806 | Soul Travel

806 | Out of Body Travel to the Afterworld and Learning to Control Thoughts and Spiritual Energy

Chapter 1: Abby and Evan Travel Out of Body to the Afterworld

As Abby and Evan travel out of body to the afterworld, they prepare to face the unknown. Abby hangs on the thin edge between sleeping and waking—a charged, weightless second when her body lies on her bed, but her mind slips loose.

Every time it happens, her skin tingles like static.

Tonight, she feels it again: invisible fingers peeling her out of herself.

Someone waits in the dark.

Evan.

His energy hovers beside her like a familiar outline—no face, no clothes, just a shape and a feeling she knows instantly.

We’re really doing this, she thinks.

They leave their bodies the way swimmers push off a pool wall.

One moment, gravity holds.

Next, they surge free.

The bedroom, the city, the whole world drop away, flattening into a dim blur below. Above and ahead, something gleams—a realm they’ve only argued about in late-night calls, half-joking, half-desperate.

Heaven.

They aim straight for it.

Chapter 1.1: Abby Finds Her Parents and Learns Thoughts Create Reality

When Abby finds her parents and learns thoughts create reality, the shimmering illusions of the afterlife begin to shatter. The afterworld doesn’t feel soft or holy when they arrive.

It feels too sharp.

Colors slam into them, turned up past normal—white that’s almost blue, gold that slices the air.

Abby and Evan stand in the middle of a town square that looks like a luxury catalog exploded.

Mansions surround them in perfect rows, each one ridiculous: tall columns, endless marble, flawless windows lined up with creepy precision. The ground beneath their feet shines as if it’s been polished forever.

Bright light floods the space from nowhere and everywhere at once.

Above, a chorus of angels and shining saints sings in layered harmonies. The sound is huge, beautiful—and somehow suffocating, pressing on her ears and the back of her skull.

Everything shimmers with an unreal, oily rainbow sheen.

Abby’s first thought: It’s beautiful.

Her second: It’s fake.

She’s still trying to smother that thought when she sees them.

“Mom? Dad?”

The word tears out of her as she runs forward, energy-body and all.

Only when she reaches them does she realize how heavy her chest has felt for years.

She throws her arms around them.

Somehow, in this non-body, the hug still feels like a hug. Warm. Solid. Real.

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

Part of her begs for the answer she’s wanted since they died: It’s perfect. We’re happy. You were right to hope.

Another part braces for a crack in the picture.

Mom doesn’t answer.

Instead, she holds Abby tighter, like she’s been waiting for this and dreading it at the same time.

“Relax,” Mom says at last, voice low and steady. “Close your eyes. 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.”

It sounds less like a welcome and more like an emergency procedure.

Abby frowns—but obeys.

She closes her eyes.

The fake-town chorus booms around her. Light presses behind her eyelids like someone is aiming a flashlight at her face.

Shut down beliefs. Shut down expectations. Shut down willpower.

It’s harder than any test she’s taken.

Harder than acting fine at school when she’s shattering inside.

She grabs her thoughts like a steering wheel on ice and forces them still.

When she opens her eyes, the mansions are gone.

So is the chorus. So are the saints.

They stand in a vast, bare room.

No glow. No crowd.

Just space.

Dad rubs his ears. “Please turn off that deafening singing,” he mutters.

Mom looks up toward the blank brightness above them. “Who is making the bright light?”

Evan lifts his hand like he’s been caught cheating.

“Oops. My fault.”

He takes a slow breath in. As he exhales, the harsh brilliance sinks and softens, folding down into a warm, even glow.

Abby stares at him.

“What is happening?” she asks. “Why do my thoughts become real?”

Even as she says it, the idea chills her.

My thoughts become real.

Mom studies her carefully.

“How did you get here?” she asks. “Did you die?”

The question slices through every defense Abby has.

“No,” she says quickly. “My friend Evan and I can leave our bodies at night and travel to other realms. We planned a trip into the afterworld to find out what happens after death.”

