Not asking, then, for an invitation: i’m already in heaven, in my mind; all that’s left for me now, is to realize my place in the hierarchy. this life is an abstract, a synopsis of our significance in the life to come. that’s not to say the little people can’t be happy—they are happy, when they believe in a higher power, when they believe in God, and atone, together, through intelligent events, allowing them to worship Him. But don’t I do the same? I simply atone, more often, on my own—i atone a little more, i think, to balance out the status that i embody—the goodness, in me, that I distribute, diligently, down the chain.
but what if, in this life, there are accidents:
i’m reduced, against my will, to a state:
i can’t achieve the status this life prevents,
so how, then, am i measured, if not, to date
by my suffering? if, as a being
subject to eternal life, i resist
the urge to hate what i’m seeing,
then that resistance is what will persist
when i’m accounted for by all others,
my peers, if you will, and, through them,
my anonymous sisters and brothers.
i tap into the source from which i stem,
creating my intelligent diversions.
no mystery, then, if i should love someone beautiful, more than a partner to ride out the bad—but, on the contrary, a source of constant inspiration. Someone whose presence, after working, gets me high—and makes the suffering in me seem inconsequential, a small price to pay for happy eyes.
Someone that, if I should drift, a little out of tune with my God, steers me aright—motivating me to change the channel. and if i should love you, with all my heart? well, then, i’d be sure to align myself, all the more, with God, the better to put our shoulder to the wheel, when, in time of need, unhappy people cannot repair.
But, of course, in heaven, if we exist, then, overall, we are happy because, in point of fact, we worship them—the people, in heaven, that atone for our sins.