Through The Mists. Translated into Simplified “Modern English”. Chapter Fifteen. The City of Compensation.

As we walked through a beautiful valley lying between the mists and the slopes where I had first arrived, I listened intently to the revelations my companion was sharing with me. Many thoughts passed through my mind, but one in particular stood out and left a deep impression on me, shaping my understanding of all I was learning.

On Earth, when a criminal is taken from home and friends to serve a sentence for their crime, even human law—flawed and imperfect as it is—allows them some contact with their loved ones. Though visits may be rare, and letters limited, the opportunity is still given. Could it be possible, then, that imperfect humans could show more mercy than God?

Would God inspire an act of compassion that He Himself would refuse to grant? Could any creature be more charitable than the Creator?

The thought flashed through my mind only for an instant. To have truly believed it would have been to doubt the infinite love of God. But it lingered just long enough to serve its purpose, for as it faded, it took away the last shadow of my doubt. From that moment, I was convinced sleep is the sacred meeting place where separated souls may reunite.

To our right, a beautiful, wooded area stretched out, and I noticed that most of the sleep visitors were making their way in that direction. We turned our steps the same way, and before long, I realized that behind that natural barrier lay a larger and more populated area than any I had yet encountered in my new life.

Strangely, everything about this place felt familiar. I had never been here before, yet nothing seemed foreign or unexpected.

This was entirely different from my previous experiences, where every new sight had surprised me.

I paused now and then to admire cozy, picturesque spots that felt deeply familiar, or exchanged greetings with passing souls as if we had known each other for a lifetime. And yet, I could not recall when or where we had ever met before.

After some reflection, I finally found the answer that satisfied me.

The confusion in my mind was caused by the overwhelming number of scenes I had rushed through and the many thoughts that had flooded my mind without any chance to process them properly. This, no doubt, was why my two lives—the earthly and the spiritual—seemed so mixed together, yet both felt equally familiar.

Several times, I turned to my companion, hoping he would help me understand what was happening. But seeing that he was deep in thought, I chose not to disturb him and walked on in silence.

Just before we reached the trees, we both, without speaking, turned away from the more crowded paths and into a quiet, secluded area. Somehow, I knew this path would lead us to the most beautiful view of the city before us. I took the lead—there was no need for a guide anymore. Every step felt increasingly familiar, as if I had walked this path many times before.

We moved down into a charming little glen, crossed a bridge covered in roses that spanned a gently flowing stream, and paused for a moment to listen to the flute-like melody of a silver waterfall. Then we climbed the flower-covered bank, heading toward a moss-covered boulder that stood directly in my view. It didn’t matter—I knew I would soon pass it, and then—

At that moment, everything became clear. Standing beside that rock, I suddenly remembered everything Cushna had told me about memory and recollection. That entire walk had been preparing me for this realization. In a single flash, the full memory of my sleep-life returned to me.

Around me lay scenes that had been dear to me since childhood. Oh, what an explanation that one moment provided for so many of my life’s mysteries! How often had I woken from sleep with a heavy feeling, as if I had forgotten something important, but with no way to recall it? How many times had I longed to return to some sweet companionship I had formed in what I had dismissed as "just a dream"?

I had always felt sure that somewhere, someone understood my thoughts and encouraged my seemingly “foolish” wishes—but who, and where, were they?

There had always been an unseen influence guiding me, whispering, “Do this” or “Go there.” My friends had looked at me with pity, believing I was lost in strange fancies from which I could not free myself. But now, I finally understood.

Often, when I visited the poor, I would come across the face of a sufferer that seemed completely familiar to me, even though I knew I had never seen them before in my earthly life.

Life had been full of such mysteries, which I had tried in vain to understand in my solitude. I would somehow know that a man was lying ill and starving in some distant alley, but I could never explain how I knew. I was aware that if I walked down a certain street at a specific time, I would meet someone whose existence I had no knowledge of—except through my strange instincts. And when I met them, I did not need to ask about their story—I already knew. I simply did what I was meant to do and moved on.

A thousand impulses like these had been the downfall of my life, at least in the eyes of my friends. Their persistence and my willingness to follow them had caused great concern among my family, puzzled several doctors, and been the subject of many serious conversations and prayers by devoted clergymen. But none of it made any difference. If anything, their efforts only intensified the so-called "problem." I had been accused of lacking natural affection, of being unreasonable, of despising the practical aspects of life. My friends, desperate to protect me from myself, had come close to sending me to an asylum.

Was I happy? No. Two constant struggles prevented that. First, the unnecessary suffering and starvation of my fellow human beings. And second, an insatiable longing for something—or someone—that I could never quite define. It was a deep craving of the soul, an aching for an unknown sympathy, with no idea where to find it.

But at last, much—perhaps all—of the mystery had been solved. The key had been found, and from now on, the riddle of my life would be easy to understand.

Was it a tear of gratitude that blurred my vision as this realization hit me? Maybe. Because there is a kind of joy so profound that the only way to express it is through tears.

