Fresh forces of promulgation, of sustaination, and, of the continuum-momentum, are without tire, without fatigue, without stop.
The meaning of the name of Heaven is: replenishment. It is the ever-flowing fountain; and, paradoxically, through death one will find, that it is the very home of everlasting youth.
For nothing dwindles or dies in the spiritual realms. The depleted are fulfilled, and the shapeless become regenerated. Thoughts and hopes are the sprites of a cosmic dance that joyously twirl those starry lit fields in the ever morn.
Yes! everyone is Irish in Heaven! (a joke)
Revelation, not intoxication, enlights the mind with cheer and wonder.
And, everyone has their place.
One does not wander homeless as a constant refugee from materiality ... no, every single monadic soul has a home of their own that they can return to with visitors, companions and cherished animal friends. Life is more tangible than the physical world, because it is permeated with meaning and its very substance is durable.
From Heaven's perspective our descent into mortal life is death itself, rather than a becoming. At the very least it is as a tedious dream, at times with night terrors and at others, with perplexity ... a forgetfulness of one's root being, and immortality.
It is little wonder that the mortal consciousness is considered to be less than perfect, and only dimly aware; when, with the walk into Heaven one is fully sensing and knowing so much more. The forgetfulness of this world is its greatest peril. And the embrace of all that is Heaven is our ultimate life.
Passing back into the realm is as before - only with each venture had, there are treasures in hand, to be kept for ever more.
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