The explanation sounds rehearsed. Underneath it, her heart whispers: Please don’t be angry. Please don’t send us back. Please tell me you’re okay.

Before anyone answers, the air shivers.

The empty room melts.

Chapter 1.2: Abby Feels Guilt and Learns Negative Feelings Create Fire

Standing in a grand illusion where Abby feels guilt and learns negative feelings create fire, she realizes her emotions have immediate consequences. Suddenly, they stand in a massive church.

Stone arches soar overhead. Colored windows glow along the walls.

At the far end, on a towering altar, a stern figure sits on a huge throne, surrounded by a crowd of bowing, adoring souls.

They chant. They raise their arms—rivers of light surge from them toward the throne.

Abby’s chest tightens.

“I can see the Creator,” she whispers. “And his…adoring souls. This place is beautiful.”

The being on the throne turns his gaze toward her.

The look hits her like a flare gun to the heart.

Abby screams.

Flames burst over her body—white-gold and violet, racing across her like living lightning. Fire roars through every memory, every secret, every stupid thing she’s done. Shame, fear, and anger ignite all at once.

She doesn’t know if she’s really burning or if her guilt is simply on fire.

Hands clamp down on her shoulders.

Dad shakes her hard.

“Lower your voice,” he says sharply. “Keep your mind blank. You are not on fire.”

She gasps.

The flames vanish.

She shudders and shakes herself like a soaked dog trying to fling off water and terror at the same time.

The church dissolves.

The crowd, the throne, even the Creator’s gaze fade like smoke.

Abby’s clothes, however, stay scorched around the edges—blackened hems, burned sleeves.

With a snap of his fingers, Dad resets the scene.

Her outfit knits itself back together. The burn marks disappear.

The memory does not.

Mom speaks as if nothing explosive just happened—which somehow makes it more unnerving.

“How did you get past the guards?” she asks.

Under the calm tone, Abby hears fear.

Evan shrugs. “We zipped past them when they weren’t looking,” he says. “They were more focused on keeping souls inside than stopping intruders. Why would anyone want to break out of Heaven?”

The question hangs in the air.

Abby turns it over slowly.

Why would anyone want to escape Heaven?

Because maybe it’s not what it seems.

Mom exhales.

“This place is nothing like what we were promised,” she says. “We were deceived. We tried to warn you, but we’re not allowed to communicate with the living.”

Abby’s stomach drops.

“Oh,” she says. “That’s…terrible.” Her words spill out faster, higher. “You’re scaring me. Everyone expects Heaven to be safe. No pain. No problems. Am I supposed to tell the world Heaven is a scam?

“That’s insane. No one would believe me.”

The word scam lands like a match in a gas-filled room.

The space convulses.

Chapter 1.3: Abby and Her Parents Experience How Angry Thoughts Create Riots

The illusion breaks completely when Abby and her parents experience how angry thoughts create riots in this unstable realm. A screaming mob erupts around them.

Churches burn.

Flames rip through stained glass, shattering saints into falling shards of color. People throw rocks, swing bats, drag priests down steps and beat them.

Smoke chokes the air.

Abby stares, horrified.

She thinks one furious thought, and the world reacts.

Mom yanks her close and wraps her in a fierce hug.

“Be quiet,” Mom orders. “Don’t say those things out loud. Calm yourself. Everything is fine.”

Abby doesn’t believe that last part for a second.

But she finally understands something: here, feelings are weapons.

She curls her hands into fists until her fingers ache and bites her tongue until she tastes coppery memory.

“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,” he says. “We’re still working on it.”

The riot scene stutters and fades as they wrestle their thoughts back under control. Flames dissolve. Broken stone re-knits into blank space.

Mom looks out over the emptiness.

“The biggest problem,” she says, “is that we never learned to control our thoughts.

