What if there is a heaven, but it's reserved for suicides?
What if the real test is not a life of renunciation, but a renunciation of life?
What if Eternity is not fragments of existence free-falling outside the gravity of time, but an infinite nothingness, an embrace of the impossible?
Wouldn't that be better than either the tedium of pain without hope - which we call damnation - or the meaninglessness of pleasure without even the possibility of pain - which we call being saved?
What if the fires we have imagined are not the meteorites of falling angels but the inspired trajectories of minds escaping the self's atmosphere?