Through The Mists. Translated into Simplified “Modern English”. Chapter Four. The Mount of God.

Eusemos led me down the hill toward the central point where all the different roads converged. This spot naturally became a gathering place for the many people coming and going. There didn’t seem to be any physical reason for this—no barriers stopping people from going directly to their desired destination, no gates requiring proof of qualification to pass. Yet, by some mutual understanding, everyone seemed to gravitate toward this common center during their journeys.

As I descended into this vibrant, ever-changing, joyful crowd, I became more aware of the incredible surroundings and the overwhelming new reality I was now part of. Each new thought and scene left a deep impression on me.

It was at this moment, surrounded by this lively throng, that I fully grasped the truth: death was now behind me, out of sight. I paused, trying to process what I had left behind, where I had arrived, and the incomprehensible transformation I had undergone. Although everything around me had changed, I was still undeniably myself.

Every single moment and experience I encountered seemed to hold its own little piece of heaven—far greater than anything I could have imagined during my earthly life. Yet, each one felt as though it were only a glimpse, a small instalment of the eternal home that awaited, where the voice of an infinite, loving Father would one day be heard in perfect harmony. The echoes of that love would resonate forever under the vast, eternal sky where we would eventually find true rest.

The scene before me looked like a realization of what many on earth imagined heaven to be. Since both time and death were now behind me, I felt free to pause and reflect on what so many souls had dreamed of during their lifetimes. My companion, sensing my desire to take it all in, stood silently beside me. His calm presence seemed to heighten my enjoyment of the moment.

I saw countless reunions and triumphs over death. Death, the great enemy of humanity, would have been defeated thousands of times over if it had dared to appear here. Husbands and wives, parents and children, brothers and sisters, and friends reunited after varying lengths of separation, now fully aware that they would never be parted again. Hands that had been wrenched apart in the sorrowful mists of death were now clasped together once more, with the certainty that no force could ever separate them again. Eyes that had been blind in life now gazed with joy upon those who had been their guides in darkness. Ears that had strained to hear a mother’s voice were now enchanted by its music. Tongues that had been silent on earth poured out words of gratitude, and arms that had been weak now embraced their loved ones with overwhelming love.

In all this happiness, it never occurred to me that I was standing there alone, without a personal reunion or welcome from anyone I knew. The deep longing I had carried during my life for someone special never once crossed my mind.

I was so absorbed in witnessing the joy and love surrounding me that I didn’t even realize my situation was different from others.

I wasn’t lonely or left out. Didn’t I already have a friend—someone I hadn’t known before, yet who already felt as close to me as a brother? And hadn’t I been blessed more than many by the warm welcome Helen gave me, as well as the group of friends I had only just left for a short while? I didn’t feel like a stranger in an unfamiliar land. Instead, I felt like a favoured child, free to explore my father’s vast and beautiful domain.

Favoured, indeed! I soon realized that the privilege I enjoyed was not something everyone here shared. Every situation has another side, and it wasn’t long before I saw the less joyful side of the scene before me. I noticed a few individuals trying to pass unnoticed through the happy crowd. They seemed desperate to avoid being recognized, filled with fear and dread at the possibility of being seen by someone they were clearly trying to avoid.

Just one look at these poor souls gave me a powerful insight—one that no argument could have made clearer. Their very presence revealed the real difference between heaven and hell. It became clear to me that:

Heaven isn’t found on any map. It exists in the heart of a righteous soul, A safe, unshakable haven, where no storms can reach. But one breath of sin, even near God’s throne, can ignite the flames of hell within.

My attention was particularly drawn to the joyful reunion of a brother and sister, with the brother having just arrived. Their warm and youthful embrace, the happiness glowing on the girl’s face, and the gratitude and contentment shining in the boy’s expression were beautiful to witness. As I watched their joy and felt their happiness, I found myself wondering if there was a limit to how much bliss I could feel, and if it was possible that I might wake up and discover this was all just a dream.

At that moment, as if to add weight to that thought, I noticed a woman dressed in reddish-brown watching the boy and girl with an expression I never expected to see in such a place. Her eyes burned with terror; beads of sweat rolled down her face from the intensity of her fear; her limbs shook with dread, and she tried desperately to escape before they noticed her. Time and again, she attempted to slip away, seizing any opportunity to avoid being seen, but it seemed as though fate was against her. Every attempt failed, leaving her even closer to the joyful pair, who were blissfully unaware of her presence—until the moment came when she could no longer avoid being noticed. In her panic to flee, she ended up drawing their attention.

