Through The Mists. Translated into Simplified “Modern English”. Chapter Eleven. The Home of The Assyrian.

My friend's words dampened my newfound enthusiasm and made me reconsider the challenges I might face. This reflection momentarily dulled my interest in his attempt to change the subject. However, his second effort brought my attention back to the breathtaking landscape before me, effectively lifting the shadow of doubt for the time being.

I had previously noted that Marie’s home seemed designed to help a troubled heart find peace through various activities. However, this was just an abstract thought, as neither that setting nor the even more beautiful grounds of the Home of Rest had made me consciously consider the role of manual labour in this new life.

But now, that realization struck me with fresh surprise, shifting my curiosity in a new direction.

We stood on the crest of a mountain, part of a chain curving around a valley so picturesque it could have inspired a poet or artist to dream of Eden. At the far end of the valley, a silver stream cascaded down in a series of waterfalls, creating a majestic river that divided the land into two almost equal halves. The clear, flowing water only added to the valley’s beauty.

One particular feature caught my attention, making me wonder if nature had been assisted by deliberate design. Near the center of the valley, the river suddenly split in two, forming an island about a mile across. This island provided a striking foundation for a grand palace or mansion, which stood as the valley’s most impressive structure.

"You are absolutely right," Cushna replied to my question. "At some point, the river was redirected to create the island."

"But surely you’re not telling me that manual labour exists in heaven?" I asked, surprised. "Isn’t this supposed to be a place of perfection, free from such work?"

"To answer your last question first," he said, "heaven is not yet a perfect place. I know that is the common belief on earth, but it has no scriptural foundation and is not supported by the teachings of Jesus, who told his disciples, ‘I go to prepare a place for you.’ That very statement implies that heaven is not yet complete, because something that is still being prepared cannot be perfect.

"On the other hand, this life is one in which 'every power finds full employ.' A poet may receive greater inspiration here, but what good would it be if he had no way to express it? Do you think the talents of Raphael, Fra Angelico, or Turner existed only for their brief time on earth and then disappeared forever? Do you believe that the visions of beauty and grace conceived by Phidias or Michelangelo are doomed to remain locked within their own minds, never to be shared?

"And what about the great architects who built Thebes, Babylon, Jerusalem, Athens, and Rome—do you think such brilliant minds lose their creativity when they arrive here? Do you imagine that Handel, Mozart, and Beethoven have tired of music, or that the wellspring of harmony has run dry? The idea of a heaven where such great minds are left without the opportunity to create is unthinkable.

"Consider the gardener—does he not still carry his own vision of beauty, a masterpiece of nature waiting to be brought to life? And should he be denied the chance to fulfill it now that he is free from the limitations and hardships he faced on earth? In every field—whether it be music, painting, sculpture, or architecture—there have been those who toiled their whole lives in obscurity, unrecognized and unfulfilled. They loved their craft, and heaven’s justice lies in allowing them to finally realize their dreams.

"Yes, my friend, there is work here. But the difference is that there is no toil or struggle.

We do not work to survive, but out of love—to give form and expression to the inspirations that arise within us. That love is the force that drives all our efforts here."

I said nothing in response, but my mind grew heavy with the weight of these new thoughts.

The thing that caught my attention the most was the palace or mansion on the island, which I was told belonged to the Assyrian. At first, this made me smile because the idea of it being a residence wouldn’t have occurred to me at all.

My first impression was that it looked like a massive floral pyramid, carefully designed as the centrepiece of the beautiful valley. The base of the building was probably more than a quarter of a mile across, but because the land gently rose from the water’s edge, it appeared much larger than it actually was from my vantage point.

It wasn’t until we crossed one of the elegant bridges leading to it that I fully let go of my initial idea.

The number of people moving around was just as fitting for my first impression as it was for the reality. However, as we climbed up from the river and I was able to see beyond the layers of foliage, I began to understand the architectural design that created its unique and stunning effect.

The building had ten levels, each constructed in a way that left a wide terrace—about thirty feet across—all around the structure. The outer edges of these terraces were lined with flower beds, then shrubs, and finally tall palms and other trees, whose branches formed a grand, shaded walkway.

I couldn’t focus entirely on the building, as Cushna had already signaled our arrival to Siamedes, who came to meet us as we crossed the bridge. We also attracted the curiosity of many others who, I was told, were eager to find out who the newcomer was and whether I might have brought news from friends still on earth.

