Through The Mists. Translated into Simplified “Modern English”. Chapter Six. A Magnetic Chorale.

As we walked, I noticed the chime of bells ringing in the distance, and at the same time, I felt an irresistible pull, a growing fascination that seemed to take control of me. The feeling intensified until it seemed like an invisible but undeniable force was urging me forward, compelling me to respond to the invitation carried by those melodic tones, which seemed to echo far and wide. I couldn’t understand what this force was or how it had such power over me, and even now, with a better understanding of this new life, I still cannot fully explain it.

The sensation was entirely new, captivating, and impossible to put into words. It seemed to flow through my entire being, influencing me from both within and without.

I realized it wasn’t just because I newly arrived here—my guide appeared to be under the same spell as I was. Somehow, I interpreted the sound of the bells as a plea for help, one that I felt uniquely called to answer, though I had no idea why. I felt sure that delaying would be wrong, even though I had no particular desire to rush. Yet I kept wondering: why me? Why was I being drawn to this call when I knew so little about my surroundings? Why weren’t others being summoned as well?

As these thoughts ran through my mind, I looked at the faces of those around me and realized they, too, were moving under the same mysterious influence. This discovery only heightened my curiosity and filled me with anticipation about what we might find or learn.

My guide noticed my confusion and, likely, understood it fully. When I turned to ask him for an explanation, he simply smiled, and I found myself unable to speak. So, we continued forward, bound by the same compelling force, following the strange magnetic pull of those ringing bells.

Soon, I experienced a new sense of delight as I began to catch glimpses of a magnificent building through the trees, steadily coming into clearer view as we approached. Until now, I had only seen such places from afar when gazing across the endless landscape under Eusemos’s guidance. But now it was evident that I was about to closely examine one of the homes of paradise. A wave of excitement ran through me as I found myself wondering, “Could this be my home?” Almost instantly, I answered my own question with a quiet “no,” though I could not explain how I knew this. It must have been through that natural, unerring sense of revelation that is an intrinsic part of our being in this life. With that thought, I stopped speculating about its ownership and instead prepared to appreciate its character as soon as I could explore it more fully.

As we reached the open plain, where this magnificent structure sat at its center like a crowning jewel, I instinctively recognized it as the Home of Rest—the very sanctuary whose grounds had hosted my refreshing, rejuvenating sleep.

Just as the face of a man reveals hints of his nature and personality, so too did the shape and presence of this building immediately declare its purpose. At a single glance, I knew it to be a haven of peace, a fortress of rest, and a sanctuary of joy for every soul drawn to it.

Its stately and unpretentious grandeur gave the impression that its foundation was laid deep within the eternal calm of God’s omnipotence. Its structure, pure and untarnished, seemed as timeless and unchanging as the infinite love of its divine creator. Every stone and feature of the building seemed alive with the spirit of mercy and forgiveness that permeated its surroundings. As I stood gazing at it, I felt as though I had, in some way, uncovered the mystery behind the powerful pull that had drawn me to this remarkable place.

The emotions it evoked in me—reverence, gratitude, worship, and awe—felt like sentinels standing guard at the four stately towers that marked the ends of its grand porticoes, as if protecting the sacred peace and sanctity within.

The part of the building visible from where we stood left me in awe, marveling at its beauty. It was undoubtedly a massive hall, shaped like an amphitheater. On three sides, spacious piazzas extended in perfect symmetry, forming a square, with four towers standing at each corner, serving as entrances to the hall. The architectural style was a stunning blend of designs. The Corinthian columns supporting the porticoes appeared to be made of a material closer to ivory than marble. They rested on pink alabaster plinths, massive enough to anchor pyramids, but unlike the blank surfaces of Egyptian designs, these plinths were adorned with exquisite bas-reliefs, reminiscent of the intricate carving's beloved by the Greeks.

The pediments above served as galleries displaying groups of statues, where the recovering souls within the home could contemplate and learn more about the life they had entered. In the self-illuminated atmosphere, which allowed no shadows to form, the walls of the hall seemed to be built from stone in soft, variable shades of green.

Later, I discovered this effect was created by an intricate screen of carved and perforated marble, draped around the hall like a delicate lace curtain. Through this screen, the foliage of a grand vine was visible, adding a natural touch to the architectural elegance.

The towers soared to impressive heights, each capped with minarets that gleamed like polished silver, from which the bells sent forth their harmonious chimes. Crowning the hall was a majestic dome, perfectly completing the structure’s design and serving to illuminate the interior with natural light.

Once again, I was struck by the perfect harmony of every element in this scene. Art and nature were seamlessly intertwined to amplify each other’s beauty. The garden-like plain, adorned with flowers and shrubs, would have felt incomplete without the presence of that magnificent structure. Similarly, the hall itself seemed to need the vibrant, flower-strewn lawn as its setting to fully display its unmatched splendour. Together, they enhanced each other, while the movements of the countless people present added life and balance to the overall harmony.

