Through The Mists. Translated into Simplified “Modern English”. Chapter Thirteen. Two Illustrations.

Soon, we entered a cemetery. I could see the misty monuments standing like grey-cloaked ghosts, guarding the resting places of the dead. A short distance away, I noticed a woman, and at first glance, I knew she was the one we had come for. She stood beside a freshly dug grave, and on top of the mound sat another young woman, her head buried in her hands, weeping. No explanation was needed to tell me that this was one of the grieving friends whose uncontrolled sorrow had pulled this soul back from peace and happiness into an experience I couldn’t yet fully understand.

I was deeply fascinated. This was my first direct lesson in how love has the power to conquer death.

The fine purple threads I had seen earlier were now brighter and stronger, binding their souls even more closely together. I saw constant flashes of sympathy passing between them—fully understood by the one who had crossed over, yet completely unnoticed by the mourner, who was unaware of the connection she longed for.

How I wished I could break the last barrier between them, to see them fall into each other's arms, their grief overcome, and the gulf between them erased. My emotions carried me away, and I was so eager to help that Cushna gently pulled me back, knowing my impatience could ruin what was otherwise within reach. He remained as calm and still as the gravestones around us, showing no trace of emotion. For a moment, I wondered if this was truly the same man who had shown such deep compassion for Marie. Later, I realized his calmness was actually the confidence of experience—every power he had was focused, waiting, and ready to act the moment it was needed.

It was heartbreaking to watch the love of the grieving sister wrap itself around the spirit, despite the spirit’s reluctance to give in to that sorrow. Poor child—her experience could have been so different at that moment if not for the overwhelming weight of her sister’s grief. The pain of this realization was clear in her expression. Her love had not changed, but if only she had been allowed to rest a little longer! If only she had gained more strength or knew how to comfort and help the mourner. But now, she was powerless, forced to witness her sister’s suffering without being able to ease it.

Grief was winning. The invisible bonds pulling them together grew tighter, until they stood side by side. The spirit wrapped an arm around her trembling sister, though it went unnoticed. Lips too heavenly to be felt pressed gentle kisses upon the mourner’s forehead, trying in vain to bring comfort. I marvelled at how such a thin veil could separate them, keeping them apart despite their closeness.

Now, Cushna decided it was time to act.

He made our presence known and encouraged the spirit to speak to her sister—something that, strangely, she had not yet attempted since our arrival. At the sound of his voice, she turned toward him, her face a mix of curiosity and doubt, as if wondering, If she cannot see me, how can she hear me? But Cushna reassured her and promised his help, saying it might be possible to make even the smallest impression. Hope flickered in her eyes, though fear still made her hesitate.

Gently withdrawing her arm, she knelt in front of her grieving sister, gazed into her face, and softly murmured, "Sarah! Dear Sarah!"

Her voice was as gentle and soothing as a summer breeze, and the effect was greater than even Cushna had expected. Sarah lifted her head, her tears stopping for a brief moment. She looked around uncertainly, as if unsure whether her own sorrow had tricked her ears or if she had truly heard something. Love struggled against fear, and doubt battled with longing—until fear and doubt won, and grief took hold of her once more.

But it was progress. Even though Sarah had returned to mourning, something had changed. For just a moment, the tears had stopped. And the spirit—though not yet victorious—was not discouraged.

“Speak again,” Cushna encouraged.

Once more, the soft voice spoke, but this time, it carried even more love and emotion, surely enough to erase any lingering doubt in Sarah’s mind.

"Sarah, dear! Don’t cry; it’s me, Lizzie. I felt your sorrow, and it brought me back from heaven."

This time, the voice was clearer. Before Lizzie even finished speaking, Sarah lifted her head, her tear-filled eyes anxiously searching in every direction. But she saw no one. Where had that voice come from? There was no mistaking it—the old, familiar tone was too well known for her to be imagining it. Yet it had been so soft, almost blending into her own thoughts. Maybe that was the answer. Maybe it was just a trick of memory, making her think she had heard Lizzie’s voice again.

To prevent her from dismissing the truth, Cushna stepped closer, focusing his influence on Sarah’s conflicted mind, while also instructing Lizzie to call her once more.

This time, hope and certainty won. There was no room for doubt—it was Lizzie speaking to her, even though she couldn’t see her.

With a cry of joy, Sarah sprang to her feet and ran home to share the incredible news.

