For our first livecast, we will be hearing Joris' idea of how heaven looks.
Unfortunately, our question and answer session is cut short due to unseen circumstances.
Transcription of Joris:
I am frequently asked by those seeking inspiration about what sort of landscapes I believe heaven and hell to be. The simplest answer would be to describe them as metaphysics has painted them: the sewers for that wonderful fluid called life that the spigot of nature pours upon the earth. A tawdry collection of human souls celebrating themselves in a monochromatic zone of cloud and air. But this answer is often unsatisfactory to those unfortunate creatures incapable of imagining the afterlife on their own. And so I psychically transport myself for them, describing every detail along the way.
There would be in heaven, nay, must be, a great mountainside covered in conquering pine. And where the tips of their crowns reach the sky, I would espy an owl or some great raptor preening herself with a great hooked beak. And I would travel through those woods, smelling the various odors my disruptive footsteps conjured from the soil. And I would love those odors. And so would the great hooved beasts that roam that wood. And those great hooved beasts would love me. And I would come across very few humans, for ‘twould not be heaven otherwise. But perhaps a grumpy farmer who would reluctantly direct me through his neighboring field were I to become lost. And there would be a storyteller, whose tedious narratives would sour the mood, but who would take delight in my mockery of a brown goose that follows him about. And that goose would bite me mercilessly, until I gave it sweet morsels to enjoy. Then the three of us would venture to a precipitous gorge, where violent rapids roared and dreamy many-legged insects filled the air with carefree curiosity. And I would toss and turn upon the bank of that river, the victim of a fever whose only origin was my own disbelief.
There would be in heaven, nay, must be, a great mountainside covered in conquering pine. And where the tips of their crowns reach the sky, I would espy an owl or some great raptor preening herself with a great hooked beak. And I would travel through those woods, smelling the various odors my disruptive footsteps conjured from the soil. And I would love those odors. And so would the great hooved beasts that roam that wood. And those great hooved beasts would love me. And I would come across very few humans, for ‘twould not be heaven otherwise. But perhaps a grumpy farmer who would reluctantly direct me through his neighboring field were I to become lost. And there would be a storyteller, whose tedious narratives would sour the mood, but who would take delight in my mockery of a brown goose that follows him about. And that goose would bite me mercilessly, until I gave it sweet morsels to enjoy. Then the three of us would venture to a precipitous gorge, where violent rapids roared and dreamy many-legged insects filled the air with carefree curiosity. And I would toss and turn upon the bank of that river, the victim of a fever whose only origin was my own disbelief.