a garden."
6 - The Treasure Houses of Peace and Blessings; the Sixth Heaven
Now the man was almost fourty-two, and life was beginning to make him a little tired. It seemed there was never enough money for their expenses and his beloved Lucy, who was now eleven, and who had been exhibiting hormones from the young age of ten, was becoming a royal pain in the rear. he realized he had indulged her, his only child, at times, but had always felt it was justified. Lately, however, he was beginning to wonder how much more whining and demanding he was willing to put up with. His sweet and slightly chubbier wife just threw up her hands, muttering things like "early teenager' and "I told you so...", but wasn't much help at all.
The man, tired as he was, decided to take a small break for his birthday and take himself off to a little cabin on a lake, which he was working hard to pay off, along with his city home, second car and latest computer equipment for his own business. And darned if he didn't notice a large bill on his credit card from Suzy Shiers this month.
His wife and daughter weren't too upset about his going off by himself on his fourty-second, as it happened to fall on the same day as the yearly "Shop and Drop" sale at the local mall. So he packed a few warm clothes and his fishing rod, loaded a cooler with sausage and more sausage, and stopping at the beer store for a six-pack, headed for the hills.
The man reached the cabin by noon, dumped his beer in the cold lake and settled down for a quiet afternoon of fishing. He started to feel the peace descend on his tense shoulders as the sun sank behind the hills. He hadn't any luck, so he fried up some sausage for dinner, and settling into his sleeping bag with the latest computer gaming magazine, he lay there listening to the night sounds outside. Tired out, and a little soul sick, he turned off the lamp and went to sleep; a rather restless sleep. When he woke, still tired, he saw a woman sitting beside his bed, waiting patiently for him.
Her age was indiscernible, as were her features, but she wore a dress of sky blue wool, and her soft brown hair hung all around.
"Who are you?" the man asked, rising up on one elbow.
"My name is Wisdom, and I have always been. Come with me and I will show you things you need to see."
The man place a trusting hand in hers, soft but strong, and they were off, soaring over the lake and up and...well, you know how the story goes.
Longing to stop and see the chuckling cherub in the storehouse of snow and hail, he was pleased when, as though Wisdom had read his wish, they stopped and he spent what seemed an endless time walking through the perfection of that place and gazing on the brightness of sound and sight. He was refreshed when the woman led him away.
"We are going to the Treasure Houses of Peace and Blessing," she explained. "Here you will see what Peace is and also true Blessing." Her voice faded as she spoke the final words and she was gone, leaving him in the middle of a broad expanse of grass fields. He stood there, a little puzzled, waiting. This was not what he had expected. Perhaps another structure with Peace, whatever that might look like, stored there, but not this.
Waiting, for he knew he would understand if he waited, the man gazed all around. The fields were more alive than any he had seen, the entire landscape moving in grassy waves; no sound but the swish of blade against blade. It felt as though he were standing by the sea, with the waves rolling in at his feet, and suddenly he was, the salt air tangy on his lips and the sea wind kissing his brow with foam. And then the wind was rushing through dark green pines that bowed high over head where he stood, a tiny speck against the
enormity of this heavenly forest.
Peace came like an animate thing and perched in his heart again. He smiled and let it in. Turning to walk down the forest path, he saw Wisdom coming toward him. "I see," he said, "what Peace is. It is being small before majesty, and resting in the arms of something that is greater than I am."
"Yes," she answered, "and with the knowledge of peace, comes the acquiring of blessings, because a peaceful heart longs for only those things which are true blessings, and so there is room for all of them."
The cry of a loon woke the man up, for he had fallen into a deep and restful sleep. The peace was there, nesting in his heart like a mother bird bent on staying and the day was full of promise.
He got into his SUV and sped home. It didn't take him long to sell his city house and move his surprised wife and angry daughter out to the cabin. He did have to make a few changes, like getting a satellite dish so he could work from home, but that helped to pacify Lucy who could chat with her friends on-line. They got a dog and a cat and some rabbits to keep her company and it didn't take long for Lucy to make friends with a family of hippies down the road, the kids' names being Oak, Ash and Maple.
Things weren't perfect for sure, but he put his foot down more often with Lucy and soon she started to see some sense, so that by the time she was 17 she was almost human again. His wife was happier than he could ever remember, gardening and gathering herbs and laughing with the hippy kids' mother, Tallulah, in the quiet twilight by the lake.
And he, he knew what blessings were, for they were all around him, in his home and in his arms and in his heart.
The man, tired as he was, decided to take a small break for his birthday and take himself off to a little cabin on a lake, which he was working hard to pay off, along with his city home, second car and latest computer equipment for his own business. And darned if he didn't notice a large bill on his credit card from Suzy Shiers this month.
