Did you ever wonder where clouds come from?
Sure there are those meteorologist and scientist and whatever-other-kind-of-ist that have all these charts and graphs and formulations of how the atmosphere forms winds and currents and updrafts and yadda-yadda-yadda.
Yet new studies done by those folks who think about this stuff have found that clouds come from heaven.
Yes, all those who have gone before produce those puffy white cotton balls that float through the skies.
It seems, as it were, that we do carry one sin with us going through the pearly gates. While we get our wings and robes and harps and halos to exist in eternal ecstasy, we still fart.
Flatulence and all of its history from birth to death will come along with us for a ride in the heavenly kingdom. Why do you think St. Peter is there? He is kind of like the TSA of heaven. He makes sure you got all your affairs in order and then explains the rules of heaven.
He tells you where you can fly and at what hours meals are served. He also informs you that farting in heaven is a good.
It seems that expelling gas from our worldly and spiritual bodies cleanses us from massive buildups and exploding. Like belching, farting in heaven does carry some restrictions.
Farts in heaven do not smell bad. Everything is heaven smell like a disinfected bathroom. Farts have no sound in heaven. You can do a quick cheek lift or bend over and blast away, but all you will hear is harps and birds singing. If you get inclined to burn one of your gastrological outbursts, there is a one-way ticket downstairs where you can have all the fire you want.
So while you are lying on your back in a field of grass and tick this summer looking up at the sky enjoy the clouds. “That one that looks like a bunny probably came from Nana.” “That one that looks like a boat was probably from Captain Jack.” “Those little ones must be from Aunt Sally. She always was a tooter.”
What about those dark foreboding clouds with all the rumble and wind? It was Chili Night in heaven.
My apologies to Joni.