As we walked, I realized that I did not belong here. I was a dead thing. I could see through my own hands, through my body. I could see through my wife — she was no better off. I wanted to turn away, to go where my nakedness, more shameful than any bodily nakedness, would not be seen. Yet the voice that had been with me all this time said, “Do not leave. All will be well.” So I continued toward the palace.
As I reached the door of the palace one of the servants handed me a robe. It was white, so white that it seemed to shine with its own light. I saw all around me people being clothed. Then I saw my wife in her robe. Her beauty shone forth in the light from the whiteness of the robe. I put my own robe on and embraced her, and her touch was like the resolution of all joys.
We continued into the palace. I wondered whether even so large a place as it had seemed when I saw it could hold all of us. But when I entered I saw that it was far larger, somehow, on the inside than it was on the outside.
It was full of light. The light seemed brighter than anything I had ever seen, yet instead of blinding me it made everything clearly and beautifully vivid. Beams of colored light shone through windows — whether the windows were made of colored glass or large cut gemstones I could not say. Lamps were everywhere, burning with a clean, steady light. The room was full of a fragrance from incense like to that I remembered from holy temples that I had visited in my youth.
Tables extended throughout. Innumerable servants guided us to our seats. Before each of us was a large cup made of clearest crystal, full of ruby-red wine. And on a platter of gold next to the wine sat a piece of broken bread.
A voice filled the room, crying out, “Take, eat, drink! This food is real food and this drink is real drink! Whoever eats and drinks of this food will never die! For this is my life given for you!”
I looked around. Everyone was looking at each other with shy eyes; I could hear their thoughts because they were my own: I am not worthy of this. But again a whispered word said to me, “This is His great day; by eating you make His joy full.”
So I reached out and took the bread and ate. To say that the taste of the bread was beyond good is to say nothing, yet I can say no more. And it satisfied. It filled me to the depths. Others, taking a cue from me, also began to eat.
Then I picked up the cup and drank. The drink went through me like lightning. It was a shock of joy and life. I was alive! I looked around and saw that each of my fellows was shining like our robes, like the room itself.
Suddenly a song began. It was one I recognized, though I had never heard it nor sung it before. I joined in and soon an uncountable number of strong living voices sang in our joy and overflow of life.
We ate and drank for a long time and sang and talked. I came to know those around me. My wife told me of the things that had happened after I died. And yet those things seemed distant and far off now.
More servants came and took us to places where we would live. And I found out that this was not our permanent home. Paradise it was, but the earth was still a battlefield. There was a still greater day to come, when Heaven and Earth would be one, and the dwelling place of Jove — of God — would be with men.
And this is as far as my story goes. We still wait, but it is a wait of joy and hope. Each moment is better than the one before. Our Liberator walks among us and talks with us. But what he says I will not repeat; some things do not belong in stories.
And so, my reader, I bid you farewell! Farewell! Maybe thou shalt find Paradise. Maybe even thou shalt find it! Farewell!
— The End —