No one in the crowd showed any sympathy for her distress. No one offered a hand to help her navigate away from the situation and avoid the encounter that was causing her such anguish. In the midst of that joyful gathering, she was utterly alone. More than once, I felt an urge to step forward and help her, to offer the assistance she so clearly needed.

But something held me back—an inner sense that it was better to let things unfold as they were, that I should simply watch and wait.

The terrified woman stood frozen, unable to move or speak, like a guilty criminal awaiting judgment. The boy stepped back in fear, but the girl, with a look of deep pity shining on her face, stepped forward and did what no one else had done. She, who had the best opportunity to help, found the solution, cleared the way for the woman, and if she spoke, it was only words of kindness and compassion as she pointed out the direction the woman could take to escape. This gave the woman the strength to move, and as she fled, I saw a brilliant flash of light from the girl’s eyes. The light struck the woman’s troubled chest and shone there like a glowing jewel.

“Did you see that flash?” my companion asked, clearly noticing the same moment.

“Yes!” I replied. “What was it?”

“That light,” he said, “was the girl’s forgiveness for some great wrong the woman committed. It will stay with her until she has faced the consequences of her sin. Only then will she understand its significance, and it will help her on her path to redemption.”

“Poor soul!” I spoke. “Where will she go? It’s so sad that, in such a huge crowd, there is no one to meet her, no one to guide or comfort her.”

"It would be pointless to try helping her now," replied Eusemos, "and you won’t find such attempts here. Only those who are ready to be welcomed are met. But if you watch her, you’ll see where she ends up."

“Aren’t you worried she’ll make the wrong choices out of ignorance?” I asked.

“Can people live under the ocean or can fish fly with eagles in the sky?” he replied. “In the same way, she cannot go where she doesn’t belong. We don’t need angels with flaming swords to guard the way.”

“But look!” I exclaimed. “She’s taking the wrong road! Her dress doesn’t match the colour of the path she’s on.”

“Just watch her,” he said calmly.

I kept watching. In her desperate attempt to get away from the person she feared, she ran straight into the first road she saw, putting all her effort into escaping. It was as if she believed safety could only be found by running as far as possible. But her escape didn’t last long. Whether she became too weak or just stopped to catch her breath, I couldn’t tell. I saw her stumble, reaching out for support, but there was nothing there to help her. Then, she turned around, and even from a distance, I could see more pain and despair on her face.

Something seemed to force her to return to the place she had tried so hard to escape. She tried again to flee, and then a third time, but each time, that same invisible force drove her back. Finally, she entered a path that matched the colour of her dress.

This time, she moved effortlessly down the road until she disappeared from view beneath us.

“Poor soul,” I murmured. “Where does that path lead her?”

“That road leads to underground caverns where little light can reach,” Eusemos explained. “There, people like her hide from the presence of those they fear. They believe that anyone they meet will seek revenge for the wrongs they’ve done. Their terror becomes their own personal hell. They don’t know who or what is near them, but their fear convinces them that everyone is there to torment them. In these caverns, they must stay until a spirit in a less miserable state gains their trust and persuades them to leave for a better place. That’s the first step toward the happiness that is possible for every soul to achieve. But let’s move on.”

For a while, we moved slowly because my companion kept meeting other messengers and acquaintances, all of whom warmly greeted me. I also kept stopping to better understand the interesting features of my surroundings.

Eventually, when we had left the crowds behind and started on our mission, I was glad when Eusemos brought up the incident with the woman that had both interested and confused me.

“I can see that you’re having trouble understanding why that woman was here in a life governed by the law of love,” he began.

“Yes, I am,” I admitted, “and I’d appreciate it if you could explain.”

“I will, and then you’ll see how the Lord is good to all and how His mercy extends to everything He has made. In fact, I can’t think of a better example of this than what you just witnessed.”

“How so?” I asked.

“When she ran off,” he said, “you saw her take the path we’re now walking. You noticed how no one stopped her or told her she was on the wrong road. Now, think about the lightness, happiness, and peace you feel growing stronger with every step we take. Can you explain why she turned back of her own free will?”

“I can’t,” I said.

