Porta del Cielo Linari 2012

I am dead. But only for an hour. I was really relieved when I realized after my death that I was going up, towards heaven. Phew, I think that was close. But now it’s not moving forward. I and a few other freshly deceased are floating in a traffic jam because a very fat dead person doesn’t fit through the ozone hole and is blocking our way. He’s thrashing around and yelling that he didn’t die from being overweight, but rather choked on damned celery, and that raw food is supposed to be healthy! Well. We’re stuck here for a long time waiting for the blue angels to get him out.
Below me, the sea sparkles. I already saw my life in fast forward earlier, the whole birth-childhood-first love-emigration-debts-moving back in with parents-marriage-divorce-tax evasion-emigration again-smoking a joint daily-movie. I already knew it. Since I have time, I recall my perfumes, the only constant love in my life. As I look down at the blue sea, the first thing that comes to mind is Seathalasso, because that’s what it smells like here. Like ocean and sunscreen, but there’s something else... Pineapple. Not the sugary canned pineapple, but an unripe, tart-bitter-citrusy pineapple. And a hint of mango, also unsweetened. Could this be the first olfactory harbingers from heaven? Is the Garden of Eden, paradise, waiting for me up there?
Aha, the way is clear again, they’ve cut the fat guy out. Now the ozone hole is a bit bigger again, but who cares, I won’t die from it (knee-slapper!). Up ahead, a line has formed again, great! They’re all waiting at the heavenly gate now. So I obediently get in line too. Back at the concert hall door, I always pushed my way in, but today I don’t want to ruin my entrance into the truly holy halls at the last moment. I have time now. Looooots of time. It’s somehow liberating. I’m starting to really believe that it smells so good from heaven. The sea fades away, indistinguishable fruits and flowers become stronger and everything gets a bit sweeter, but there’s still something else... something I somehow know, but unfortunately don’t like at all, what could it be?
15 minutes later, I know. I’m standing at the heavenly gate, and it’s made of, ta-da, sandalwood, my scent kryptonite. Engraved in the frame is “Jesus, anno domini 34.” Aha, right, he was a carpenter... Peter clears his throat to get my attention and jingles importantly with the heavenly key in front of the locked gate. He’s wearing a black bomber jacket, even though it’s nice and warm. I hope this goes quickly, the sandalwood is annoying me.
“You can’t come in here!” he addresses me.
“Huh...?”
“Step aside, make way.”
That’s quite rude! If it weren’t Peter himself, I would have something to say to him, I really would! But it is Peter, and I really, really want to get into heaven, so I humbly step aside and watch, grinning awkwardly and nervously tapping my feet, as Peter warmly welcomes and lets one dead person after another through. Wow, this sandalwood! At least wafts of sea, fruits, and flowers keep blowing by, it’s bearable.
“Can I see your ID?” he turns back to me after half an hour.
“Helloooo!!?? I’m dead, I don’t have an ID on me!”
“Then I’m sorry for you, today it’s only ugly, drunk, underage people in sweatpants, sneakers, and with weapons.”
“Huh???”
“Come on, just kidding,” he suddenly smiles. “My boss knows everything. It was a little sandalwood test for you, to see if you’re serious about coming in here. It was close for you.”
Wow! But then the heavenly gate opens again - and this time for me. Thank God! In the truest sense of the word...
I walk through and the sandalwood scent fades. No more wafts of pineapple and mango, the sky remains blue, not paradisiacal green. Clean-white-creamy musk clouds welcome me, and a river of honey winds through. Wooden angels trumpet a (my!) welcome hallelujah on vanilla pods and rattle with tonka beans. From afar, I can still smell the sea. I believe one can endure it well here, whether man or woman, young or old, and in every season. Heavenly!