504 | Heaven's Rules

504 | Abby and Evan Visit the Afterworld to Speak With Her Deceased Parents About the Rules of Heaven

Chapter 1: Abby and Evan Enter Devachan Where Mom and Dad Explain How Thoughts Instantly Manifest

As Abby and Evan Enter Devachan Where Mom and Dad Explain How Thoughts Instantly Manifest, the boundary between the physical and spiritual worlds begins to blur. Abby hangs in the quiet space between sleeping and waking, that thin, electric edge where her body lies on her bed but her mind slips loose. Every time it happens, her skin tingles like static, as someone peels her out of herself with invisible fingers.

Tonight, Evan is already waiting.

His energy hovers beside her like a familiar outline, bright and steady. He doesn’t have a face here, not really—just a shape and a feeling she recognizes instantly.

We’re really doing this, she thinks.

They leave their bodies the way swimmers push off from the edge of a pool. One moment, gravity holds. Next, they surge free.

Space flattens. The world below becomes a dim, distant blur. Ahead, something gleams—a realm they’ve only argued about in late-night calls and whispered conversations, half-joking, half-desperate.

Heaven.

They aim for it together.

The afterworld does not feel soft or holy when they arrive. It feels too sharp, too clear, like every color is turned up past normal.

Abby and Evan stand in the middle of a town square that looks like some designer’s idea of perfection. Luxurious mansions tower around them, lined up in impossible symmetry—tall columns. Endless marble. Perfect windows.

Bright light floods the space from nowhere and everywhere at once. A chorus of singing angels and saintly figures robed in white fills the air, the sound layering over itself until it feels less like music and more like pressure. Everything shimmers with an iridescent glow, like oil on water.

Abby’s first thought is that it’s beautiful.

Her second thought is that it’s fake.

She pushes that thought down when she spots them.

“Mom? Dad?” The word breaks out of her as she runs forward, energy, body and all. Only when she reaches them does she realize how much weight she’s been carrying in her chest for years.

She throws her arms around them, and somehow the hug still feels like a hug. Warm. Solid. Real.

“Hi, Mom and Dad,” she breathes. “It feels great to see you. How do you like Paradise?”

Her question echoes in her own head. Part of her wants them to say it’s perfect; you were right to hope. Another part braces for something darker.

Her mom doesn’t answer right away. Instead, Mom pulls her in tighter, like she’s been waiting for this moment and also dreading it.

“Relax,” Mom says, her voice low and calm. “Close your eyes and shut down your beliefs, expectations, and creative willpower. Still your mind and feelings. Take control of your thoughts. When you open your eyes, see the four of us in a large empty room.”

Abby frowns. It sounds less like a welcome and more like instructions for defusing a bomb.

But she obeys.

She closes her eyes. She tries to quiet the clash of questions banging around inside her. Is this Heaven? Are they okay? Are we breaking some rule just by being here? She tries to do what Mom says: shut down beliefs, expectations, willpower.

It’s harder than any test she’s taken, harder than acting like everything is fine at school when she’s falling apart inside.

The light presses behind her eyelids. The singing drifts through her thoughts. Abby grips her own mind the way someone grips the steering wheel on black ice.

When she opens her eyes, the mansions and saints are gone.

They stand in a vast, empty room.

No chorus. No glow. No fake perfection.

Just space.

Dad squints and rubs his ears. “Please turn off that deafening singing.”

Mom looks up, scanning the ceiling as if the light has a source. “Who is making the bright light?”

Evan glances around, then lifts his hand like someone caught cheating on a test. “Oops, my fault.”

He takes a deep breath, drawing in the brilliance around them. As he slowly breathes out, the light softens, folding down into something gentler. Less blinding. More human.

Abby stares at him. “What is happening? Why do my thoughts become real?”

Even as she asks, the words feel dangerous. My thoughts become real. That idea sends a cold flicker of fear through her.

Mom studies her carefully, weighing Abby’s question like it’s more than curiosity. “How did you get here? Did you die already?”

There it is—that knife-edge question Abby’s been trying not to think about.

She shakes her head. “My friend Evan and I can leave our bodies at night and travel to other realms. We planned a flight into the afterworld to discover what happens after death.”

The answer sounds rehearsed, like something she’s practiced saying. Underneath it, her heart still whispers, Please don’t be mad. Please don’t send us back yet. Please tell me you’re okay.

Before anyone can respond, the room shivers.

