On earth these gates would be wrought of iron. But above it,
are ephemeral, like clouds drifting about a mountain peak.
He could not imagine pain in the vicinity, he simply moved towards the
fleecy pillars as if he and a creative but invisible caucus generated it, &,
as exercises of oneness, changed its dimension and location continually.
It was work of the kind that calms the heart,
so he would’ve kept working on the gates a while yet,
behaving, even then, like he had something to prove.
But a voice beyond the gate said:
“I am here, be not afraid!”
At that, if there was doubt it evaporated with the hurt, for he felt only weightlessness.
And with each question of his place, a garden sprang more vigourously into being, while
the gates dissolved into vines that bloomed blinding white flowers shaped like trumpets.
Themselves no barrier, the flowers repeatedly sprang open and closed, open and closed.
Energy they generated formed him wings that attached to him as he quietly passed into a world of ease
and, without any effort, learned he could fly distances overwhelmingly great and immeasurably small.
I wondered as he flew how I would get along without him, but the flowers changed to a blood red colour
and I realized I risked affixing him to ground him with my fears.