One of the best depictions of hell (that is, a state we create for ourselves) is found in Samuel Beckett’s two-act play Waiting for Godot, during which two men sit under a leafless tree waiting endless days for a man who never shows up.
The scientist says, “There are 37 trillion cells in the human body.” The poet says, “I am large. I contain multitudes.” Both of these statements knock hell out of our belief in littleness.
High on the list of ego’s most dubious achievements: Feelings of guilt. A belief in hell. The idea that heaven is an achievement.
Things that begin well end that way too.
Siena’s famous daughter: “All the way to heaven is heaven.”
And the unavoidable corollary, that it is hell all the way to hell? True, too.