*                                                       

                       Imagine.  You’ve arrived in the garden of delight.  This time you see it. You know where you are.  It took a long time to get to this recognition but now you’re here.

                                                        *

                      At the top of purgatory you emerged from the path that winds its way around the mountain.  You did this, though invisible guides whispered in your ear along the way; they kept you company.  You see the garden and breathe in its sweet scents.  After the long climb you feel serene. The pleasures of the roses and the trees and the streams and the breeze permeate your senses.  

                      At the apex the stars sound. The stellar lyric plays. You hear the music of the spheres.  The trees are lined in groves beside a stream. They sway in the breeze.  You see there isn’t one tree now: there are many.  All around you red and white roses unfold, growing quicker than your eye, in the warm light.

                                                         *

                       You’ve arrived, after much.  You feel the welcome in the garden and stream, in the music, the rhythm of the trees, the unfurling flowers, and in the welcome that was meant for you and for every traveler.

                                                        *

                      You imagine: soon others will arrive.  Some struggle up from the mountain path. Some are coming down from the sky.  All of you will rendezvous.  The message has been falling from between the stars for longer than anyone knew: your exile is over. The garden is yours.  It’s always been yours. 

                      But of course you didn’t know this, and it will take a long time to learn how to live here.