Heat

Dearest Rachel –

Given its immense breadth – from the depths of absolute zero, where motion stills, even down to the subatomic level, to the eight- and nine-figure temperatures of stellar cores – it’s amazing to think about how little of the range of temperature is comfortable for us humans, or even survivable. With proper clothing and hydration, we can just barely deal with a variance of a hundred degrees Fahrenheit or so in either direction from zero, while our comfort zone is limited to only about ten degrees or so from 70°F, if that. Just like with the ranges of any other stimulus that announces itself to our senses, such as sound or light, there is such a limited band of the entire range that we can tolerate (or perceive, in certain cases) in our frail human forms.

I say this, of course, because we are approaching the peak season for heat today; yesterday was the hottest day of the year, and today is expected to be hotter still, on the verge of triple digits. It’s nothing really out of the ordinary for the middle of August, to be sure – indeed, the fact that it’s taken this long to crack a hundred degrees ought to come as a bit of a surprise, actually – but no matter how much we know to expect it from year to year, the sheer discomfort of it all still manages to take us by surprise every time, like with people trying to drive during the first major snow of the season.

And, of course, it leads me to wonder about how we will sense such things (or if we will) once we’re all on your side of the veil. From our Judeo-Christian perspective, we imagine hell to be a “lake of fire” (I’ve mentioned to you before that I think this is because it serves as a place where God deliberately has removed Himself, for the ‘benefit’ of those who have rejected Him, but since He is the One holding everything in the cosmos together, even on a subatomic level, this results in that place being essentially a perpetual nuclear explosion. I can’t seem to find a theologian who has come up with such a theory – I’m not about to take credit for originating this conjecture, with no properly educated consideration for it – but I have yet to find any theological arguments against it, either), so hot days like this often get compared to it, which shows just how little we understand anything about the afterlife, and what it’s like. Meanwhile, we hardly take into consideration what it must feel like in heaven, as we assume it to be a place of eternal comfort – or at least, the absence of the eternal torment guaranteed to us by hell, just like true darkness being the absence of light, pure silence being the absence of noise, and absolute zero the complete absence of heat.

But what is it like, honey? Do you experience warmth or cold, or is everything comfortable wherever you are? And what is ‘comfortable’ for you, over there? What do your senses take in these days in terms of heat, light, sound or taste? Or is it just so far beyond words to describe that it would be pointless to attempt to explain any of it?

These are the sort of things that cross my mind as we brace ourselves for what is, in a relative sense, a rather mild assault on our senses in the form of this heat wave. To you, this must sound silly, as it is whatever it is for you, and by now, it must seem completely normal to you. But to explain it to me (or anyone else, for that matter), who has no frame of reference to try to comprehend what it’s like, well… I’m not sure where you could go with your explanation.

But it’s all moot, anyway. There will be no visitation, no ghostly attempts at explanation. Besides taking you away from eternal bliss, which I wouldn’t demand of you (I’d say “I wouldn’t dream of it,” but I’d be lying if I did), what would a description do for me? Where would my faith be, if I had everything laid out before me in explicit detail? Would it even be counted as faith at that point?

So many questions, and no answers to be found, only conjectures of varying degrees (pardon the expression) of reasonability. Guess I’m just going to have to live with that for the time being, until I get the chance to meet up with you again. I do hope that I’ll still remember what these questions were by then, so I can compare the actual results against what I thought I might encounter.

Until then, though, keep an eye on me, honey, and wish me luck. I’m going to need it; that, and a tall glass of ice water.