Mine, for a long time, had pink oceans lapping at gray sands, with big black trees and big black skies, and big square buildings. I wanted structure and plans and concrete, always concrete. Now I want scarves and belly dancers and red and gold films covering everything. But that's today. Tomorrow I'll want something else--maybe my structure, again. The natural conclusion would be that I want flexibility and I want heaven to change with me, according to what I want, but that's not true either. What I really want is to be alive.
I want life, bright, absorbing, pulsing inside and outside of me, I don't want what I want, I never have. I don't want concrete buildings or silk scarves, I want busy freeways and I want abandoned roads, I want strangers and lovers and people I will never meet passing by, I want to teach and to learn and to hate and to feel. I want to feel. Heaven could never be like that. Heaven could never imitate real life, the struggle to make life mean something before death, or in death, or after death, because heaven is death. And that's not what I want. Peace isn't what I want. I want the struggle, the difficulty, the joy, the pain, the rapture, everything. I want everything.
I want to live.