Heaven for the Non-Believers
Fill in the blank: my idea of heaven is ___________.
Why, as someone recently pointed out to me, is heaven always depicted as a place above the clouds, where you are reunited with family, sit before a supreme being (most often portrayed as a tall white guy) and listen to harps all day long? Sounds more like hell to me.
I hate this idea of heaven. What if there are family members I don't want to see, like the great-uncles who constantly yelled at me, and the aunts who always mistook me for a girl. And what if I'm terrified of heights? Because when I'm on a plane, and I'm looking out at the clouds, I'm not thinking, "awww, there's God and some angels out there." I'm thinking, "fuck, fuck, fuck, don't let this window smash open and suck me into oblivion." And harps. Who can stand harps for more than a few minutes? As for sitting at the right hand of the father, or whatever you want to call him/her/it, no thank you. Not when I'll probably have to be on my best behavior, and perpetually say things like, "Oh, Lord, I love your new job and Jesus is so lucky to have you as a father." Yawn.
My idea of heaven is this:
I get to pick the people I want to see and live with.
Conversations are deep and meaningful.
Technology comes with me: movies, tv, on-demand, apple products. But social networking is a thing of the past.
I get to eat deep fried, disgustingly gooey food and not get fat.
On that note, clothes always fit me perfectly.
It looks like New York, before Giuliani's rise to power, plus a little bit of Mykonos, Paris, and Amsterdam.
I can drink wine that isn't made from Jesus' blood.
I write plays and famous actors perform in them.
There's dancing. Lots and lots of dancing.
Every day is my birthday. Suck it, Saint Valentine.
The people I love, who were supposed to be in hell, get to come too.
Those are some of my wishes, now let's hear yours.
Mark Jason Williams
I find trouble wherever I go