“She turned back because what brings you joy, and peace caused her pain. She was rushing into a condition that was unnatural for her—like a fish trying to live out of water. By her own choices and actions on Earth, she prepared herself for a certain place in this life, and she can’t take on a different condition without experiencing the pain that naturally comes with being out of alignment. She made her choice, and love protects her from the added suffering that would come from forcing herself into an unsuitable state. That’s why the place she has gone to exists—it’s a provision of love.

“She won’t be abandoned or left completely at the mercy of those around her in that place. Others, who are in better conditions, will go to her, encourage her to have hope, help her repent, and try to lead her out. In time, they’ll guide her toward happiness.”

“So, she hasn’t gone to the hell where the fire never goes out?” I asked.

“The idea of hellfire is one of those symbolic phrases that has been misunderstood because people interpret it literally,” Eusemos explained.

"Can you explain it to me as you understand it?" I asked.

"Of course," he said, "and I'll use an example you're already familiar with. It's said of Jesus, 'He shall baptize with the Holy Spirit and with fire.' Jesus Himself said, 'I came to send fire on the earth,' and it is written that 'our God is a consuming fire.' Do you take these references to fire to be literal, like the fires of hell?"

"Certainly not," I replied.

"But why not? What gives you the authority to make that distinction?" he asked.

"I'm not sure how to answer," I admitted, "other than to say it's based on traditional custom."

"It’s because of creed-based necessity," he explained. "This is the root cause of so much confusion, contradiction, and spiritual ignorance. The word of God is both spirit and truth, and it must always be interpreted by the spirit, not by the literal letter, which is just the form through which the spirit expresses itself—much like the human body is a vessel for the soul. The 'fire' of the spirit is love. So, when we say that God is a consuming fire, it’s simply another way of saying that God is love.

"However, when love is distorted into passion, and if it goes unchecked, it can spiral out of control, consuming a person and leaving them at the mercy of their own destructive desires. All the evil within them becomes fuel for this fire. When such a person dies and enters this state of existence, where can they go? You saw the case of that woman earlier—her condition wasn’t nearly as extreme, yet even standing here was unbearable for her. Imagine how much worse it would be for someone like the man I’m describing. Even the place that woman went to would be intolerable for such a person. But God does not punish out of revenge.

Instead, He provides a space suited to their nature—a place where they can give in to their unrestrained passions for a time, suffering the torment that comes from reaping the consequences of their actions.

"The term 'unquenchable fire' reflects God’s love because this fire exists not to destroy but to purify. It burns away the 'chaff'—the corrupt and harmful parts of the soul. In time, those destructive passions and desires will be completely consumed. When that happens, the 'wheat'—the good and pure parts of the soul—will be gathered, and the soul will emerge refined, like gold purified by fire. The sanctifying fire of love will continue to burn within that soul, ensuring it is ultimately saved and restored."

"Do you know this for sure," I asked eagerly, "or is it just something you hope is true?"

"We know it," he answered. "This is the one great law of life that operates everywhere here.

It should operate on Earth as well, but the endless words of men have buried true knowledge, and the light of divine inspiration has been overshadowed by this grave of misunderstanding. Here, you won’t find preaching as you know it on Earth. For us, preaching is action, and all our actions are motivated by love. We have learned through experience that whoever lives in love lives in God, and God lives in them."

"Oh, what a message of love you proclaim!" I exclaimed. "What music it would bring to Earth. With such a message, I can truly understand why 'love never fails.'”

"The gospel we share is the same one given to humanity and is especially suited for the earthly condition," he replied.

"I have another question," I said, "about something that seems to conflict with your universal law of love."

"Ask away, my brother," he encouraged.

"How do you reconcile this law of love with the fact that the woman was allowed to enter here and see the joy of happier people?" I asked.

"You think it adds to her suffering, don't you?" he responded.

"Yes, I can’t see how it wouldn’t."

"I understand," he said, "but first, remember that the way you entered is the usual way people arrive. Any punishment a soul endures is simply the natural consequence of deliberate wrongdoing. Acts done in ignorance or without intent carry no penalty in the judgment of the mists. But for those who have knowingly sinned or neglected their responsibilities—perhaps suppressing their conscience and spiritual life for years—they receive the just outcome of their actions. Their suffering must necessarily increase when they realize what they could have experienced under better circumstances."

"But couldn’t that extra pain be avoided?" I asked.

"No. God does not shield people from the consequences of their actions," he explained. "However, even that pain you regret seeing is allowed by the same law of love. Although she may not realize it yet, that woman gained an important piece of knowledge from her experience, which will eventually give her hope and comfort—something she could not have learned otherwise."