Cushna moved forward, and I, captivated by the scene and curious about what would come next, followed him almost instinctively. It wasn’t until a little later that I realized he wasn’t leading me to any of the entrances visible to me. For a moment, I hesitated, as everything within me longed to enter that magnificent place, and I doubted whether he might be taking me somewhere else. Sensing my hesitation, he seemed not at all displeased but instead reassured me that we were indeed about to enter. He guided me to the main part of the building, which had been hidden from my view, and which served as the temporary lodging for those staying at this haven for rest and recovery.

Just then, the bells stopped ringing, and I felt relieved as Cushna, without pausing to show me the many rooms opening in every direction, gestured for me to follow him along a corridor leading toward the hall. At the end of the corridor, he drew aside a beautifully embroidered curtain, and we stepped into what could only be described as the arena itself.

How can I describe the sight before me? It was a vast expanse filled with faces—a mountain of faces surrounding me on all sides, set against an atmosphere of absolute peace. I knew instinctively that I had arrived at some kind of goal; the uncertainty I had felt before now seemed to lie behind me. For the moment, I felt content. I took a deep breath, relieved, though I couldn’t quite name what I had accomplished. Still, my heart was full of joy.

The floor of the immense arena was carpeted with flowers, dotted with lounges made of different types of aromatic mosses, as soft and comforting as air itself. Each lounge was designed to produce its own specific magnetic effect. Cushna pointed out the various fragrances emanating from them and invited me to lie on one to test its comfort. I did so, and he briefly explained that magnetism is the source of strength and nourishment for the spiritual body.

Then, Cushna led me to a vacant seat and left me in the care of a friend, who he said would interpret the upcoming chorale for me.

The great hall was quickly filling with people. Tier upon tier of seats rose above one another, forming a vast sea of faces, and on each face was written happiness, as if it were etched there in living characters. Streams of people flowed in steadily from each of the four entrances, and they continued to enter until every seat in the hall was taken, save for one—reserved for the very last person to arrive.

The robes worn by the crowd were of many colours, but only light and soft shades, making the overall scene as vibrant as it was harmonious. The lower seats were occupied by children, dressed in pure white or in robes of the softest, most delicate colours imaginable. Some were so young that I marvelled at how they could remain so calm and orderly in such a large gathering.

Behind the children, thousands of young men and women were arranged in a pattern I couldn’t comprehend. Above them were women, even more numerous, and finally, rank upon rank of men filled the outermost edges of the wide circle.

Every nation on earth was represented in this vast gathering, and each person’s unique features contributed to the harmonious balance of the scene. Yet the most beautiful thought of all was that every voice in this multitude would say, "Our Father," to the same God, and every heart would feel they were part of one family.

There was no longer a sense of exclusivity or division. The Jew felt no superiority from being chosen, and the Gentile no longer harboured hatred. The Brahmin’s caste restrictions had dissolved, the Arab’s hand was no longer against his brother, the Hindu woman had removed her veil, and the Mohammedan had set aside his bigotry. Greeks and Romans no longer remembered their feuds, the Zulu carried no spear, the Native American had no tomahawk, and the Christian had sheathed his sword. Roman Catholics and Protestants preferred one another’s company, Episcopalians no longer clung to claims of apostolic succession, and narrow-minded sectarians sat peacefully beside former atheists they once condemned to eternal fire.

In such a gathering, united by this deep bond of love and brotherhood, I felt as though I was standing just outside the very heart of heaven.

Was it the company around me that inspired this train of thought? I couldn’t say, and perhaps I never will know. Yet these reflections eventually formed into an unplanned symphony in my mind, leading to the unforgettable chorale that was about to begin. I had barely reached the end of my musings when the keynote sounded.

Along with everyone around me, I lifted my eyes to the dome, where a dove of indescribable brilliance hovered with its wings outstretched, as though it had paused to catch its breath from swift flight. In its beak, it carried something that shimmered and radiated a glory so dazzling that it outshone even the brilliance of the dove itself, adding to the sacred light filling the hall.

With one unified motion, and without a single sound, the thousands gathered rose and bowed their heads in reverent adoration.

As silence deepened into a profound stillness so intense it seemed almost audible to the soul, the jewel fluttered briefly in the air, glowing with a divine energy. Then, like a streak of lightning vanishing into the distance, the dove disappeared, leaving the hall bathed in its radiance.

Steadily, like a bubble floating on a calm breeze, that brilliant sphere descended, glowing more brightly as it expanded. Slowly, it drifted downward into the center of the vast assembly of worshippers. I watched with held breath, wondering how deeply its awe-inspiring presence would resonate within us. At last, with a soft, chiming burst, it released a shimmering crystal spray that touched every head in the audience. This spray lingered throughout the service, like a radiant blessing sent by God to shine upon His gathered children.

The gentle echoes of that soft burst lingered in the air as the immense gathering quietly took their seats, each bearing the luminous mark of their Father's presence, who was there to hear and respond to their prayers.