A new background scene rushes in like someone switches channels inside Abby’s head. Suddenly, a vast church stretches around them, arches soaring overhead. At the far end, a stern figure sits on a massive throne at the altar, surrounded by an adoring congregation.

People bow and raise their arms. Voices chant. Energy surges toward the throne like invisible currents of light.

Abby’s chest tightens. “I can see the Creator and his adoring souls,” she whispers. “This place is beautiful.”

The Creator—the figure on the throne—turns his gaze toward her.

The look hits her like a flare gun.

Abby screams as her whole body bursts into purging flames. Fire races over her like living lightning, white-gold and violet, eating through every part of her. The pain is beyond anything she’s felt—shame, fear, every stupid thing she’s ever done erupting all at once.

She doesn’t know if she’s actually burning or if it’s her guilt, her doubt, her anger catching fire.

Strong hands grab her shoulders and shake her hard.

Dad’s voice cuts through the roar. “Lower your voice and keep your mind blank. You are not on fire.”

Abby gasps. The flames vanish. She shudders, shaking her body like a wet dog trying to get rid of water and memory at the same time.

The church dissolves, the congregation, the throne, and even the Creator’s gaze,e fading like smoke. But her clothes stay blackened, scorched at the edges, as if some part of the vision refuses to let go.

With a sharp snap of his fingers, Dad resets the scene. Abby’s outfit repairs itself, fabric knitting back together. The burn marks disappear.

But the memory of being on fire does not.

Mom continues as if nothing has happened, which almost makes it worse. “How did you get past the guards?”

Abby notices the tremor under Mom’s words. Calm on the surface. Panic just below.

Evan shrugs, trying for casual. “We just zipped past them when they weren’t looking. The guardians were more focused on keeping souls inside than deterring intruders. Why would souls want to break out of Heaven?”

The question hangs there. Abby turns it over in her mind like a stone. Why would anyone want to escape Heaven? The idea doesn’t fit the poster's version she grew up with.

Mom exhales, and years of disappointment line her voice. “This place is nothing like what we were promised. We were deceived. We tried to warn you, but we are not allowed to communicate with the living.”

Abby’s stomach drops.

“Oh my, that’s terrible,” she says. Her words come out faster, higher, like they’re trying to outrun the dread curling in her ribs. “You are scaring me. Everyone expects Heaven to be free from pain and problems. Do I need to tell the world that Heaven is a scam? Ha, that’s a crazy idea. No one would believe me if I tried.”

Her attempt at a laugh comes out brittle.

The air around them convulses.

Suddenly, the space fills with a rioting mob. People burn down churches; flames roar up stained-glass windows that shatter in showers of color. Priests are dragged and beaten, their screams tangling with the mob’s rage. Smoke curls through the air, thick and bitter.

Abst thinks the word scam, and the world erupts.

Mom grabs her again, hugging her tight like a shield. “Be quiet. Don’t say such things. Calm yourself. Everything is fine.”

Abby doesn’t believe the last part, but she knows one thing now: feelings are dangerous here.

She clenches her fists until her fingers ache and bites her lip hard enough to taste something that feels like memory instead of blood.

“It’s hard not to think and feel,” she admits. “How do you do it?”

Dad gives a small, tired smile. “It took us a long time. We are still working on it.”

Mom studies the fading riot, the half-dissolved flames and broken buildings. “The biggest problem is that we never learned to control our thoughts,” she says. “Everything we experience on Earth becomes a permanent part of our soul’s mind. Every conversation, movie, and fantasy daydream is etched as an uncontrollable memory. In this realm, random thoughts are instantly created around us. I never realized how difficult it is to maintain pure thoughts and feelings.”

Abby thinks about scrolling social media at 2 a.m., letting videos and drama pour into her brain while she feels nothing and everything at once. She wonders how much of that is now etched into whatever this is—her soul, her mind, her energy.

A thunder of hooves explodes behind them.

Something large and brilliant gallops by and slams into Evan, knocking him off his feet. He goes spinning across the room like a glitch.

A unicorn, shimmering and ridiculous, skids to a halt, mane rippling with pastel light.

Abby winces. “Sorry. I always wanted to see a unicorn.”

Her confession tastes like embarrassment. Even my dumb childhood fantasies show up here.

Dad’s mind drifts. Abby sees it happen—the way his gaze goes distant.

Instantly, the area around them rearranges. Screaming people flood the scene. Buildings sway and crumble. The floor shudders like a planet trying to break itself apart.