I learned that this place was one of many homes where souls who had grown weary from doing good—those who had fought and emerged “more than conquerors”—could rest for a while and be cared for before fully entering the joys of heaven. Here, they regained their strength as the lingering effects of their struggles faded away. They experienced the peace of eternal stillness after the storm, the relief of laying down their armour, and the joy of resting in a freedom that would never again be disturbed.

I was told that during this time, each person’s awareness of earthly events varied greatly, but in general, their knowledge of what was happening in the world was limited. Because of this, they often watched new arrivals closely, hoping for news.

Siamedes was not dressed as I had seen him at the Chorale. Instead, he wore a loose, flowing robe of shimmering grey, over which alternating hues of pink and blue pulsed like a heartbeat. Yet, he appeared no less majestic. When I first met him, he had been clothed in ceremonial robes; now, he was royalty at home.

But what a new understanding of royalty I gained as I observed this servant-ruler of the King of Kings! His crown was one of service, and the sceptre he wielded radiated an influence so pure that rebellion and treachery could not exist in its presence. The jewels adorning it did not stir greed or envy, and it was not used to command destruction, but rather to call forth life. No tyrant or oppressor could seize it, and no bloodstain could ever taint it, for this symbol of divine authority had come directly from the hands of God Himself, who had engraved upon it a single, eternal name—Love.

As I looked at him, I felt an irresistible pull toward him, and he embraced me warmly. We walked forward together—I, at least, feeling completely happy and at peace. How could I not? I was starting to grow accustomed to the incredible blessings I had inherited in this new life, which had no time limits. With each new experience, I saw how endless opportunities had been prepared to engage my soul throughout the vast eternity ahead of me.

The old, vague, and idle vision of heaven had faded away, replaced by a rest that was filled with purpose, a worship that was an unfolding of truth, and a path to divine fulfillment that could only be reached by awakening and expanding the hidden divinity within myself.

We strolled along. Why rush? I stood on the shore of eternity, where every step revealed countless new insights, each with its own lesson to teach. Every person we encountered had a unique life story to share, and all I had to do was listen and learn. Some, like me, had only just awakened to the reality of this new existence, still struggling to comprehend the transformation they had undergone. Others had completed their period of rest and were looking expectantly toward the horizon, waiting for the friends who would guide them to the place prepared for them. Every encounter held its own fascination, revealing God’s methods in guiding humanity—leading the blind by paths they had never known.

“Our conversations with these souls,” I eventually said to Siamedes, “make me wonder—do you not hold Chorales here?”

“No,” he answered. “The visitors here are the opposite of those you met at the Home of Rest, and they require different kinds of care. The ones you saw before were victims—people who, despite their better nature, were overpowered by the intolerance of creeds and doctrines that bound them. They struggled for freedom but were defeated. Here, however, we welcome the conquerors—those who, following the teachings and example of Jesus, have worked out their own salvation despite the limitations of creed.”

“Then perhaps you can answer a question that troubled me many times in my old life,” I said.

“I will, if I can,” he replied kindly.

"Which denomination, or religion, contributes the highest percentage of the redeemed?" I asked.

"We recognize only one religion here," Siamedes replied, "and that is Love. All who follow it belong to a single denomination—the lovers of humanity. No man-made religion holds a monopoly on this virtue. But sincere and devoted followers of love can be found in all faiths.

"It’s worship is service to others. Its sacred text is written in noble deeds. Its prayers are the tears shed in sympathy. Its sermons are simple, selfless lives that all can witness. Its hymns are the soothing words that comfort the broken hearted. Its faith is self-sacrifice. And its hope—Heaven.

"This is the only religion that grants passage into heaven for those journeying from earth. Theology and religious systems have no influence here, just as they had no power to truly transform people on earth. Yet, in every heart, there exists a longing for an ideal a deep, instinctive reach toward something greater. All nations hold an undefined hope, a dream of peace, a vision of justice just beyond the grasp of politicians, a desire for a way to resolve conflicts without war. These hopes are waiting to be fulfilled.

"And oh, how near that future is! How quickly it could come to pass if only rigid theology were set aside, and simple, pure souls could raise the true banner of the cross for all to see! Every obstacle would be overcome, every problem solved, and every longing fulfilled in—Jesus."