"What knowledge is that?" I asked.

"She now knows that there is no gate guarded by an angel to block her from the path of life," he said. "Eventually, she will understand that the only thing standing in the way of her happiness is herself. When she realizes this, it will become a strong motivation to improve her condition. She will come to see that her punishment is not meant to be vindictive but is designed to purify her. This insight will become a foundation upon which her teachers can build many lessons, helping her see that even in her darkest moments, she has not been abandoned. She will learn that, though she didn’t realize it, God’s hand has been guiding her all along."

“Thank you,” I said. “The way you explain it helps me see how God’s mercy extends to all His creations. But I have another question. Some children are born without the ability to understand right from wrong. How is their situation handled when they arrive here?”

“In every case, justice and fairness are applied perfectly,” he answered, “and the punishment for sin always falls on the one responsible for it. Think about an earthly court—if someone with kleptomania or an intellectual disability broke the law, they would be pitied for their condition rather than punished. Is man more just than God? Those physical or mental impairments are often the result of sin, not just accidents, and someone must bear the consequences—so who should it be?

Here is a difficult truth: ‘Every person will give an account of the deeds done in the body.’ One of those deeds is the serious wrongdoing of creating life without proper thought or ensuring the child will have a healthy and capable body to live in.

When parents neglect this responsibility, they leave their child to suffer the consequences of their sins in the child’s own physical or mental condition. While this transfers the infirmity to the child, it does not transfer the responsibility. The child bears the effects of the sins, but the wrongs committed due to their incapacity are still counted as the sins of the father or mother, who will have to answer for them before God.”

“That’s a harsh thought,” I said as he finished.

“It is,” he agreed, “but it’s the truth. ‘Whatever a man sows, that shall he also reap.’”

I had been so absorbed in our conversation that I had only been vaguely aware of the scenery we were passing through. However, at this point, my attention was drawn to a change in my companion’s appearance. He was now surrounded by a soft and steadily growing halo, and I realized I was drawing strength from it to continue accompanying him.

We were traveling along the brighter path that ran through the centre and highest part of the landscape. But the road had changed so much since we began our journey that now it looked like a transparent path made of sunbeams. It felt more like we were gliding through the air on a radiant beam of light rather than walking on a solid road, though this kingdom was far more real and enduring than any earthly nation like Greece or Rome. It was truly eternal because it had been created and built by God.

The gentle, fragrant air seemed to lift us up effortlessly, making weariness impossible. The life-giving breezes surrounded us with their loving, tender touch, and the sunlight, which illuminated everything, penetrated through us, filling us with its brilliance. We began to shine with a glory similar to what Moses displayed after being in God’s presence on Mount Sinai.

It felt like a wonderful dream to me. The real and the unreal seemed to merge together so seamlessly that I couldn’t even entertain the thought of being surprised by anything.

More than once, I remember reasoning with myself that this had to be a dream—one so vivid that I would soon wake up and face the harsh realities of my difficult life. I imagined the additional pain I would feel when recalling such a pleasant but fleeting illusion. Even now, I can remember the shudder that ran through me at the thought of enduring such a crushing disappointment.

My companion must have sensed my inner turmoil, as he pulled me closer to him. He responded to my thoughts in a calm, almost instinctive way, with a kind of reflective encouragement that is so typical of this life. His words weren’t a lecture but felt more like an uplifting suggestion, full of reassurance. I absorbed more of the feeling and meaning behind what he said than the exact words. Since it was entirely spontaneous, I couldn’t ask him to repeat it. I know that what I recall now does not fully capture the beauty and depth of his words, but the following will give a rough idea of what he conveyed to me:

"All dreams are as real as when we're awake, so why should we reject their joy? Dreams let the heart take a break, Giving the soul a glimpse of its promised home, A place it will soon call its own.

"The soul is eternal, the true essence of man, While the body lives only a short span. The body belongs to the earth and will fade, But the soul, in its daily dreams made, Peers across the river from the mountains of sleep, Greeting the eternal home it will keep.

"Children, men, and women all dream, and will continue forever, it would seem. Dreams bring comfort to those who are weary, A refuge for hearts burdened and dreary, until that final sleep, leaving the body behind, the soul awakens in heaven, where true rest we find."