A silence of seven beats followed. Then the opening strains of the first chorus began. The theme started with a delicate, pianissimo melody, carried in perfect unison by male energies—yet no audible sound was made throughout the chorale. I looked closer and saw crimson rays emanating from the men’s heads, shooting towards the dome's center. These rays blended and formed circles of various sizes, which began to spin and move within the vast space. The spinning of these circles created vibrations, producing tones that rose and fell in pitch depending on their size and speed.

The resulting harmony was like the distant, muffled music of ocean waves rolling onto a faraway shore. The melody was so exquisitely sweet that adding words would have diminished its beauty. As I listened, deeply moved by the sacred harmony, its most striking feature was the perfect unity it reflected—a seamless blend of so many nations, religions, and languages. In that moment, I felt heaven had achieved a triumphant feat: setting the immortal words of Israel’s psalmist to such divine music.

And I realized I was witnessing a celestial declaration of the verse, “Behold, how good and how pleasant it is for brethren to dwell together in unity!”

The invitation had been delivered, and once the range of their harmonies had been fully expressed, the spinning circles of light came to a halt. They merged, embraced, and then spread out as a radiant canopy across the dome. Following this came a duet of offerings from the youths and maidens, their blue and amber tones rising in a gradual crescendo. The flowing blue soprano and curving amber contralto created sweet echoes as they sang: "It is like the precious ointment upon the head, that ran down upon the beard—even Aaron’s beard—that went down to the skirts of his garment."

At this point, the women joined in, adding the rose-colored pulses of a second soprano to create a swelling trio, declaring: "As the dew of Hermon, and as the dew that descended upon the mountains of Zion." Then the full chorus entered, with a thousand children contributing the brilliance of their pure, untinted tones.

The canopy of circles re-formed above, adding a profound depth to the symphony.

The sound was like a choir of angels singing, accompanied by the rumble of distant thunder, with the deep resonance of heaven itself providing a bass to the orchestra of the ocean’s eternal roll. All harmonies—above, below, and all around—joined together in a universal affirmation: "For there the Lord commanded His blessing, even life forevermore."

The chorus rose around us with such majestic strength and intensity that every colour seemed to echo its response, amplifying the beauty and filling the hall with a fragrant aura of thanksgiving. As the final note of the last bar sounded, the combined hues created a sweet harmony of shades, which gathered over the arena before ascending as an offering of gratitude for our father’s love.

The prismatic cloud had barely cleared the dome when an even sweeter chord of music reached our ears.

I realized that the jewelled crowns on our heads were chiming softly, resonating with the divine acceptance and Amen of God.

At the center of the arena, Cushna was directing the ceremony. He was surrounded by a group of young men and women who moved with graceful precision, their steps aligned with the rhythm of the music as if enacting a mystical dance. When I inquired about their purpose, I was informed that this chorus served as an introduction to the ceremony. Its role was to create a specific magnetic atmosphere, preparing the arena for the patients to enter.

As I looked closer, following my guide’s suggestion, I saw that not all the magnetism generated by the chorus had ascended. Some of it lingered, distilled into an almost imperceptible presence that filled the arena. It wasn’t a cloud in the ordinary sense—something fleeting and weightless carried by air currents. Instead, it had a substance and presence, through which the attendants moved freely, like swimmers gliding through water. Yet it seemed to offer no resistance.

The best metaphor I could find to describe it was this: it resembled the ghostly image of a lake, paused in its eternal motion to allow mortal souls to bathe in its essence, cleansing themselves of the last remnants of their earthly burdens.

My attention was then drawn to a man entering the hall from the same corridor through which I had come. He was tall and imposing, dressed in a robe of shimmering electric grey with a flowing blue mantle lined with amber and richly embroidered from the waist down. His appearance—his face, complexion, and demeanour—evoked the image of an Arab sheik, but without the pride often associated with such figures. Instead, he radiated calm humility.

He wore six circlets—around his head, waist, wrists, and ankles—crafted from a mysterious amalgam and set with radiant gemstones that emitted soft rays of light. These glowing bands created halos around him, giving him an aura of mysterious and profound power.

As he stepped into the arena, a radiant flash of welcome swept through the vast assembly.

He cast his gaze around the hall, much like a seasoned conductor inspecting his orchestra before giving the signal to begin. Once he reached the spot where Cushna was waiting, he gave a simple bow of his head, prompting the attendants to turn and quietly leave the hall through the passage he had entered.

I seized the moment to ask, "Who is this?"

"Siamedes," Cushna replied, "the magnetic adept who will lead the chorale."

"An Oriental, I assume?" I added.

"Assyrian," Cushna clarified.

There was no time for further discussion. No sooner had Cushna spoken than Siamedes raised his hand, signalling the crowd to attention. His hand paused momentarily, enveloped by a luminous sea-green glow, before making a sweeping motion to trace a circle in the air, throwing a radiant halo above him.