“Everything we experience on Earth becomes a permanent part of the soul’s mind. Every conversation. Every movie. Every fantasy daydream. All of it is etched as uncontrolled memory.

“In this realm, random thoughts are instantly created around us. I never understood how hard it is to maintain pure thoughts and feelings.”

Abby thinks of sleepless nights on her phone, letting videos, arguments, and drama pour into her brain. How much of that is now carved into whatever this is—her soul, her field?

Behind her, hooves thunder.

Something huge and shining gallops past and slams into Evan, sending him spinning.

A unicorn—glittering, ridiculous, mane rippling in pastel light—skids to a stop, snorting.

Abby winces.

“Sorry,” she says. “I always wanted to see a unicorn.”

Even my dumb fantasies show up here.

Dad’s gaze drifts.

The world jerks.

Screams explode around them. Buildings sway and crack. Sidewalks rip apart as if an earthquake tears through a city.

An entire disaster scene blooms from his mind.

Mom doesn’t hesitate.

She cocks her fist and punches Dad’s arm.

“Stop it.”

The quaking city freezes and then vanishes.

Dad rubs his arm and chuckles weakly. “I guess I just demonstrated her point.”

Abby watches them, her parents, in this fragile, dangerous not-Heaven.

They’re still learning, too, she realizes.

They are not finished.

Chapter 1.4: Abby Learns About Devachan and Erasing Uncontrolled Memories

Escaping the chaos, Abby learns about Devachan and erasing uncontrolled memories as her mother explains the rules of this realm. Mom gestures at the space.

“We’re in an outer realm of the afterworld called Devachan,” she says. “For safety and growth, most people are isolated until they gain better control of what they create.

“We were allowed to be together because we had a long-lasting, loving marriage. We help each other. We stop each other when we lose control.

“Isolated souls don’t have that. When they lose control, they can get stuck for days replaying tragic memories or violent movies. Eventually, they claw their way back and realize how much time and energy they wasted in fantasy.”

Devachan.

Abby mouths the word silently.

It feels less like Heaven and more like a training level—with consequences.

“You can do whatever you want by recalling past experiences,” she says slowly, “but you’re separated from others until you learn to master what you create.”

She hesitates.

“Does it help to replay old good memories?”

On Earth, she escapes into those when things hurt—family jokes, beach days, road trips.

Dad shakes his head.

“Not really,” he says. “Because it’s still fantasy. Not current reality.

“I’d think this whole conversation is a dream,” he adds, “but your mother hasn’t punched me yet. If we were both just remembering this, she probably would have done it twice already.”

The room suddenly fills with Abbys.

Dozens of versions of her appear—different ages, hairstyles, clothes—pulled from Dad’s memories.

Each one looks like her. Each one doesn’t.

One steps forward and punches Dad’s arm.

“Don’t worry,” she says. “I’m here.”

The real Abby watches herself hit him.

How much of me is just other people’s memories? she wonders.

Evan pulls himself up off the invisible floor.

“What do you have to master before moving on?” he asks.

Dad looks at him like he just asked the main test question.

“Whatever we think, feel, or say appears around us as if it were real,” he says. “We must stop generating random scenes from old memories and focus on creating meaningful experiences.

“And we must learn to recognize fantasy apparitions quickly.”

Mom nods.

“We watched many movies,” she says. “When a favorite scene pops up, it’s hard not to indulge.

“But every time we let ourselves be carried away by fun recollections, our control weakens.

“Then the violent scenes force their way in, too. Eventually, the only safe path is to stop feeding fantasy and practice creating new scenes with our thoughts, feelings, and words.”

She closes her eyes and murmurs something Abby can’t quite catch.

The air hums.

In an instant, they stand in a garden.

A clear stream winds through bright grass. Sunlight glows warm on Abby’s skin. Mom kneels by the water, picking flowers in impossible colors. Dad sits on a rock, fishing; every cast sends a line of light arcing over the stream.

Energy moves through everything—through leaves, through water, through the sky—like the whole scene is breathing.

