For kids, the idea of heaven comes with visions of winged angels, of billowing clouds forming mountains and canyons in the sky, and of the presence of a God in human form, typically a stern old grey man with a beard and long hair (kind of like an old hippie). Adults paint a more nuanced and dramatic picture, as reflected in many great works of art, including the “Assumption of the Virgin Mary,” “the Ascension,” and “The Glory of Heaven.” All seem to suggest that heaven is above us, somewhere up in the stratosphere and out of reach, at least for the time we spend here as captive mortals.

But I say otherwise. The concept of life after death should not be confined to some place in the cosmos. And the idea that God and angels reside up there and are engaged in some kind of surveillance seems more confounding than liberating, as if they are too far removed and out of touch to really know us. So, instead of fixating on our arrival at some high place of destiny, how about focusing instead on a point of departure – about the one place on earth we find most amazing and comforting and inspiring. Let that place be the launching pad for the Great Journey ahead.

As someone who takes to heart the Gaian philosophy – that the planet Earth is a living being – I choose to believe that my place of departure has something to do with water, which is the life blood of the earth. So I’m thinking about the different bodies of water that enliven our little orb as it floats through space, and about where I’d like to be when the time comes.

Naturally the largest and most celebrated bodies of water are the oceans. They were the boundaries of the world of our ancestors, and it was on those shores that a few of them imagined something previously unfathomable. They possessed the courage, resolve, and ingenuity necessary to embark on journeys into the unknown. They were more than explorers; they were visionaries who forged a bond with the moon and stars and tempted the fates as they sailed forth into the future.

The greatest asset of North America and perhaps the whole earth is the expansive body of fresh water we call the Great Lakes. Centuries before the European encroachment, this liquid mass and its wooded surroundings was home to the indigenous people, providing everything needed to survive and thrive. Beyond its sustenance, this part of the world is unmatched in the beauty of its landscape. The leaves of Autumn, the starry nights of winter, the sunsets of summer – there is magic in this place.

Fresh water also exists in the form of much smaller lakes that are connected through underground networks. Finland, Canada and northern parts of America come to mind as places rife with lakes and ponds. The towns that grow around them seem to offer a wholesome and virtuous lifestyle, where people are insulated from much of the world’s problems. They represent the Hallmark brand of America, promoting a simple, community-oriented existence, honoring perseverance, and promising happy endings.

Add to the list creeks, springs, and geysers. But I don’t hear my calling from any of these waterways. To sail the seven seas was never my dream. They are too vast, and make me feel small and insignificant. As for the Great Lakes, I have unsettling memories of Erie with its lake-effect storms and its Balrog-like undertow. Little lakes are charming and have a comforting, sort of maternal aspect to them, but I know I’d be restless there, and my wanderlust would distract from the pure relaxed intensity of the meditation I’ll need in order to be properly beamed away.

Where I want to be is on a raft on a river, borne by a current that flows up and downstream at the same time, carrying me in perfect equilibrium forward through an old, familiar forest. Around each bend comes a new vision – maybe the smiling face of a loved one or close friend from the past or present waving hello and bon voyage. And there will be music at every turn, from Ralph Von Williams, Leonard Bernstein, Aaron Copeland, and Sergei Prokofiev, to Miles Davis and Stan Getz, to James Taylor, Marvin Gaye, and Adele.

I won’t be alone on that raft. I’ll be inviting my greatest, most loyal and forgiving companions: Casey, Shem, Sarah, Scruffy, Odys, and Rocco will be there with me, as they always have been in spirit – the best dogs of my life!

Musician, writer, house painter Pete Howard lives in Dunkirk. Send comments to odyssmusic20@gmail.com