We’re looking into a never-before-seen corner of the Misty Mirror. The reflections are ill-formed and ambiguous. We have entered the world of dreams.
The tableau to follow is a remembered dream. Or was the dream a memory?
I awaken. Strange sights, unfamiliar sounds, no smells. Newborn stars, old galaxies, and rainbow-lit dust clouds surround me. Where am I?
“Welcome to my loving arms,” the Benevolent Deity breathes. “Paradise of your personal design awaits.”
Fog is slowly lifting from my brain. Wait a minute, I don’t think I have a brain. I mean, people used to say that about me, but I mean, really. Wait, why did I say people “used to” say? Yes, it’s because whatever I used to be, I’m not, because I don’t “be” anymore. I know I’m no longer alive. Then why can I think? Ooooooh geeeeeez, there really is an afterlife! Quick, how good was I? Was I good enough? Oh, no, no, no, why didn’t I pay more attention?
“It doesn’t work that way,” the BD whispers.
I’m stunned. “It doesn’t? How does it work, then? And you can hear my thoughts? Oh, I’m in so much trouble. Look, I didn’t mean half the things I thought, I mean the bad ones, well, they weren’t really bad, but I’m sorry, and…
“Shhhhhhh…” the BD sighs. “Quiet your mind. All is well. I am where I am, you are where you are meant to be. It works as I say it should work.”
I’m confused, but it’s impossible to be upset after hearing him speak. “So – you said paradise of my design?”
“You mean with purple skies, and Yankee Stadium in my backyard, and every baseball I hit is a grand slam?”
“Let it be so,” breathes the Benevolent Deity.