By this time, we were walking through a magnificent vestibule, leading toward what appeared to be a courtyard or garden in the distance. Corridors stretched out on either side, lined with what seemed to be countless rooms. Here, I had the perfect opportunity to observe the self-luminous atmosphere that I had noticed before.

One would expect an area of this size, deep within the structure, to be cloaked in near darkness. Yet, neither here nor in the corridors was there the slightest hint of a shadow. Grand staircases, evenly spaced, led upward to the terraces above. Everywhere I looked—wherever space allowed—there were trees, plants, and flowers growing in lush, almost otherworldly abundance, interwoven with statues and tapestries so intricate and exquisite that no words could do them justice.

When we reached the courtyard, I immediately understood why it had been chosen as the starting point for my tour of the palace. In the center stood—or rather, played, for I hardly know how to describe it—a unique fusion of a tree and a fountain, an extraordinary aqua-botanical marvel.

It rose from a coral-tinted basin, forming a massive column of water, four or five feet in diameter, as if flowing through an invisible conduit. At a height of fifteen feet, branches began to spread out in every direction, each one overflowing with a triple bounty of constantly changing leaves, flowers, and fruit. I say "constantly changing" because no sooner did a leaf, flower, or fruit reach full maturity than it was mysteriously severed from the tree, as if plucked by unseen hands, and carried away into one of the many rooms that surrounded the courtyard.

It was like witnessing the hidden workings of nature made visible, as powerful, unseen forces performed their work before my eyes. I stared in astonishment, almost in awe, wondering what purpose the products of this remarkable tree served.

As if answering my unspoken question, Siamedes bent down and picked up a few of the leaves that had fallen at our feet. They were a pale, bright emerald, green, soft and velvety to the touch.

As I examined them, he gently closed his hand around them, and at once, I became aware of a subtle, delicate fragrance that had an uplifting and almost exhilarating effect on me.

Then he opened his hand. A faint trace of moisture remained on his palm, but the leaves themselves had completely vanished. A knowing smile crossed his face as he saw my amazement, and he prepared to explain this strange and fascinating phenomenon.

"This," he said, "is both the tree and the water of life, essential for restoring the weary and rejuvenating those who come here to rest. It provides a method of renewal similar to the Chorale. The stream that feeds and energizes this tree, as well as many others in similar homes, is the purest and most powerful we know. We are told it originates near the throne of God, for its flow never changes or diminishes.

To us, who observe and understand it best, its most astonishing quality is how perfectly it adapts to the specific needs of each individual it serves.

It requires nothing from us but patience as it completes its work of restoration. When it’s cool mist touches the eyes, it wipes away the very source of tears. It lingers on careworn brows until every line of sorrow fades. It plants its seed within the broken heart and nourishes it with melodies until the song of victory begins to bloom.

But come, let me show you some of the friends who are resting under the blessing of its waters, recovering from the exhaustion of earth’s struggles."

I will not attempt to describe the rooms where these weary souls lay, sleeping away the shadows of their past burdens. Even if words could capture it, no mind still confined by the limits of mortality could fully comprehend. Let it be enough to say that love had poured itself into every detail of their surroundings. Affection had given its richest gifts. The best comforts of every land had been improved upon. Sympathy and skill had exhausted their resources to create a haven of peace. And when the Great Designer of the heavens had completed this sanctuary for His children, He looked upon it and declared it good.

When we reached the second terrace, Siamedes stopped near the entrance of one of the rooms to explain the situation to me. Inside, a mother lay resting, while three of her children waited for her to awaken.

She was the daughter of a strict but uneducated tradesman who had inherited his religious beliefs like a family heirloom. She married a man whose family had planned for him to become a preacher, but he was too honest to teach what he felt was only half the truth. Despite strong pressure from both families, he chose instead to work as a printer.

As they started a family, his deepening love for his children made him question his religious upbringing even more, and he abandoned the idea of becoming a minister entirely. His wife was worried but remained devoted to him. Soon, rumours of his changing beliefs spread in the church, and he was asked to step down from his position for the sake of others. His wife chose to leave with him.

Hurt and disappointed, his parents—still clinging to their hopes for his return to faith—decided to take matters into their own hands. After much prayer, they convinced themselves that God had sent this trial to bring him back to the right path. Acting on this belief, they went to his employer and, through a few damaging suggestions, had him dismissed from his job.

