The Journey of Eternity

The alarm rang five a.m.

Lita sighed as she reached her arm over to silence the ring and then ran her hand over her face. As her fingers reached her hairline, she gently pulled loose strands of hair off of her cheeks. Her eyes darted back and forth across the room and a smile enveloped her face as she remembered the event for the day.
With a deep breath and a wonderful sense of anticipation, she rose, stretched her arms high toward the ceiling and released a long, luxurious sigh of happiness. In a flash, she got out of bed and found her slippers, nearly skipping throughout the room before she quickly made the bed with hospital corners and decorative pillows. Lita stood in the center of the room. “This,” she whispered to herself, “is the happiest I’ve ever been.”

Lita savored every moment that passed. She felt the hot water as it flowed across her shoulders, she danced in place as she rinsed her teeth with mouthwash, and she felt the relaxing tingle of her scalp as she brushed her hair. She dressed in her favorite clothes, closely observed the colors of the fabrics and noticed how the clothes felt against her skin. “This,” she whispered to herself as she inhaled deeply, “is the best day of my life.”

The kitchen was already clean, if not vacant of the usual signs of life. The sink was empty of dirty dishes and the countertops free of clutter except for one aged cookie jar that sat faded but regal in a corner. Eagerly, Lita went to work on breakfast, and soon feasted on bites of biscuits and gravy, sausage and eggs, and pancakes with strawberry syrup before cleaning the room so that it appeared as it had before.

With her stomach full and her mind at ease, Lita went to work on the simple daily chores that needed completing. Trashcans were emptied, laundry was washed and dried, and foods at risk of spoiling were placed in sealed containers in the refrigerator or the freezer.

When she felt the time was right, Lita sat on her bed and placed two glasses of milk, one small, one large, on the table beside her bed. Carefully she opened five small boxes meticulously, placed the plastic and the foil in a neat pile beside the recyclable cardboard, and placed the pills in a circle.

Retrieving the trashcan from the bathroom, Lita began her process of opening capsules and pouring the grainy contents into the small glass of milk until the liquid was a sandy glob. With difficulty, she drank the thick milk, and then used the milk that remained to swallow more capsules.

Lita soon felt sleepy and dizzy, her head spinning around the room while her body became increasingly unable to move. She laid down on the bed, stretched her feet out before her, closed her eyes, and sighed a final sigh.

As the pain intensified, Lita felt herself beginning to sink in a spiral of darkness. From within her soul, she heard her own screams and cries endlessly echoing from the past as if they were being shouted directly beside her ear while a chorus of distant laughter, sadistic and sarcastic, grew closer. Lita continued to spiral downward, falling uncontrollably and alone, unable to see anything about her in the darkness. As the volume of the screams, cries, and laughter strengthened, they wove together a tapestry of torment. Then, there was silence.

Lita found herself lying on a floor of air, nothing below her resembling structure, nothing above her except clouds that melted from one color into another, and nothing around her but endless horizons of white. Her clothes were those that she had worn at her death, and she carried with her the body that she had known in life.

Near where Lita had fallen, a young black man dressed in a crisp black suit played a bluesy rhythm on a wooden guitar, a sound that faded into being as his image came into view. He sat in a straight-backed chair that leaned against air as strongly and as surely as if it were leaning against a wall.

“Howdy,” he cheerfully said with a smile as he noticed Lita there. He continued playing.

Lita pressed about the air with her hands and wondered if she could stand. Momentarily, with assurance found in the smile of the blues man, she rose and eased closer. “Hi,” she said quietly. “Is this Heaven?”

The man laughed politely. “No, ma’am, not exactly. Heaven’s down the road a ways, I guess. I haven’t been there. No, ma’am, this is where people come to be judged, just over there, you see,” he nodded.

Lita looked in the direction of the man’s nod, noticing the blue shadow of an old man standing some distance away. “Who is he?”

“It’s not who he is that you need to be concerned with, but he’s not God, if that’s what you’re wondering,” he continued to strum as he spoke. “No, that there be the man who judges, the one who allows people entrance into Heaven or sends them down below.”

Lita studied the man as he sat there playing his guitar, a sense of enjoyment upon his face with each chord and, at times, humming a little tune. “So, who are you,” she asked curiously.

“Oh, I’m just another soul, ma’am. I reckon I’ve been playing this guitar right here in this chair for, well, must be over a hundred years now.”

“Why,” Lita asked as she stepped closer to him.