An earthquake disaster movie plays out in real time around them.

Mom doesn’t hesitate. She reaches out and punches Dad hard in the arm. “Stop that.”

The people vanish mid-scream. The buildings freeze, then dissolve.

Dad rubs his arm and lets out a sheepish chuckle. “Oops, I guess I unconsciously demonstrated her point.”

Abby watches them, her parents, in this unreal not-Heaven, and realizes something that hits almost as hard as the flames.

They aren’t done learning either.

Mom gestures around the emptying space. “We are in an outer realm of the afterworld called Devachan. For safety and developmental efficiency, most people are isolated until they have gained greater mastery of what they create. We were permitted to spend time together and help each other because we had a long-lasting, wonderful marriage. We have learned to stop each other when we lose control. When isolated souls lose control, they can get stuck for days, reliving tragic memories and violent movies. Eventually, they regain control and realize how much time and energy they wasted in fantasy recalls.”

Devachan. The word feels heavy, like a level in a game that is harder than the one before, but you don’t get a tutorial.

Abby folds her arms, trying to wrap her mind around it. “You can do whatever you want by recalling past experiences,” she says slowly, “but you are separated from others until you learn to master what you create. Does it help to recall old, wonderful experiences?”

On Earth, she replays good memories all the time when life feels too sharp—her parents’ old jokes, birthdays, road trips. They’re her escape.

Dad shakes his head. “Not really, because it is still a fantasy creation, not a current reality. I would question if our current conversation is a dream, but Mom hasn’t punched me yet. Maybe we both fantasize about the same encounter.”

The room suddenly fills with multiple versions of Abby, cloned from Dad’s memories: younger, older, different hair, different clothes. All of them look terrified and stubborn and hopeful in slightly different ways.

One Abby steps forward and punches Dad in the arm. “Don’t worry. I’m here.”

The real Abby—if that’s even a thing here—watches herself hit him and feels something twist inside. How much of me is just other people’s memories? She wonders.

Evan pushes himself up, brushing off phantom dust. “What must you master before moving on?”

Dad looks at Evan like he’s asking the only question that matters. “Whatever we think, feel or say is instantly created around us as if it were real. We must stop generating random events by recalling memories; instead, we should focus on creating meaningful experiences. We also must learn to quickly recognize a fantasy apparition.”

Abby files that away. On Earth, fantasizing gets her in trouble with homework and sleep. Here, it can burn down entire scenes.

Mom nods. “We both watched many movies, and when memory replays precipitate a favorite scene, it is hard to resist indulging in fantasy for a while. However, allowing ourselves to be carried away by pleasurable recollections weakens our control. Then, we can’t help but be immersed in violent action scenes. Ultimately, the best approach is to avoid all fantasy and practice thinking, feeling and speaking to create new scenes. Here is a scene we have been developing together.”

She closes her eyes and mutters some indistinguishable phrases, words that sound more like intentions than language—the air around them hums.

Instantly, the area turns into a beautiful garden and a flowing stream. Warm sunlight spills down. Air brushes their skin, soft and fragrant. Mom is picking flowers near the water’s edge, and Dad is fishing, the line tracing thin arcs of silver light as he casts.

The whole scene pulses gently, alive with color—greens and blues threaded with soft gold. The movement of energy is visible here, flowing through leaf and water and sky like breathing.

Then it flickers.

The garden trembles, fades, and melts back into the neutral space as Mom opens her eyes.

Dad gives a small, proud smile. “We worked out the details together and can go there whenever we want.”

Evan looks around, impressed but also skeptical. “Isn’t it still just a fantasy?”

Mom nods. “True. However, we consciously create something new together rather than being manipulated by random memories. We are learning to have more control over what we want to create. What good is being able to do whatever we want if our desires are out of our control? Getting stuck experiencing random scenes from movies we watched for all eternity would be torturous.”

Abby thinks about binge-watching shows, losing hours without noticing. She wonders what eternity of that would feel like.

“Why can’t the Savior reboot your mind and clean out all your troublesome memories?” she asks. Part of her hears her youth pastor’s voice in the back of her head, promising fresh starts and clean slates.

Mom’s eyes soften. “I am the only one who can decide what memories I want to keep. If someone erased my mind, I would lose everything, even pleasant memories of my children and the lessons I’ve learned. Self-discipline is tied to our memories. A reboot would wipe my soul clean of all accomplishments and failures, as if I had never existed. I am learning to be selective about which memories to overwrite. When we have upgraded our programming, we will be permitted to join others who have also done so.”

