777 HEAVENLY AVENUE story
by Richard L. Provencher
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What happens when the sun goes down, its embers overcome by a blanket of silhouettes, no longer feeling the thrust of paddle from within the palm of your hand, while mosquitoes inflame the countryside with their hungry antics? But you are no longer part of the landscape, since you left your inheritance to those who are captives of shock. The suddenness, your hasty exit from this life, as you lay in a state of stillness.
Not long before, you were active in life’s entertainment, scratching for work, paying the bills, keeping mangy coyotes from the front steps, holding head above water, and thankfully inhaling the fresh air of life. All those items you struggled so hard for---car, house, furniture, cottage, clothes, position, responsibility and the love of family and friends; all gone.
What about your children, precious wife and neighbors you promised to help with a variety of chores? Did you really think life would carry on forever? That each day would be a presentation of early sun, quick breakfasts, hugs from family and scented roses in your dash to the car to meet morning’s challenge?
Now tears have been shed, the funeral’s done, memories discussed and life’s enchantment a tendril of chimney smoke.
He lay in blackness, his heart a rhythm of natural movement, stillness without voices. Yet he hears something, a rustling perhaps. There it is again, something brushing against … a sort of feathery sound. Could it be, no, it couldn’t. Then, without fanfare or further delay a mighty wind came racing through his mind, it gathered in ascending speeds until it was an awesome roaring, and he sat up with babbling lips. On earth they called it “tongues.” In Heaven they call it “Resurrection.”
“Open your eyes,” a voice kindly suggests. And the man, who until a few moments ago could not, now did. Not because it was a command from within, nor a threat wrapped in words. It was simply a suggestion blanketing him as a shawl of protection, and goodness. The man tried to respond but could not form familiar words. While living on earth his reputation was reportedly “high end” as a public speaker. Now he grunted with determination, nothing leaving his lips except spittle splaying across the air surrounding.
A whisper of an idea jiggled within his heart, moved to his brain and thoughts poured into what must have been a bowl of thanksgiving, “Oh, Creator of all,” a pattern of brain activity spoke in thinking patterns. From this moment the man knew it was not necessary to speak, but to think in phrases of blessings. Thus it happened, an array of beautiful colors and ideas began to flow in harmony. The man stood up, joining other bursts of energy as each flickered but a moment, disappearing into a chasm of distance.
On journey’s way, the man noticed a mannequin in top hat and tails. It seems someone has a sense of humor, he mused, as he jetted along what could be described as a well-worn path.
And since the man’s spiritual body zimmed along a strange harmony captured his attention, and he discovered his own thoughts hummed along with others:
“We dash and dance in active embrace, feet barely
touching the surface, we’re young again, yes we are
innocent as children, without fear or blemish,
each movement a celebration of a new life
and we owe it to our Blessed Saviour, to whom
we come before gathering at God’s footstool.”
Impeding his progress, a lake shaped as a huge bowl filled with water jumped up before him. Defying gravity it floated above the surface and its complete shape, far as the eye could see, sloshed invitingly. He paused but a moment, leaned over and drank several swallows. Ahead of him, impatient drumbeats marked the occasion.
Clouds in an upside-down sky masked his view. He noticed what could be classified as a blue sky covered the surface, unblemished, radiant, and provoking to the point he could barely breathe, immersed in awe. Nearby cliffs also had a telling posture, as if resting on some unseen hand six feet above the surface of what appeared to be rice crops stretching in all directions.
A new phase was now a part of his persona. His energy particles mingled with what was once physical-resisting barriers in his former world. Soon he became part of the swamp, vegetation and shallow beds of river, sharing their atoms, becoming a particle within their make-up until he successfully passed on through. What if I remained in the freedom of their movement? he wondered. Would I forever be part of this environment?
The purity of all around him held his attention. Music was like enamel, covering the spaces he occupied, changing into hymns with voices and images lauding ‘forgiveness.’ In his mind’s eye he saw loved ones from another time pass through his senses. They entered his mind as wisps of color, and they shared similar experiences as he, when they too came seeking the Great Dining Hall . This journey of discovery, unlike anything he had experienced drew him to only one conclusion: This place I’m in must be Heaven.
A voice spoke into his mind, “Yes, and I also allow you the good memories of your past,” it said. “There is also no room here for tongues of deceit, that is why your tongue has been muted. I am the Light and you have been removed from darkness.”
Oh how difficult it was to accept the voice had gone away. If only … the man thought, he was allowed to draw closer to that wonderful presence and be accepted in the presence of a caring shepherd.
And the man earnestly longed to be one of His sheep.
* * *
© Richard & Esther Provencher 2008
Note: The above ends the first part of this happening. The next part is being worked on.
* * *
FOOTPRINTS, a close family novel about a father’s search for a son he never met can now be ordered from SynergEbooks. Richard & Esther Provencher are also co-authors of two other novels soon to be published at: www.synergebooks.com
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