There is no way to It

She:
I focus my mind on Heaven in the belief that all of my efforts will “someday”
make me real.

Me:
Some questions come to mind:

Who has a belief?… Who is this entity making “efforts”?

“Someday” is a total uncertainty, can you see that?…

How can you thus be real someday unless you are real here and now…?

Is God an Ideal? – a sum of things?…Can the connection with God ever be an
outcome of anything…?

You say:
“What I can do is strive each day to reach the still infinity of endless peace that
surrounds you gently in its soft embrace.”

This is very tricky, but fact of the matter is that we can go on “striving” for another couple of lives and still ask whether we are there yet…Striving enhances separation. Striving alienates and keeps us away from whatever we want to be – that is beyond doubt.

Really, it´s quite evident – at some point we have to quit struggling, understanding that what is “ever-present” can be neither imagined nor “reached”, neither gained through effort, or virtue…

Tao saying

The true sage rejects all distinctions and take his refuge in Heaven.

Amazing stuff – a doctor´s experience with Afterlife

http://www.thedailybeast.com/newsweek/2012/10/07/proof-of-heaven-a-doctor-s-experience-with-the-afterlife.html

A sound, huge and booming like a glorious chant, came down from above, and I wondered if the winged beings were producing it. Again, thinking about it later, it occurred to me that the joy of these creatures, as they soared along, was such that they had to make this noise—that if the joy didn’t come out of them this way then they would simply not otherwise be able to contain it. The sound was palpable and almost material, like a rain that you can feel on your skin but doesn’t get you wet.

Seeing and hearing were not separate in this place where I now was. I could hear the visual beauty of the silvery bodies of those scintillating beings above, and I could see the surging, joyful perfection of what they sang. It seemed that you could not look at or listen to anything in this world without becoming a part of it—without joining with it in some mysterious way. Again, from my present perspective, I would suggest that you couldn’t look at anything in that world at all, for the word “at” itself implies a separation that did not exist there. Everything was distinct, yet everything was also a part of everything else, like the rich and intermingled designs on a Persian carpet … or a butterfly’s wing.

It gets stranger still. For most of my journey, someone else was with me. A woman. She was young, and I remember what she looked like in complete detail. She had high cheekbones and deep-blue eyes. Golden brown tresses framed her lovely face. When first I saw her, we were riding along together on an intricately patterned surface, which after a moment I recognized as the wing of a butterfly. In fact, millions of butterflies were all around us—vast fluttering waves of them, dipping down into the woods and coming back up around us again. It was a river of life and color, moving through the air. The woman’s outfit was simple, like a peasant’s, but its colors—powder blue, indigo, and pastel orange-peach—had the same overwhelming, super-vivid aliveness that everything else had. She looked at me with a look that, if you saw it for five seconds, would make your whole life up to that point worth living, no matter what had happened in it so far. It was not a romantic look. It was not a look of friendship. It was a look that was somehow beyond all these, beyond all the different compartments of love we have down here on earth. It was something higher, holding all those other kinds of love within itself while at the same time being much bigger than all of them.

Without using any words, she spoke to me. The message went through me like a wind, and I instantly understood that it was true. I knew so in the same way that I knew that the world around us was real—was not some fantasy, passing and insubstantial.