In the land beyond death, a line of souls wait to receive what they have waited for in all eternity before this point. They have still only freshly left our Earth, and still see through human eyes, the raw energies and forces being interpreted through living metaphors. High above, there is a bed, adorned in silk and satin, the frame made of gold. There is a woman on this bed, but she cannot be seen directly. Halfway between an illusion and a light bright enough to cause snow blindness, it is not clear what position she is sitting in, and the few things that these souls can gather are not extrapolated by sight, but known intrinsically like the fore-knowledge we receive in dreams, living in plays of our own design. There is a deeply felt sense that this is God, and that what happens next is the culmination of every life they have ever lived. It is salvation, enlightenment, nirvana. It is the treasured End.
The first soul has approached, covering a distance of infinity in an instant, only because it was necessary for this to be impressive. It is impossible to say whether this was a man or a woman, and honestly the distinction is meaningless. And yet, it seems important. Beyond any sort of human convention or anatomy, these metaphors must still be used, or what is there to relate to? The soul approaches, now traveling slowly over the last few feet, light footsteps that echo off of nothing. It cycles through the appearance of a thousand lives, each taking turns rising to the surface of this ephemeral projection, wisps of energy dripping off like a liquid gas. It takes the bed where God is, and the other souls can only see the same light. In one instant, they have become one.
From the perspective of that soul, however, she(he/it?) engaged in the greatest and longest sex act ever conceived, lasting forever. In a single instant from every other perspective. In God's pussy, there was a drug that was not unlike marijuana, not unlike opium, not unlike quite a few others. It was the essence of these, and it escaped slowly in a form like smoke. She breathed it in directly, pressing her lips against God, and inhaled all the knowledge of the Universe, of Eternity, of all that was to be known and understood. The Wisdom of the Ages. It filled her, God's own energy, and there was no longer any difference between them. This feeling was ecstasy, release. Orgasm was the closest thing we could equate it to, and so the closest human metaphor, but the description seems crass. If not only for our human folly in dismissing it as something base to be kept secret, but also because literally nothing we can ever experience will come close to this feeling. The Wisdom of the Ages, breathed in intimately from God, caressed closely, and felt like nothing else.
It was a shame that none of the other souls could perceive what had happened, but it would not be long before their turn. There were those among them that saw an entirely different chain of events, experienced their transcendence differently. Was it less meaningful for them? I cannot decide. Logically, it seems like it could not possibly, yet there is really no better way than to have God as your lover, and to be high on the ultimate drug.
Note: This article is based on a strain of marijuana, known as God's Pussy, that won the Cannabis Cup in 2010. There was some controversy over the name being considered sexist and summarily changed, which I and a few others found strikingly ironic.