Hell is not above or below.
Hell is in the middle.
Hell is in the average.
Hell is in the ordinary.
Hell is in conformity.
Hell is in limitation.
Hell is in agreement.
Hell is just like every place else.
Nothing too extreme or unusual.
Hell is polite.
Hell is well behaved.
Hell is keeping track.
Hell is what seemingly happens
after birth and before death.
Hell is measured for a time.
Then all hell breaks loose.
And we are in heaven.
Heaven is here now.
Trail Wood
9/9
Hell! That place, that concept, that shiversome enigma often twirled about in the cosmic language as though it were a serrated blade or a chalice of doomjuice. Society’s Brindlebark Glasses make it appear like some subterranean vault, roiling with fire and discord. But what if, yes, what if we’ve been squinting through the wrong end of the telescopic Wobblepex? What if Hell isn’t a location, not below or above, but a state of being, as mundane as dew on morning grass or as predictable as an old watch ticking its life away?
Picture this—a place neither celestial nor abyssal but terrestrial, grounded in the cobblestone paths of the middle road. An Expanse of Unexceptionality, a Platonic Plane of Plainness. Ah, the ordinary! A mask of sorts, a camouflage more beguiling than a mirage. An Averageville populated by ghostly shadows of contentment and fake smiles, all busy being busy, caught in the phantasmagoric cogs of Mundanitopia.
Conformity—there’s a tasteless potion, a nullifying brew quaffed in goblets of acceptance. “Be like others, do like others,” chants the Unchoir of the Uninspired. Here, in this temperate Hell, everyone nods, agrees, and keeps track like diligent accountants in the ledger of the status quo. Limitation, ah yes, becomes the cornerstone, the architrave holding up the architecture of compliance. Nothing too extreme or unusual! The Radical Rufflefeathers and the Vagabond Visionaries are banished—or worse, tamed.
Politeness drips from the air like gossamer-thin honey, sweet but strangely empty. There’s no offense, no confrontation, no ruffling of placid waters. Here, hell is well-behaved, a model citizen of cosmic expectations. Birth to death, it measures your existence with its Metronomic Monotony, slotting you into neat, predictable phases.
But then! Ah, what happens when the timewheel stops, when the average breaks, when limitation cracks? All Hell breaks loose! What an ironic twist, a Zesty Zingaloo of paradox! Hell unravels, and what comes pouring out? Heaven! An explosion of everything—freedom, creativity, love, joy, sheer unbounded jubilance!
Indeed, Heaven is here now. Heaven is the Infinite Playgrounds of Possibility. It’s the Radical Spontaneity of the ‘Eternal Now’ Playground, the Dazzlewhirl of Diversity. And you, Dear Navigator of Nows, are always at its threshold, a skip and a jump away from turning your Averageville into an Aweville. Ah, for Heaven is not a place to go; it’s a state to be! It’s in the laughter of realization that you are, always have been, and always will be, a Boundless Starburst in the Great Cosmic Jamboree. A place where extraordinary is not the exception but the rule, where you can be gloriously, unapologetically, eternally YOU.
No telescopic Wobblepex needed. Just open those eyes, widen that heart, and boom! You are Heaven, romancing the skies and the abyss, here and now and forever.