His wife and daughter weren't too upset about his going off by himself on his fourty-second, as it happened to fall on the same day as the yearly "Shop and Drop" sale at the local mall. So he packed a few warm clothes and his fishing rod, loaded a cooler with sausage and more sausage, and stopping at the beer store for a six-pack, headed for the hills.
The man reached the cabin by noon, dumped his beer in the cold lake and settled down for a quiet afternoon of fishing. He started to feel the peace descend on his tense shoulders as the sun sank behind the hills. He hadn't any luck, so he fried up some sausage for dinner, and settling into his sleeping bag with the latest computer gaming magazine, he lay there listening to the night sounds outside. Tired out, and a little soul sick, he turned off the lamp and went to sleep; a rather restless sleep. When he woke, still tired, he saw a woman sitting beside his bed, waiting patiently for him.
Her age was indiscernible, as were her features, but she wore a dress of sky blue wool, and her soft brown hair hung all around.
"Who are you?" the man asked, rising up on one elbow.
"My name is Wisdom, and I have always been. Come with me and I will show you things you need to see."
The man place a trusting hand in hers, soft but strong, and they were off, soaring over the lake and up and...well, you know how the story goes.
Longing to stop and see the chuckling cherub in the storehouse of snow and hail, he was pleased when, as though Wisdom had read his wish, they stopped and he spent what seemed an endless time walking through the perfection of that place and gazing on the brightness of sound and sight. He was refreshed when the woman led him away.
"We are going to the Treasure Houses of Peace and Blessing," she explained. "Here you will see what Peace is and also true Blessing." Her voice faded as she spoke the final words and she was gone, leaving him in the middle of a broad expanse of grass fields. He stood there, a little puzzled, waiting. This was not what he had expected. Perhaps another structure with Peace, whatever that might look like, stored there, but not this.
Waiting, for he knew he would understand if he waited, the man gazed all around. The fields were more alive than any he had seen, the entire landscape moving in grassy waves; no sound but the swish of blade against blade. It felt as though he were standing by the sea, with the waves rolling in at his feet, and suddenly he was, the salt air tangy on his lips and the sea wind kissing his brow with foam. And then the wind was rushing through dark green pines that bowed high over head where he stood, a tiny speck against the
enormity of this heavenly forest.
Peace came like an animate thing and perched in his heart again. He smiled and let it in. Turning to walk down the forest path, he saw Wisdom coming toward him. "I see," he said, "what Peace is. It is being small before majesty, and resting in the arms of something that is greater than I am."
"Yes," she answered, "and with the knowledge of peace, comes the acquiring of blessings, because a peaceful heart longs for only those things which are true blessings, and so there is room for all of them."
The cry of a loon woke the man up, for he had fallen into a deep and restful sleep. The peace was there, nesting in his heart like a mother bird bent on staying and the day was full of promise.
He got into his SUV and sped home. It didn't take him long to sell his city house and move his surprised wife and angry daughter out to the cabin. He did have to make a few changes, like getting a satellite dish so he could work from home, but that helped to pacify Lucy who could chat with her friends on-line. They got a dog and a cat and some rabbits to keep her company and it didn't take long for Lucy to make friends with a family of hippies down the road, the kids' names being Oak, Ash and Maple.
Things weren't perfect for sure, but he put his foot down more often with Lucy and soon she started to see some sense, so that by the time she was 17 she was almost human again. His wife was happier than he could ever remember, gardening and gathering herbs and laughing with the hippy kids' mother, Tallulah, in the quiet twilight by the lake.
And he, he knew what blessings were, for they were all around him, in his home and in his arms and in his heart.
7 - The Seventh Level being the Canopy of the Temple
Nearing half a century was a big deal to him, and as he approached his fourty-ninth birthday the man wondered what the final level of heaven would be like. He knew enough about numbers to understand that fourty-nine was a special number; seven times seven years. He had been told by his mother that her father had died at this age, which although sad, seemed rather a perfectct number to ride out of here on. He was in fine health, as were his beloved wife and daughter, although his temples WERE streaked with a lovely shade of silver, and he wasn't real thrilled with the idea of getting old.
The fleeting years impressed themselves on the man, and he wondered at times what the point was, and why he didn't have more time, and what he'd really done with all those years, as we all do, even when we've done quite a bit.
On the morning of his birthday, the man stood ready and waiting when the frog of his seven year old birthday hopped under his door.
His wife was fast asleep in the bed, so she didn't hear a thing as they shot through the roof and up and away over their cabin and lake and the hippy family's house. Maple was standing outside in the early morning and just happened to look up as they passed overhead. She gazed, mouth open, blinked, and they were gone from her sight. She sighed and reminded herself to stop making up silly stories.