He paused briefly, then repeated the motion, and again, each sweep adding another expanding circle to the growing display. The intervals between each motion were no more than a single pulse, but they were enough for each halo to shift into a new colour, producing a sequence of tones, like a bugle call summoning his assembly to march forward.

The call had barely faded when an exuberant response filled the air. It was a triumphant, martial strain, and one could almost imagine hearing the rhythmic and measured steps of an approaching army, moving with confidence and strength toward certain victory. The soft crescendo gained in intensity and grandeur as each successive wave of magnetism rose and merged into the space above us. Unlike the earlier chorus, where the movements had been marked by circles, curves, and flashes, this new harmony emerged as a vapor-like melody, blending seamlessly to form the unique and majestic strains of this new theme.

Waves of primrose and blue met and merged, forming the harmonious life-chord for which they had been created, then evolved into the vibrant green of hope. Clouds of crimson strength emanating from the men entwined with the pure white love of the children, nurturing tones of deep sympathy; as they surrendered to one another, they united in the soft pink hue of charity. Shades of brown and rose, mauve and cerise, auburn and grey, green and gold flowed over and embraced each other, swirling in perfect harmony to create the precise notes required. With each achieved note, they released the essence of their purpose, adding to the music the fragrance of duty fulfilled. The air grew dense with these fragrant melodies, each shifting in volume and tone with every new chord and combination.

Eventually, the hall seemed completely saturated—perfume pressing upon colour, colour blending with sound—yet the grand symphony of life felt only halfway complete.

The adept raised his hand once more, sweeping it through the air, scattering variegated sparks of electric brilliance into the translucent clouds above us. These sparks, like jewels catching the sunlight, flashed vividly. For a brief moment, everything paused as the collective magnetism of the gathered host transformed the very atmosphere, blending sound, scent, and colour into an even more enchanting display. Then, from the crown of Siamedes' head, a rainbow-like signal burst forth, and the music gradually faded. Yet the fragrance, light, and vivid colours lingered, enriching the scene.

As this celestial performance unfolded, the attendants began bringing in the patients. Each act of care was performed with the utmost tenderness, as though these individuals—though lying in unconscious repose—were enduring immense pain. Cushna meticulously directed the placement and arrangement of every couch, showing such profound care, it seemed as though he was exhausting every effort to ease their suffering. When the final patient had been placed upon their couch, a signal was given, and the music came to a close.

At this moment, the hall resembled a sea of vibrant, shifting colours—a magical and unmatched sea, it’s still depths glowing with the light of countless fairy-like lamps. Within this radiant expanse lay a vast gathering of people, immersed in joy and peaceful contentment. And rightly so, for here, in this wondrous environment, life itself was being renewed, enriched, and invigorated. The energies filling the space were at rest, working quietly to bathe the sleeping patients in the fullness of life, restoring and re-rooting their existence, which had been worn thin by the disasters and struggles of their past experiences.

The Assyrian, with his trained eye, carefully observed the progress of each patient. He watched as their bodies absorbed and assimilated the vital forces surrounding them, and as signs of returning strength began to emerge. Once the desired transformation was evident, he made a grand and confident gesture, throwing his mantle back across his shoulders like a sovereign asserting his command.

Raising his arms, he waved them with the authority of a king wielding his sceptre, as if certain that his silent decree would be followed.

The effect was extraordinary. The mystical energies within the hall seemed to come alive with intelligence, instantly responding to his signal. By some unknown and mysterious law, the swirling colours began to separate, each assuming its own unique form. Some transformed into vibrant fruit and delicate flowers; others were woven into luxurious fabrics resembling silk, satin, or plush velvet. These fabrics draped gracefully along the walls, further adorned with intricate patterns and embroidered borders encrusted with sparkling gems. The jewels glimmered brilliantly, adding to the splendour of the scene.

Other colours were crafted into triumphant banners and symbols, which were used to decorate the dome, the arena, and the seating areas. The contributions of the children were transformed into pure white lace, delicately arranged into festoons and valances, completing the magnificent decorations.

By the simple yet commanding will of the Assyrian, the entire hall was transformed into a space fit for a grand celebration, as if in preparation for a thanksgiving or a joyous homecoming to honour the return of a beloved leader or exiled king.

As he lifted his hands to heaven, every knee around him bent in reverence. I was aware of this, though my gaze remained fixed on him—a figure resembling a gladiator preparing for a battle, certain of victory even if his opponent were death itself. Yet, there was no arrogance in him, no pride. His commanding presence, the strength in his frame, and the perfection of his form seemed forgotten, overshadowed by the simplicity and purity of a child-like heart as he stood before God.

His thoughts rose heavenward, like bolts of lightning launched from the earth towards the sun, pure and untainted by any shadow of imperfection. They reached out to the Great Supreme, whose presence admits only unsullied purity. Was there a tremor in the initial flight of those thoughts?