The man laughed politely. “Well, ma’am, it seems the good Lord likes my playing, so He lets me stay right here and strum. Besides, as long as I’m playing right here, ain’t no Hell Hounds that can get to me and, well, I’ll stay right here in this chair and play for all eternity if it’ll keep me from being judged that long.”

“Why don’t you want to be judged? Is it painful?”

“Um, probably only if you don’t make it past the gatekeeper, there. And, well, I figure once they find out how I learned to play this beautiful old piece of wood, they might not let me in. But, I’m thinking maybe, just maybe mind you, if I keep right on sitting here and playing this old guitar and making beautiful sounds for them to listen to, well, maybe when it’s my time to be judged they’ll keep that in mind and let me in anyway.” He paused as he strummed, looked at his finger placement momentarily and began again to hum along. “What about you, ma’am? You got a bargaining chip?”

“Bargaining chip,” Lita wondered aloud.

“You know, you play guitar or something?”

“No, sir,” Lita said slowly as she lowered her head, “no bargaining chip. I guess I just have to take what’s coming to me.”

“Well,” the young man said sorrowfully, “I wish you best of luck ‘cause your eyes say you got a tired and troubled soul.”

Lita shook her head in agreement as she turned to walk toward the old man in the distance. After a walk that seemed to take both forever and only a single moment, she stood before him.

The man was dressed in long white robes with ancient symbols etched in gold along the front and with a golden rope hung loosely about the waist. His hair was white and long, his hair and beard nearly reaching the airy floor below. His eyes were crystal blue. His sandals were of diamonds and he carried an emerald staff wrapped in a golden serpent, its body etched with the same ancient symbols as the robe.

“We’ve been waiting for you,” the man quietly said with a smile, his voice echoed.

“Yes,” Lita answered as she stood before him. “If I’m here, does it mean I’m going to Heaven?”

The man gently laughed. “No, child. Everyone comes here first to be judged, whether they are accepted into the kingdom of Heaven or not.”

“And, you are the judge?”

“Yes, child,” he quietly said, “I am the judge.”

Lita looked toward the airy floor, continuing to wonder how they were standing upon air, upon nothing, and looked about wondering how they could be standing within such nothingness and yet within everything.

“That is not for you to know, child,” the man said. “I know what you’re thinking. I know when you speak the truth. But, the questions that you ask are questions requiring great knowledge, and that knowledge is reserved for God and for God alone. The most ancient questions of the world, child, the most ancient knowledge, is in God, but God sees no reason to weight humans with such tremendous responsibility.”

Lita paused. She wondered what questions would be appropriate, but realized the old man would know her thoughts just the same. “Why didn’t God ever help me? I asked Him for help.”

“Yes, child, but some things you must discover for yourself. God gives you obstacles to make you stronger, not just to spite you. But, you didn’t become stronger; you grew weaker. God gives you unconditional love as long as you obey, as long as you remain faithful.”

“But, can’t God stop bad things from happening, stop pain?”

“Yes, child,” the man said quite calmly, “but if He simply stopped all bad things from happening, humans wouldn’t learn, wouldn’t grow. If all things are given easily, what’s the point of faith? God is everywhere. He has seen each moment of each day of your life. He knows what you have suffered, but he wanted you to grow. You failed.”

Lita lowered her head, saddened and unfulfilled by the answers. “Will I go to Heaven?”

The old man paused, brushing his hand over his beard as his blue eyes twinkled. “No, child, you will not,” he said, trying to hide a smile.

“The cardinal sin,” Lita asked.

“The most precious gift God bestows upon mankind is life. That life belongs to God. Only He can decide when it begins and when it ends. But, you took your own life, and took that right away from God. There is no entry into Heaven for those who feel they have more power than God.”

Lita looked into the old man’s blue eyes. “But,” she quietly asked, “doesn’t he know what my life was like, that I asked for help and never received it. Doesn’t he know what I went through every day?”

“Yes,” the man quipped.

“Doesn’t that matter?”

“No,” the man quickly responded.

“So,” Lita began, but knew not what to say or ask.

Lita felt her eyes again drawn to the old man’s eyes.

“You’re not welcome here,” he said sternly. “We have no use for you here.”

“You have no use for me,” Lita asked, uncertain what it was to mean.

“It means that God wants people on his team who will serve Him well and uphold His name. Only those people shall be allowed to pass through the gates and enter the kingdom of Heaven. But, you,” he snarled, “you would not serve His name well.”

“But,” Lita asked quickly, “other than deciding when my own life shall end, did I do anything wrong, anything that was so terrible that I couldn’t pass through the gates?”