We followed. Lizzie was overjoyed by how completely her attempt had succeeded. Cushna, however, had returned to his usual calm and thoughtful state. As for me, I was overwhelmed, caught in a state of utter confusion.

If what I had just witnessed was real—if it was not just a dream—then death was nothing more than an illusion that would eventually fade away. Christ’s words to Martha, "He that liveth and believeth in me shall never die," were not just a spiritual metaphor but a literal truth.

The barrier between this world and the next was already so thin that even the faintest whisper could pass through and be heard on the other side. Soon, perhaps, it would become a mere veil, so transparent that our forms could be seen as well. And then—then the divide would be torn away, and all would be as it once was.

But I was getting ahead of myself.

The joyful news Sarah carried gave wings to her feet as she rushed home, much like Mary Magdalene bringing word that the stone had been rolled away, and her sister was not dead.

"She spoke to me while I was sitting on her grave!" she cried in wild excitement. "At first, I couldn’t believe it, but she spoke again, called me by my name, and told me she was here! Still, I doubted, but then, for a third time, I heard her—and I knew it was true! She is not dead; she is still with us, even if we cannot see her. She is here! Listen! Listen! And you will hear her just as I did!"

But her overwhelming joy was mistaken for madness. Parents and friends only wept harder, believing that grief over one child’s death had now driven another to insanity.

Lizzie tried in vain to make her presence known. Her soft and gentle voice could not break through the loud, authoritative voices of disbelief. She waited for a quiet moment beside Sarah and spoke again, but if her words were heard, they no longer ignited the same joy. The cold waters of religious dogma had extinguished that newfound hope, at least for now.

Seeing this, Lizzie, too, began to weep. The warmth of connection with the living faded, and earth seemed to withdraw from heaven. A chasm that had been briefly bridged with hope became once more a dark, impassable gulf. The stubborn ignorance of those left behind now had the power to cast a shadow even over the joys of paradise.

Cushna quickly turned his attention to drawing Lizzie away from the house, where the bonds of love had been severed by intolerance.

But in the midst of her sorrow, his pure and selfless devotion reached her. She turned toward his sympathy, and like Marie before her, exhaustion soon replaced her grief.

Cushna sent out a flash of light, calling for assistance. Lizzie was placed in the care of friends who would take her back to Siamedes, where she would sleep once again.

"How long will she sleep this time?" I asked as they departed.

"I cannot say," Cushna replied. "Probably as long as before. The time varies depending on the circumstances."

"Will she come back here again?" I asked.

"That is very possible," Cushna replied. "I have known some friends return three or four times. Others become so entangled in this misguided grief that they remain trapped by it, resisting any effort to pull them away."

"It would have been so different if her sister could have seen her as well as heard her," I suggested.

"Not at all," he countered. "That would only have been taken as further proof of the poor girl’s insanity."

"When we left the grave, I truly believed everything would end happily."

"I never held such hope," Cushna admitted. "Experience has taught me otherwise. I might feel more optimistic if I saw any willingness among mortals to accept the possibility that we have gained knowledge beyond their current understanding. But how can we expect too much from them when they imagine that our only occupations are either endlessly singing ‘Glory, glory, glory’ or suffering in unimaginable torment? They believe they fight the battle while we merely receive the reward. They think they refine wisdom and knowledge while we merely rest from our labours. In their view, we are like dusty old books on the shelves of life’s library—outdated, unreliable as guides, and possibly even dangerous to consult."

"Doesn't this discourage you in your work?" I asked.

"No," he said firmly. "Our understanding of God’s governance assures us that all human misconceptions may delay the truth, but they can never prevent it from prevailing in the end. People place too much importance on their short time on earth, mistakenly believing that everything is decided within those seventy years. They assume that the temporary controls the eternal, the finite rules over the infinite, and the things that are not have authority over the things that are. We know better, and so we can afford to wait if necessary. But that does not mean we underestimate the importance of starting on the right path."

"Isn't that a dangerous idea to spread?" I asked.

"Why would it be dangerous?" Cushna asked. "It is the truth, and I do not fear the consequences of speaking it. If the love of God is not strong enough to draw all people to Him, then suppressing the truth or creating a system of fear will never drive them to Him. When God has already established a plan for salvation, it is pure arrogance for man to assume he can step in to revise or correct it."

"But I shudder to think how some people might live," I replied, "if they knew that the wrongs of life could be set right later."

