The light might have been too bright if Gleeson didn't see infinity as an invitation.
And so he approached it, wanting to be filled, knowing the Lord was allowing him to see things here in the heavens of this lucid dream He could not show him while he was only a man, walking the Earth.
Here he was infinite, part of the heavens and everything that was so much greater than himself. It was as though he was seeing the world's data all at once. Not just thoughts and experiences from now, but from all time, yawning both behind and in front of him, an endless procession without beginning or end.
This was the infinite behind the veil. What only the angels could see. And the chosen like him.
It wasn't just data. Gleeson could hear their prayers. See them, even. A trillion pinpricks of light, though each could be zoomed in upon. Lived inside, if he wanted.
So many languages, and even though Gleeson had barely ever left Montana, and then mostly only to hit northern Wyoming, he could understand it all. Many tongues from all around the planet, past and present, then one he did not recognize. Though it was familiar, he'd never heard it before now. Because only in this dream with verity like a gospel had Gleeson been given a glimpse into the world of angels. The chance to hear them sing and talk and wonder aloud.
Their chatter was music, and to hear it for longer than a whisper of wind he would surely have to die.
But Gleeson was ready for that, if God were to call him.
He bathed in the light until being called to enter the dark.
Battles beyond his imagining, settling into conquest and seizure, a subjugation of humanity in hopes of who they could be, casting the planet into dispassionate judgement, the will they or won't they of spiritual ascension, then finally an extinction to wipe out the head of humanity, leaving it with but a few strands of hair.
The only way to establish an era of everlasting peace.
Hell unleashed so that Heaven may reign.
Yet amid all the battles and chaos, Gleeson could see some humans thriving despite their Judgment in the sky. Great cities built, where Heaven's Rule was like blood in the bodies of all who lived there.
Do you understand?
The angels were asking, so Gleeson said, “Yes.”
Do you know what to do?
And he did.
These cities of God did not belong to him, but Stonefall did, and Gleeson would make his tiny hamlet worthy of the Good Lord Himself. He would act as His son, bringing the Light to His people.
Gleeson would make sure his city was worthy of passing Judgment when it rained. His flock would be brought before the gates and granted entry, where they could then look down on a thousand years of peace on Earth.
He delivered scripture to the angels.
The Lord Himself will descend from Heaven with a shout … then those who are alive and remain shall be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air.
Gleeson could see how it would end, just as it had ended before.
There was a great earthquake, such a mighty and great earthquake as had not occurred since men were on the Earth … and great hail from Heaven fell upon men, each hailstone about the weight of a talent.
Gleeson was drawn toward a Light, brighter than any other. Walking then drifting without using his feet, finally floating across the expanse like a mote in God's eye.
He stopped at the baby.
But William was no longer only a baby.
Nor only a child, teen, full-grown adult, or withered old man.
He was all of them, each moment of every stage at once. As if Gleeson could see both seedling and tree. Oak and acorn. Cone and conifer.
In every version of William, his mouth moved like a conduit, speaking his data, inviting Gleeson to swim in his truth.
He longed to know more, to get closer to the child.
To hear everything he had to say.