“Cushna, my friend,” I cried in pure delight, “now I understand everything! But none of the revelations you have shown me compare to this.”

“Wait—do you mean to say you actually recognize this place?”

“Know it? This is my true home! My life on earth wasn’t real—it was just a long sleep, a restless dream of this place. Now, at last, I am awake. Yes! I truly know it! From now on, I will experience life to the fullest, in a world where every mystery is naturally followed by its solution, just like fruit follows the flower.”

“Now you understand everything we’ve been discussing about the dual life.”

“I do,” I replied. “But why didn’t I remember any of this even after I died?”

“Because you were carefully kept from remembering until the perfect moment.”

“As we walked here, the place seemed strangely familiar,” I said. “I almost asked you about it several times, but you seemed deep in thought.”

“Yes! I didn’t want to explain it beforehand. It was much better for you to realize it on your own. Now that you feel at home, you won’t need my guidance anymore.”

“I don’t like the idea of losing you,” I admitted.

“You won’t lose me. I will see you again soon. In the meantime, you have many friends here who will be eager to see you, and any of them can help explain anything you want to know.”

Then he was gone—but I was not alone. How could I be? Everywhere around me, familiar sights awakened a flood of long-buried memories, each one bringing back experiences I had unknowingly carried with me all along.

Who can truly understand the mind? What hidden histories, revelations, and possibilities lie buried deep within it, beyond the reach of human intellect? Think of the corridors of memory alone—who can measure the priceless records of the past that await our discovery?

Could they contain accounts of existence stretching back through ages and epochs, allowing every soul to trace its journey from God, step by step? Who can say for sure? But who can doubt that the mind holds secrets too vast for the fragile body to comprehend—secrets too immense to whisper into mortal ears, for their sheer weight would overwhelm the senses and leave them deaf to all else?

Can earth truly grasp the depth of the human mind? It has barely begun to understand its very nature. But in the quiet of sleep, this delicate creation of thought slips away to Paradise, where it continues to grow in the womb of love. When its time is fulfilled, the soul is called forth, and in the moment of death, it inherits a greater self—memories of another life and knowledge of unexpected powers. How can we see the full splendor of a flower when we have only just discovered the seed? How can we understand a grand symphony when only the overture has begun? How can we describe the warmth of summer when we have only felt winter’s frost?

Just as we cannot do these things, so too can we not imagine the mind’s true potential when we have only seen its brief fluttering, confined within the limits of the physical world. Only in the free skies of heaven can we witness the majesty of its flight.

My thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a familiar voice just behind me:

“Hello, Mass’r Fred! So yo’s here at last.”

“Yes, Jemmy, here at last.”

“I didn’t think yo’ was comin’ dis way just yet. Ain’t it beautiful? Have yo’ been up to the mountains?”

“I don’t even know where I’ve been, Jemmy—I’ve seen so much.”

“Did yo’ see anybody yo’ know yet?”

“Not here, but I just realized that I know this place. Cushna never told me—he let me figure it out on my own.”

"That's just like him—always surprising you," Jemmy said.

"That’s been my experience ever since I arrived," I replied.

"Never mind, Mass’r Fred, you gonna see somebody real soon. I’ll fetch ‘em right quick!"

With that, my dear old friend hurried off to spread the news of my arrival, leaving me to reflect on the many pleasant memories of our friendship. I couldn’t begin to recount all the experiences we had shared, but one particular lesson he taught me stood out—one that, I believe, had an unconscious influence on me during my time on Earth.

It came from a conversation in which I had expressed surprise that Black people retained their skin color in the afterlife. Jemmy, in his warm and wise way, explained that it was all part of God’s goodness—that every color, every nation, and every kindred was meant to be represented in heaven. Then he added something that made a deep impression on me.

"There’s plenty of folks who don’t like niggers, think we ain’t as good as white folks.

They don’t want to go to school with us, won’t eat with us, don’t wanna mix with us nohow. But when they get to heaven, they gonna find out that the Lord sees niggers just the same as white folks. And guess what? They gonna have to mix with us then."

I would never forget the mischievous glee on his face as he imagined what those white folks would do when they realized they had to climb the golden staircase side by side with Black people. "’Cause lemme tell ya, Mass’r Fred," he chuckled, "there’s a mighty long procession of us goin’ up all the time."

Then, with a more serious look, he continued, "It woulda been real hard on us if the Lord had changed our color, ‘cause then folks would’ve laughed and said, ‘Told you so!’ And that woulda made a man feel awful bad. But the Lord didn’t do that—He left everybody just as they was, till love comes in and folks don’t think nothin’ ‘bout skin color no more."

There was a whole world of truth in his simple wisdom, and I thought to myself that wiser men would do well to consider it.