"That is because you are only considering one side of the truth. Let’s look at it from another angle. Imagine, for a moment, that communication between the two worlds was a recognized fact, and Marie could tell people on earth about her experiences, just as you have heard them. Do you think anyone would still want to nurture the same kind of jealousy that led to her suffering?"

"No!" I admitted. "If they could hear it the way I did, no one would dare to risk facing such consequences."

"Then why fear revealing the whole truth, when it simply reinforces the law of justice— ‘whatever a person sows, they will also reap’—not as a punishment, but as a natural consequence?"

"You're right, Cushna," I admitted. "My earlier thinking was unfair because it was based on ignorance."

"Now," Cushna said, "let me show you a brighter side of our work—one that will restore your hope. You will see the kind of reunion you had hoped for between Lizzie and her sister, but this time, without interference."

Before I could fully express my gratitude, we found ourselves inside a room that felt almost as solid as we did. This puzzled me at first, but I later learned that it was due to the spirituality of the man who used it as his study. The house was a modest working-class dwelling in the southern outskirts of London, built for two families. The room we entered was originally designed as an upstairs kitchen. A simple plate rack had been repurposed as a bookshelf, holding a small collection of books. The furniture consisted of a single armchair, a couch, and a table, at which a man—still in the prime of his life—was sitting, deeply engrossed in reading.

Cushna told me to watch closely and compare the effect of his words to what had happened when Lizzie first tried to speak to her sister.

"James!" he said softly, barely above a whisper.

Immediately, the man lifted his head, looked directly at us with a welcoming smile, and responded, "Oh! Cushna, is that you?"

"Yes! Are you busy?"

"Not if you need me," James replied.

"I want to show my friend here how easily we can speak with you, so I’d like you to write a message for us."

Without hesitation, James set his book aside, reached for paper and pen, and sat ready to write.

In that moment, the excitement of this revelation overtook all my other thoughts. Everything felt so natural that I almost forgot I had crossed into the spirit world. There was no longer a barrier between the two states—no separation, just different aspects of the same reality.

"Perhaps you’d like to dictate the message?" Cushna suggested.

"I would," I admitted, "but this discovery is so overwhelming that I can hardly think."

"Then I will," Cushna said thoughtfully. "Let me see, what shall I say?"

"This seems like the perfect moment for one of your spontaneous messages," James remarked, waiting with his pen poised.

"Alright then, you may title it:

THE PASSAGE OF DEATH

Oh, brothers of earth,

Where the soul has its birth,

Why do you tremble at the thought of the Jordan?

When I fell asleep,

I found that the deep Was only a cloud, not a river.

People say that the tombs hidden in gloom, where demons and devils emerge.

But I passed through that place on my journey’s race,

And I tell you—there is no valley.

They say at the gate, standing in state, an angel is guarding the way.

But I crossed that ground, and no barrier I found,

So, I tell you—there is no gate!

No gate where men fear, no dark valley near, no river to halt your way;

I felt but one chill—Then a hush, all was still,

And I stood on the slopes—through the mist."

There was no hesitation, doubt, or uncertainty from the start to the finish of the message.

The scribe showed no surprise or amazement, writing as calmly as a clerk taking dictation from his employer. In those few minutes, I realized that even if there were no other connection between the two worlds, this one link alone was enough to bind them together permanently. It could grow stronger until all human errors were corrected, and the last rebellious soul on earth answered the Father’s call— “Come.”

When the writing was finished, it was read over and then set aside to be added to a collection of similar messages, which were being received from time to time from members of the large group of spirits who worked with this truly inspired teacher. Once this was done, he asked:

"Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"Not for now."

"Will you be seeing Zangi soon?"

"I can send for him if you need something."

"Let him know that Aylmer isn’t feeling well, and I’d appreciate it if he could check on him."

"What’s wrong?"

"Oh, nothing serious. It’s just an excuse for him to ask for Zangi."

"Tell the child that I’ll inform him right away. God bless you."

I was told that communication with this family had become so natural that several of the children could converse with us almost as easily as their father. Yet, outwardly, they were no different from ordinary people. This privilege was considered sacred and carried great responsibility, so it was never displayed to the public to satisfy idle curiosity. Very few people were even aware of these astonishing experiences, and even fewer were allowed to witness them firsthand.

Some of our friends had even been able to take on a solid physical form in the presence of this family, just as angels had done in ancient times, ministering to medical and other needs.

