I am a sick man. I’m an ungrateful man. An immoral man. Alive, I craved for meaning so much that I couldn’t live to see it. I didn’t believe that heaven existed but I wanted to belong there for eternity. Never had an ounce of faith in God, still I prayed to escape unscathed from my sins. My stint on earth had been substantially consumed by the guilt of a death that I hadn’t caused. Undeservedly, for some reason, I’m in heaven and I have mixed feelings about this place. This notes is a biased, judgmental and abject account of my forlorn life.
How I came about to this place, the reasons (maybe it was random) and the details had been eclipsed by the sheer excitement of this dream coming true. It still feels like a fantasy world of sorts. Sometimes, I await the moment that would wake me up from this dream but it doesn’t arrive. I had always reckoned heaven was a fictional realm made up to ooze the stupid, to make us behave with the pretence of a happy afterlife. I was wrong. It is real! I could even have made friends with a God (there are plenty of them here) if I paid any attention but I’ve never been the kind to do something for no gain. You concede superiority and respect a person only when you envy, fear or desire something. What’s there to fear; I will not die even if you cut me into a million pieces. The wish and will of every individual are equal in here and they rarely go unrealized. But I walked up to one of the Gods and offered to worship him if he performed a miracle. Perhaps If I saw something more absurd and pointless than my cruel existence manifest in front of my very own eyes, I might get some respite that I was a part of an ulterior master plan that I couldn’t fathom just yet. He imposed that I must believe with unwavering faith, only then will I be able to see him move mountains, perform miracles and how in the blink of an eye, he unites the sky and the sea. I’ve struggled with faith throughout my life. Once when I was a child (I remember this distinctly to this day), I trotted along the neighbor’s garden on the lookout for the most beautiful flower. It was supposed to be a parting gift to my mother. But despite my efforts, I couldn’t find the perfect one, they all were a little flawed. So, I sought help of the gardener and he offered me an ugly withering white rose insisting that it was the most beautiful of the lot. I was perplexed. Do I take his word and accept it, however ugly it may seem, because I’ve put my faith in him? Surely he knows about flowers more than I do but how do I know that he has my best interest in his mind and why should he? If I let him tell me what’s beautiful and ugly, I’ll be a subservient blind person having no regard for my own judgement. How will I be able to live with myself, acting under someone else’s terms even if they were unseemly to me? And If I don’t accept his proposal, I have this choice to make that I cannot decide upon with certainty and hence, will forever reproach my inability to live on my own. Since then, I only ever revered power, not people. Show me beforehand your immense strength, then I will believe that you can move mountains. And If I find a superior, more powerful and benign God, promising something better and more beautiful, I will ignore you and devote myself to him, prostate in front of the almighty and feign sanctity. Heaven is the ultimate place of freedom where one can be free of Gods. You don’t need to worship here. If there’s nothing to gain from it, why would anyone worship a damn thing? Gods would become obsolete if everyone was content. Perhaps that is the reason for the inevitable suffering on earth, so that they can have us praying to them perpetually in vain, in false hopes of liberation from pain? It is absurd how people here still hold them in high regard forgetting that if they were the cause of our happiness and elation, they at least allowed our suffering and bereavement too. Imagine how stupid it would seem, to worship and devote your life to a fellow human being for no apparent reason or worse, for causing inexorable misery!