Nine months of increasing hardship followed. Their three children were soon joined by a fourth, but his devout parents refused to help, believing it would interfere with God's intended lesson.

Through all of this, his wife’s love never wavered. She never complained or questioned him. Even when his weary footsteps echoed through the house at night, she greeted him with silence, afraid that asking about his day would add to his burden.

One by one, she let go of every little treasure she had cherished since her girlhood, just so she could provide something for the even greater treasures—her children—that God had placed in her care.

Still, she and her husband resisted the church’s pleas to return, for they could not see their misfortunes as the will of God. Instead, they suspected they were more the result of human actions than divine will.

For years, they fought a hard battle. At best, her husband’s work barely provided enough to survive, and the children kept coming until she had given birth to thirteen. She carried her burdens with courage, pushing herself beyond human limits to make ends meet. “God knows what’s best,” she would tell herself. “In the end, everything will work out if I just do my duty.”

And so, she worked tirelessly—late into the night, mending, patching, darning. Morning found her exhausted, yet still planning and hoping. During the lonely hours of the day, while her children were at school and her husband was at work, she wept, prayed, and longed for the rest that never came.

One by one, three of her children were taken from her, their graves a painful reminder of her ever-growing love for them.

Yet, to the world, she smiled. Few ever guessed at the silent struggles she faced daily. She never realized just how much she was overworking herself; she only knew there was always more to do than she had time or strength for.

But rest came at last. The endless battle, the constant struggle, and the heavy weight of deferred hope finally became too much. Though still young, she collapsed under the load.

As Siamedes finished telling her story, he gently pulled aside the rich curtains at the entrance, and we stepped into the room where this warrior of life’s struggles now lay resting. Watching over her with love—could I even say with patience?—were three who had every right to call her by the sweetest name a woman can hear: "Mother."

The eldest was a young man, just shy of adulthood. Beside him stood a girl, not much younger than he, and the third was a boy just beginning his teenage years. Clothed in robes of pure white, nearly without tint, they looked like angels waiting for her.

They were not radiant and dazzling, but a soft, gentle light surrounded them—just enough to reveal that they were no longer of the earth.

Two others were also present, and Siamedes explained that these were the ministers Myhanene had left in attendance after he had received her spirit from her body and brought her to this place of rest.

The only sounds breaking the silence were the soft kisses the children placed on their mother’s lips, cheeks, and forehead, as if they could hardly wait for her to wake and speak to them again. I noticed the excitement rise in their eager faces each time she moved slightly on her couch, and I realized that I had been brought here to witness her awakening.

She let out a sigh, stretched, turned over, then stretched again. The attendants gently pulled the children back, giving her space. Siamedes left my side and stepped closer to her.

Slowly, he waved his hand over her face, which I could no longer see, but from the way her body shifted, I sensed that her sleep was nearly over.

Another stretch, a brief pause, then a deep sigh followed by the words:“Oh dear… why—where am I?”

“Mother!” the children cried out in unison, rushing forward to embrace her.

But I stepped outside. That moment was too sacred for me to watch.

Shortly after, the curtains were drawn open again, and she was led out to take her first look at—should I call it heaven? What else could it seem to her? Whatever it had been before, it was certainly heaven now to the children who clung so tightly around her.

She looked radiant in her newfound strength and peace, which seemed to wrap around her like a robe of gentle comfort.

And as she stood there, she realized something incredible—she would never feel exhaustion or weakness again.

As they reached the edge of the terrace, surrounded by flowers, for her to take in the beauty of her surroundings, I was surprised to see that Myhanene was by her side. In my focus on her, I hadn’t noticed that it was he who had led her out of the room. But how had he arrived? When I had hurried outside, he wasn’t there. He hadn’t entered from the terrace either. How had he appeared so suddenly?

Siamedes joined me just then, and I turned to him with my question.

"Myhanene brought her from earth," Siamedes replied, "so it was only right that he should be the first, after her children, to welcome her."

"I had no idea he was here."

"He wasn’t. When I saw that she was waking, I sent for him."

"Does he live nearby, then?"

"Near and far only exist spiritually here," he explained. "I see you are not yet familiar with our methods of communication and travel."

"No, I’m not."

"You remember when you were at the Chorale, Myhanene sent a flash of light when he wanted to speak to you?"

"Yes."

