I guess there isn't much interest. I'll see if I can expand on it.
Among my first impressions of this new plane was its cloudiness. If it ever became overcast here it showed no signs of it presently, though what can be thought of as undercast was here and there. If we long thought Heaven to be up in the clouds, then discovered it was not, to where did it relocate? I made it a point to ask this question of something important looking. I was also pretty curious about Hell at this point, feeling like I'd gone through a Choose Your Own Adventure book that I was unable to go back and re-read to find out the other ending.
Vivid white nothingness stretched to the horizon. As I strained to see the distance I found the longer I looked the further I could see, enjoying this novelty until it became dizzying. Looking back I found the gates had vanished as well. This mattered to me very little.
I set to walking, composing as I went a list of the things I'd like to see up here, or over here, or wherever. A lot of stories circulated in my life about coming upon a great meeting of minds, where Einstein sat in pleasant conversation with Lincoln or something of the sort. Then what else was there? Before I decided on destination two, I drew near a throng of people encircling a handful of easy chairs. Thousands of people, dressed in, well, dressed in what I seemed to be dressed in.
Saying they wore clothes from all eras of humanity would be untrue, though easily in the crowd I could distinguish the 1950's from more modern dress. But no actual clothing was present. We were all indeed quite naked. Nude in a sense I'd never previously understood. Not the nudity of shame, for certain, and not the nudity of pride or of, forgive me, cockiness. We stood dressed in our skin, either all seemingly oblivious to it as in The Emperor's New Clothes, or entirely indifferent to it.
I was in the gathering then, not a line as I'd imagined it would become while I walked to it. They were all simply standing there, forming a comfortably distant circle around the chairs. Pushing through, again, through, them all I understood finally that the meeting of the minds had found me rather than the opposite. And quite a few others had the same idea. Except it seems that very few came prepared with any questions. They stood, silently, gazing upon the greatest thinkers of their time and time past, with nothing to say.
Approaching the nearest chair, the collected thinkers did little to acknowledge my presence. Mark Twain was seated there, every bit the gentleman I'd pictured. Tapping him on the shoulder, I asked, "What are you doing here?"
"Well I should say I'm sitting, firstly, then I suppose I am thinking," came his distinct old Southern drawl.
"What about, if I may ask?"
"What do men think about? I'm thinking about that," he said, fairly.
"Why not talk to the others in the circle?"
"Unsurprisingly we've all run out of things to say."
"Do any of these people ever come up to you and talk to you?"
"Rarely a bold young individual will ask me a question or two. Some are fans of my work and inquire as to my inspiration, yet others are fools and think to make light of their opportunity with a poorly made joke. I think the rest of these people are simply waiting for something to happen. Did you have anything to ask me, good sir," Twain inquired.
"Sure. How are you?"
At this he was unable to hide his surprise. He sat up and leaned toward me thoughtfully. With a hint of a smile on his lips and bright, watery eyes he said, "I'm fine, just fine."
Nodding at the old writer then, I thought this a good time to leave. These thinkers would be around should I ever seek them out again. It was time to explore my new eternity a bit more.