The Life Elysian. Translated into Simplified “Modern English”. Recorder’s Preface and Chapter One. The Open Sepulcher.

THE LIFE ELYSIAN

Here, the soul breaks free from every burden

And, at last, sees and understands for itself!

In the clear light of life’s true morning,

It turns back, reflects, and must accept

Whatever comes from the reckless rush

And feverish greed of its time on earth.

Only then does it realize how cherished ignorance

Has been a false guide, leading it astray—Valuing glitter as if it were gold,

Believing that base metal and true wealth were the same.

It sees that all the show and pretense,

The masquerade of fools who sought to impress,

Wear not the royal robes, honours, and rewards

That the King had prepared for His children

To wear at the great wedding feast.

Then comes the Truth, stripping away the false attire

In which we once strutted, proud and envied.

Now that disguise must be cast aside,

Revealing the cost we must pay

Before we can move forward.

Each soul, with regret, must remove

Its mantle of deception, only to find

That its so-called splendour has faded with the night,

Leaving behind nothing but the signs of poverty.

The soul sighs as it sees its true state,

For until that moment, no one understands

The price paid for such a deceitful disguise.

We put it on in haste, thinking it necessary,

But we must remove it in the revealing light of God,

Where every wound, scar, and bruise are laid bare—Injuries we never noticed in our frantic chase

To seize what we thought was ours to claim.

But before we enter the feast, we must stop,

Reflect, and settle the cost

Of what we once believed was free.

And this is a painful reckoning.

Only after this can the soul truly break free,

Realizing it has a far greater purpose

Than mere pretense in life’s eternal story.

It sheds all traces of the brute, the savage,

And the selfish desires of its past.

Through true repentance and restoration,

It steps forward, wearing only the garment of freedom—Unburdened, unhindered, ready to run

The race that leads to its ultimate destiny in God.

This is the race I sing of,

And now, I invite you to come

And see how it is run

On God’s own path—

The Life Elysian!

RECORDER’S PREFACE

This book is not a novel, nor do I claim to be its author any more than the publisher, typesetter, or bookbinder who will help bring it to the public.

This statement naturally requires an explanation, and my purpose here is to provide it as simply and briefly as possible. However, this is no ordinary task, for the testimony I must give—one that I solemnly make in the presence of God—is so unique that it may stand alone in the history of literature.

We live in an age of wonders, with newspapers reporting new marvels almost daily, but I have one to share that is so significant it could shake the very foundations of the world.

If anyone has ever been called to step onto sacred ground with unshod feet, I too have heard that call. I bear the heavy responsibility of sharing the things I have seen and heard.

A voice spoke to me: “Write the things you have seen, the things that are, and the things that shall come.” How can I refuse the One who speaks? So, I obey—not out of fear of the consequences, but with a deep sense of my own unworthiness for this mission to which God has called me.

To help you understand my experience and purpose, I must briefly mention my past.

On my mother’s side, I come from a family of prophets—using the word as it is understood in this book—and from both parents, I have inherited Puritan blood. What F. W. H. Myers would call psychic invasions have been with me since birth, or so I am told. I do know that as a child, I would cry if left in the dark unless I saw a mysterious figure—an unseen Highlander, visible only to me—who would stay by my side, speaking or singing until I fell asleep.

Even now, after half a century, I remember his strong yet kind face as clearly as if he had sat beside me as the new year began.

When I was about thirteen years old, I began experiencing a second, very different kind of psychic phenomenon. These experiences involved a change in my state of consciousness, and for several years, I was involved with the Spiritualist movement in Birmingham. During this time, I connected with D. D. Home and several of the early pioneers of Spiritualism.

This is not the time or place to discuss the accepted evidence of life after death that was communicated through me while I was in a hypnotic trance. I only wish to highlight how God’s guiding hand has led me to this moment.

Before I turned twenty, I was removed from my previous activities and placed in deep seclusion. During one of my trances, I had previously stated that participating in random séances was making me unfit for a special purpose I was meant to fulfill in the future. What followed was a period of deep doubt and agnosticism regarding the true source of these remarkable experiences.

