YOKED

“When I think of heaven (Deliver me in a black-winged bird) I think of dying Lay me down in a field of flame and heather Render up my body into the burning heart of God in the belly of a black-winged bird” - “Rain King” by Counting Crows If you want to spark a really interesting conversation, ask someone what they imagine heaven to be like.   In a flash, it leads one to consider the sometimes anxiety-ridden reality of death and whatever profound hope they have for the other side of it.   It is awash with fear and precious longings, longings that reveal a lot about the current struggle and sense of meaning in one’s life.   Some have standard, predictable musings on the landscape of heaven, replete with golden gates, St. Peter’s ominous book, and cherubim-shaped hedges that are always fully grown and perfectly manicured (unlike the dolphin bush people grow by their pool that is never quite finished and often resembles a cage of leaves with a only one distinct flipper). This