Britannia’s Heaven — Part VII: Immanentize the Eschaton!

Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting:
The Soul that rises with us, our  life’s Star,

Hath had elsewhere its setting,
And cometh from afar:
Not in entire forgetfulness,
And not in utter nakedness,
But trailing clouds of glory do we come

“We’re almost at the end of our journey together,” says Michael, my peerless guide to the celestial realms. “So this is your last chance to ask any burning questions.” I am still soaring high after the exaltation of Thrones, but my face falls as I take in his meaning. Michael beams encouragingly. “Don’t be sad, Sybil. No mortal can remain in such transcendental states for long, but Earth has its own joys and solaces, as well as many tests and challenges ahead.”

“What do you mean?” I ask apprehensively.

“You are living in interesting times and there is much work to be done, great service required. Your ensouled species is entering the greatest transformation in its long and chequered history.”

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