I had neither the chance nor the desire to respond, because as my companion finished his poetic speech, we stopped and turned. The breathtaking scene in front of me immediately drew my attention, pulling me away from the thoughts his words had inspired. I became completely captivated by the indescribable beauty of the panorama, which he motioned towards with his hand.

When we first stood on the hillside, the most striking feature of the landscape had been the many-colored roads radiating outward, leading to cities that were then hidden from view but now clearly visible. At our feet was one such road, running to the right and left. It was the darkest of them all—a deep crimson-black path that appeared to end beneath the hill. This was the very road I had seen the terrified woman take as she disappeared from sight. That sombre, foreboding path seemed to form the foundation of the entire view. Each subsequent road, with its slightly lighter tint, rose above the one below it in smooth, almost unnoticeable transitions. At the top, the pure white path we had travelled crowned the entire scene, like a shining apex to the double prism of colours.

As I reflected on this view, now illuminated by the explanations I had received so far, I thought of it as a grand and symbolic image of this brighter life. It illustrated the natural, continuous progress the soul can make—from the deepest depths of sin to the heights of peace and perfect happiness. The thought filled my heart with joy.

Another idea came to me at that moment. I recalled the question I had asked my guide earlier about how the sight of this scene might add pain to the hearts of less fortunate souls. Now I understood the overwhelming mercy and love displayed in the arrangement before me. The previous view, which had seemed stark and foreboding, was merely the reverse side of this magnificent picture. The contrast was striking: this scene offered a glimpse of glories so immense that no human eye or heart could fully comprehend them. If that earlier view might have added sorrow, this one surely had the power to inspire despair in any soul burdened by regret. Yet, through it all, I could see the mercy of God shining over all His creation.

Far in the distance, on the western horizon, the mists marked the boundary of this land.

This time, they did not appear dark and cold as they had before. Instead, a warm crimson hue bathed them, making them resemble rich curtains drawn across the sky—like the sunset on an autumn evening when the laborer hurries homeward before an approaching storm. Behind us, high above the mountain peaks, at a height too vast for my eyes to measure stream rays of light streamed down from above, illuminating and nurturing the entire land. It felt as though, while one unseen sun was setting far in the western horizon, another—a radiant Sun of Righteousness, perhaps—was rising from the endless sea of love in the east. Between the gentle glow of this new dawn and the fading light of that distant sunset, countless weary souls were basking in the peace and rest they had long sought, just as I had only recently begun to experience for myself.

We were standing on the slope of a majestic mountain range so high that I couldn’t even begin to estimate its height. When I tried to look for its peak, my eyes were blinded by the brilliant arc of light shining above, making it impossible to see.

The range stretched far into the distance, so far that my sight became uncertain as it faded into the horizon, resembling a natural boundary between two neighbouring lands. The path we stood on was like the even crest of a smaller ridge, leading upward from the base towards the light-crowned, immeasurable mountain behind us.

In the distance, a vast and seemingly endless plain spread out, breathtakingly beautiful and filled with a variety of landscapes. There were rolling hills, peaceful valleys, shimmering lakes, winding streams, terraces, plateaus, lush parks, and gardens. Scattered throughout were cities, homes, mansions, and palaces, all arranged in perfect harmony to enhance the beauty of the scene. Every shrub, flower, building, hill, and waterway contributed its unique element, creating a balance and unity that made the entire view wonderfully magnificent.

In times of exhaustion and sadness in my previous life, I often tried to imagine what heaven must be like—who hasn’t? But my best ideas always carried a sense of disappointment and frustration.

It was like looking at a beautiful painting of a glorious sunset. At first, the painting captivates you with its beauty, but as you keep looking, strange, haunting shadows seem to emerge from it, casting a gloomy feeling over what had initially seemed so enchanting. These shadows felt like dissatisfaction, regret, and a sense of something unreal. The painting itself, no matter how perfect, felt stiff, cold, and lifeless. It froze the drama of the moment in one fixed position, with no movement or sound, as if the story stopped just as it began to unfold.

A true sunset can’t be captured like this. You need to see the shifting colours, the rolling and swirling of the clouds, and the way the light constantly changes. You need to witness the sun slowly setting, like a hero fading from view, while soft breezes whisper and sigh. You need to experience the gradual triumph of the dark as Night overtakes Day, drowning the sun in its last light, and the final moments of Twilight as it fades away into the night. All of this is essential to fully understand a sunset, but it’s far beyond what a painting can show.