The deep bond between this young boy—only eight years old—and Zangi came from gratitude. Zangi had instantly healed his dislocated ankle, which the doctor had said would take weeks before he could walk again.

"Cushna!" I exclaimed in amazement. "Will the surprises never end? You talk about all of this as if it were as natural as walking from one street to another."

"It is even more natural than that," he replied, "when we have the foundation of love to work with and a receptive mind that responds when we speak. The one who listens to us will also be heard by us and will receive an answer when he calls. This is the same principle that inspired the prophets of old. What you have seen here is nothing new—it only proves that the old ways and privileges have never truly changed or disappeared.

"I understand that it seems strange and unexpected, but that is only because humanity has drifted away from the truth.

They have exchanged their birthright of direct communication for a meaningless system of religious formalities—not because God has changed, or His divine order has been altered in any way. But the days of this misunderstanding are coming to an end. This is just one of thousands of channels now open between our worlds, and through them, we are constantly working to ‘ring out the false and ring in the true.’"

"No one needs to be told that religion and reason often contradict each other," I replied. "That was the very thing that kept me from joining the church all my life."

“One of the most obvious examples of this contradiction is the position the Church has taken regarding communication with spirits. It is taught as a doctrine of faith that evil spirits have the power to communicate with humans—they can appear to them, speak with them, make agreements with them, and even take control of those who are in harmony with their influence. However, holy men and women who have passed from earth are denied the same power or privilege.

According to this belief, their ability to communicate with the living was revoked long ago because their mission had supposedly ended.

"As soon as you apply reason to this idea, it falls apart—especially when you consider that God’s nature is unchanging, which must always be remembered. This belief portrays God as unfair and cruel, giving His enemies an advantage that He withholds from His own faithful followers. It provides evil forces with greater access to tempt and mislead people while denying guardian spirits the opportunity to guide and protect them. It broadens the road to destruction while blocking one of the most direct paths to truth and life. Yet, at the same time, they continue to say that ‘God is no respecter of persons,’ that ‘He does not desire the death of a sinner,’ and that ‘He will save to the utmost all who come to Him.’ They fail to see that their theology creates a major obstacle for those who genuinely seek to come to Him.”

“But is it really true,” I asked, “that evil spirits have the same ability to communicate as good spirits?”

“If you remember two simple truths,” he replied, “they will help you understand many otherwise confusing mysteries.

"First, no soul is forced into any condition against its will. You have already seen examples of this. Every soul is free to make its own choices, and naturally, they are drawn to whatever aligns with their nature.

"On earth, sheep belong in meadows, fish belong in water, and birds belong in the sky. There is no need to create barriers to prevent them from trespassing into other environments because their very nature prevents them from doing so. In the same way, a sinner cannot dwell in the realm of the saint any more than a sheep can fly with an eagle.”

“The second point to remember is the power of sympathy. This force is incredibly strong—almost limitless. As you saw with Lizzie, this principle is universal: like attracts like. When no opposing force is present, once this sympathetic connection is formed—whether for good or bad—souls naturally gravitate toward each other.

However, every soul on our side understands that it is personally responsible for the consequences of these connections. Given the current misunderstandings about spiritual communication, it is not surprising that lower and less enlightened spirits feel the strongest pull toward earth.”

“So, do you see the current state of communication with earth as unfortunate?” I asked.

“Not at all. Right now, there is a strong desire for knowledge on earth—an intense search for truth. The human soul has always longed to tear away the veil that hides immortality, a longing that itself is a sign that success is possible. Brave seekers, undeterred by the opposition of the Church, have continued their inquiries until the veil has started to lift, allowing light to shine through.

"However, while these seekers break free from one set of errors, they often hold on even more tightly to other misunderstandings.

Because of this, they do not attract spirits who have been completely freed by the truth, but rather those who still share similar limitations in their thinking.

"I must offer a word of caution here: it is important to distinguish between what I call 'lower' spirits and the 'lowest' ones. We are not simply divided into two groups—good and evil. Instead, there are countless levels of understanding and growth, making it impossible to draw a strict dividing line.

"The spirits who are currently communicating with seekers on earth are at a similar spiritual level to those who call upon them. However, because they have lived in the spirit world, they can teach certain truths that help prepare the way for higher and more enlightened beings to follow.

"Therefore, the current situation is not discouraging at all. On the contrary, it is full of hope and promise.”