Abby doesn’t like the word programming. It makes life sound like code written by someone else.

Chapter 2: Mom, Dad, Abby, and Evan Create a Peaceful Forest to Understand the Creator's Vision

Working together, Mom, Dad, Abby, and Evan create a Peaceful Forest to understand the Creator's Vision and practice controlling their mental projections. Dad claps his hands lightly, as if starting a game. “Let’s practice and create a warm, peaceful forest around us as we continue our conversation.”

The four of them close their eyes.

Abby feels their intentions slide together, four currents of energy trying to sync. They all say the words at once: “Warm, peaceful forest.”

Faint green trees appear, ghostly at first, then solidify. A flow stream starts to crystallize, its surface knitting from scattered sparkles of blue and white. The space grows warm, not like a heater but like standing in a beam of honest sunlight. Soft, gentle wildlife sounds—distant birds, the rustle of small animals—begin to stitch themselves into the air.

The more they focus, the more details fill in—the four alchemists, as if painting with thought and feeling, synchronize their creative vision.

Then a four-wheel-drive truck roars through the middle of the forest.

It tears a muddy path straight through the trees.

Mom doesn’t even hesitate. She punches Dad again. The truck shudders, then vanishes.

Dark rain clouds roll in overhead.

Evan looks up, narrowing his eyes. “Who is doing that?”

Abby lifts her hand, guilty. “Sorry, my fault. I’ll return the sunshine.”

She pictures light—real light, not the harsh fake glow of the town square—and pushes the image forward. The clouds thin and peel back. Warmth seeps in again.

The four creators struggle to unify their thoughts and feelings until the background environment stabilizes. Mom keeps contributing random animals—deer, birds, a fox darting across the clearing—and Abby draws a distant rainbow, soft but clear against the pale sky. Evan adds clusters of bright flowers along the stream bank. Dad paints in jumping trout, their bodies arching out of the water in quick, silver sparks.

Abby looks around, breathless. “That is fun,” she says. “I like this much better than becoming a programmed singing statue.”

Dad nods. “Creating a temporary forest scene is child’s play. Millions of synchronized beings create Inner Heaven. The mind of God visualizes, supports and sustains the whole universe. The Creator’s thoughts, feelings and words continue manifesting the microcosmic and macrocosmic worlds.”

Evan sits down on a mossy rock that exists because he decides it does. “It must take incredible mastery to maintain consistent, pure thoughts and feelings and hold the vision of the cosmos,” he says. “I hope the Creator does not get distracted.”

Abby wonders if the Creator ever feels like she does in class—trying to focus while everyone’s noise crashes around Him.

Dad’s expression grows serious. “The Creator wants us to align with the same vision and assist him. Beings who oppose the Creator’s vision interfere and cause distorted corruption to invade the space with riots and wars. Mankind must stop distorting its creation and get on board to support and creatively sustain the universe. We can each focus on the main scene but creatively add appropriate rainbows and flowers.”

Abby glances toward her distant arc of color. “But not big trucks and thunderstorms.”

Dad gives a wry smile. “Those not teamed up with the Creator are aligning with a contrary creation. Whatever they create will not last. Those who are not fully participating in helping the Creator hold the vision of the universe cannot be permitted in the Creator’s presence in Heaven. The rebellious souls will be sent to the hellish world they have been creating with their contrary scene creations. Their addictions, attachments, grudges and perversions will continue to uncontrollably pop up and haunt them until they learn to align with the mind of the Creator.”

Evan’s jaw tightens slightly. “When can you join the others?”

Dad looks at the forest as if measuring their progress inside it. “When we have mastered our mental and emotional control, we can join others in practicing aligning with their group vision without adding inappropriate earthquakes and riots.”

Abby imagines a whole crowd trying to hold one shared vision. It sounds like a group project for the soul, but with actual consequences.

“When you have synchronized with the group vision,” she says, “then you can paint in extra flowers and rainbows.”

Mom nods. “The overall goal is to clear our minds of programming, movies, and distractions so we can invite the mind of God. We will understand the Creator’s big picture when our mind is infused with the divine mind. Until then, we are implementing his vision plan. Once synchronized, we can use our creative free will to add in more appropriate decorations.”

Abby picks at a fern, watching the tiny fronds uncurl as her finger nears them. “Then do you get into Heaven and hang out with the Savior?” she asks.