“Not that I remember,” he said quickly with a sarcastic smile before returning to an expression of power and anger. “But you are worthless here! Be gone!”

And, quickly, the old man waved the emerald staff in the air and Lita began to fall through a sense of nothingness, an empty source of darkness without signs of life above or below or within. Frightened and alone, Lita continued to fall, unaware where or if she would land. But, then, Lita began to hear the most beautiful music.

He sat there on his thrown, a peaceful smile across his face as he played the violin, strumming it tenderly with his eyes closed so as to relish every note.

Lita studied him quietly from her position on the ground, his face reddened, chiseled and large like that a goat with two large horns emanating from the sides of his head. His torso appeared larger than human, strong and muscular, though it was the form of a man. And though, at first glance, one would consider the being ugly and frightening, when he played the violin Lita saw something beautiful within him, quiet, peaceful, and full of light.

As she began to sit upright, she felt the warmness of the soil beneath her and looked about where she had fallen. This was no room with walls or ceilings, no prison, no pit, no fire; rather, it seemed to be comfortably small but endless, warm but not hot, with clouds hovering above that would change colors and burnt soil for a floor that held inscriptions in ancient languages that Lita did not understand and could not translate.

Lita stood where she had fallen, watching him play effortlessly, his head leaned a bit over the violin as if nearing his ear to the birthplace of the beautiful sounds. He sat regally on a thrown made of elm and alder, tied together with the branches of willows. Then, his head began to rise upward as the music began to slowly end, and as he opened his eyes he sniffed the air repeatedly with a vulgar, disapproving expression of offense.

“Hum,” he quickly said. A bit of smoke exited his nostrils in anger as he fully opened his eyes and glared at Lita. He continued to sniff the air, leaning forward slightly to receive the news of her arrival.

In anger he stood, balancing on one leg that was that of a goat and one leg that was human but burnt red like the soil. He violently raised his fist and, looking upward, began to rage, his voice echoing throughout the universe.

“You dare to send me your table scraps!” He exhaled a plume of white smoke. “Take this one back!”

A rush of fear raced through Lita as she stepped backward.

Turning to Lita, he yelled less forcibly from his thrown as he began to pace. “Go away! You are no use to me!”

Quietly, Lita spoke. “But, where do I go? I don’t really know how I got here. Is this Hell?”

He ceased his pacing to look at her, his eyes changing colors until they rotated through each blaze of the rainbow. Silently, he bowed his head, contemplating the question before raising his head and calmly speaking. “Not exactly. It’s sort of the foyer, you might say. It is here where people come to be judged.”

“People are judged before entering Hell,” Lita asked. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t ask such a question.”

He quietly smiled at her, a knowledgeable kindness in his eyes as he took his seat, his voice calm but deep and riveting. “Yes, child. People are judged before entering Heaven,” he snarled as he looked upward and pointed, but regained his kindness as he resumed speaking, “so why wouldn’t they be judged before entering Hell?”

“I guess I just never thought about it. I’m sorry if I was out of line.”

“Not out of line, child, just,” he exhaled as he leaned back on his thrown, “just, well, a bit one-sided. You’ve heard all the stories of how to live your life to get into Heaven when you die and, as the stories say, if you don’t get into Heaven, you automatically get into Hell. Why should God be the only one with any say-so over who gets in to his kingdom? Don’t all kings wish to control who enters their gates?”

“I guess so,” Lita responded, her voice becoming a bit stronger, her body more at ease as it stood before the thrown.

“At least I do my own judging. That’s more than I can say for God. He just sends out representatives to do his bidding. Hum,” he grunted, “hope none of them turn against him. He might not like who gets in up there.”

“So, you’re the devil?”

“I go by many names, that is but one of them. I don’t like that particular one, though. God has convinced you humans that the devil is bad, completely and utterly evil. Like humans, God and I are much more complicated than that.”

Lita paused, thinking before speaking. “But, doesn’t a person have to go to one or the other, Heaven or Hell? Where else could there be to go?”

“I guess you’re going to find out first-hand, child, because you do not belong here and I shall not grant you access.”

“Why, if I may be so bold as to ask?”

He sat in silence for a moment, and raised his hand to his chin in contemplation. Long pointed claws gently scratched his cheek and a finger brushed up against an upper tooth resembling a wolf’s fang. Finally, he leaned forward, compassion in his colorful eyes as he searched Lita’s soul for the truth he already knew.

