Abstract Space

All space is abstract space. All space worthy of the name.

Do you recall the black and white T-shirt that has a picture of the universe on it. The small portion of the universe in which we live. The snapshot of the Milky Way. There’s a little caption. And there’s a squiggle running from the caption to a very leetle tiny dot in the snapshot. And the caption says, You are here.

Only now what we need to think about is that this dot isn’t just in two-dimensional space. In the two-dimensional space of the T-shirt, so to say. No. It exists in n-dimensional space. Where n is anybody’s guess.

Oh. I guess there are a few Mystical Physicists who believe they know. Some of them say 10, for example. Some say 11. Some say. Oh. 23. Something like that. Most seem to like prime numbers for the number of dimensions. I don’t know why except prime numbers seem maybe more mystical than other numbers. But what they’re all agreed on—this group of Mystical Physicists—is that 4 is definitely not the right number. The number we’re used to. The number we think is obvious. Up-down-sideways-time. A no-brainer to us. Is totally wrong to the big brains. Totally wrong to the people who spend all their time thinking about the very large and the very small. Large and small. Large and small.

Some of us small brains think. Oh. Yes. We can see gravity, for example. How gravity might be thought of as a dimension. Also maybe how electromagnetic energy. How that can be thought about as a dimension. But maybe not. Anyways, that might get us to 5 or 6. But 10! Or 11! Or 23! We have no idea. We have not a clue as to what these big brains are thinking about.

But what we can get is this. All these other dimensions are places where we cannot see what’s going on. Directly touch or taste or. You know. Normally get what might be going on. Unless. Unless there’s something more going on here than normally gets picked up in the camera’s lens. Than gets picked up in a microphone.

Oh. Like the Moses encounters. Like the Transfiguration, for example. The Lazarus deal. Or Paul being struck down and blinded temporarily. The risen Jesus eating fish on a beach. And so forth.

In-breaking. The Kingdom shattering the one-way glass between dimensions. Or no. Maybe there’s no bursting whatsoever. Just a stepping through the curtain. The invisible curtain. The bead curtain that others from the heavenly dimension, for example, slip through with little warning. Just step through the beads that have the consistency and transparency of air.

A curtain between worldly space and heavenly space that is easily penetrated, really. That is easily passed through. By the actual on either side. When this is needful. When heart longing for someone or something on the other side becomes deep enough and wide enough. When sorrow or joy or radiance becomes great enough to become the other. Become the other two. Sorrow-joy-radiance. And light a way through the spaces between the beads. Or the metaphor of light. And then that being from heaven, let’s say, translated and standing for a time in the space that is just here. Just next to us. The Kingdom. The shining Kingdom. Right here. In the space that is folded all around us here. The whole business abstract, maybe, until something steps through. Some vision perhaps. Some being. Some words from someone on the other side. And then.

And then it becomes particular. Then it becomes actual as an angel sitting in one’s family room. Poof. Presto. Sitting in one’s wife’s comfortable chair when one’s wife is gone. Has left for another state. An angel, mind you. An angel! Listening to How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb. Just sitting here. Next to oneself. Sitting. Sitting and listening. Reassuring in a way. Listening. Suggesting. Suggesting. I don’t know. Peace. Not talking. No. Just this peace that fills the room like light from a candle flame. Like scent from a scented candle.

One does not look directly at this being because. Well. Because this has happened before. A few years before. And the angel goes away if you look directly. So. So I watch out of the corner of my left eye. And sing. Sing with Bono. And listen.

Nothing more complicated than that. Peace, the angel says. Peace be yours. Peace be unto you. All will be well, one believes this angel is saying. Sitting here. All manner of thing. Finally. Will be well.

Or Jesus. I’m not discounting the possibility of Jesus. Jesus or an angel. One or the other. Is what I’m thinking.