Out of the grainy grey whiteness of what appeared to be a film screen,
Curt, the Wehrmacht sergeant who had been killed at Stalingrad,
came marching.

He had been sent there by the boss
to show me the way in this labyrinth of void
that afterlife can be for a newcomer.

I felt a bit disappointed,
had expected heaven to be more colourful,
green lawns and purple flowers,
instead of this cloudy zero.

Curt, my angelic instructor,
who could read my thoughts, said:
“It’s up to you to fill in the blank screen
and create you own environment.”
The dull screen disappeared
and we’re in a summer glade
in a vast Russian forest,
soldiers sat smoking and chatting idly to each other;
the scene had the feel of both doom and utter bliss.

“Whose memory is this?” I asked.
“Mine” Curt said.
“It was the moment when fear couldn’t touch us.”
As this picture faded,
I saw mother sitting by the fire
reading aloud from a novel,
the child sitting next to her was me
and the scene had the same feel of bliss,
doom and transience.
I looked out of the cabin’s window
and saw sister riding a bike,
my brother sat on the wooden gate.
So that’s what it is,
a string of memories,
a happiness I hadn’t been aware of,
but will it not be boring after some time?
I had forgotten that Curt,
the iron cross angel,
could read my thoughts.
“Heaven is timeless, all happens now,
you won’t sense ennui.”
As Curt turned to go back to his soldiers I asked:
“What about God, do I get to see him?”
The highly decorated soldier smiled
and I knew that my question was superfluous.
As I walked along a lane leading to my new home,
I knew that heaven is a place
where the human experience is distilled into everlasting love.