I had the privilege of witnessing my degrading dead body become bare bones. On top of those ugly disfigured bones, I’ve seen a true miracle happen for the very first time. The leftovers of a person like me, who had never looked after anything but himself, harbored life into something as unselfish and beautiful as a sapling. I teared up looking at that precious little thing grow. As long as I can cry, I’ll remain human; unlike everyone else who are incredibly kind, composed and defunct. It seems like there’s a tacit rule that if you sin in heaven, you’ll be put into hell. Whether it’s true or not, it certainly bothered people enough to not live. Knowing very well that words and thoughts can hurt, they don’t listen or talk to one another. They go on about their business, smiling at others, ever conscious of being good, walking in well-trodden paths and living in tested bubbles. There’s not a smell of tear drop, not a hint of despondency. Everyone is well and truly happy, living alone at peace. But what good is it? What good is peace if it can’t share grief? One may strive for an ideal world without grief, a world full of happiness but then what does being happy mean when the very notion becomes meaningless? You may be laughing at me, that even now, after salvation, I still think like a pathetic and muddle headed human, driven by greed and hunger. Make fun of me, but also enlighten me, what is the purpose of all the struggle and scampering, or lack thereof, if there’s nothing to lose and achieve? Craving for something is creating purpose for yourself; for in that very attempt at fulfilling those desires lies the essence of life. Man must covet. The only other way is to think that mere breathing is living.
I’ve heard on earth that Heaven is nothing but pure ecstasy. “Nothing but” is a tricky phrase gentlemen; one would forget the meaning of a thing without its counterpart. A term universally attached with everything loses its meaning. How can you do the right thing if there’s no wrong? What does goodness mean when everyone’s good? Likewise, Man can’t be happy all the time even if he wanted to. By not being unhappy from time to time, he would forget that he’s happy, for happiness is all about credibility. I’ve had a fine start to life in heaven. I found my favorite music & movies, had delicious food, lived with fine ladies and indulged myself in poker for years that I would have been a millionaire if this had been earth. But in endless time, one can only desire so much. I ran out of things to want few decades ago, now I have nothing to keep fighting for. There’s no path ahead. Being stranded in the middle of a road, wandering around with nowhere to go, losing every sense of control, is the worst thing that can happen. Despair has crept in like a parasite and shook me with fury. All the happiness I have clung on to, slipped away from the grip of my hands like fine sand, and turned into spite and cynicism. I am alone, living in my thoughts, despite being accompanied and treated well by good people. I resent them all. I resent how false nobility keeps them eternally happy. Their kindness makes me weak, unscrupulous and miserable. I scab picked my scars to see if I can feel a tinge of pain but even that wasn’t possible as my flesh had become dinner to worms. There is nothing I could do that would change this feeling of incompetence. It is driving me to extreme madness. If there’s any hope for me, it is in pain. To regain that credibility of living is to suffer again. Gentlemen, I beg you! Make fun of me. Offend me. Kick me until I start wailing in pain, until I scramble before your feet and bleat like a sheep, begging for mercy. I’m sick of their generosity and play acting. I’m sick of this wretched place.
You may be thinking “what a mad idiot! He can’t be content with what he has”. You think that in my position, you would do much better. I am an idiot, but this is what living in heaven does to you, it makes a moron out of any sane soul. It entices with desire for more, and one day, you will live to hate it or become part of the blind herd and stop living. Either way, soon you’ll realize that you’re nothing but another worthless piece, just playing around, fooling yourself in this vast universe; you are as insignificant as a persistent rock enduring a multitude of seasons, only for a storm to come around and put an end to its watch. In my case, there’s no real end. I dwell in the dreams of grandeur whilst waiting for a storm to take me home. Look at what this place reduced me into! What can be worse than realizing there’s no control and meaning to your life? Heaven is an emotional slaughter house. And I wanted to belong here, I wanted happiness all my life and that is exactly what I have got. Suffering seemed like such an undesirable thing. Who would like to break up after conceiving a little film in mind, living what’s left of life with your love? Who wants to live long enough to see that very person die? Suffering is excruciating! It’s such a terrible thing to happen for anyone but the bitter truth is that suffering gives meaning to one’s life. One must suffer to understand a human being. Gentlemen, I don’t have any morbid fascination with bereavement; I had been there at a tender age and I had been equally terrified of it. I wouldn’t accept it so much that I stopped living. If you suffered, I think you would understand me. Nevertheless, I feel the need to tell my story, for you to empathize with my disposition. Words can hurt where swords can’t travel. I’ve been numb for too long. All I need now is to feel some pain, the pain of remembering that you yourself and the world you live in, are not what you want them to be.