“Child, dear, child, if there were an easy answer to that question I would give it to you. Look about you at these words engraved into the Earth beneath you. Old, old words, they are. They’ve been here since the beginning of time. Within those words are all of the secrets of the universe, every question in the world answered. It’s all there. There’s nothing missing. Some of those that enter into my kingdom can interpret those words, some cannot. But, some, like yourself, wouldn’t know what to do with that knowledge if you had access to it and more probably would do nothing at all.”
Tears began to swell. “I was sent here because I wasn’t worthy to enter the gates of Heaven. Now you’re telling me I’m not worthy to enter the gates of Hell either?”

“God and I have a few things in common, child. One of which is that we seek out soldiers who will fight for us. I’m a bit more active about the seeking, you might say.” With a long exhale, he leaned back against his thrown. “But you, well, I never sought you out. While alive, your sadness prevailed, it surrounded you like a thick blanket of mud and muck. I didn’t fight for you because I have no use for you. You would not be a good soldier. People would not follow your lead. You would not do well to enrich my name.”

Tears began to fall as Lita stood before the thrown.

“Now, now, child,” he said as he reached for his violin and began to play. “I know how much you’ve been hurt. Listen and this shall soothe you. There is not a more beautiful sound in the universe.”

And, as he played, music enveloped Lita in measures of quiet comfort.

“What did I do,” Lita asked, “to deserve the life I had, to deserve this now?”

He withdrew his bow, gently placing the violin in his lap. “Life is but a game, child, a game played by the kings of the universe. Winner takes all.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You see, God plays games, creating difficulties in people’s lives, to see if you’ll rise above, specifically to see if you’ll rise above in His name, in His faith.” He lifted the violin back to his chin, but set it back down in his lap and looked again towards Lita. “You humans call me the trickster, but you forget I learned from the master. He wants, He expects His people to suffer. Now, what kind of God is that? What kind of God allows such horrible things to occur when he has the power to stop them, to prevent them from ever occurring?”

“But, didn’t you serve him once?”

“Serve is a term to be used loosely in this instance. I became tired of and enraged by His games. Foolishness, they are, and the cause of useless suffering. When all of the Deities work together, there is no suffering because there is give and take, honor and respect in all directions.”

“So, do you play games,” Lita asked inquisitively.

He laughed. “Well, I have been known to play a game or two in my time, but only in response to God’s games or,” he frowned, “when I am not paid the appropriate respect for my assistance.”
Lita’s heart sank. “I meant no offense.”

“I know,” he simply stated as he began to play, “I know when you speak the truth.” The music traveled about the area as if it had a life of its own, flying to and greeting each part of the area with its presence. “But,” he said as he played, “back to your question.”

“Can’t I stay,” Lita interrupted. “I can learn. I have no place else to go.”

The music ceased again as he gently placed the violin beside his thrown. “No, child. I could never trust you.”

“But, I can change.”

“No child. I don’t think I could stand the weight that you carry upon your shoulders. It’s a pain I can’t bear to see and one I do not wish to carry myself.”

“So, what will happen to me? If this is a game, and there has been a draw, and neither God nor you will take me in, where will I go?”

Graciously, he stood, walked to Lita, put his claws upon her shoulders and gently brushed her hair with his hand. In nearly a whisper, he spoke. “That is not for me to decide, child. But, it is now your time to continue on.”

Slowly, again, Lita began to fall, drifting through a space of dark nothingness without heat or cold, without time, without sound or silence, without the ability to move or to stop.

Her body landed hard against the stone slab, its jagged edges piercing into her body painfully but drawing no blood. Toward one direction was nothing but a series of stones that reached out into eternity and, in the opposite direction, nothing but water of the purest blue that reached out equally as far. Above her, a dark night with a sparkling full moon spread out over half of the water and stones, the other half immersed in bright sunlight with a full and glorious sun.

Alone once more, Lita sat upon the slab and looked out over the water. “What a strange but beautiful place,” she thought to herself.

A large snake with eyes as black as coal and luminous skin made its way out of the water onto the rocks to bask in the sun. Slowly, it raised its head towards Lita. “Yes, dear, this is a beautiful place. This is the edge of the universe.”

“Will I stay here forever,” Lita asked.

The snake looked towards the water. “People do not come here to stay,” it said, and returned its gaze to Lita, “people come here for a single moment to gain direction or instruction. No humans can stay here. This place is much too powerful.”

Lita thought she dare not ask about the type of power existed in this magnificent location, and instead carefully she chose her words. “If I can’t stay,” she began, “where do I go and how do I get there.”
The snake nodded its head up and down and smiled at Lita as it continued. “Yes, you are wise, child, not to ask about certain things. You were sent here by a powerful being, and I know you are here for assistance.”