Dad’s answer is not the easy yes she expects. “Complete mental, emotional and verbal control takes thousands of years to master. Apprenticing souls in Devachan are eventually returned to Earth in another body, where creation is slowed down or delayed. The soul feels the physical consequences through the physical body. The soul’s thoughts and feelings still create a background scene around them, but the contrary creations of other people cause distortion and interference. Billions of souls are practicing creation through their human bodies. Unfortunately, very few are synchronized with the Creator’s mind, so mankind’s creations contradict His vision and prevent Heaven from manifesting on Earth.”

Abby thinks about climate news, wars on her feed, schools that feel like pressure cookers, kids her age and owning in anxiety. Maybe Earth is everyone’s distorted scene mashed together.

Mom’s voice turns gentle but firm. “To increase the flow of the Holy Spirit being given to us, we must first increase our self-worth. Being stuck as a miserable, worthless sinner sentences an individual to remaining powerless. Believing we are worthy is not enough. Having faith that God will see us as worthy is not enough. Assuming everyone is worthy is not enough. Worthiness is judged by the power and quality of our virtues and increases as our wisdom increases.”

Evan sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “To summarize: We must stop polluting our minds. Develop the discipline to prevent pop-up replays from movies and social media. Purge our poisoning false beliefs and memories. Control our thoughts, feelings and words to create non-fantasy virtuous creations. Fill our minds with the Creator’s vision of the Cosmos. Practice assisting the Creator in maintaining the overall scene of the cosmos. After all that, we can add in decorative rainbows and flowers.”

He tries to make it sound like a checklist, but Abby hears the weight in it.

Dad smiles faintly. “Excellent! In addition, Tempters are promoting scenes of conflict, riots, and epidemics. When mankind unites behind the Tempters’ visions, the Creator’s vision is overwritten or at least interrupted by chaos and confusion. The Tempters strive to distract, drain, and program people to synchronize with their corrupted background scene creations. The Tempters will send a raging fire through your peaceful forest to destroy your vision.”

As he speaks, a flicker of red appears at the edge of the trees, as if the idea itself tries to ignite the horizon.

Evan shakes his head. “The news media align with Tempters to reprogram people’s vision. The more contamination and infection in a soul’s mind, the harder it is to import the Creator’s mind and vision.”

Abby thinks of thumbnails with red arrows and sensational titles, of doomscrolling until she feels both terrified and numb.

She looks from Mom to Dad to Evan, then back at the forest they’ve made together.

“Thank you for helping us to understand that Heaven is not a free eternal vacation for ignorant, undisciplined Believers,” she says quietly. “I plan to work hard to develop self-mastery of my creative thoughts, feelings and words and clear my mind of contaminating memories and false beliefs.”

Even as she says it, she wonders if she really can. Her mind has never felt harder to control than it does in this place where every thought leaves a trail of light behind it.

The forest rustles with their shared intention, energy moving like a soft wind through leaves.

Dad’s gaze grows distant again—not lost in memory this time, but turned inward. “The Creator made independent, free-willed souls in His image and likeness so that people would choose to first align with His vision of the world and then add their creations.”

Mom looks up through the canopy as if watching invisible universes shift. “If we each visualized a conflicting scene, we would create chaos instead of a peaceful forest. When the news media present graphic details of terrorist activity, millions of viewers reinforce the power of the original event with their thoughts and feelings. When billions of creative souls engage their conscious thoughts and feelings in horror movies and violent action-adventure videos, they collectively materialize those scenes around them. The Creator tries to maintain a general peaceful forest scene. Still, united groups of corrupted people add layers of addictions and perversions which poison the animals, burn down the trees and cloud the sky.”

Abby shivers. The forest around them dims for a heartbeat, as if reacting to the words.

She swallows. “Are we supposed to be robotic slaves and only do what the Creator commands?”

Mom shakes her head. “God’s willpower establishes the general stage scene to provide a space for musicians to perform a symphony. Suppose the players disagree with the background scenery or the notes they are assigned to play. In that case, they will expend more energy trying to alter God’s reality than contributing to the harmonious group performance. The performers must align their thoughts and feelings to produce a specified piece of music instead of noisy chaos.”

Evan kicks at a fallen leaf, watching its energy trail swirl and dissolve. “Unfortunately, much of today’s popular music produces discordant chaos even when the band plays out the intended corrupted score. The Tempters have promoted music contrary to the Creator’s versions.”

