If the doors of perception were cleansed everything would appear to man as it is, infinite. For man has closed himself up till he sees all things through narrow chinks of his cavern. (William Blake)
I find myself still standing on the peak of Heaven’s mountain with my guide Michael. We are conversing on high metaphysical matters as phantasmagorias revolve around us.
“Do you have any questions?” asks Michael. “Is this as high as it gets?” I ask. “Not quite, would you like to go even higher?” “Yes, please!”
And so once more we rise up together, our wings flapping in unison. This time my flight is a little more accomplished and I revel in the thrill of motion through the celestial atmosphere. Now we are floating as the aether coalesces around us into marvellous cloudlike forms. Now we are drifting through a flowering meadow and I’m disoriented. “Are we back in Asphodel Meadows?” Michael shakes his head, smiling. Indeed, the scene is even more ethereally beautiful than the gardens of Paradise, glowing with a translucent light. Flowers are blooming in jewel-like colours, flocks of butterflies hovering over their blossoms, birds singing sweetly as a celestial choir, waterfalls cascading, a perfect rainbow arching over the idyllic landscape.