I like picturing us this way, let me whisk you into the stars and show you how I see it.
Our spirits meet when our bodies sleep, when the world is hushed, we meet as one.
We make the world our oyster and exist within our truth. We are perfect, me and you.
We flow over the mountains and over every valley and city, we exist within freedom as a flame that moves about. We just are.
We join together, within each other, as each other, becoming each other, and surrounding each other. We just are.
We are as love and truth. The brightness we create, our mirth. Joy between us and within us, we are you and I.
Our spirits become one being, one entity as fire or wind, flame or smoke in air. We share pieces of each other and become one another, so that when we come apart when our bodies must wake, we return with parts of each other and slowly we become such a mix that “we” turns to “I”. I am you, you are me.
And there we are meant to be. We just are.
We play and dance among the stars, picking up those drops of jewel as pebbles in a forest. We write us into the stars and play about as free spirits with whole roam.
In heaven, we collide, in heaven–the great expanse–we flow in freedom to and fro, this way and that. We go about, running with each other and our laughter fills the universe. God takes joy in us, I imagine, he takes joy in our great mirth and beauty and perfection.
The author of our journey takes delight in how we are–together. The creator of all things grins with mirth and fills heaven with his light and laughter when he sees us play and dance about.
I believe it that he loves us and finds perfection in the beauty of us.
The angels watch us, I imagine. They watch us with smiles and warmth of heart. They peer out heaven’s window and see us there in the stars; they take delight in what we are–love as God has made.
The earth feels the wind of our flame as she chases over the hills and spreads laughter in the valleys. She warms, she hushes, she stills.
And when we meet, when our spirits collide in the sky, we join in purest state, and we are.
The union of us is true and good. Our love is beautiful and pure. Our togetherness is right as God made perfection. He takes delight and joy in the love and mirth we share.
He sees our spirits become one and hover, flowing about as one entity-the essence of us both, as one; and he finds peace in it.
My love, I picture us this way. What about our joining could a perfect or heavenly thing not love? For we are heavenly. We are of heaven. We are a heaven of us, within the heaven of God. Free and true and beautiful and perfect. We exist within his love and freedom, the canvas of being which he has created is ours to run about in, fly about in, love in purest form within!
I love seeing us, exchanging pieces of us in the sky as though tearing off corners of our robes and sewing them into each other’s garments. As though we take home precious treasures and wear each other’s essences. I am you and I am within you and I am around you. And you are I, and you are within me, and you are around me. And there, suchly, we exist.
And, maybe this is my body loving your body, but I hope that when we go to heaven and stand at the pearly gates and when we walk inside them, I hope that your eyes are the same. I hope they are as they are now. I hope that all of you is the same, for there is nothing to change about you. All of you is a masterpiece already, to change you would be to make you imperfect; for you are already perfect.
I do not know how our bodies change in heaven, or how God might recreate us, but it makes me sad to think he might make you different, for he already made a masterpiece in you, of you; beautiful you are. But this may just be my physical being loving your physical being.
Even within humanity, in the pain of our humanity, the joining of us and sharing of our love and the healing of our human pain–there is beauty in that. I enjoy what we share in our humanity. We share of us with each other. We share within us together. Even our humanity, within our love, is beautiful to me. But our souls, we are perfection. The “I” of us is perfection; she is beauty and goodness, she is pure, she is true. God made what it is that she is, and God takes great delight in her. I believe it, I do.
My love, you must know, that all of these things–the way I’ve felt you with me, the way I’ve felt my spirit return to me in mirth with parts of you as hers, as treasures that she dons, these are why I know that we are sure and true. We are. We just are.
My love, I await loving you, I wait to share–or attempt to–what our souls have in their freedom from the constraints of this world. I long for the freedom that our souls have, but for now, I long to love you in our humanity. And I hope, I believe, that our souls still dance in the sky among the stars. This is how I picture us, and this is the way I love for us to be. A flame which runs about, each of us chasing playfully after the other, and playing among God’s forest with the pebbled jewels he made for us.
Popp!nTalk 