In the same way, heaven is far more complex and profound than anything we can imagine. My previous ideas of heaven were just as inadequate compared to the reality of the breathtaking scene before me on that mountainside.

And yet, even this glorious place wasn’t heaven itself. It was only a resting spot—a peaceful stopping place within the endless realm of God’s creation—where souls could pause and refresh themselves on their journey from earth to their true home in their Father’s house of many mansions.

I would stop here and not try to do what is beyond my ability if it weren’t for my deep desire to help my brothers and sisters still on earth, who cling to the many misconceptions of the physical life because they don’t understand the life I have now entered. Knowing how limited my ability is to explain the truth I have discovered almost discourages me from going on.

However, I will be satisfied if I can at least show, even in a small way, that this existence is not some vague, misty state where we have nothing solid or real to build upon. For us, this life is just as real and tangible as the earth is to you.

When I use familiar words like "beauty" and "grandeur" to describe this place, it’s not because I am suggesting this life is as crude or limited as the physical world I left behind. Instead, it’s because I don’t have the means to fully describe the reality of this life, just as an artist lacks the ability to capture the full magnificence and completeness of a sunset.

In those first moments of observation, I became aware of a significant increase in my ability to see. Just as I struggle to find the words to describe the beauty of the scene before me, I am equally unable to convey the vastness of the landscape that stretched out in all directions. From the foreground to the distant horizon, I could clearly see every detail in the clear and timeless atmosphere of eternity—not just the overall picture but also the individual elements that caught my attention one by one.

Did I say there were plains and streams? It would be more accurate to say that my eyes roamed over vast continents, lush and picturesque, each bordered by proportionate seas and oceans. These oceans were like poetic waves, stripped of all destructive force. Mansions and palaces sparkled brilliantly in the shadowless light, unrestricted in size or design. They were not limited by space, nor were they diminished in beauty or elegance by the need for coarse materials to resist storms or destruction, as earthly structures often are. - What need is there for such limitations in a realm of endless possibilities, a kingdom untouched by storms or decay? Each dwelling was adorned with grand terraces, crescents, gardens, and courtyards, all designed with such magnificence that it might have inspired the dreams of Nimrod, envisioning the grandeur of ancient Babylon.

The spiritual quarries of this place provided materials far beyond anything earthly, casting aside coral, marble, porphyry, and alabaster as too crude.

Instead, the buildings were constructed with precious elements, adorned with intricate mosaics of diamond, sapphire, carbuncle, beryl, pearl, ruby, amethyst, emerald, and countless other gems, with colours and brilliance never seen on earth. The carvings were crafted by sculptors who possessed the fullness of divine inspiration, surpassing even the greatness of Phidias and Michelangelo.

Egypt may have boasted of Thebes and its hundred gates, the luxurious splendour of Memphis, or the rare perfumes of Zoan. But even at the height of its glory, it never imagined such magnificent palaces as these. The Hanging Gardens of Babylon paled in comparison to the horticultural beauty here. The celebrated statues of Apollo, Venus, and Athena revered by the Greeks seemed insignificant in the presence of such grace and perfection. Even the famed Rose of Sharon would appear dull next to the vibrancy of these blossoms, and the sweet incense of Jerusalem was but a faint reflection of the fragrances carried by breezes from trees clothed in perpetual green, untouched by autumn's decay.

The scene was alive with countless people moving about—not rushing with urgency as one might at a stock exchange or racing for a doctor to save a life. There was no anxiety about hidden enemies or fear of a tyrant's wrath. Instead, an air of peace and leisure prevailed, free from the constraints of time or necessity. Tranquility and satisfaction ruled the atmosphere, leaving no room for any form of disturbance.

People of all nationalities mingled freely, without barriers or distinctions. There was no cold formality, no patronizing behaviour, but rather a genuine acknowledgment that everyone contributed to the happiness of others. Each person’s presence added to the collective joy, creating a sense of unity where the company of all was essential for perfect bliss.

It was a sacred and uplifting sight to behold, and again and again, I found myself wondering: what was the extraordinary force that infused this place with such a sense of holiness and peace? I could not answer until a gentle breeze passed by, softly whispering its truth.

"They rest from their labour today –It’s the calm after the storm has passed; They’re reuniting with friends they missed, those they thought were lost forever.

It’s the peace of reunion that crowns them, though their eyes are still wet from sorrow. They’ve met and are resting today, and no tomorrow will ever follow."