Although my faith was shaken, my curiosity never wavered. I spent several years carefully studying the subject while holding onto my belief in Christ as the foundation of my soul.

As part of this exploration, I turned to the Bible—not reading it through the lens of tradition, but as I would read any other book, simply to understand what it truly said. To my great surprise, instead of confirming my doubts, it spoke to me with a different voice, urging me to offer blessings where I had been looking for reasons to condemn.

Then I got married, and my wife—who has always been like an angel of divine presence beside me—gave me the strength and encouragement I needed. Without her patience and support, my journey would have been very different.

This marked the third and most significant phase of my life. The old phenomena, along with many new experiences I had never encountered before, quietly and almost imperceptibly returned. But this time, they came with such undeniable confirmation of their divine origin that I could no longer doubt them.

If this were the place, I could fill volumes with the overwhelming evidence that flooded into our lives during that period.

I have said that the old experiences returned, but that doesn’t fully capture what really happened. While the new experiences were similar in nature, they were far more profound, and the messages they conveyed were vastly more reliable than before. The reason for this was soon explained to me, along with clear guidance that created a sharp distinction between my path and that of the typical spiritualist. If I was to fulfill the mission ahead of me, I was not to hold séances but instead live a life that would always be in harmony with the work of a spiritual ministry.

With complete confidence in the sincerity of these angelic visitors, a mutual bond of service developed between us, where each side assisted the other. The evidence of their presence, faithfulness, and power steadily increased. As time went on, shadowy forms from the unseen world began appearing, at first faint but gradually becoming more defined until I was able to touch, hold, and speak with them.

Then came the moment when I could hear their musical voices whispering in response. Over time, their presence became even more tangible, and now, for many years, they have taken on such solid forms that they can handle my books and sit with me for hours in broad daylight.

I can almost hear your startled reaction—your instinct to dismiss this as unbelievable. But don’t give in to doubt. “I am not mad... but speak forth the words of truth and soberness.” I am only describing what James, John, and Peter could have told their friends after witnessing the Transfiguration. I am proclaiming nothing more than the gospel of the Lord Jesus Christ—the very gospel given to heal the broken hearted. It only seems unbelievable because this vital part of the message has been forgotten.

I make this statement calmly, reverently, and with gratitude, in the presence of God—the same God whose angels once visited Abraham, wrestled with Jacob, shut the lions’ mouths for Daniel, freed Peter from prison, and rolled away the stone from the tomb.

He has not changed; He remains constant, “without the shadow of a turning,” and “whatever He does shall last forever.”

It has now been twenty-five years since this final phase of my journey began. Throughout this time, I have been largely kept apart from others regarding this particular work, while my angelic guides have been working toward a goal that they understand, but that is still beyond my grasp. However, these years have not been without purpose. Their ministry has left undeniable evidence along the way, and many souls today rejoice in the blessings these angels have brought as they passed by.

But now—to the book!

With only a few exceptions, I spend two or three hours every day with these visitors from beyond. Some years ago, during one of our meetings, they suggested that, in response to many sincere requests for a clear record of life as they experience it, I should help them write a book that could serve as a useful guide and explain some of the great mysteries of existence. The idea was eagerly embraced, with Myhanene recognizing its potential as a valuable tool for his work.

A leader was chosen to direct the project, with many promises of support from his fellow workers, and I was appointed to act as the scribe.

We began our work immediately, but translating ideas—even from one language to another—always involves some loss, and there is no way to fully make up for it. Imagine, then, the difficulty of trying to represent the Life Elysian in the crude and limited language of earth! Many times, we hesitated, unsure if we were succeeding, but in the end, despite many doubts and regrets about what he called "a disappointing result," Aphraar gave me permission—about six years ago—to publish the book Through the Mists. No book was ever released by its author with a stronger sense of its failure to truly capture the ideal it sought to express. In fact, Aphraar was more aware of its shortcomings than any of its critics could be.

Yet even though it was published with uncertainty, it has produced an unexpected harvest of gratitude. The many messages of appreciation for the comfort and guidance it has provided have led Aphraar to fulfill his earlier promise.

Throughout the past year, we have worked together to produce this second volume, which is now being released with the same purpose—to console and to reveal.