Mom nods. “The Creator is the divine director who sets part of the stage, assigns a portion of our roles and attempts to inspire the performers. The universe is His creation, so He has the authority and right to envision and maintain the balance for a magnificent outcome. Souls who accept the setting, act their part and synchronize their thoughts, feelings and words with the other actors will be greatly rewarded.”

Abby’s shoulders tense. “It still sounds like manipulated puppets.”

“The Creator gives the actors the freedom to enhance their part with individualized thoughts, words and feelings as long as they stay within the boundaries of cosmic law and divine virtues,” Mom says. “Part of a father’s assigned role is to discipline his children. His Conscience will inspire him, but he has the freedom to choose how he acts out his role. A child must obey their parents when told to stay in the backyard. He has the freedom to play within the permitted area.”

The forest quiets, waiting.

Abby stands in the middle of the scene they’ve made together, torn between the comfort of rules and the pressure of them. On Earth, she feels small and powerless. Here, every stray thought leaves marks in the air.

Part of her wants to run back to her sleeping body and pretend none of this exists.

Another part already knows there is no unwinding it now.

Chapter 3: Dad and Mom Explain Heavenly Jobs, Debt Repayment, and the Nine Gifted Powers

As Dad and Mom explain Heavenly Jobs, Debt Repayment, and the Nine Gifted Powers, the illusion of a carefree eternal vacation abruptly shatters. The forest they’ve created holds steady for a while. Leaves whisper overhead. The stream keeps its soft, glassy flow.

Then the scene ripples.

New words hang in the air like a title projected across the canopy.

Work in Heaven.

Abby glances at Evan. He looks back with the same what-now expression.

Dad clears his throat. “We are expected to take on jobs and work in Heaven, but currently lack the necessary skills. The Father works, the Son works, and everyone else must work. Right now, the best employment we could get would be low-level servants.”

Abby frowns. A job. In Heaven.

“That can’t be right,” she says. “Heaven is supposed to be a four-star resort. Believers receive an eternal vacation while our Father and His Son continue to work. All we need to do is believe our debts will be taken away. We will live happily ever after, being completely cared for.”

The words sound like every youth group promise she ever clung to. Hearing them out loud here makes them feel thin.

Evan leans back against a tree, crossing his arms. “I never believed the lie of a free retirement Paradise serviced by an emotionally unstable, self-centered dictator,” he says. “An almighty divine being would not go through all the trouble of creating a universe with free-willed beings to generate souls who want to honor and praise him in exchange for a socialist utopia. A wise being would not deliberately chain himself to paying for and managing a free resort for children who adore him. Eventually, his enslavement to ignorant, worthless friends would be frustrating, and he would choose to retire.”

Abby winces at his bluntness. Part of her agrees; another part is terrified he’ll ignite another riot scene just by talking.

Dad nods gravely. “After death, our souls go through a testing process; some refer to it as judgment day. Our accomplishments are assessed, including our spiritual energy savings account and our mystic skills and senses. We are tested on our mastery of each of the nine gifted powers of the holy spirit. Our unpaid debts are also scrutinized.”

Judgment day.

Abby always pictured a courtroom. Now, as Dad speaks, the peaceful forest begins to warp.

The trees around her fill with images—splintered screens playing memories she never wants anyone to see. The tranquil forest becomes crowded with independent scenes of Abby committing sinful acts, every secret mistake and petty cruelty she’s tried to bury.

Her face burns red.

She slaps her own cheek, as if she can knock the thoughts out of her head. “Pretend you didn’t see that,” she blurts. “There is no privacy here. Everything I remember manifests around me. I believe the Savior has paid off all my sinful debt. All my sins have been absolved and dissolved. Aren’t all Believers debt-free?”

The question trembles between faith and panic.

Mom’s voice is gentle, but it does not soften the truth. “Your recent scene creations prove that your past sinful actions have not been erased. A soul’s transgressions can be forgiven, but the misqualified life force light remains locked up. Their incarcerated holy fire is not released by forgiveness. Each soul must transmute the corruption imprisoning their mystic energy. The purified, transformed energy is then returned to their mystic bank account. A soul cannot enter Heaven if more than fifty percent of all the energy ever given to them is still locked up. They need to have more savings than debt.”

Abby slaps herself again as new scenes begin to flicker into existence—more memories she hates, more flashes of selfishness.

