By Smila W. Planete
It was everything they claimed and more: the light, the overwhelming sense of calm. No pearly gates. No streets paved with gold. Paradise apparently has no need for precious metals. I felt light and buoyant.
A whisper of an angelic chorus, whose melody was somehow intuitive, wafted through the clouds. I saw nothing, and yet all was infused with brilliant light. I was nowhere in particular, yet omnipresent. A beatific sensation.
The chorus continued. The calm persisted.
My nerves began slowly, but ever increasingly, to rattle. How long could one endure perfection?
Wait. Was that an angel off key?
Thank God!
Cute little story. One question: If Paradise has no use of precious metals, it should also have no use for clouds or any of the other usual paraphernalia, right? Anyway, I liked the story. ESPECIALLY THE LAST LINE!
You’re right, of course. The music and clouds were meant to be intuitive, not empirical. But even so, they’re rather cliché.
Thanks for always responding, to me and everyone else!!! It’s so appreciated.
That’s a nice one. Favorite line: “How long could one endure perfection?”
Thanks John.
A friend once said if she lived in the perfect house she would have to spill red wine on the carpet. Could any of us really stand eternal perfection or eternal bliss? Loved the framing here of this question.
Yup. I’ll help spill the wine. 🙂
Thanks for the comment.