Then Mom opens her eyes.

The garden flickers and falls away.

Dad smiles. “We worked this out together,” he says. “We can go there whenever we want.”

Evan looks around the now-bare space. “Isn’t it still just a fantasy?”

Mom inclines her head.

“Yes,” she says. “But it’s a conscious, shared one. We create something new, together, instead of being dragged by random memories.

“We’re learning to choose our creations.”

She holds Abby’s gaze.

“What good is the power to do anything,” she asks, “if our desires are out of our control? Being stuck watching random movie scenes for eternity would be torture.”

Abby thinks of binge-watching shows, losing hours without noticing.

What would an eternity of that feel like?

“Why can’t the Savior reboot your mind and erase all the troublesome memories?” she blurts.

Mom’s eyes soften.

“I’m the only one who can decide which memories I keep,” she says. “If someone erased my mind, I would lose everything—even my memories of you.

“Self-discipline is tied to memory. A full reset would wipe my soul clean of all progress and all failures…as if I never existed.

“I’m learning to overwrite selectively. When we’ve upgraded enough, we’ll be allowed to join others who have done the same.”

Abby swallows.

So there is no magic erase button.

Only work.

Chapter 2: Abby, Evan, and Her Parents Create a Peaceful Forest Using Controlled Thoughts

Working together, Abby, Evan, and her parents create a peaceful forest using controlled thoughts to practice synchronizing their minds. Dad claps his hands once, a gentle snap that ripples the air.

“Let’s practice,” he says. “We’ll create a warm, peaceful forest and keep talking there.”

The four of them close their eyes.

Abby feels their intentions lock together—four different currents trying to sync.

“Warm, peaceful forest,” they all say at the same time.

Faint tree shapes appear—ghostly trunks, half-formed leaves. A narrow stream begins to glimmer into existence, water knitting itself from scattered sparks of blue and white.

Heat seeps in—not like a space heater, but like honest sunlight on skin.

Soft sounds stir: a birdcall, a rustle in the underbrush.

The sharper their focus, the more details arrive.

Then a four-wheel drive truck blasts through the clearing.

It roars between the half-made trees, tires spitting mud.

Mom immediately socks Dad in the arm.

The truck jitters and vanishes.

Dark rain clouds roll overhead.

Evan looks up. “Who’s doing that?”

Abby raises her hand, wincing. “My fault. I’ll bring the sun back.”

She pictures clear light, calm and steady.

Slowly, the clouds peel away.

The four of them wrestle their attention into line.

Mom adds animals—deer gliding through the trees, birds flicking from branch to branch, a fox darting near the stream. Abby draws a distant rainbow arcing over the treetops. Evan plants bright flowers along the bank. Dad sketches in jumping trout—thin flashes of silver breaking the surface.

The scene settles.

Abby breathes in the scent of damp soil and pine.

“I like this,” she says. “Way better than becoming a programmed singing statue.”

Dad nods.

“Creating a forest is child’s play,” he says. “Millions of synchronized beings create Inner Heaven.

“The mind of God imagines, supports, and sustains the entire universe. His thoughts, feelings, and words hold all the worlds in place.”

Evan sinks onto a mossy rock that appears under him just because he chooses it.

“It must take insane focus to keep that vision steady,” he says. “I hope the Creator never gets distracted.”

Abby wonders if God ever feels like she does in math class—trying to concentrate while chaos explodes all around.

Dad’s expression turns grave.

“The Creator wants us to align with that vision,” he says, “and help maintain it.

“Beings who oppose it twist the scene with riots and wars. Humanity must stop distorting creation and start supporting it. We can all focus on the main forest and still add rainbows and flowers in the right places.”

Abby glances at her faint rainbow.

“But not trucks and thunderstorms,” she says.

Dad smiles wryly.

“Souls who won’t work with the Creator,” he says, “line up with a different creation. Whatever they build won’t last.

