"Oh, I know ... every cell that's alive is merely a daughter cell of one original cell, so that cell is immortal."
"I don't mean that at all, even though that's true. You might say that I mean I have seen the souls of 'dead' cells in heaven."
Incredulously: "Through the projecting microscope in the basement?"
"No, you don't see them with eyes or hear them with ears," I assured him.
"I thought not."
"But that doesn't mean they're not there. The first time was in a placenta from the garbage can. We had been culturing polio viruses in human placentas (very interesting personalities viruses are, too) and I'd been sent a whole placenta more than I needed. What can a mother tell a placenta which has been doing its work and is still in excellent shape, just like that civilization in the Phoenix Nebula some two and a half millennia ago? Does she say, 'There's nothing more for you in time or space; the baby is born, I abandon you to utter nothingness'? Very rarely. And even then she doesn't mean it. But the life does go out of the cells. And disperses to God, glorifying Him in no uncertain terms. This is what I heard and saw, with a God-given perception which is not in my eyes and ears."
"You don't mean intuition, surely," he objected disgustedly.
"Let me put it another way with another question. With what ears do you hear the music of the spheres?"
"You are too much the poet. I don't follow you." He was puzzled.