That familiar phrase from the former slave—"It’s all of the goodness of the Lord"—seemed to come naturally to his lips whenever faced with any difficulty. His words led my thoughts away from the individual and toward the city that stretched before me—a city filled with newly recovered memories. From my own experience, I had come to think of it as the City of Compensation because it embodied that principle more than any other place I could recall.

In my old life, I had often struggled with doubt, teetering on the edge of atheism as I tried in vain to reconcile the contradictions of life with the idea of a just and merciful God. Why was a man born blind forced to endure the humiliation of begging for his daily bread, along with all the other hardships of poverty, while another man, living in idle luxury, was granted every physical blessing nature could provide? Why did genius and suffering so often go hand in hand, while incompetence and wealth seemed to be lifelong companions? What justice was there in a life of relentless pain, caused by another’s wrongdoing?

Where was the righteousness in a world where power and tyranny flourished, while the honest and righteous were left unheard and unanswered in their suffering?

I was far from the only one troubled by such questions, but from my new perspective, I could now see these problems in a clearer and more just light. Earth is not the end of life’s journey—it is only the beginning, merely a part of the first stage. Man’s ignorance and his tendency to overvalue earthly existence are what make these inequalities seem so severe.

Now, with the clarity of memory restored, I saw things differently. I remembered witnessing the blind man enter this city while his body slept on Earth, and I instantly understood that he was not truly blind—his affliction was only a limitation of the body he had left behind. His soul’s vision was completely clear, unaffected by the physical condition that had burdened him in life. The darkness he experienced on Earth was temporary, much like sleep for others.

His memory of these visits might not be strong enough to bring the full awareness of them back to his waking life, but who’s to say that the quiet patience and acceptance of those who suffer are not shaped by the echoes of their experiences here? Perhaps, even in their struggles, they carry within them the peace and understanding that comes from the part of their being that has already glimpsed the truth.

In this city, the deaf can hear, the mute can speak, the crippled can walk, the mentally impaired gain understanding, the paralyzed are freed from their weakness, and the bedridden regain their strength. These are just some of the kindnesses that God grants to those who suffered on Earth during their hours of sleep. Do I not rightly call it a City of Compensation?

These are memories of gratitude and hope, but there are also heavier, more serious ones—warnings that I cannot ignore as I deliver my message from beyond the mists.

I have often seen a mother pleading with her child to keep the promise sealed with her final kiss before death—promises that have since been forgotten or ignored. I have seen the false mask of friendship torn away to reveal hypocrisy, heard liars exposed by their own words, and witnessed deceivers unmasked before those they betrayed. I have heard the desperate words of love given as guidance to wayward children, seen kindness and compassion showered upon the lost and unfortunate, and listened to the comforting reassurances of loved ones who, though unseen and unheard, remain present in moments of trial and temptation. I have seen souls continue their connection beyond the grave, untouched by death, and watched long-lost friends reunite; despite once believing they would never see each other again.

Oh, you on Earth, who once received a final wish or sacred trust from the lips of a dying loved one—remember the solemn vows you swore to fulfill but have since neglected, just as you have forgotten the body that now crumbles in the grave.

That is not your father, your mother, or your friend lying there—they are not dead, nor have they left you! Every night, in the silent corridors of sleep, you still meet them. They know of your broken promises, they have pleaded with you again and again, and yet you have ignored them just as many times, making empty vows that now number in the hundreds, etched into the very fabric of your soul.

Pause for just a moment, and you will feel the weight of these unkept oaths pressing upon your conscience, until its quiet voice cries out in pain, urging you to keep your word. Why do you not listen? This is no longer just a matter between you and your lost loved one. They have entered the presence of God, and now He Himself will defend His own and hold you accountable for your deceit.

When the morning calls you back to Earth, how often do the echoes of your last promise still ring in your ears? Be strong, rise up, and fulfill your promise in both spirit and action before the burden of your broken word becomes too heavy for your soul to carry.

And to those who grieve—look up! Silence your mourning and dry your tears. Your loved ones have not left you; their kisses still linger fresh upon your lips. Those soft, familiar whispers that drift through your mind as you first open your eyes are not mere illusions—your loved ones have been with you. Last night, you carried to them news of your home on Earth, and they shared with you the joys of theirs above. Can you not still feel their embrace? They are waiting for you to meet them again tonight.

Oh, no! They are not lost. Jesus loved them so much that He simply drew them a little closer to Himself, where they can rest in peace, "Beyond the heartache and the fever."

Their journey has not ended—it has only changed the time of your meetings from the uncertain hours of the day to the quiet, peaceful moments of night. Think for a moment: are you not aware of how much their love for you has grown? In the same way, the atmosphere of their new life has left its mark on you.

If you nurture this connection and allow it to continue, it will uplift you, drawing you closer to them and, ultimately, to God, until you are finally reunited where they are.

They belong to you even more now, in this sacred and unseen communion, than ever before. But they have also been honored with a new purpose, joining the host of spirits whom Christ sends forth as "ministering spirits, sent to serve those who will inherit salvation."