“Those who refuse to support His vision can’t enter His presence. They go instead to the hellish world they’ve been designing with their own scenes. Their addictions, grudges, and twisted desires keep popping up and haunting them until they finally choose to align.”

Evan’s jaw tenses.

“When can you join the others?” he asks.

Dad looks at the forest as if it’s a test paper.

“When we master our mental and emotional control,” he says. “When we can join a group vision without throwing in earthquakes and riots.”

Abby imagines a spiritual group project in which one person’s stray thought could burn down the set.

“When you’re synced with the group,” she says, “then you can add extra flowers and rainbows?”

Mom nods.

“The goal,” she says, “is to clear our minds of programming, movies, noise—so there’s room for the mind of God.

“When His mind fills ours, we see the big picture. Until then, we follow His vision plan.

“Once we’re synchronized,” she adds, “we can use free will to decorate in ways that fit.”

Abby twirls a fern between her fingers and watches its energy ripple.

“Then we get into Heaven and hang out with the Savior?” she asks.

Dad doesn’t say yes.

“Complete control over thoughts, feelings, and words,” he says, “takes thousands of years to develop.

“Souls training in Devachan are eventually sent back to Earth in new bodies. On Earth, creation is slowed. The soul still shapes scenes, but the physical body feels the consequences.

“Other people’s contrary creations interfere. Billions of souls are practicing at once. Very few are in sync with the Creator’s mind. That’s why Heaven doesn’t easily manifest on Earth.”

Abby thinks of wars on the news, melting ice caps and schools buzzing with anxiety.

Maybe Earth is everyone’s scenes colliding.

Mom’s voice is firm but kind.

“To increase the flow of the Holy Spirit to us,” she says, “we must increase our sense of self-worth.

“Staying stuck as a miserable, worthless sinner keeps a soul powerless.

“Thinking we’re worthy isn’t enough. Hoping God sees us as worthy isn’t enough. Self-worth is measured by the strength and quality of our virtues—and it grows as our wisdom grows.”

Evan runs a hand over his face.

“So let me summarize,” he says. “We have to:

• Stop polluting our minds.

• Develop the discipline to block pop-up replays from movies and social media.

• Burn out false beliefs and twisted memories.

• Control thoughts, feelings, and words so we create real, virtuous scenes—not fantasies.

• Fill our minds with the Creator’s vision of the cosmos.

• Practice helping Him maintain that vision.

“And if we manage all that,” he finishes, “we earn the right to add rainbows and flowers to the scene.”

He tries to make it sound light.

It doesn’t feel light.

Dad smiles faintly.

“Excellent,” he says. “One more thing.

“Tempters push scenes of conflict, riots, epidemics. When people unite behind those visions, they overwrite—or at least interrupt—the Creator’s forest with chaos.

“They distract, drain, and program people to sync with their corrupted scenes.

“They’ll send a raging fire through your peaceful forest if they can.”

As he speaks, a vein of red flickers at the far edge of the trees.

Evan shakes his head.

“The news media line up with the Tempters,” he says. “They reprogram people’s vision every day.

“The more polluted a soul’s mind gets, the harder it is to download the Creator’s.”

Abby thinks of doomscrolling, of violent movie trailers autoplaying while she sits numb in the dark.

She looks at her parents, at Evan, and at the forest they’re holding in place.

“Thank you for telling us the truth,” she says quietly. “Heaven isn’t a free eternal vacation for clueless believers.

“I’m going to work on mastering my thoughts, feelings, and words. And clearing out the junk I’ve poured into my mind.”

Even as she says it, she knows it’s the hardest promise she’s ever made.

The forest stirs—a soft wind rippling through leaves, as if the scene itself responds.

Dad’s gaze goes distant again—not lost this time, but focused inward.

“The Creator made free souls in His image,” he says. “He wants them to choose His vision first, then add their own.

“If each of us imagines a different scene,” he continues, “we create chaos instead of a peaceful forest.