“This is very unsettling,” she says, her voice small. “Being held accountable for misusing my divine energy changes everything.”

The air around her crackles, as if her own shame is static.

Mom steps closer. “Souls with more savings than debt can still get a job in Heaven to pay off their debts. However, they need to possess both self-discipline and a high level of self-mastery of wisdom, virtues, and soul superpowers before a sponsoring ascended master will hire them. Work opportunities are merited, not gifted. I would advise developing good relationships with your soul school teachers now, so you will have inside connections when you apply for a Heavenly job.”

Soul school teachers. The phrase lands like a joke and a warning at once. Abby thinks of her real teachers, the ones who seem to see straight through her excuses.

“Life was so simple and easy before this conversation,” she mutters. “I’m beginning to regret this journey into the afterworld.”

Evan lets out a low whistle. “The job interview looks at a soul’s energy reserves, self-discipline and useful talents. What soul skills are needed that you currently lack?”

Dad scratches his head, a rueful smile twisting his mouth. “Our lack of control over pop-up memories kept interrupting the interview, so we didn’t make it that far. We were disqualified for insider employment within the first minute when Dad caught a huge fish, and I was distracted by the biggest roses I had ever seen. We were assigned to this area and have been here ever since. One major area of talent assessment involves senses like intuition, discernment and gut feelings.”

Abby notices the way he says it—like someone who failed an exam and can’t stop replaying the first wrong answer.

“Earthly job interviews do not assess such abilities,” Evan says. There’s a bite of irony in his voice. “They don’t care about intuition and discernment, just resumes and fake smiles.”

Dad shakes his head. “The nine gifted holy spirit powers are needed to perform in Heaven. A soul must be able to direct and project various colors of creative mystic fire; they must develop control over their thoughts and feelings before increasing their flame-throwing power. It is one thing to create vague images from pop-up memories, but imagine what would happen if your negative emotions started launching guided missiles toward everything that offended you.”

Abby imagines her worst days—rage, jealousy, humiliation—turned into actual missiles. The idea makes her stomach clench.

Mom’s tone grows somber. “Souls bringing unresolved anger, fear and depression are sent to the ghost world because they need a less emotionally reactive environment. The soul’s addictions, attachments, and grudges sit in their soul as an invisible spirit in a parallel world. Ghosts may have to wait a thousand years before they get another body.”

A chill passes through Abby, like cold wind crossing warm skin. She pictures kids at school who are always on the edge, trapped in their own storms. She wonders what kind of worlds they might be building without realizing it.

The forest quiets, listening to their thoughts.

Chapter 3: Mom and Dad Discuss the Creator's Blinding Presence and How Drugs Trap Souls

The conversation shifts into darker territory as Mom and Dad discuss the Creator's Blinding Presence and How Drugs Trap Souls, forcing Abby to confront the stark realities of spiritual purity. Colors thin around them, as if the scene knows the conversation is about to shift.

New words echo through the clearing like a bell: Creator’s Presence.

Abby folds her arms, bracing herself. “Where is the Creator?” she demands. “He needs to explain himself for many of the false promises he made.”

The moment the words leave her mouth, heat flares.

Mom punches Abby in the arm—not hard, but sharp enough to jolt her. “Stop it! Watch what you say. Your clothes are on fire again.”

Abby looks down. The hems of her shirt and jeans glow orange, tiny tongues of energy-fire licking at the fabric. Her panic spikes, and the flames surge.

She forces herself to breathe, to smooth out the anger and betrayal twisting through her thoughts. Slowly, the fire recedes. The scorched edges knit back together.

Dad’s voice is quiet, but it carries weight. “The Creator’s radiance is a million times the intensity of the sun’s core. Only beings with a similar intensity can get close to Him. Your Uncle Bob traveled to force a face-to-face audience with the Creator. Rumor has it that he was still a million miles away when the Creator’s intense light overcame him and dissolved his soul. He was never heard from again.”

Abby’s insides go cold. Even here, in this weird afterworld, she can’t picture someone she knows just…unmaking.

“Did the Creator punish Uncle Bob for trying to get close to Him?” she asks.

Mom shakes her head. “No! Those filled with something other than pure, holy spirit fire cannot get close to the Creator without natural consequences.”

Natural consequences. Abby thinks about touching a live wire—not because the wire hates you, but because that’s what electricity does.

“If the Creator’s presence is so dangerous,” she says, “why would anyone want to get closer?”