I cannot say, but if so, it would have been born of the immense earnestness of the soul pouring itself out in that moment. Though he spoke no words, the silver-like harmony of his prayer seemed to reveal the longing of his heart:

"Yours, O Lord, is the greatness, the power, the glory, the victory, and the majesty; all that is in the heavens and the earth belongs to You. Yours are all kingdoms, O Lord, and You are exalted as head over all. Both riches and honour come from You, and in Your hand is power and might; in Your hand, it is to make great and to give strength to all. Now, therefore, O Father, we thank You and praise Your glorious name."

His prayer was complete. There was no plea or petition—his unwavering faith and confidence made such requests unnecessary. The presence of the gathered multitude around him, unified in their purpose, was a more eloquent and profound plea than any words could express. God desires no excess, no embellishments. He stood as a representative of the many, chosen to challenge and defeat a longstanding wrong.

Stripped of all distractions, he laid his tools of battle at the feet of the One for whom he was about to fight, giving thanks for the gift of such victorious weapons and waiting patiently for the divine signal to act. His mission was to shatter the chains of bondage and deliver freedom to the oppressed, and the assurance of victory glimmered in his steady, unwavering eyes.

His gaze remained fixed upon the dome above, certain the response would not delay. When it came, he would be ready to receive it. A deeper silence fell over the assembly, profound and sacred. Then, as if from heaven itself, a mantle of light and glory descended, wrapping him in radiant brilliance—a visible manifestation of the power and presence of God.

No need to wait when clothed with such authority and purpose. He approached a couch where a young woman lay, her body deformed almost beyond recognition as human. Her figure was constrained by devices affixed to nearly every part of her body—not to support or help her, but seemingly to torture and force her into twisted, unnatural shapes.

Her eyes had been deliberately adjusted to impair her sight, and her limbs were so tightly bound and malformed that independent movement was impossible.

It’s important to clarify that this deformity was spiritual in nature. At the time, I was astonished by this realization, which was later confirmed through more extensive experience. I discovered that when an inquisitive mind is forcefully restrained by rigid, dogmatic teachings—meant to confine its exploration—it leaves the soul disfigured, as tangibly and visibly as if physical surgical devices had been used to create such grotesque forms. In His infinite mercy, the Great Father has devised this process of restoration to immediately heal and liberate such oppressed and struggling souls. Through this method, they are restored to their natural, intended state and can begin their eternal life free from the burdens and limitations that held them back on earth.

Please do not think that I am indulging in fanciful storytelling, inventing situations or imagery to dramatize my account. Truth is far stranger than any fiction the human mind could create.

In sharing this, I am content to simply describe the facts of God’s eternal laws as I have encountered them—and as you too will one day experience.

My descriptions might jar your senses with their seemingly crude materiality or even shock you by appearing to clash with your cherished views of what this life might be. For this, I take no responsibility. My goal is merely to translate into the limited and often inadequate vocabulary of earth some small glimpse of the realities and truths found in the beauty and harmony of this afterlife. If my words result in an imperfect, awkward attempt that feels clumsy or fails to match your expectations, do not blame me. My only aim is to present a rough outline of what the full picture might be if I had the means to describe it more fully. Rest assured, that outline is faithful and accurate, as you yourself will discover when the time comes.

If you wish to interpret my account spiritually rather than physically, to better understand the truths as I have seen them, allow me to offer one suggestion that will eliminate much of your confusion: Death changes one thing, and it is this:

In the process of death, everything changes except for you. The old-world fades away, and everything becomes new, but your essence remains the same, unaltered. It is as though one world exits, and another enters onto the stage of your life. This transformation happens instantly, as if by the wave of Death's wand. The material world disappears, "like the baseless fabric of a vision," leaving only a faint, shadowy trace that must be actively sought and can only be dimly perceived by the new state you inhabit. Meanwhile, the eternal world, on whose shores you now stand, bursts into vivid, solid reality. It has unshakable foundations rooted deep in infinity, and its inhabitants have moved beyond the struggles of mortal birth into the fullness of immortality.

Keep this in mind as you read and view the following pages with this perspective.

Then you will understand why I have not hesitated to use language—however inadequate—that conveys the idea that the scenes I describe are, to me, as real and tangible as the earth appears to you now.

Consider one more thought, which offers insight and reflection: Parental misconduct, immorality, ignorance, accidents, and countless other prenatal influences can cause physical and mental deformities in a child. Why, then, is it illogical to suggest that spiritual errors, unnatural beliefs, and rigid restrictions could similarly result in deformities of the soul when it is finally freed from the body in which it was shaped? Whether or not this reasoning satisfies you, the fact remains true. The time is coming soon when you will recognize this reality and appreciate the justice of the laws governing it.

Do not be deceived: the diseases of the soul caused by personal sin are only healed through slow and often painful processes.

However, the unavoidable defects caused by others' actions or circumstances are quickly corrected through restorative means like the chorales I have described.

But let us return to where I left off.

I watched the Assyrian closely as he worked to remove the cruel restraints from the young woman. At first, I doubted the purpose of his efforts, as she seemed barely alive. When she began to show signs of feeling the pain caused by the restrictions, I still thought it might be kinder to leave her undisturbed rather than risk prolonging her suffering. In my moment of sympathy, I forgot that death was no longer possible here—death itself no longer existed.

