The idea of Heaven seems flawed to me.
I’m not referring to a purported afterlife, which I accepted as word as a Catholic teenager, prodded and questioned during the soul-search years of uni, and finally deemed unlikely as an occasionally heartbroken, sometimes unemployed, oft user of public transport. Indeed, I have reached the cynicism ordinarily ascribed to formerly great American novelists who now shred everything they write, snack on bird seed, foster and scream at an ungrateful tabby cat, eat meals alone, go on walks alone, and shop alone for rugs meant for a cabin nestled in the heart of an insane forest on the outskirts of civilisation. The one thing that distinguishes my twenty-two-year-old self from a middle-aged cynic, thankfully, is my distaste for whiskey, especially when poured over my morning cereal.
Faith or a lack thereof aside, I’d like to examine the depiction of Heaven that even the non-religious can recognise, describe and envision themselves. That is, there is a single representation of a Christian Heaven. Pillowy clouds; soft, white light; harps and bugles; already passed family and friends. Too good to be true, right? Perhaps, in theory. I only wonder why Heaven, the ultimate prize and personal paradise, should be so bleached and boring.
I can’t say I’ve ever chosen to listen to harps or bugles or that I look forward to reuniting with people who, however good a life they led or well-timed their final repentance, I simply don’t gel with. There must be a toll booth at the Pearl Gates, a surrender of what you’d call your authentic self – the one you spent a whole life wanting to express, share, grow and defend – because who on Earth can say they really like small talk and that bunch of ignorant cousins? No one is going to bicker in Heaven – with the flat lighting or with each other. There’s no question of preferred landscape or integration of favourite pastimes; your state of being is suddenly wise, boringly content and apparently incredibly patient what with the whole eternity factor.
If our personalities did accompany our souls up above, I don’t think I could appreciate the so-called reward. I think I’d grow sick of the bliss. Considering the givens that may await, that shall surround me forever (that’s always; no glimpse of an end, nor non-Hell alternative which is also always and endless), my chest sinks with an ironic kind of depression.
It’s like counting down the days for that awesome party, continually checking the date and details on the mad invitation and quietly suffering the whole work week because you’re too excited, feeling too grateful for and already guilty about the amount of fun you’re going to have at this awesome, mad party. You dress “effortlessly cool” and arrive at the unacknowledged, though perfectly understood appropriate time only to find yourself inside a woefully lit room, hearing Guy Sebastian on a loop, amongst familiar somebodies with whom you have nothing in common and stuck in a line for the bathroom that does not move. Gee, this do’s a little underwhelming, not really my thing...
My idea of Heaven is a long weekend broken up as such:
Saturday
Family BBQ at home – food preparation, a savoury smorgasbord, homemade desserts, dogs, kids, pool, debating movies and sometimes politics, quoting old Simpsons, Mario Kart, afternoon nap, left-overs and Willy Wonka on Channel 7...
Sunday
Youthful folly and inner-city adventure with friends – big breakfast in West End, browsing the markets and boutiques, exploring GoMA, posing with statues, a ferry to New Farm, a sneaky game of Frisbee, someone suffering a wardrobe/shoe/muscular incident that becomes the running obstacle/joke of the day, people-watching, philosophising, sketching, singing, dancing, gelato.... Then James St of an evening - cosmopolitan bars, hazy lights, acoustic guitar, salty seafood, Palace Cinemas and a brisk, sobering stroll out in the cool air...
Monday
A day mostly to myself – walking around my sleepy suburb, amongst nature, listening to music, podcasts and audio books, smelling freshly-cut grass and simmering curries in neighbours' kitchens, reading comics, drinking tea, watching BBC comedies, pondering, writing and moon-gazing...
Overall, no harps, some clouds, inevitable sunburn.
And Batman.
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