As for the topics explored in this book, I leave it to wiser minds than my own to evaluate them. Anyone who reads it will notice that it discusses some of life’s deepest mysteries with a confidence and clarity that go beyond mere speculation. In my view, the way each subject fits together into a larger, harmonious whole suggests that it is more likely truth than imagination. However, I acknowledge that my opinion may be influenced by the deep respect and affection I feel for these teachers, who have always shown me kindness and patience despite my many shortcomings. Therefore, I will leave it to others, better qualified than myself, to judge its true value as a revelation.

I hope it is now clear why I included the earlier disclaimer. However, before closing, I want to express my deep gratitude for the incredible honour of being called to this work, even though I feel I have done it so imperfectly.

I am more aware than my readers will ever be of how my own limitations have prevented the Author’s vision from being fully realized, and this humbles me. Yet, since he has given his approval, I send this book out as a collaborative effort—one that bridges the gap between life and death—praying that, with God’s blessing, it will help guide many people homeward, even more so than its predecessor.

ROBT. JAS. LEESEngelberg, IlfracombeNew Year’s Day, 1905

Chapter One

The Open Tomb

"Behold, a Sower went out to sow."

The quiet moments of Christ often communicate more divine wisdom to a devoted follower than His spoken words. For example, when He shared His parables, wasn’t He also showing us that He found His illustrations of spiritual truths in the natural world?

Wasn’t He teaching us that the laws governing the physical world also apply to the spiritual? To deny this would mean questioning whether Christ’s guidance is reliable beyond His literal words. And since He never wrote anything Himself, we could never be sure of exactly what He said—meaning, for us, Christ would cease to exist.

If someone chooses to take that position, I won’t try to change their mind, but it would mean that we must go our separate ways, as my knowledge, experience, and purpose all lead me in the opposite direction.

However, I do not wish to engage in controversy at this moment. My journey in sharing the truth as I have discovered it may eventually bring me into areas of debate, but for now, I mention the parable of the Sower not so much for its lesson on the relationship between nature and grace, but because it speaks to the certainty of a future harvest.

Some time ago, driven by the deep pain I still felt, I tried to return to earth with the hope of offering comfort to those whose hearts had been broken by the universal sorrow called death.

I wanted to share, simply and honestly, what I had experienced in the so-called unreachable afterlife, believing that the truth itself would bring solace.

I was well aware of the ideas, teachings, and even prejudices that existed on earth against such a rejected form of communication. I fully expected cold scepticism from some and horrified religious condemnation from others. But in my new existence, I had discovered something completely different from what I had anticipated. God was far more loving than I had ever imagined, and the afterlife was nothing like what I had expected. As a human being, I could not stay silent when I found that I was not required to be. Both my compassion for humanity and my gratitude to God compelled me to share the truth: that He has provided so much more than we could ever ask, imagine, or comprehend in the life that begins just beyond the gentle twilight of death.

The God before whose judgment seat I had once expected to stand, filled with fear and uncertainty rather than hope, turned out to be more loving and merciful than even the father in Christ’s story of the prodigal son. To remain silent about this truth would have been an unforgivable betrayal. Seeing the sorrow of those still on earth, if I had kept silent, I would have been more like a heartless demon than a compassionate man.

And so, I did not keep silent. As soon as I discovered that returning was possible and overcame the natural barriers, I answered the call of my heart. I scattered the message of my first book, Through the Mists, across the world, sharing what I had learned. The overwhelming gratitude I received in response has astonished me, making Christ’s own words in His parable about the harvest seem modest by comparison.

I wish I could share just a few of the heartfelt expressions of thanks from the hundreds of letters before me as I take my seat once again to fulfill my promise—to continue the record of my experiences in the life to which all of you are journeying.

But these letters have come to me through my Recorder, in confidence—or so I must assume in the absence of permission to share them.

So instead, I simply ask you to trust me and read on. And may these words, like the healing balm of God’s mercy, bring comfort to your own wounded heart. If you, too, have been crushed under the greatest sorrow this world can bring, may you come to experience for yourself the power of truth, as it is in Jesus, to bring healing and hope.