With a tenderness beyond that of a mother caring for a sick child, the Assyrian delicately removed each bond, one by one. He worked gently and carefully until the last restraint was gone, and she lay completely free. She seemed to sense this newfound freedom and instinctively tried to move. With noticeable success, she turned, stretched her arms, and yawned.

Realizing that all restraints had been removed, she fully straightened her body on the couch. Then, as if relieved from the grip of a terrible nightmare, she rolled over and immediately fell into a deep, peaceful sleep. It was the natural reaction of someone who, after escaping a troubled dream, instinctively sinks back into rest without becoming fully awake.

Siamedes observed her every movement with deep interest and compassion. His satisfaction was evident as he saw her finally at ease, enjoying the rest she had long been denied. Once she settled into her peaceful slumber, he turned to attend to the next case.

My attention was completely focused on the one individual being treated. Since the further work of freeing others seemed to follow a similar pattern, I decided it was the right moment to ask for some clarification. I turned to my companion and asked:

"Can you explain what these bonds are and how such deformities can exist here?"

He responded, "I can understand why this process seems so astonishing to you. Until you become familiar with the laws and nature of this life, such things will naturally be puzzling. Here, you will come to realize how closely this existence follows the life you have left behind. Hypocrisy, pretense, and deceit—all those masks that people wear—are stripped away as one passes through the mists. The true self, whether noble or flawed, is revealed for all to see and understand. No deformity, whether caused by one's own actions or the negligence and wrongdoing of others, can remain hidden here. Everything is fully known.

"To the experienced eyes of Siamedes, Cushna, and many other ministers engaged in this sacred work, the origin and cause of every deformity are instantly apparent. By an unchanging and unavoidable law, the consequences of every wrongdoing fall squarely upon the one responsible. This reflects a divine balance—a just retribution for the actions taken in the physical world. It is a dangerous misconception to believe that death erases all distinctions or begins life anew with a clean slate.

Life here is merely a continuation of the one left behind. Entering this realm is like turning the page to start a new chapter in the same story. The plot and the events remain consistent."

"In this process, the mistakes of the past are corrected, overdue accounts must be settled, and those who have unjustly suffered receive their rightful compensation. Here, men are weighed on the scales of God's justice, judged by an infallible appraiser whose verdict is fair and unquestionable, except through repentance. There is no bribery or corruption here; everything is genuine and transparent, and all people and things are exactly as they appear to be.

"The restrictions binding these individuals were imposed against their better judgment. They lacked the power to overcome the opposing forces in their lives and became victims of circumstances, spending their days in a burdensome bondage, controlled by systems and traditions they were powerless to defy.

If they had willingly conformed to tradition and dogma, blindly following where others led, and suppressed their right to think and question, they would have diminished their souls to fit the mold, eliminating the need for such restraints. But they recognized the divine voice within themselves and refused to silence it, despite its call to higher, nobler duties for the good of humanity.

"Their prophetic words posed a threat to certain interests, so they were silenced. Their vision of future hope and freedom for the oppressed was seen as dangerous, so their sight was distorted to protect the privileges of a select few. The brilliance of their youthful potential foretold greatness, yet church and dogma shackled them, crippling their ability to lead, and forcing their towering spirits into stunted, distorted forms. It was a battle for survival, where noble lives, meant for creation and liberation, were hindered and perverted by prejudice and bigotry. Instead of fulfilling their purpose and spreading blessings to others, they were forced to struggle just to exist.

What we see before us are the wrecks of those lives—wasted opportunities, wasted talents, and wasted souls. For all of this, those responsible must face judgment.

"Guilt must be justly punished, while the victims' excess suffering must be compensated. We are not involved in the punishment—that is handled by the natural law of this life, which ensures that every guilty soul reaps the consequences of their actions. Our role is to contribute to the compensation. Justice requires that these bonds be removed immediately, and that life and strength be poured into these sufferers. We are here to help rebuild and restore their souls until they reach the full potential for which they were created, the purpose they longed and fought for but were denied by their oppressors' actions."

"But where do we find mercy and forgiveness in the application of such strict justice?" I asked.

"Every attribute of God has its proper role," he answered.

"The perfect balance and operation of each one in its rightful place are essential to maintaining God's infinite wisdom and perfection. It is impossible for one attribute to take over the function of another. Imagine, for instance, if mercy were allowed to override justice in even one situation. The result would be an act of injustice because showing mercy to the offender would be unfair to the one who was wronged—unless you also extend mercy to the victim. If you take this idea further, you will eventually eliminate justice entirely in Favour of mercy. In that case, punishment and retribution would cease to exist, laws would lose their power, and sin, unrestrained by fear or consequence, would run rampant.

