December 4, 2025 #holyclarity

Coco woke me up at 3:37 AM with a meow so aggressive. I sat up, heart pounding, and there they were — the whole gang floating in like they’d rehearsed the entrance.

Coco, of course, hissed at Sally first.

Sally just lifted her chin, muumuu fluttering like a curtain in a haunted gift shop, utterly unfazed.

Joe got a polite twitch of Coco’s whiskers — tolerable.

But Catalina? Catalina got the royal treatment. Coco leapt onto her lap like she was the last warm human on Earth.

And then Catalina’s dog bounded in, all wagging spirit and enthusiasm, which immediately sent Coco sprinting out of the room! Honestly, those two were vying for her attention like contestants on a reality show.

I rubbed my eyes and muttered that this week’s newsletter was about grief and the weird things that happen in sessions — the you-really-can’t-make-this-up moments.

They all nodded like they’d already read it. Which… is unnerving.

I asked them what it was really like being invisible — or whatever the word is these days — and Sally stepped forward like she had been waiting her entire afterlife for this question.

Invisible is cute, she said, but darling, it’s more like being present in God’s wavelength. But if invisible helps you explain it, use it.

Catalina leaned back, hands behind her head, ultra chill.
It’s like being logged into every app at once but without the lag.

Joe cleared his throat like he was about to give a TED Talk no one asked for.
Actually, the perfect dimension is very organized. There’s a--

Catalina cut him off.
Oh my gosh, tell her about the walkway. Do it.

Joe groaned.
Fine.

Then he explained.
So apparently, when you “expand” into the perfect dimension — aka Heaven’s Grand Reveal — it doesn’t matter if you were Mother Teresa or someone who stole office pens: the lights come on, and BAM — you’re standing in front of God.
The Creator of everything seen, unseen, half-seen, and badly-seen.
If you’re not emotionally ready for it?
Too bad. God hits that “show full truth” button like He’s turning on stadium lights.
And then comes…the walkway.
It’s basically that moving flat walkway they have in airports. Except instead of sending you to Gate C14, it sends you straight into Holy Clarity™.
You step on it, and Jesus walks next to you like,
“So… about that attitude you had in 2017.”
Some people glide through peacefully.
Some people try to turn around.
SOME people trip twice and pretend they didn’t.

Donna elbowed him.
Only twice? That’s generous.

Joe held his chest, offended.
I was OVERWHELMED by God’s LOVE.

Donna smirked.
And your own nonsense.

Sally floated higher, all dramatic, arms wide.

The walkway isn’t punishment, she said. It’s truth. You suddenly realize how much God loves you… and how little you loved yourself sometimes. It’s jarring. Like turning on your phone camera accidentally at 6 AM.

Catalina’s dog barked in agreement while Coco reappeared just to hiss at Sally again.

(Sally muttered something about cats having spiritual superiority complexes.)

I laughed and thanked them, even as my eyes drifted shut again. Their voices overlapped, teasing, bickering, comforting, all at once — the most chaotic heavenly family meeting I never asked for.
​
And somewhere between Joe complaining about holy walkways
and Catalina’s dog chasing Coco’s ego back down the hall,
I fell asleep,
wrapped in the softest sense of truth
and the strangest peace.
​