A Bad dream..
They say heaven is what you make it, and apparently I’ve seen one too many movies or TV shows because in
this dream that I have there is the person at the desk, judging each soul from a big book of lives. I guess he would
be St. Peter, and behind them are the massive gates.
Apparently standing in the line is perfunctory, as all the souls so far have what looks to be a short chat and then
pass onto the gates which slowly open at their approach. All in all the line seems to moving briskly. I can see the
smiles and i know that with acceptance inside all is revealed. The meaning of life, secrets of the universe, etc, etc...
Then it’s my turn and in the dream I speak my name softly. He flips the page and from my standing position I
can see the words on the page move slowly, and time passes and things are added. He runs a single down the page
and then he does something I haven’t seen before.
He turns the page.
Every other name seemed to spring from the paper but it seems that mine is not there and suddenly I feel like I
must be in the wrong line. He looks confused and flips the page back and forth. Then he picks up a phone on the
desk that I hadn’t noticed before. He whispers into the receiver and I stand there, the eyes of the others in line hot
on my back.
It’s like standing in a doctor’s office and the specialists walk in, and you didn’t even know you’re sick. From
inside the gates a figure approaches, and he looks over St. Peter’s shoulder. They mumble to each other, and
though they are inches away I cannot hear what they are saying. The new figure asks my name again and repeats
the gesture of flipping through the pages in the book. After a few moments, he too picks up the ornate telephone
and whispers.
I stand there and for a place that promises no pain, I feel a sharp shooting sensation. There are three of them
now, and I can only tell them apart because St. Peter is sitting down. They’ve all flipped through the book, and can
see the looks of confusion on faces that haven’t seen a problem ever.
The latest one asks my name again and reaches for the telephone, only he presses the single button on the
face. He mumbles something and the only part I catch is my name. He waits a few seconds and then the voice
comes back over the phone and he still looks puzzled, even as he places the receiver back in it’s cradle.
He whispers to St. Peter and he looks up and me. I can see the apology on his face and figure that this is over,
and I’m on the express train to hell as soon as they can arrange it. But the words....
“There is no space for you here or there. It appears that your life was a mistake. Sorry.”
They say heaven is what you make it, and apparently I’ve seen one too many movies or TV shows because in
this dream that I have there is the person at the desk, judging each soul from a big book of lives. I guess he would
be St. Peter, and behind them are the massive gates.
Apparently standing in the line is perfunctory, as all the souls so far have what looks to be a short chat and then
pass onto the gates which slowly open at their approach. All in all the line seems to moving briskly. I can see the
smiles and i know that with acceptance inside all is revealed. The meaning of life, secrets of the universe, etc, etc...
Then it’s my turn and in the dream I speak my name softly. He flips the page and from my standing position I
can see the words on the page move slowly, and time passes and things are added. He runs a single down the page
and then he does something I haven’t seen before.
He turns the page.
Every other name seemed to spring from the paper but it seems that mine is not there and suddenly I feel like I
must be in the wrong line. He looks confused and flips the page back and forth. Then he picks up a phone on the
desk that I hadn’t noticed before. He whispers into the receiver and I stand there, the eyes of the others in line hot
on my back.
It’s like standing in a doctor’s office and the specialists walk in, and you didn’t even know you’re sick. From
inside the gates a figure approaches, and he looks over St. Peter’s shoulder. They mumble to each other, and
though they are inches away I cannot hear what they are saying. The new figure asks my name again and repeats
the gesture of flipping through the pages in the book. After a few moments, he too picks up the ornate telephone
and whispers.
I stand there and for a place that promises no pain, I feel a sharp shooting sensation. There are three of them
now, and I can only tell them apart because St. Peter is sitting down. They’ve all flipped through the book, and can
see the looks of confusion on faces that haven’t seen a problem ever.
The latest one asks my name again and reaches for the telephone, only he presses the single button on the
face. He mumbles something and the only part I catch is my name. He waits a few seconds and then the voice
comes back over the phone and he still looks puzzled, even as he places the receiver back in it’s cradle.
He whispers to St. Peter and he looks up and me. I can see the apology on his face and figure that this is over,
and I’m on the express train to hell as soon as they can arrange it. But the words....
“There is no space for you here or there. It appears that your life was a mistake. Sorry.”