Historical Summer 2023 article. Dates, prices, services and contacts describe the source period; current availability has not been established.
My eyes dilated as I stared into Angel Fred’s face. “What?” I asked, “You want me to help YOU?!?” My mind was reeling so much that I had to lean against a nearby tombstone in order to retain my balance.
I mean, it was near midnight, and I was at the cemetery about to talk with my mom. OK, “talk” isn’t the right verb.
She has been gone since 2011 so I didn’t expect a conversation.
I simply went to speak to her, hoping that just maybe, possibly, perhaps she would hear me.
I had done this quite a few times before and there was no incident.
But this time was different. Outrageously different.
I didn’t expect a tall, feathered body with a name tag that said ANGEL FRED to be standing next to me.
He had wings, was wearing a natty corduroy sportscoat, and he asked me for help. Me? Me helping an angel?
I was more than amazed. Angel Fred told me that he represented a host of angels (yep, that’s the official term) that had met because they were concerned about the decline in religiosity on our planet. Have you noticed how many restaurants are located in former churches?
They wisely decided (how could any decision by angels not be wise?) that Dante dropped the ball when he only wrote about the levels of hell. “It’s too bad he didn’t write about the levels of Heaven,” Fred said to me, rolling his angelic eyes, “that would help keep people in the pews.” The host of them decided that if people knew what is available in the various levels of Heaven, the attendance at religious houses for occasions other than weddings, funerals, and choir recitals would increase. Not trusting traditional or social media to get the word out about the levels of Heaven (I told you they were wise), the angels’ steering committee sent Fred to tell me that I was chosen to spread the word in my insightful column in The Times of Skinker DeBalivere. Wise again, they were, and here we are!
The angels recognized my stunning track record. Previously in In Your Ear columns, I’ve written about the beauty of bacon, how to remove fleas from your dog, and the myriad shortcomings of the Republican Party (a reoccurring theme), so writing about the levels of Heaven seemed easy-peasy. “Sure, I am up for this task,” I said to Angel Fred. Brimming with confidence, I thought, “What could go wrong?” Fred smiled, put his feathered hands on my shoulders and closed his eyes.
I closed mine too, and I felt a jolt of energy pass through my body.
It was like the experience that you have the night before a colonoscopy, only everything was shooting out of my head. Yes, I felt flushed. (Sorry, couldn’t resist.) My mind went vapid, totally blank, infinity was in my head, and then it was filled.
My brain was overwhelmed, filled with factoids and emotions from my pockets, libraries, and blind dates.
I must have looked puzzled because Fred said, “I understand why you’re confused, so I decided that we’ll tour hell before you can see Heaven. Context is always helpful.” Suddenly it became much hotter and I felt like I was falling.
When I opened my eyes, there were fires and snakes everywhere, stalled cars and crashing airplanes, and I could hear screams. Pat Boone was singing and flames were jumping out of a mountain of clouds.
The clouds were connected by a giant escalator and each level of hell had a neon flashing welcome sign, and all of them were misspelled.
I didn’t know there were so many different ways to misspell welcome.
It was obvious that every level of hell was crowded, standing room only, and I could see many TRUMP signs. Every cloud was ugly and disdainful, and the levels of anguish were clearly varied.
I could see that Hell’s level one is that you’ve clogged the toilet at a party, while level two is realizing that your tattoo is misspelled. Level three is a continual root canal without anesthetic, level four is your in-laws moving into your home where they teach Marimba lessons, and level five being stuck in an elevator with three people who are seasick. Levels six and seven were too high for me to see, and that was fine with me! Angel Fred told me – or maybe he telepathed me – that there is some flexibility. Someone can move among levels based on behavior in hell: bad is better than terrible which is better than horrible which is better than nasty. Given prompts, a worse response scores higher; this is hell, after all. Kicking someone when they are down or taking candy from
a baby earn points which can be used to move up to a better level of damnation. Parking in a handicapped zone results in double negative points. Conversely, charitable behavior and kind comments are bad and should be avoided.
I only observed for a few minutes but I was nauseous, afraid, and sweating profusely.
I think my tie was scorched and I could tell that my beard was burnt. Thank goodness my life’s due date wasn’t due and this was just a brief hellish visit. “Enough,” I said to Angel Fred, “let’s get out of here!” I was eager for him to show me the Levels of Heaven so I could begin to spread the positive word. More to follow…
Originally published in The Times of Skinker-DeBaliviere, Summer 2023.
Read this article in the original newspaper issue.
Original source: SD_Times2023_06.pdf, printed page(s) 8; PDF page(s) 8.