“When the media show graphic terrorist attacks, millions of viewers reinforce those scenes with their thoughts and feelings.

“When billions watch horror and violent action for fun, they collectively help materialize those worlds.

“The Creator tries to hold a quiet forest. Groups of corrupted people layer on addictions and perversions that poison the animals, burn the trees, and choke the sky.”

Abby shivers.

For a heartbeat, the forest dims.

“Are we supposed to be robotic slaves?” she asks. “Just doing whatever the Creator commands?”

Mom shakes her head.

“God’s will sets the main stage,” she says. “Like a director choosing the set for a symphony.

“If the players hate the set and fight the score, they spend more energy fighting the scene than making music.

“When they agree to play the piece, they can add expression—but if everyone plays whatever they want, you get noise instead of a song.”

Evan kicks a leaf. Its energy trail spirals up and dissolves.

“Most of today’s music,” he mutters, “is noisy chaos—even when it’s played right. The Tempters push scores that clash with the Creator’s.”

Mom nods.

“The Creator is the director,” she says. “He sets part of the stage, assigns part of our roles, and tries to inspire the performers.

“The universe is His show. He has the right to shape it.

“Souls who accept the setting, act their part, and sync their thoughts, feelings, and words with others will be greatly rewarded.”

Abby’s shoulders tense.

“It still sounds like puppets,” she says.

“The Creator gives the actors freedom to enhance their parts,” Mom replies, “as long as they stay within cosmic law and divine virtues.

“A father is inspired by his Conscience, but he still chooses how to discipline his kids.

“A child must obey when told to stay in the yard—but inside the fence, they choose how to play.”

The forest settles again, waiting.

Abby stands in the middle of their shared creation, pulled between the comfort of a plan and the weight of responsibility.

On Earth, she feels small and powerless.

Here, every stray thought leaves fingerprints on reality.

Part of her wants to snap back to her bed and pretend none of this exists.

Another part knows she can’t unknow it now.

Chapter 3: Evan and Her Parents Discuss Energy Debt and Getting Jobs in Heaven

The tranquil environment shifts as Evan and her parents discuss energy debt and getting jobs in Heaven to pay for past mistakes. The forest holds for a while.

Leaves whisper overhead. The stream sings to itself.

Then the air ripples.

Words appear above the treetops like a floating title:

Work in Heaven

Abby glances at Evan.

He raises his eyebrows: Here we go.

Dad clears his throat.

“We’re expected to take on jobs in Heaven,” he says. “But we don’t yet have the skills.

“The Father works. The Son works. Everyone else must work.

“Right now, the best we qualify for is low-level servants.”

Abby frowns.

“A job?” she says. “In Heaven?”

Everything she’s been taught about the afterlife peels away.

“Heaven is supposed to be a resort,” she says. “Believers retire forever. God and His Son do the work. We believe that we can get our debts erased and live happily ever after while being completely taken care of.”

The words sound weaker here than they ever have.

Evan leans back against a tree, arms folded.

“I never bought the ‘free vacation for eternity’ story,” he says. “An almighty being doesn’t go through all the trouble of creating a universe full of free souls just to run a luxury daycare.

“That would make Him a slave to spoiled kids obsessed with comfort.

“A wise Creator wouldn’t chain Himself to paying for and managing a free resort forever. He’d resign.”

Abby flinches at his bluntness, half-expecting another riot to trigger.

Dad continues.

“After death,” he says, “souls go through a testing process—what some call judgment day.

“Our accomplishments are examined. Our spiritual energy savings account and our mystic skills and senses are checked.

“We’re tested on our mastery of each of the nine powers of the Holy Spirit.

“Our unpaid debts are also reviewed.”

Judgment day.

Abby has always imagined a courtroom.

Here, the forest itself becomes the screen.

Trees all around them fill with scenes.

She sees herself, again and again—lying, snapping, betraying, wasting time, hurting people. The quiet sins. The petty cruelties. The secrets.