"But when we observe the way God’s attributes work in harmony, according to His divine plan, we see the infinite wisdom in their design and purpose for humanity's growth. Consider the attributes you mentioned—mercy, justice, and forgiveness. Mercy is exercised on earth, where patience, forbearance, and long-suffering are crucial during the early stages of a soul's development.

Imagine the chaos and tragedy that would result if flawless justice were immediately applied at that point in a soul’s existence. Would there even be a chance for immortality to follow?

"On earth, a person begins life with little awareness of where they come from or where they are going. They are inexperienced, testing their abilities, often failing and making mistakes. They learn through trial and error, gradually understanding the laws that govern their growth. They struggle with doubts—unsure whether even their most natural desires are right to pursue—and fear the forces around them. They face a world of mysteries, including their own existence. Under such circumstances, how many times would humanity have been wiped out if perfect justice had been applied to every violation of the law? Justice is as flawless as the One who created it, but its role is not to act prematurely, without the preparation and education that mercy provides."

"No! This attribute cannot be applied to such an undeveloped condition; what person could seriously believe otherwise?

Isn’t the absence of justice on earth so obvious that some use it as an argument against the existence of God? It has even become a proverb among nations that ‘Villainy is the heir to Fortune, but Honesty marries Miss.’ Oppression, tyranny, and persecution are widespread, and the motto ‘Might is Right’ seems to rule both politics and religion. The affluent and wealthy are revered by society, while the poor and needy are treated as burdens. Is this just? You may ask me, and I would reply a thousand times, no! But even humanity’s injustice is not powerful enough to force God to alter His plan, to replace Mercy with Justice on earth.

"This pervasive wrong is obvious, and humanity has gained enough understanding to recognize it as such. Yet God is patient, allowing the oppressor time to redeem themselves before being called to judgment. Mercy continues to plead as long as there is hope for restitution. But when the law finally intervenes, the matter is transferred from Mercy’s court to Justice’s.

The mists separating this life from the one before form the threshold of the hall of judgment, and every soul must cross it to receive a righteous verdict before entering here. Mercy cannot follow beyond that boundary. There, the soul stands alone before an infallible tribunal, becoming its own witness and judge. Its life’s deeds pass sentence upon it, with no possibility of appeal."

"But what about forgiveness?" I asked.

"Forgiveness comes afterward," he explained. "The penalties imposed by Justice are for wrongs committed against others. Such sins must be redeemed and are never simply forgiven, as not even God has the authority to pardon offenses committed against someone else. To do so would violate His own law. Once the debt for sins against others has been fully paid, the repentant soul can then seek forgiveness for sins committed against God, which is always freely granted. But first, it is necessary to reconcile with those whom one has wronged, for only those with ‘clean hands and a pure heart’ can ascend to God’s presence, where Christ ensures full remission."

I was silent, surprised by the unexpected explanation of a question that had always troubled me. I realized my instructor wasn’t sharing opinions but stating facts—facts that sharply contrasted with everything I had been taught or believed on earth. These truths carried profound significance for every soul destined to cross the mists. Deep within, I felt an intense longing to find a way to return to earth and reveal these insights to those who were blind and ignorant of such realities. My companion, however, did not leave me long in thought but redirected my attention to what was happening in the arena.

All the bandages and restraints had been removed, leaving the patients free from the bonds that had confined them on earth. The process had begun with the most severe cases, continuing through the rest, so that the restoration of all could happen as simultaneously as possible. I watched intently as the mysterious, ghostly lake into which they had been placed was gradually absorbed, while the withered limbs and distorted bodies expanded and grew,

nourished by that strange essence, until every trace of colour in the atmosphere near the couches was depleted. Then, magnetic rays were drawn from designated individuals, as directed by the Assyrian, to form custom combinations suited to each case. These rays were broken the moment the first traces of colour began to emerge from the sleepers, signifying their individual condition.

Using the same mystical power with which he had created the unique decorations of the hall, Siamedes transformed the flowers, fruits, and banners surrounding the arena and the seating areas. He directed them to envelop the sleepers with the softened influences created by the combinations they had previously formed. The magnetism released by each individual in the crowd had a natural affinity for the corresponding colours now in use, and these colours gathered in billowing waves around the couches. They moved gently over the sleepers, rising and falling in rhythm with the music born from their motions. The melody was sweet and soothing, like a lullaby, and the hushed silence of the vast audience was a fitting backdrop to the comforting hymn of renewal.

"Without any signal or motion from the director, who calmly observed the scene, the melody concluded. Every soul had been nourished and satisfied, and the waves of life that still lingered lifted above our heads, leaving the sleepers ‘beautiful in all the soul’s expansion,’ awaiting nothing but a waking touch to bring them into a new life they were yet unaware of.

The work was complete, the victory achieved; yet the one who led this transformation displayed no pride in his accomplishment, remaining deeply humble. I didn’t need anyone to tell me that the final part of this life-giving chorale was about to begin. But what new wonders would it reveal? Were there yet more magnetic marvels or hidden mysteries to unfold? The miracle of transformation I witnessed in the condition of those sleepers stirred a question within me. Perhaps I had misunderstood my instructor when he said mercy had no place in this life. Turning to him, I pointed at the couches and asked:

‘Isn’t it mercy that has been shown to these souls by liberating them from their suffering?’