The stars were singing and dancing in their joy and he marveled at the eternalness of it all. He turned to the frog, but it was the sparrow who was now swimming steadily beside him as they passed through the sea, and then through the endless hosts of chanting angels. Again he looked. No one was there, but a firm grip was on his hand as he stood and sang a glad song with the army above. And then he looked into his father's face as they walked on the Everlasting Words and then he was laugthing with the cherub and then Wisdom held his hand and then...he was alone...
Surrounded by ancient stone walls and tapestries, he knew where he was. This was Solomon's Temple, the original, remade and waiting once again to be filled with praise. There were priests and angels here. They went about their business with happiness on their faces, and there was no killing, for the old altars were not needed anymore.
The man walked toward the first altar, a huge thing stained with hundreds of years of bloody sacrifices, silent and cold now from misuse. He pondered the purpose of this thing, this monster of blood and hope. Here mankind covered their sins with blood.
Turning away and walking closer to another archway, he stopped at a large basin of water, clear as ice and almost solid in its purity. Here they tried to wash their sins off their hands,.
And on into a smaller room.
The light of seven candles was there, and the lamp of oil that shone forever, and the man understood the Light would never go out of this world or the worlds to come, but that It was everlasting.
The altar where the incense was burned shone with its golden gilding, and the fragrance, though somewhat bitter, was pleasing to his senses. He remembered tears, too, were something that could be offered up to the Almighty, and every one was kept and placed carefully in a bottle. Perhaps this was the fragrance, bitter and sweet, he smelled here.
He approached the final room, the Holy of Holies, with reverence and expectation. Here was the place where the priests had met with the Almighty; where they risked death in His presence. He saw the curtain was torn wide open now, and the Ark of the Covenant was gone from its place, but there were angels within, chanting the holiness of all things like a far off echo of the second heaven.
Looking around, he was overcome by the finality of this place, its original purpose being done, and he was glad he lived in a time when Holiness, and Light, and the Eternal Stone that was Offered could be had within. And all these things were eternal, not flashing by like his life was. And then he knew within himself that his life, his authentic LIFE, wasn't about his hair, or his wrinkles, or his age. It was about his faith and his family and the differences he made around himself; like the maidens he had rescued and the dragons slain, the peace that he had found for his family and himself. His LIFE was made up of sacrifices for loved ones and hard work and the garden he planted with Lucy. And all the eternal seeds planted in the soil of that LIFE would eternally blossom and grow.
It didn't matter too much to the man when he looked in the mirror, in the bathroom of his cabin later on in the day, that there were wrinkles. And the belly he had acquired and which was decidedly larger after his second piece of birthday cake, was no big deal as he smiled contentedly on all who had come for his fourty-ninth birthday gathering.
The fleeting years impressed themselves on the man, and he wondered at times what the point was, and why he didn't have more time, and what he'd really done with all those years, as we all do, even when we've done quite a bit.
On the morning of his birthday, the man stood ready and waiting when the frog of his seven year old birthday hopped under his door.
His wife was fast asleep in the bed, so she didn't hear a thing as they shot through the roof and up and away over their cabin and lake and the hippy family's house. Maple was standing outside in the early morning and just happened to look up as they passed overhead. She gazed, mouth open, blinked, and they were gone from her sight. She sighed and reminded herself to stop making up silly stories.
The stars were singing and dancing in their joy and he marveled at the eternalness of it all. He turned to the frog, but it was the sparrow who was now swimming steadily beside him as they passed through the sea, and then through the endless hosts of chanting angels. Again he looked. No one was there, but a firm grip was on his hand as he stood and sang a glad song with the army above. And then he looked into his father's face as they walked on the Everlasting Words and then he was laugthing with the cherub and then Wisdom held his hand and then...he was alone...
Surrounded by ancient stone walls and tapestries, he knew where he was. This was Solomon's Temple, the original, remade and waiting once again to be filled with praise. There were priests and angels here. They went about their business with happiness on their faces, and there was no killing, for the old altars were not needed anymore.
The man walked toward the first altar, a huge thing stained with hundreds of years of bloody sacrifices, silent and cold now from misuse. He pondered the purpose of this thing, this monster of blood and hope. Here mankind covered their sins with blood.
Turning away and walking closer to another archway, he stopped at a large basin of water, clear as ice and almost solid in its purity. Here they tried to wash their sins off their hands,.
And on into a smaller room.
The light of seven candles was there, and the lamp of oil that shone forever, and the man understood the Light would never go out of this world or the worlds to come, but that It was everlasting.
The altar where the incense was burned shone with its golden gilding, and the fragrance, though somewhat bitter, was pleasing to his senses. He remembered tears, too, were something that could be offered up to the Almighty, and every one was kept and placed carefully in a bottle. Perhaps this was the fragrance, bitter and sweet, he smelled here.