Her whole history hangs glowing in the leaves.

Her face burns.

She slaps her own cheek hard.

“Pretend you didn’t see that,” she blurts. “There’s no privacy here. Everything I remember shows up.

“I believe the Savior paid for my sins. I thought all my debt was gone. Aren’t believers debt-free?”

The question shakes.

Mom’s answer is gentle—and sharp.

“Your recent scene creations prove your past actions haven’t vanished,” she says. “The soul can be forgiven. But the misused life-force you spent remains locked up.

“Forgiveness doesn’t release that energy.

“Each soul must purify the corrupted energy they misused. The transformed light is returned to their mystic bank account.

“A soul can’t enter Heaven if more than half of all the energy they were ever given is still imprisoned.

“They need more savings than debt.”

New scenes flicker into existence.

Abby slaps herself again, trying to break the chain.

“This is…unsettling,” she says. “Being held accountable for every misuse of divine energy changes everything.”

Static crackles around her, as if her shame has a physical charge.

Mom steps closer.

“Souls with more savings than debt can still get jobs in Heaven to pay off what they owe,” she says. “But they need discipline and self-mastery. They must have real wisdom, virtues, and developed soul powers before an ascended master hires them.

“Jobs are merited, not handed out.

“I’d advise you to build good relationships with your soul-school teachers now,” she adds. “You’ll want strong references when you apply for heavenly work.”

Abby thinks of teachers on Earth who see straight through her excuses.

“Life was so simple before this conversation,” she mutters. “I’m starting to regret coming here.”

Evan whistles under his breath.

“So the job interview checks your energy savings, your discipline, and your useful talents,” he says. “What skills do they need that you don’t have?”

Dad scratches his head, smiling ruefully.

“Our lack of control over pop-up memories kept interrupting the interview,” he says. “We didn’t get far.

“We were disqualified for insider positions in under a minute—your mom got distracted by the biggest roses she’d ever seen, and I got distracted landing a huge fish.

“We were sent here to train. We’ve been here ever since.

“One main skill they test,” he adds, “is spiritual senses: intuition, discernment, gut feeling.”

“Earth job interviews don’t care about that,” Evan says. “They just want grades and fake smiles.”

Dad shakes his head.

“Heaven cares,” he says. “The nine Holy Spirit powers are needed for real work.

“Soul workers must handle different kinds of creative fire. They need emotional control before their firepower is increased.

“It’s one thing to project vague images from memories,” he says. “Imagine if your anger launched actual guided missiles at everyone who offended you.”

Abby imagines it.

Her stomach knots.

Mom’s tone turns sober.

“Souls who bring unresolved anger, fear, and depression,” she says, “are sent to the ghost world.

“They need a less reactive environment.

“Their addictions and grudges sit in them like invisible spirits in a parallel layer.

“Ghosts can wait a thousand years before they get another body.”

A cold wind seems to drift through the warm forest.

Abby pictures kids at school, trapped in hurt and fury, building nightmare worlds without knowing it.

The leaves hush, as if listening.

Chapter 4: Abby Learns About the Creator's Presence and the Dangers of Addiction

Staring into the spiritual distance, Abby learns about the Creator's presence and the dangers of addiction from her parents. The colors around them thin, as if the forest itself pulls back.

New words echo overhead:

Creator’s Presence

Abby folds her arms, anger flaring up through fear.

“Where is the Creator?” she demands. “He needs to explain himself. There are so many promises that don’t match reality.”

The temperature spikes.

Mom pops her in the arm.

“Stop,” she says. “Watch your words. Your clothes are catching fire again.”

Abby looks down.

Orange tongues of energy lick along her sleeves.

She forces herself to breathe, smoothing out the jagged anger. Slowly, the flames die down. The scorch marks fade.

Dad’s voice is quiet, but it carries.