‘Not at all,’ he replied.

‘Then by what name do you call it?’

‘Justice,’ he said firmly. ‘Until now, they have been victims of an injustice they couldn’t resist. We have only acted as instruments to end the effects of that wrong and to introduce them to the compensation they are owed. You judge justice based on your earthly impressions. Let me encourage you to let go of those ideas. Justice, when perfectly administered, is simply justness in its purest form—fairness carried to its ultimate completion, with every related circumstance fully considered. Think of it this way, and you will come to appreciate its righteousness—a righteousness with no trace of bias, favouritism, or inconsistency.’

‘Wouldn’t you describe it as justice tempered with mercy?’ I asked."

"No! True justice does not require tempering. You have been conditioned to associate justice with oppression. That may be the case on earth, but it is not so here.

You must understand that for us, justice means strict rightness. If you add mercy to that on behalf of either side, the mixture creates injustice."

I realized that my mistake stemmed from a misunderstanding and misinterpretation of the concept based on earthly perspectives. The momentary shadow that had darkened my newfound understanding dissolved with his explanation, and my heart was lifted once more.

The work was finished. Siamedes raised his hands in gratitude to God, and every knee bent again in reverence as radiant flashes ascended like wings of light. Then, with deep respect, he removed the glowing halo from his shoulders, spreading it into the air to receive waves of praise and adoration. These echoed as a mighty Amen, rising to the father in a burst of glory.

Yet, the assembly remained in perfect silence, growing deeper with every moment.

I understood they were waiting for the benediction that would awaken the sleepers—bringing them into the awareness of the life they had unknowingly entered, the restoration they had undergone, and the incredible reality that death had passed over them. In that passage, the chains that once bound them had fallen away, leaving behind only freedom and vitality.

What an awakening awaited them! It would be a revelation more stunning than even the wonders I had experienced. Where had their consciousness last left them, as they drifted into the fog of forgetfulness? What a vast gulf separated their sleeping from their waking! How would they grasp the reality of this transformation? Could they even believe it to be real, or would it feel like a magical dream, more marvellous than anything they had ever imagined?

This moment of profound suspense gripped me, as I prepared to witness their first steps into the knowledge and realization of immortality. Every sense within me was heightened, eager to observe this extraordinary awakening unfold.

It didn’t take long. The walls before me opened, and from the arc of light crowning the highest point of the path where I stood gazing at the celestial scene, a flood of radiant glory poured into the hall, as if heralding an even greater presence to come. I looked closer and saw a chariot of burnished silver descending along the glowing path—a chariot drawn by four transparent, creamy-white horses, moving with the speed of a hurricane's winds. Before a single moment could pass, the chariot was suddenly in our midst, pausing just long enough for one of its passengers to step out before it turned and disappeared as swiftly as it had arrived. The glowing path then faded, the walls closed, and my attention turned entirely to the stranger who had arrived.

He was a young man, barely more than a youth, yet his presence radiated grace and nobility. The most striking thing about him was the perfect blend of childlike innocence and the wisdom of an old sage. Instantly, I loved him. His presence filled me with confidence and peace, banishing all fear, while at the same time gently cautioning me against presumption.

He embodied a rare harmony of strength and gentleness, like soft down resting on unyielding granite. In him, I saw every trait one might seek in a beloved friend.

From his eyes poured an unending stream of love and patience. His mouth exuded the essence of loyalty and affection. His shoulders were draped in a mantle of humility, and his waist was girded with a belt of unwavering faithfulness. He carried the bearing of a king, but his kingship was one of service, and his greatness had been earned through lifting others who had fallen.

After a brief pause to acknowledge and return the respectful greetings of those around him, he turned to fulfill his purpose. His task was to awaken the sleepers with a kiss—a kiss that would dissolve the seal of their final sleep and bring them into a day that would never end. Gently and with radiant care, he moved from one sleeper to the next, bending over each resting form. His touch seemed to dispel the soothing spell that still enveloped them, awakening them to the breathtaking scene surrounding them.

As their eyes opened, wonder and joy filled their faces. Each soul, newly awakened to life and understanding, was caught in his strong embrace, lifted to their feet, and welcomed into a life of love, healing, and renewal. The moment of recognition was simple and profound—a glance of wonder, followed by a radiant smile of joy. And with that, their transformation was complete.

The audience rose together with one shared emotion and sang another chorus—this time, it was a song of welcome home, answered by a moving doxology from hearts filled with gratitude. The theme, both in its words and music, was so profound that I have since tried in vain to learn or fully comprehend it. With that, the Magnetic Chorale was complete.

As the congregation began to leave, the newly arrived visitor stayed behind, engaged in conversation with the Assyrian. I turned to my companion and asked, “Who is he?”

“Myhanene,” he replied.