“You already know?”

“Yes, child,” the snake lowered its head to the ground, rotating it in the relaxing warmth of the sun. “I know all, all that has happened, all that is, and all that will become one day. I know of the journey you have made thus far and of the journey you must take. However, the future holds possibilities, and your choices shall determine your destination.”
Lita looked across the water, contemplating birth and death and all that comes between, reward and consequence and penance. “Is there really such a thing as purgatory,” she asked the snake as she looked over the water, wondering if forgiveness would ever come.

“Yes,” the snake began, turning its head to look out over the water, “but beware, child. Purgatory holds no guarantees. Who shall decide what is and is not deserving of punishment and how much that punishment shall be? Who will guarantee a change in sentence when purgatory is over? No, purgatory is not a place but a riddle, and the riddle maker can change the answer once you think you’ve solved the question. Do not count on it to meet your wishes for purgatory may be best described as life. The answers to the questions you seek are already within. Look there to proceed. That, my child, is the best advice I can give you.”

“But,” Lita began, “how do I do that?”

“Go to sleep, child,” the snake spoke quietly, “and I will see that you wake up in the forest, a purgatory of your own. You will recognize your lesson as it approaches, but be wise enough to know the questions. Should you serve well, you will be rewarded with answers. Should you not learn well, well, your punishment shall be likewise.”

Lita’s body tired as she leaned against the stone slab and closed her eyes. Lita awoke on the forest floor.

From where Lita lay, she saw a small cottage, simple and plain, sitting alone in a small clearing. The house, tiny and unpainted with small windows was surrounded by forest on all sides. A large pile of wooden logs as tall as the trees sat just outside the wooden fence. Lita was alone, and though no voice spoke to her, Lita knew that she was to move the pile of logs in silence to a location just inside the fence. And, so Lita went to work, silently lowering one pile and creating another one small log at a time.

When finished, Lita looked towards the gate and saw a fox holding up its paw. Though no voice spoke, Lita knew that she was to silently aid the little fox. Lita poured some water into a small vessel for the fox and gathered fallen leaves from the forest floor for the animal’s pallet. She gently lifted up its paw to examine the problem and removed a thorn. Lita petted the kind little animal until it fell asleep and then, as it slept, she watched the fox simply disappear.

Lita felt herself drawn to the cottage. Entering slowly through the door, she found the home deserted and with little furnishings other than a small table without chairs, a small locked cabinet in the corner with no key to be found, and cast iron fireplace at its center. A few iron kettles with long handles sat beside the fireplace, lined up neatly against the wall. The tiny cottage had only three walls, its rear wall missing and a ceiling that never existed at all.

The toils continued endlessly, and Lita silently, peacefully, followed the voiceless instruction. She made a broom from forest branches and went directly to work, sweeping and cleaning and brightening the little cottage, all in silence. From a nearby creek, she gathered water one glass at a time and scrubbed the planks and the windows and the floors. She moved the pile of logs back again, mended fences, planted, and harvested. Lita worked hard and continuously, but always in silence. When Lita was in need of food or drink, food or drink was provided, suddenly appearing as if by magic. When Lita was in need of rest, a hammock made of rope would suddenly appear beneath the shade of a forest tree.

One day, as many previous days, Lita was voicelessly instructed to dust the small table in the little kitchen. Grabbing her trusty rag and vat of water, Lita went to work on the table, but found that the dust would not be moved. Lita scrubbed harder, and yet the dust would not release itself from the table. She tried the broom, yet still found no success. She scrubbed at the table with all her strength and began to worry. Still, the dust would not move. Lita looked about the small cottage for how to accomplish this task that now proved more difficult than it had in the past.

Dust began to rise from the small table sitting in the kitchen as if called to attention, winding its way about Lita as she tried to wave away the dusty cloud that reached out for her. Lita tried to move, to step away from the dust, to leave the little cottage, but her feet felt as though they were held down to the floor. Lita sneezed, a sound that vibrated through the tiny cottage and echoed throughout the forest.

Lita lifted her head in a sense of surprise, of fear, and quickly began to feel herself falling again, this time at a lightning fast speed, branches, stones, and soil scratching and piercing the skin relentlessly as she fell, and in her ears was the cold, harsh screaming laughter of sadistic glee.

Suddenly, Lita’s body was still. The falling had stopped and the screaming laughter had ceased. Once again in complete silence, Lita slowly opened her eyes, finding herself in the grave in which she had been buried, awake, alert, and unable to move.



This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to situations or persons, living or dead, is coincidental and unintentional.