Lately, I've been doing some reading.
One of the books that I've picked up recently (in a vain effort to convince myself that I can still read at an 8th grade level) is a novel by George Saunders called Lincoln in the Bardo. It is a deeply weird meditation on grief and longing involving ghosts, fake historical citations, and a poorly-tended cemetery. I liked it a lot, but my favorite bit is as you follow a priest through the judgement of heaven.
Instead of a "way to go, champ!" and a high-five from a dude with a harp and a halo, the priest finds his heart literally being torn out of his chest, Mola Ram style, weighed on a scale, and then some strange light beings bonk heads with him and vomit into a bowl and yell.