Is Heaven for everyone?

100131 08:16
I am saved.
And the truth of my salvation is what I write to suggest as available to all people.
Yet there is a special dedication, of mine, to those, who like me, were schooled in agony, rejected, abandoned, despised and lived alone in desolation.
We do not live, we survive in a barrenness of subsistence. To presume because we are not dead--yet--that we live, have being, value and long to be loved is false. What I have come to sense is the evil of waste.
The more I acknowledge and accept my addictions, the greater becomes my empathy and acceptance of that choice in others to adorn their lives with sex, money, power, celebrity, rape and violence.
In a sincere sense we are all criminals against Humanity; as I once was against myself. Empathy is endless; in order to have validity/truth in me I must be both victim and victimizer.
If Jesus and Dietrich Bonhoeffer forgave those who persecuted and assassinated them then I must forgive myself for doing the same to all my Self. For me it is to forget the pain and remember only the joy now that was given me by those against whom I railed, was enraged with, and imagined destroying. So dependent was I upon their definitions of me as unworthy of life or love I could not conceive of simply stepping back or forward in any issue of conflict and saying “Thank You!” As elastic as I have become, I know God to be infinitely more so.
If I am unwilling, unable or not allowed to question the choices of authority, including the validity of God, then I am equally disabled from accepting them. I am a victim of no one; and less so of myself.
In this moment I wonder how I came to be myself as I am now. The first image was of a nest of baby birds, probably pigeons, at my four-year-old feet. Their beaks a yawing rictus of hunger their eyes sealed in death. If ET rode home on a bicycle with a newspaper delivery persons basket in front, then I began my journey upon a red tricycle then. I had a life alone and I loved it, but lost it in the house(s) of others who I attempted to attach with who did not nor ever could, in this lifetime, love themselves. When I said, thought or asked for love it was merely a request to fill the yawing abyss of my self then. My sins of commission or omission have been reconciled and my love is my truth given without expectation of reward. I suggest that such salvation is yours for the asking but there is one caveat you can only give it away.
. . . I wept when my children died and begrudged the wisdom of “Suffer the little children to come unto me.” Only in my dotage can accept that I too am a child to all that is whole, true and love.
There are two other requests made by me of the Universe at Large: “every falling leaf is significant” and the ideal “we/I must grow large enough to receive love” . . . I am well aware of the subtext: “God.”
What we are, or can be, is a before, during and after, what we call life.
What I recommend cannot be found in any form, or construct, of divination--all, to me--are merely about and not Truth as Love.
To know and love yourself, as you are, is to enter the only thing we can change in life, ourselves. And change is the only true constant in all the universe. . . . so call me the suicide bomber of love. . . .my only salvation is found here and now through the choice to do no harm. Tell that to the banana I had for breakfast!?
Yeah. I do talk to plants and have gratitude for their sacrifice that I remain vertical for another day.

. . . without passion . . . today is a good day . . .

091231 07:57
I have several reasons to celebrate the change of year numerically.
I am oddly conscious of being a day closer to my seventh decade. Yesterday I discovered one of our dumpsters being filled with a resident’s precious identity disposed. There were, for me, several items of interest, had I been willing to dive in and sort the wheat from the chaff.
Discovery, I was viewing my own passing in practical/surrogate.
Our culture and civilization are auguring up and down, a flock in flight. Some, such as myself,  accepting life’s experience’s as teaching us humility in passing, day-to-day.
Consciousness, if valuable, is aware of itself, inconvenient--at times.
It is a sense of fearlessness revealed in seeing everything.
Humiliation is no longer on my daily menu, not a season for the stew of my life. The day’s collective in retrospect displays a subtle and often precious intercourse with the numinous that I have difficulty confessing. Moreover I declare myself over the hump of terror; the Season passed and I remained sane. Sanity is difficult to describe to another who, professionally, determines our weal or woe. Remembering my choice to avoid friends and family members for their presumption being my judge. Reminded that I was once one of them and all life. Too quick on the trigger of execution.
With difficulty, I learn for myself--The Issues/The Facts--and this process of gifting you, with yours. What I previously bore as humiliation, I now accept, celebrating it’s teaching me to better be what I am now; no longer victim.  Where I was once truant, or truculent, in rage I am now humble in my praise the day overcast or bright; regardless long or short night.
Time lightly bourn, birthing itself, borne infinite, uncounted now.
“ 20:30
Many events insignificant and otherwise have passed between what I last wrote and now that I write again. Muzzled.
By what?
I need only tell you that you are magnificent within yourself and that though I am insignificant I tell you are more than me in humility. All the earth and heavens sing this but you are deaf, dumb and blind to your value appraised by  those you kneel for . . . should you be fully conscious you would kneel before God, and Our Parent would then take you by the scruff of your neck and say; Arise!
The resurrection of Jesus is potential in all humanity but the return will not happen until we manifest/incarnate that to one another.
Nothing else is of value higher to me than what I’ve just advocated for us.
All warriors are pacifist who kill, or die, without passion . . . and today is a good day to die.