Even though my success has far exceeded my greatest hopes, I know I have only been able to touch the very edge of sorrow’s vast depth. While I rejoice in what has been accomplished, my heart still reaches out in sympathy to those who mourn without comfort beneath the shadow of grief.

"Comfort, comfort my people, says your God. Speak kindly to the children of men."

This is just like our God—to command encouragement, for He is a loving Father who pities His children, never expecting too much from them and always remembering that they are fragile beings.

Surely:

"If all the world my Savior knew,Then all the world would love Him too.”

This is the hope, the goal, and the desire of all the angels sent forth to minister. For when this is finally fulfilled, sin will come to an end, and all its effects will soon vanish.

There is far more reason for hope than despair in this world—if only people would pause and consider it. We often hear the saying that even “the Devil is not as black as he is painted.” If the night is not completely dark, and we are standing with our faces toward the sunrise, why not dry our tears and look forward with hope to the coming glory?

Let me invite you, my unknown but sorrowing friend, to sit with me for a while beside a tomb—not the one in Machpelah, nor the one in the valley near Bethpoer, nor even the one about which the sorrowful Psalmist wrote, saying, "the dead know nothing." These are buried too deep beneath layers of misunderstanding and tradition. Instead, I invite you to sit with me beside the most sacred tomb of all—the one in Joseph’s garden.

This tomb is sacred because it represents the truest purpose of a grave. It fulfilled its role completely but did not exceed it. It is the one tomb where we can learn all that death was ever meant to teach—hope, joy, victory, and a future with no end.

The places where great victories are won are always sacred, but when the battle is the most important in the history of the universe, the site becomes a thousand times more sacred. This is such a place.

Here, the One who is our life lay. (If He is not, then we are truly poor.) Here, He faced death itself in single combat and broke its power. Here, He confronted the world's despair and shattered its chains. Here, love reclaimed hope from the grip of ignorance. Truth triumphed over deception. Righteousness overcame sin. Life cast death into the bottomless pit!

Look—the stone is still rolled away! The tomb did not open its door only to be shut again! The victory of Easter morning was not just a momentary event—it was a permanent triumph by the Lord of Hosts. And whatever the Lord does lasts forever.

The Lord is risen! And in His rising, He has set before us an open door that no one can close. He has passed through the everlasting gates, taking with Him the keys of death and hell, and He still holds them before the throne. Meanwhile, the angel of the resurrection stands guard at the open tomb, seated upon the stone that was rolled away—once and for all.

Do we truly understand what this means? If only the world would listen to the full chorus of the good news of the risen Lord!

Dry your tears, lift your eyes—

“There is no death! What seems so is transition.

This life of mortal breath

Is but a suburb of the life Elysian,

Whose portal we call death.”

Do you wonder why I ask you to sit with me here—you, whose life has been filled with sorrow because you have not fully understood the boundless message of the gospel, and I, who have also tasted the bitterness of grief to its very depths?

Listen! Jesus came back—He is always coming back. He wants to make the journey of life like the road to Emmaus, if we allow Him. But He does not come alone; those who belong to Him come with Him. With Him—within Him—we "come to Mount Zion, to the city of the living God, the heavenly Jerusalem, and to an innumerable company of angels; to the great assembly and church of the firstborn… and to the spirits of just men made perfect."

All the loved ones you have lost—though for a time—are with the Master. They follow Him wherever He goes. If He comes again to fulfill His promise, "Lo! I am with thee," shall they not come with Him? Would they not gladly return? Do you think their love, their care, their deep concern for you has vanished? As strong as you have believed death to be, do you think it is powerful enough to destroy their love?

I speak to you as men and women—is the hope I bring too vast, too good to be true? Thomas thought so too, until the risen Jesus stood before him. But are you not just as precious in the eyes of the Father—who shows no favouritism—as Thomas was? 

Is He not still able to answer the same hesitant hope, the same struggling love, as He always has?

If death has truly been swallowed up in life forever, is it not time for the world to know this truth? Should not the healing balm of this divine gospel be poured out freely to comfort the broken hearted? Mighty minds wield mighty forces—is not Christ moving forward in the greatness of His strength, mighty to save?

