ways_back_room | Sirius and Skandra Do Heaven

Heaven hasn't been the same since they arrived.
Flying has become difficult.
The man divebombs the aerial formations of Heaven's Armies
On that flying motorcycle of his.
(And how he brought so physical a thing to a spiritual realm
Is something we'd all like to know.)
We've asked him why,
A thousand times why,
And all he does is smirk and say,
"Because I can."

The woman talks in dactyls
And prophecies
And epic metre,
And offers leaves in boiling brown water
To those who dine on manna and the Bread of Heaven.
"Don't tell me you don't like it," she says.
"I know angels.
"It's about the tea. It's all about the tea."

Not to mention that she brought to Heaven
A whole new kind of fornication:
Wingsmut.
We're not supposed to touch each other that way,
Not supposed to caress pinions and remiges,
Not supposed to stroke the place where
Wings and spiritual flesh join,
But she fondles our wings
And makes us touch each others'
And oh it's
So wrong but oh yes more
So oh please God
Good.

But just when we start thinking they're a blessing
The man starts sassing the Metatron
(Who, I will admit, is proud and pompous--
Mortal politicians unknowingly mimic him).
No reason, really--the man says that
He doesn't like pride
Or egotism
Or arrogance.
We listen to this explanation
And wonder if he ever noticed
His best friend's most salient qualities.

Other mad things happen too:
The woman organised a strip poker night.
No matter that our shining raiment
Is part of us and was created so,
No matter that we are forbidden to gaze thus
At the fair and graceful daughters of men,
No matter that she doesn't even know how to play:
Somehow the game happened,
Along with confused rules and apple martinis.
When she took off her chiton,
Seven seraphim nearly Fell then and there.

They both like sex.
They're utterly shameless.
Which, we are reminded, is a good thing--
Shame came after the Fall of Man,
Not before it.
Still, it's hard to see this passion
And know that you will never ever share it.

The man hates hymns
And is trying to teach the Heavenly Choir
Songs by Aerosmith, the Beatles, the Stones.

The woman thinks that St. Michael,
Commander of the Heavenly Host,
Needs to kick back,
Get to know humans,
Have a cup of spiced wine
Or of hot chocolate
Now and again,
And relax.

A rumpled angel comes to visit
Now and again,
Bringing books and tidings and apple tea,
Not to mention highly inappropriate puns.
Messages, he says.
Messages from those who love them.
He blazes brighter than the cherubim
When he speaks,
All fire and innocence.
And yet. And yet.

A demon's taken to haunting the Gates,
A lost and battered stray
Wandering where he's got no business being.
Not quite able to breathe the air of heaven
(It scores his flesh like holy water),
Unable to bear the touch of anything divine,
Cringing at the paeans of praise to the Creator,
His wings battered and bloody from the effort of the trip,
Too hurt to leave,
Too stubborn to try.
The guards would like to kill him--
That is their function, killing demons--
But the word from on high is:
Harm him not.
And so he stands outside,
Hissing sibilant names,
Mortal names,
Ignoring the angels ignoring him.

We can't send the man and woman elsewhere.
Where would they go?
They're not evil enough for Hell,
They just left Purgatory,
And Limbo has been culled these many years.
This is all there is.

We should be pleased, we know that.
Two souls, saved from the burning--
That's a good thing.
But then we hear cries from elsewhere:
The shock of a brother abandoned,
The pain of near-siblings left behind,
The bewilderment of friends who do not understand,
The grief and sorrow of those who do.

There is unfinished business here.
But no one exits the Gates
To deal with business unfinished,
And then enters again.
The way is shut.

And so we watch them play and laugh,
Savouring their afterlife.
We grit our metaphorical teeth
And we endure, as best we can.
This is not our Heaven,
The Celestial City,
Home of harmony, order and peace.
But if those they left could see this,
Their friends might be in Paradise.