Tears welled up in my eyes, and I bowed my head in gratitude for this revelation. Turning to my companion, I asked, "What is this place?"

"This is the Mount of God, one of heaven’s vestibules," he replied.

"If this is just a vestibule, what must the glory of the inner temple be?"

"I cannot say," he answered humbly, but his voice carried such a deep and heartfelt longing that it stirred my soul.

Even now, the echoes of that longing still resonate within me.

"Are there other entrances to this life from the earth besides this one?" I asked.

"Yes, many," he replied.

"And are they all as wonderful as this?"

"Yes, they are," he said.

"They could all rightly be called vestibules of rapture," I added. "But there’s something here that surprises me greatly."

"And what is that, my brother?" he asked.

"To see that each nationality retains its unique features and characteristics here surprises me," I said.

"The mistaken belief that this wouldn’t be the case is very common on earth," he replied, "but it shouldn’t be—especially among those who claim to study the Bible as thoroughly as your country does.

Didn’t John describe in one of his visions seeing ‘a great multitude that no one could count, from every nation, tribe, people, and language’? Since colour and physical features would have been the only visible distinctions for him, why are you surprised to find his vision confirmed here?"

He smiled at my embarrassment as the broader and more literal meaning of the vision began to sink in. It revealed a truth I had previously overlooked. Then he continued: "These misunderstandings come from the inconsistent ways people interpret their sacred texts. Fact and metaphor, parable and history are often mixed together to support minor points, until many people can no longer distinguish one from the other. On top of that, undue emphasis on isolated passages, without considering their context, has left most people unable to grasp the plain teachings of the books they hold in such superstitious regard.

"I noticed your surprise earlier when I mentioned that Myhanene is a ruler here. You looked at me with disbelief, as if I had said something blasphemous."

"That’s because I had no idea there could be any authority here other than God," I replied.

"There is no other authority here but God," he explained, "but His power is exercised through appointed ministers. If you read your Bible with the same thoughtful approach you’d give any other book, you’d already be prepared for this. In the parable of the talents, Jesus clearly explained that faithful servants would be made rulers over two, five, or ten cities. He promised His disciples they would sit as judges, and His followers anticipate the time when they will reign with Him. So why should it surprise you to find that what He said is true, and that such positions of authority exist here?

"Another common misunderstanding concerns the nature of this land and how we live here. Jesus assured His disciples that there are many mansions in His Father’s house. Ezekiel and John saw a city, and pilgrims are reminded that they have no permanent city on earth but are to seek one to come, whose builder and maker is God. Congregations often sing about Jerusalem:

When shall these eyes Thine heaven-built walls and pearly gates behold, Thy bulwarks with salvation strong and streets of shining gold?

"They talk of meeting each other at the fountain, imagine sweet reunions while reclining on green and flowery banks or resting beneath the tree of life’s shade, and dream about the glory that will be theirs when they gather at the river. They picture themselves standing among the countless company, each wearing a golden crown, holding the victor’s palm, or playing harps more melodious than David’s. Yet, if anyone told them these things truly exist here, they’d be deeply offended, accuse you of blasphemy, and claim you’re making heaven as materialistic as earth.

"Their only idea of this life is that we endlessly fly around in a cloudless sky singing ‘Glory! Glory! Glory!’ without even a single cloud to rest on. And somehow, they call that eternal rest. But for now, I must leave you here at this grove.

When our friend Cushna arrives, he will show you many things that will interest and teach you."

As he spoke, we walked back toward a beautiful grove of trees. He gestured toward it, indicating that my new guide would be coming from that direction.

“I’m very thankful for all the knowledge you’ve shared with me,” I said as he embraced me warmly, preparing to leave. “But may I ask one more question before you go?”

“Of course,” he replied.

“Can you explain why I was able to rise so far above my current state to see all that you’ve shown me, while that poor woman was forced to return until she found her rightful place?”

“Yes,” he answered. “Messengers or teachers have the ability and permission to share their strength with those they guide, allowing them to temporarily ascend to higher levels and glimpse the wonders that lie ahead.

This experience inspires new desires and encourages further progress. The point where we turned back was the limit of what I could help you reach, but it was high enough for you to understand how love works to lift the entire community closer to God.”

With that, he wished me well until we met again. Then, in a flash like lightning, he departed, leaving me alone once more—but my heart was filled with joy.