What if the hour has come "in which all that are in the graves shall hear His voice, and shall come forth"? With God, nothing is impossible! He sent Samuel, Moses, and Elijah back to earth even before Christ’s victory over death. And now, my own return is proof that He is still the same unchanging God.

Come, let us speak together, and I will tell you of Him and of the visions my eyes have seen beyond the veil.

I know what I am talking about—I also understand both the weakness and the deep desire of the human heart to be certain that what I am saying is true.

In the darkness of grief, I longed for the touch of a lost hand; in the silence of death, I strained my ears for the sound of a voice that had gone still. My mother was taken from me before I ever knew her, and I was forced to walk through life burdened by a hunger that nothing on earth could satisfy.

Neither father, sister, friend, art, literature, nor work could fill the emptiness I felt, and the simple joys that others experienced only made me feel more distant from them.

I cannot remember a single moment of pure, unclouded happiness, so I deeply understand those whose grief has made them unwilling companions of death. The closest thing to happiness I can recall was not true joy, but merely a temporary break from misery.

One day, I had slipped away from family and friends—who only reminded me of my loneliness because they could still enjoy life—and I sat alone, absentmindedly flipping through a magazine on the library table. Then, my eyes fell on the title of three short verses, and something in me stirred. I read:

LONGINGS

“I shall rest when this life is over

And tomorrow itself is gone.

When fear no longer warns me

Of suffering still to come.

How peacefully the ocean sleeps tonight!

But morning may bring the storm at its height.

I shall sing when my heart stops aching,

And my head is no longer in pain.

My smiles only hide the deep sorrow

That I cannot push away.

The ocean’s surface is calm and bright,

But its waves cry out in the stillness of night.

How I pray while my heart is breaking,

How I count each day as it comes!

I search for my mother in sleep,

And sigh for her home in my dreams.

Two words, oh, so sweet! Earth, earth, let me go!

In their music is heaven—the only heaven I know.”

These words struck a deep chord in me, expressing emotions I had never been able to put into words.

The author’s name was not given but just knowing that someone else had felt the same sorrow and could express it so perfectly touched me deeply and briefly eased my grief.

For a moment, the verses breathed a faint hope into my despair—that somewhere, someday, I might finally find peace. But then, the darkness closed in on me again, and I sighed even more deeply, as if to make up for that brief moment of comfort.

Still, in my gratitude, I cut out the verses and carried them with me. For days, they became my comfort, my solace, until every word was burned into my soul. Eventually, the paper fell apart from wear, but even then, I carefully gathered the fragile pieces and kept them safe, along with a lock of hair I wore over my heart.

Someday, I know I will find the author and tell them how their sorrowful words helped me in my own suffering. And in that moment, they will see the harvest of the seeds they once sowed in tears.

This is how Heaven gathers up all things, making sure nothing is ever truly lost.

Because God chose to lead me through the painful school of mourning, I now understand and can offer true sympathy to those who sit in darkness and walk through the valley of the shadow of death.

For those who are just getting to know me, let me make one thing clear—my sympathy does not come from theories or speculation about the afterlife.

We stand together at the open door of the tomb, but while you are still outside, I have returned from within. My feet have already crossed the Jordan, and I have come back to share what I have seen and heard. I have stood on the mountainside bathed in God’s light, looked upon the land without shadows, and walked the path Christ Himself once took. Because of this, I can help guide you to safely follow in His divine footsteps.

So, before you dismiss my words as deception or blasphemy, I ask you to listen. Many faithful souls before you have made the mistake of rejecting truths they did not yet understand. Throughout history, those who were called heretics one day have often become the saints of the next—and even Christ Himself was rejected in His time.

I know that the message I bring may seem impossible from your current perspective. But do you really believe your understanding is complete? Do you fully grasp the ways and purposes of God? If nothing is impossible for Him, then could there be any greater proof of His love than to allow such a revelation as the final demonstration of Christ’s work?

I think not.

So, for your own sake, and for the comfort and hope that my message can bring you, I ask you to listen first—then judge me by the fruits of what I share.