He approached the final room, the Holy of Holies, with reverence and expectation. Here was the place where the priests had met with the Almighty; where they risked death in His presence. He saw the curtain was torn wide open now, and the Ark of the Covenant was gone from its place, but there were angels within, chanting the holiness of all things like a far off echo of the second heaven.
Looking around, he was overcome by the finality of this place, its original purpose being done, and he was glad he lived in a time when Holiness, and Light, and the Eternal Stone that was Offered could be had within. And all these things were eternal, not flashing by like his life was. And then he knew within himself that his life, his authentic LIFE, wasn't about his hair, or his wrinkles, or his age. It was about his faith and his family and the differences he made around himself; like the maidens he had rescued and the dragons slain, the peace that he had found for his family and himself. His LIFE was made up of sacrifices for loved ones and hard work and the garden he planted with Lucy. And all the eternal seeds planted in the soil of that LIFE would eternally blossom and grow.
It didn't matter too much to the man when he looked in the mirror, in the bathroom of his cabin later on in the day, that there were wrinkles. And the belly he had acquired and which was decidedly larger after his second piece of birthday cake, was no big deal as he smiled contentedly on all who had come for his fourty-ninth birthday gathering.
8 - Beyond
One doesn't like to speak of death, but it is there regardless. The man in our story, who was once a tiny boy who wondered, lived for a very long time. He saw his grandchildren grow up and loved them more than he thought was possible. Two more seven year periods came and went, but he didn't visit the heavens again. The wondering never stopped, but he knew there would be answers one day.
On his seventieth birthday the old man woke up, surprised by a knock on his door. he got up and opened the door, and there stood a man in jeans and t-shirt with kind eyes.
"It's time to go," the visitor said.
"Where are we going?" the old man said with surprise but no fear, a certain feeling welling up from way deep down like a delicious smell he had forgotten about...
"Beyond." said the visitor with a smile, and the old man laughed, and it was a boy's laugh, because he knew it was time. He placed his hand in the visitor's and away they flew, above the rooftop, above the lake, above the moon and then on to the stars singing happiness. And rather then each heaven being above the other, suddenly it was ALL there. And he was there and he was finished, or was he just beginning?
There was too much to take in immediately, but the man had so much time. This then was paradise, the Beyond. Surrounded by angels and other wonderers he gazed and he gazed and he gazed. Looking at his companion, the man knew suddenly where the delicious feeling had come from, and he knew as he looked into Those eyes he would never be afraid again, and for all time and for all knowledge he would never have to wonder again.
And what about Paradise? How can we who are human describe the inhuman, except for to know the desire for and the knowledge of the existence of paradise is always there. Perhaps the longing is placed like a pay stub in the pocket of every soul that takes up residence on earth, so when they die they will know what their destination should be.
Think of the earth, but perfect. Think of colours, but a thousand more, in hues that can not be imagined, and plants and fragrances and music...music...music...till you weep from the impossibility of it all and then laugh because it is real Where sound is liquid colour, and colour is food to eat. Where music touches you like feathers and ice and a good back rub and you are finally, REALLY awake for the very first time.
And the Almighty, O, the Almighty... THE END
On his seventieth birthday the old man woke up, surprised by a knock on his door. he got up and opened the door, and there stood a man in jeans and t-shirt with kind eyes.
"It's time to go," the visitor said.
"Where are we going?" the old man said with surprise but no fear, a certain feeling welling up from way deep down like a delicious smell he had forgotten about...
"Beyond." said the visitor with a smile, and the old man laughed, and it was a boy's laugh, because he knew it was time. He placed his hand in the visitor's and away they flew, above the rooftop, above the lake, above the moon and then on to the stars singing happiness. And rather then each heaven being above the other, suddenly it was ALL there. And he was there and he was finished, or was he just beginning?
There was too much to take in immediately, but the man had so much time. This then was paradise, the Beyond. Surrounded by angels and other wonderers he gazed and he gazed and he gazed. Looking at his companion, the man knew suddenly where the delicious feeling had come from, and he knew as he looked into Those eyes he would never be afraid again, and for all time and for all knowledge he would never have to wonder again.
And what about Paradise? How can we who are human describe the inhuman, except for to know the desire for and the knowledge of the existence of paradise is always there. Perhaps the longing is placed like a pay stub in the pocket of every soul that takes up residence on earth, so when they die they will know what their destination should be.
Think of the earth, but perfect. Think of colours, but a thousand more, in hues that can not be imagined, and plants and fragrances and music...music...music...till you weep from the impossibility of it all and then laugh because it is real Where sound is liquid colour, and colour is food to eat. Where music touches you like feathers and ice and a good back rub and you are finally, REALLY awake for the very first time.
And the Almighty, O, the Almighty... THE END