When I was a child I believed that when you died you arrived at the foyer of Heaven and were presented with a stack of white envelopes. In these envelopes were all your harmful actions, on glossy paper, comprehensively described and depicted, or, as salesmen say, lavishly illustrated.
The first thing you must do when you die is go through all these envelopes. (Although it is not generally known, all people when they die are given a letter-opener.)
For some people the envelopes and their contents are a simple operation, just tidying up, like going through the mail after a long day at work. Others receive such a deluge of envelopes that they must spend much of eternity opening them. In these envelopes, you see, not one nuance can be overlooked and not one detail missed. Eternity’s post may not be skimmed. You have no choice but to see everything.
I think now of these white envelopes, as I look around to find that I have surrounded myself with white note cards, on which I endlessly compose, although to no clear purpose. These stammering cards now fill half the house in their weird profusion.
As I sit here, it seems that I can almost see a mountain of white envelopes, the envelopes which are all the time arriving in the other world, like the senseless ceaseless proliferation of white note cards in this one.
I think it is not unreasonable of me to fear that there may be some correlation.