Mom’s eyes grow distant, like she’s seeing a light Abby can’t. “The Creator’s massive auric forcefield is empowering. A soul’s creative power increases as they get closer to the Creator. His presence supercharges the soul with an increased sense of holiness, a flaming, creative spirit. A soul needs to be debt-free and filled with pure holy fire. A soul must let go of all addictions, attachments and grudges. Only a highly evolved selfless being can stand in the presence of the Almighty.”

Abby imagines a field of energy, brighter than any sun, threaded with colors she has no names for. The idea both terrifies and pulls at her.

Evan breaks the silence. “What do you think of the new trend of using drugs to increase spiritual experiences and develop self-control?”

He asks it like a reporter, but Abby hears the real question underneath: Is there a shortcut? Teens at school experiment with pills and powders to feel something, escape something, open some new door.

Dad’s answer is immediate. “Drugs are designed to create addiction and dependence. Addictions remain with the soul when the body dies, trapping the spirit in Ghost World. There are no drugs available to the soul in the afterlife for those who are still dependent and addicted to drugs. The soul suffers from unfulfilled cravings while awaiting another human body. The greatest development of discipline will take place when the addict commits to overcoming their drug dependence. There is no spiritual advantage to indulgence in drugs. Most drugs make it easier to associate with vampire demons by weakening your protective auric forcefield. Making friends with beings on the dark side will fill your soul with something other than the holy spirit.”

As he speaks, Abby sees it: shadows moving at the edge of the forest, thin and hungry. They press against an invisible boundary around the four of them—a glowing, translucent shell of energy.

Her own auric field, she realizes, shimmers faintly—threadbare in places, bright where her resolve tightens.

She thinks of classmates who chase highs and numbness. If what Dad says is true, the escape costs more than any of them guess.

Evan’s gaze follows the dark shapes, his jaw tightening. The forest brightens just a little as he shoves the idea of shortcuts aside.

Abby stands between the pull of the Creator’s distant blaze and the lure of easier paths. For the first time, she understands that everything she chooses—what she watches, what she believes, what she reaches for when she hurts—etches itself into something permanent.

And Heaven, she realizes, is less a destination than a mirror.

Chapter Synopsis:

In a stunning out-of-body excursion, Abby and Evan leave their physical bodies and travel to "Devachan"—an outer realm of the afterworld—where they meet Abby's deceased parents, Mom and Dad. Contrary to the popular religious belief of an eternal, effortless resort where a Savior does all the work, Abby's parents reveal that Heaven is not a free vacation for ignorant, undisciplined believers. Instead, it is an environment where unmastered thoughts, beliefs, and memories instantly manifest into reality. Because they never learned self-mastery on Earth, Mom and Dad are isolated, struggling to control "pop-up" memories of movies, daydreams, and traumatic events that constantly disrupt their surroundings into chaotic riots, earthquakes, or absurd apparitions.

Through this eye-opening reunion, Abby learns that the Creator does not want obedient slaves or helpless servants, but wise, self-disciplined co-creators who master the nine gifted powers of the Holy Spirit, transmute their own returning karmic debt, and align their creative willpower with the mind of the Creator.

Core Themes & Laws:

• The Illusion of the Free Vacation Afterlife: Shattering the dogma that Heaven is an unearned paradise of eternal rest where believers remain passive while an external Savior handles all responsibility.

• The Immediate Manifestation of Mind: The law of the afterworld where unmastered thoughts, memories, movies, and daydreams instantly materialize into physical environments, turning undisciplined souls into prisoners of their own mental projections.

• Partnership vs. Servitude: The truth that the Creator desires self-disciplined, dependable co-creators who master cosmic law and the nine spiritual gifts, rather than mindless statues or obedient slaves.

• Karmic Accountability and Energy Transmutation: The principle that forgiveness of past sins does not automatically erase misqualified life-force energy; souls must actively transmute their corrupted energy and maintain more savings than debt to enter higher realms.

Key Entities Featured in this Document:

• Abby: A student whose passive afterlife beliefs are thoroughly shattered as she visits Devachan, confronts her parents' struggles with mental control, and realizes the true demands of spiritual evolution.

• Evan: Abby's steadfast spiritual companion who navigates the afterworld, helps stabilize thought-projections, and questions the flaws of traditional religious dogma.

• Mom and Dad: Abby's deceased parents who reside in Devachan, warning their daughter about the dangers of unmastered thoughts, the reality of spiritual work, and the traps of unearned salvation.