As I crashed through the ice, the frigid waters of the Ottawa River surrounded, impeded, engulfed, and then numbed me. I heard my heart slowing to a final thump.
Time stopped.
I became conscious, and curious.
“Who are you? What is this place? Where am I?”
A voice answered: “I am what you humans call…”
I rubbed my eyes, focusing on a wisp.
“…a god” the wisp continued.
“You’re God?” I asked. I began to see eyes, or maybe that was just me projecting.
“Tchh, listen please, I am a god. There are many of us here. My name, since I know you’re gonna ask, is Nara.”
“So you’re all-knowing then ‘cus you knew I’d ask?”
“Ha, not at all, I knew ‘cus you humans always do ask that question. Amusing and quite predictable,” Nara chuckled.
“And this is heaven?” I ventured. I looked around and there were other wisps dancing about fragrant pines, spiralling spruce, majestic maples; a Canadian forest, edged by ox-eyed daisies, blue flags, and chicory.
“That’s what you guys call it, just ‘home’ to us.”
I thought I was beginning to see a mouth on Nara.
“Wait, I’m confused,” I began, “what about all that stuff we learned…you know…about one omnipotent and omniscient God who created the world and us…?”
Nara scratched a chin, perhaps. “Made up…the Yahweh story, the Jesus story, the Mohammed story, the Krishna story, and a bunch of other stories… so you guys would stick together and …” Nara hesitated.. “sometimes, unfortunately, clobber anyone who didn’t believe in your particular god, or the other tales humans had fabricated. Look what you did to those kids in the residential schools!”
“Can I ask…”
Nara interrupted: “Before you do, let me give you a little tour.”
As I walked, Nara swept along. By a meandering meadow path we approached the forest, a verdant green one moment; the next a screaming scarlet.
“What’s happening?”
“Nothin’, this is how it always is.”
Again as I looked it was a wintery white.
“The forest has seven phases, seasons you might call them,” Nara explained, “and you see what you know, what you imagine, what you want.”
As we moved through the meadow I began to notice that Nara had what looked like a nose and I was accosted by the scent of ground coffee, then I sensed the earth’s lush fragrance as if we were experiencing a sun-shower, then the sweet odour of lilacs in May. And as I walked, I detected, at my feet, ground cherries. Oh my, that nuanced taste, both sweet and sharp! And then strawberries with all the taste of June!
Just as I was imagining Nara’s ears, I heard the wind in the trees, then Brahms, Eric Clapton, Beethoven, and finally While My Guitar Gently Weeps.
“What, George Harrison?”
“Well, you are from the 60’s, eh?” was Nara’s bemused response.
“So what was that question you were so eager to ask?” queried Nara,
“Oh yeah,” I started, “where are the people who were responsible for evil, like the crusades,or the holocaust, or residential schools, you know people like Pope Urban II, Adolf Eichmann, and Egerton Ryerson?”
“They’re here too but that, my friend, is another story. I’ll give you a hint. They’re all doing stuff that they hate to do, and grumbling about it, which kind of keeps them happy, in their own miserable way. For example, when that guy Trump shows up either we’re going to make him read an entire book which will take him an eternity, or maybe get him to serve, but not eat, donuts at the coffee shop!”
“Wait, there’s a coffee shop?
“Yup…over there, Tim Heathen’s.”