“The Creator’s radiance is a million times the intensity of the sun’s core,” he says. “Only beings filled with similar light can go near Him.

“Your Uncle Bob tried to force a face-to-face audience,” he adds softly. “Rumor says he was still a million miles away when the Creator’s light overtook him.

“His soul dissolved.

“He hasn’t been seen since.”

Abby’s gut twists.

“Did the Creator punish him for trying?” she asks.

Mom shakes her head.

“No,” she says. “Those filled with anything other than pure holy fire can’t get close without natural consequences.

“It’s not revenge. It’s reality.”

“If being near Him is so dangerous,” Abby says, “why would anyone want to get closer?”

Mom’s eyes look past the trees—past everything.

“The Creator’s field is incredibly empowering,” she says. “The nearer you stand, the more your creative power grows.

“His presence supercharges your sense of holiness and purpose.

“But a soul must be debt-free and filled with pure fire. They must let go of all addictions, attachments and grudges.

“Only a highly evolved, selfless being can stand there.”

Abby imagines it: a vast, blazing field of color and sound, brighter than any sun, roaring with meaning instead of noise.

The thought terrifies her.

And pulls at her.

Evan breaks the silence.

“What about using drugs to boost spiritual experiences?” he asks. “Some people say it opens them up. Gives shortcuts to control or enlightenment.”

Dad doesn’t hesitate.

“Drugs are designed for addiction and dependence,” he says. “The addictions travel with the soul when the body dies.

“In the afterlife, there are no physical drugs for those who still crave them. They suffer from hunger they can’t satisfy while they wait for another body.

“The greatest growth in discipline comes when someone chooses to break those chains.

“There is no spiritual advantage to indulgence,” he adds. “Most drugs weaken the protective field around the soul.

“That makes it easier for vampire-like entities to attach.

“Making friends with the dark side fills your soul with something other than holy fire.”

As he speaks, Abby sees them.

Shadows at the far edge of the forest, thin and restless.

They press against an invisible barrier around the four of them—a translucent sphere of light.

Her own auric field glows faintly. Strong where her resolve is firm. Thin where she doubts.

She thinks of classmates chasing highs and numbness, laughing about it in the cafeteria.

If what Dad says is right, they have no idea what they’re really feeding.

Evan watches the shadows, his jaw clenched.

The forest brightens slightly as he lets go of the idea of shortcuts.

Abby stands between the distant blaze of the Creator and the tempting dark at the edges.

For the first time, she understands:

Every choice—what she watches, what she believes, what she reaches for when she hurts—etches itself into her soul.

Heaven, she realizes, isn’t just a place waiting at the end.

It’s a mirror.

And right now, it’s showing her everything.

Chapter Synopsis:

Abby and Evan travel out of body to Devachan, an outer realm of the afterworld, where they reunite with Abby's parents. They discover that thoughts, feelings, and memories immediately manifest as physical reality in this realm, leading to chaotic illusions and violent riots when uncontrolled. Together, they practice disciplining their minds to build a peaceful forest and learn about spiritual energy debt, soul mastery, and the dangers of addiction.

Core Themes & Laws:

• Thoughts and memories instantly manifest as physical reality in the afterworld, making mental discipline essential.

• Uncontrolled negative emotions and uncontrolled memories trigger destructive consequences such as fire or chaos.

• Spiritual progression requires clearing energy debt, developing self-worth through virtue, and aligning with the Creator's vision rather than indulging in fantasies.

Key Entities Featured in this Document:

• Abby: A young explorer who travels out of body to the afterworld to uncover the reality of life after death.

• Evan: Abby's adventurous companion who joins her on out-of-body explorations to spiritual realms.

• Mom: Abby's deceased mother who helps guide her through the training levels of Devachan and teaches her thought control.

• Dad: Abby's deceased father who assists in maintaining mental focus and teaches the rules of spiritual energy and memory management.

• Devachan: An outer realm of the afterworld where souls are isolated to train and master their thoughts before advancing.