Historical April–May 2023 article. Dates, prices, services and contacts describe the source period; current availability has not been established.
“How are things going up there?” I asked rhetorically as I looked at her gravestone, knowing there would be no answer.
My mom had been gone for more than a decade, yet I felt the need to periodically come to her graveside to talk to her.
The visits were brief, one person talking is much quicker than an actual dialogue, but I always felt a bit better, uplifted, after talking to her. And then the last time, as I turned to leave, I saw Angel Fred standing next to me.
I immediately knew his identity because he was wearing a gold name tag. “It’s been a rough century or so,” said Fred, the angel.
There wasn’t much light, it was a Wanning Gibbous Moon (known more commonly as the first night after the full moon), and the cemetery was appropriately desolate, but he wore a large cape which kept most of his wings hidden. Oddly, I wasn’t startled by this ethereal presence next to me.
I mean, he was quite tall and large, and while he was wearing a corduroy sportscoat and checkered shirt under his cape, his feathers were quite apparent.
They covered all of his visible skin, face, and hands, but they were tiny feathers, like those you might see on a small bird.
His wings were folded in to his body, and he wore New Balance tennis shoes.
I wasn’t afraid but my eyes must have displayed my disquiet. “Relax,” said Angel Fred, in a low voice, “I’m here to give you comfort,” he paused, “and to seek your thoughts.” “Comfort?” I not so cleverly replied and gulped. And waited. “I know you miss her,” he replied, “and I just want you to know that she is doing well.” “Doing well?” I again not so cleverly replied, and Angel Fred nodded. “She is in her Heaven.
She eats sweets all day and night and never gains weight.
She smokes KOOLS, talks to her friends, and volunteers at the Cloud Eight gift shop. She’s with your dad every day and they enjoy being with one another.” “But my dad,” I began, and he interrupted me. “Yes, I know,” Angel Fred said, “that may be a bit confusing, but you see, your dad is also with his three other wives at the same time, and everyone is happy. Remember, this is Heaven.” “Wow, that’s great,” I said, “I’m so pleased for her, for him. For them.” I was lost in my thoughts, envisioning my mom consuming the never-ending supply of chocolates while sitting next to my dad, when Fred spoke. “But I want your thoughts,” he said. And he paused.
I could not imagine what thoughts of mine might be of interest to him. Unless he was curious about the baseball Cardinals, brands of gin, or cheap cigars, there wasn’t much wisdom that I could offer. Angel Fred took a deep breath and continued. “You see, we observe the Earth most intently. You are, if you will, a bit of an experiment, and…” I tried to interrupt but Fred quieted me by raising his hand. Being grazed by an arm of feathers elicits silence. “We’ve observed your evolution and admire many of your achievements.
I mean, smallpox is gone and Covid is in retreat, plus you’ve discovered how to stream movies.
We see that Earth life is good and we are pleased.” I knew better than to ask why he didn’t mention the microwave oven as an achievement of mankind, so I waited. “We are concerned about the demise of organized religion,” Fred said. “This is quite distressing.
A Pew Research Center survey found 29% of U.S. adults said they had no religious affiliation, an increase of 6 percentage points from 2016, and this decline is similar around the world.” I nodded in agreement and recalled reading a recent article in the St. Louis Post-Dispatch about how former church buildings were being converted to restaurants and condominiums. Fred smiled and said, “After much thought and fluttering of wings, we have the solution!” My eyes widened and he continued. “You see, thanks to Dante’s Inferno, most people are familiar with the hellish conditions of hell, and its levels.
While people are not familiar with the conditions of each level of hell – in level 2, for example, zippers get stuck, the Internet is sporadic, and you are late to every meeting – they know that hell is increasingly horrible. “But there are levels of Heaven, too, and we realized that if people knew them, if they understood the increasing levels of rapture and ecstasy, it would encourage a return to penance and prayer.” A big smile appeared on his face and his wings fluttered. “If they know the levels of Heaven, what awaits them for behaving in the right way, we are
confident that participation in organized religions will surge. “That would be true, whichever God people choose,” Fred said with emphasis, “And I should note that the selection of which God is immaterial, pun intended.
We simply want people to work toward good in honor of a higher being.” I waited silently, trying to absorb all that he had said. Suddenly the temperature dropped, the wind picked up, and I was immersed in a cyclone of feathers. Angel Fred leaned closer to me and whispered: “But misinformation is everywhere!
We see the demise of traditional news sources and the distrust of social media. So we convened a Cloud 47 Think Tank to search for a trusted, objective source and we found it.” His face drew closer to mine. “We need you, Hawkeye, to publicize the levels of Heaven in The Times of Skinker DeBalivere,” and he stuck his feathered finger against my chest. More to follow…
Originally published in The Times of Skinker-DeBaliviere, April–May 2023.
Read this article in the original newspaper issue.
Original source: SD_Times2023_04.pdf, printed page(s) 8; PDF page(s) 8.
