Imago

A mist of light swirls about me. Two brilliant figures approach. “Hello?” I say, afraid.

“Hello,” they respond warmly.

“Who are you? And where am I? A moment ago I was driving down the interstate.”

 “You are still on that road. Look behind you.”

There is my body! Twisted, bloody, surrounded by broken glass and torn airbag. My car is back there, a small part wedged into a strange Frankenstein-like amalgamation of nearly a dozen vehicles. “I’m dead!” I begin to weep. “That’s what this means, right?”

A hand on my shoulder. It is a soothing touch. “Yes.”

“But I have a family! I wanted to watch my kids grow up and get old with my wife and go fishing in Yellowknife and visit old castles...why don’t I get to do any of that?”

My companions speak in a language I do not know, though some of the words are ones familiar to me. The one on the right turns back to me. "You will. You will have the chance to do all of that. First, simply walk with us." I turn around once more. I am starting to hear the world around me again. Cries for help amidst the growing wail of sirens. Concerted efforts of civilians who have stopped to help. "Please, come with us. There is nothing more that can be done for now."

And so we move on through the mist. Another figure, this time with hardly any glow, sits on the ground near where we walk. It does nothing but cough violently. I look on in pity, but one of my guides takes my hand and leads me on. "What was wrong with him?" I ask. Nothing is said; we simply continue walking. Every breath of the bright fog is invigorating; I feel strong, lighter, and more aware with each passing second. "What should I call you?" I ask.

"I was called Genevieve in my younger days. I have a new name now, but I will wait to tell it to you. We are almost to our destination."

We ascend a hill overlooking the city. The sight at the crest astounded even more than the initial glimpse of my guides. Flitting about in the air above the cliff, alighting only now and then, were hundreds of glowing shapes, essentially formless aside from their narrow, rapidly beating wings. They swooped down, soared high, spun about one another, and cooed back and forth. A pair of them circle Genevieve for a moment before returning to the flock. “Are these…?” I am afraid to speak the words.

“Infants. Yes. The larval stage, if you will. Most of the ones you see are only days away from entering the pupal stage. They simply need an appropriate chrysalis to enter.”

“A baby,” I say. “They are looking for babies to occupy?”

“Yes. It is within the human body that metamorphosis must occur.”

I think for a moment. “And upon death, we reach the imago stage.”

“That is the hope. But the problem is that the chrysalis itself obscures the light, as you will remember, since you went through life never quite seeing it, with your eyes anyway. Quite often a person leaves his chrysalis while still in the pupal stage, or in some level of transition to imago. The mist around us is our sustenance, but a pupa cannot process it and will die. One who was caught between pupa and imago will usually live, but, not having fully developed, will do only that. His existence will be full of suffering until he can completely morph.”

I look out over the city for a moment, letting this all sink in. "And children that die?"

"We remain as larvae for a number of years after entering a chrysalis. It is difficult for development of both body and soul (to borrow a phrase from the old life) to happen at the same time. Thus, the larva will simply find a new chrysalis."

"Is there mating and birth in this life, then?"

"Yes, but not in the way that you are accustomed to. Soon it will be shown to you."

We walk down the hill and into a different part of the city. Here it seems that the mist is heavier than ever. It seems like an abandoned place; the occasional cry of an infant, the stumbling steps of a drunkard, or an impatient car horn betray the hidden human presence. A small canal brings water by silently. Two more brilliant figures are standing by the water. We watch as the light begins to swirl and undulate about them. Their hands are clasped and they stare at one another. Suddenly they are completely engulfed. "What happened?" I ask.

It seems that only a golden globe remains. "Wait a moment." The light recedes. The pair is there once more, and now one of them holds an infant in its arms. The wings flap intermittently; I can tell that it will not fly right away. "Now you see," said Genevieve, turning to me. "And there is much more yet for you to see."

I grow impatient. "This is all amazing. Really, it is. But tell me what I really want to know. You know what that is; I just haven't figured out how to ask it. How did I get here like this? How is it that we develop into full imago? Is it based on what we did in our bodies?"

"Indeed it is. It is when we acquire true love for all of our fellow man that we reach this stage. When we have become humble and will sacrifice ourselves for the good of others. That is when we are able to breathe this mist."

"And if this is life after death," I ask, suddenly concerned, "then where is God in all of this?"

Genevieve smiles her sweet smile once again, the mist ripples around her, and then I understand.