"You didn’t understand it at the time, but your friend read the message and told you what it meant. Those flashes move as fast as thought and reach their destination instantly. And when needed, we can also travel just as quickly. That is why prayers are answered while we are still speaking, and time and distance no longer exist in spiritual service."

"So, you don’t always walk or ride?"

"Not at all! In fact, during your recent visits, you have travelled through the air many times. It happens so naturally here that you didn’t even notice it."

Our conversation was cut short when Myhanene called us over to congratulate our sister. Afterward, the children excitedly explained to their mother who Siamedes was and all that he had done for them while they waited for her. Then, gently guiding her toward the edge of the terrace, Myhanene wrapped his arm around her, and, as one joyful group, they began their journey through the air toward the rest and peace that was the rightful reward of her once burdened soul.

Several more visits were made, and I heard the life stories of others for my learning. However, I will only record the last, which immediately caught my attention because of several bright purple threads of light extending from the sleeper's body and stretching out of the room to an unknown destination. My friend explained that these were love-cords, formed by the deep and overwhelming grief of those left behind on earth.

He further explained that these earth-bound attachments often create great difficulties.

If only the grieving loved ones knew how their intense sorrow affects the one, they mourn—disturbing and disrupting their rest—it would help correct this unintended harm. If the sleeper awakens before the pull of these cords weakens, which often happens, the soul is drawn back to earth, forced to share in the pain of their grieving friends. This agony is made worse by the realization that they are unable to make their presence known or offer any comfort to the mourners.

In this particular case, messengers had been repeatedly sent, and every possible effort made to ease the sorrow of those still on earth. Despite this, she was now waking, and Siamedes could already see that the inevitable would happen. I was reminded of my conversation with Cushna about crossing the mists, but he had left me as soon as we crossed the bridge upon our arrival. I mentioned this to Siamedes and hesitantly expressed my hope that if she was pulled back to earth and someone was sent to follow her, I might be allowed to go with them.

“I will send for Cushna,” he replied. “Perhaps he will take on the mission and bring you along.”

I watched as the message of light was sent out, then saw the response return, and almost immediately, Cushna appeared beside us.

Now, I was about to witness another awakening—one that could have been as peaceful and beautiful as the last—but, oh, how different it would be!

My reader, think of my experiences however you wish—consider them fiction if you choose—but for mercy’s sake, listen as I plead for self-restraint when mourning a loved one who has been called away. God knows the cry of a broken heart is full of sorrow, but remember, if the first duty of a follower of Christ is love, the second is selflessness. Your loss is their gain, so I ask you to rejoice instead, for their reward is great.

If you truly love them, calm your grief. The separation of the body has not ended their love, and your suffering still reaches them, disturbing their peace and delaying their joy. Remember, when they were with you, their happiness was deeply connected to yours—do you think they have changed so much that they can now look upon the face of the Savior with joy while remaining indifferent to your suffering? If you grieve out of love, then comfort yourself. But if your sorrow is merely out of habit or custom, it will never touch them where they are.

Pure, selfless love has the power to connect with them, and it is this love that I appeal to now. If you could stand where I have stood, if you could see what I have seen, you would not weep. You would be content to let your loved ones rest peacefully in the embrace of God. And so, I urge you—dry your tears and let them rest until your own morning breaks and your shadows fade away.

By this time, it was clear that her sleep had completely ended, and I could see that with each sign of awareness, the invisible cords pulling her grew stronger.

In her half-sleep, she murmured several names, as if she were being called but was too tired to wake just yet. Then, reluctantly, she stirred into a dazed and slightly irritable state. Slowly, a vague memory seemed to return to her. She shuddered, turned toward the direction in which the cords were pulling her, and absentmindedly responded, “I’m coming, dear.”

She rose from the couch, and the cords pulling her back to earth grew stronger. At first, she moved slowly, but with each step, her energy and urgency increased. Worry and distress spread across her face as she drew back the curtains and stepped onto the terrace. Her excitement escalated, and as she rushed forward, I instinctively moved to stop her from throwing herself over the edge—but Cushna held me back. Misguided love was leading her into an agony I could not yet fully understand, and no one had the right to physically restrain her.

All we could do was follow and try to save her.

She reached the edge of the terrace without hesitation. Without pausing or second-guessing, she threw herself over—and was gone.

Cushna grasped my hand and urged me to follow him across the mists on a mission of salvation.