For those who know me from my previous message, I need only offer my greetings, as I am here to fulfill a promise made at your request.

Before I continue, allow me to briefly reconnect the thread of my experiences. I don’t wish to repeat what I’ve already shared, but I do want to make something clear: when a soul leaves the body, it is treated as an individual and enters the afterlife in accordance with its own spiritual condition. Each person goes to their rightful place—there is no sudden transformation at the moment of death. No magic formula or instant purification turns a wrongdoer into a saint just because they pass into the next life. “God will render to every man according to his deeds.” “Whatsoever a man sows, that shall he also reap.” The only testimony that carries weight in the afterlife is the faith that produces good works, and these works are judged by the quality of their fruit.

I bring up this reminder because several letters I’ve received have expressed regret and even surprise that in my last message, I said so little about the Master. But given the law I just mentioned, this should be easy to understand when looking at the time covered by my experiences in Through the Mists.

When I left the earth, I did not carry a great love for Christ or any deep faith in orthodox religion.

I was not a churchgoer, and I had little admiration for the doctrines of salvation, or a Christ I could never quite understand. My sympathy was mostly for the poor and suffering in London’s slums, a few of whom I tried to help when I could. But my greatest longing in life—the one thing I truly desired—was to find my mother. She was more important to me than God or religion, so when I passed from this life, the only heaven I wanted was to be reunited with her. And that desire was granted. I received my reward. That is why I said so little about the Master in my first message.

Some of my readers have also expressed hope that I will now speak about that reunion. Why shouldn’t I? Like every other aspect of my new life, it is full of lessons and corrections to the false expectations I once held. So now, I will continue my message from that point and share the truths of what I discovered in that long-awaited reunion.

I ended my last message with my arrival at my first home in the spirit world, where Myhanene guided me, showing me its key features and how everything was connected to the life I had lived.

He waited patiently as I examined each detail, tracing its connection to countless moments I had either forgotten completely or only vaguely remembered. Afterward, he led me to the roof-garden, where I could take in the beauty of my surroundings, then back again to the doorway with its drawn curtain, hiding the face I longed for most—a face I knew well without needing to be told. Even though I had never seen it before, it had been the guiding light of my life, and now, more than anything in earth or heaven, it was all that mattered to me.

I understood the silent gesture Myhanene gave as he walked away, leaving me alone. In that moment, I knew that the gates of heaven were about to open and welcome me in. From the moment I had arrived in this new world, the hunger I had carried for so long—the longing for the one I had lost—had been kept at bay, softened by the endless surprises and wonders I had experienced. But now, that longing returned with an intensity and force I had not expected. Thanks be to God that this reunion had not come sooner! My soul ached to embrace her, and yet, I hesitated—I did not dare to pull back the curtain.

Back on earth, in my moments of less painful sorrow, I had often imagined and planned what I would do if there really was an afterlife, and I met my mother again. Over the years, these plans grew and evolved, expanding into entire scenarios, always centered around that one unbreakable thread—her presence. Perhaps, these daydreams helped to ease my pain at times, offering me a temporary escape. But in truth, they were meaningless.

To plan in the physical world what we will do in Paradise is as pointless as a child boasting about the courage of his future manhood. This new life is so full of overwhelming surprises, so rich with joy beyond imagination, so gentle in its unexpected comforts, that even the purest of human expectations are bound to fall away, making room for something far greater, beyond all anticipation—the perfect design of God.

You, my reader, may feel impatient, wondering why I do not simply pull back the curtain and fall into my mother’s embrace. 

Ah! Why indeed? These sacred pauses—these brief but deeply meaningful moments of waiting—came at the most critical turning points in my journey. At the time, I did not understand why they happened, but now I do.

When the Father and His Child are working together to fulfill His will, God is never late—He is always ahead of the moment, though we may still have to wait. In that brief pause, the fullness of joy reaches its perfect measure. When God opens the door, we step into Heaven; but if a man forces it open, he finds himself in hell.

The waiting is never long. In an instant, the curtain was drawn back, and we met at the threshold, falling into each other’s arms.

There was little to say:

“My mother?” – “My son.”

That was all.

Then, we were silent.