About Hereafter

I just watched the last episode of The Bible as seen on the History Channel! It was quite an achievement, retelling the Greatest Story Ever Told in a way that made each scene a fresh and compelling viewing and spiritual experience for millions of enthusiastic viewers! Clearly, the acting & production teams were inspired.

I was inspired to write the novel, Maitreya and now its sequel, Hereafter has been completed. Using the lens of inspired, faith-based fiction, Maitreya is the sequel to the Bible, to the Old and New Testaments. It begins in modern times. The world is beginning to convulse—the labor pains leading to the return of Jesus and the turbulent transition to the Kingdom Age.

It has elements of Hunger Games and Twilight, to attract a younger audience, while staying true to fundamental Christian principles.  I've imagined filling movie theaters with a faith-based film, no commercials to interrupt the spiritual impact of the story, with the power to attract the same kinds of numbers that drew millions to Hunger Games and Twilight. My book, Maitreya, and its sequel, Hereafter, has that potential.

In the sequel, Hereafter, the main character, Fallon Ford, finds herself in heaven. Again, the sharp lens of fiction focuses on the stories told by those who “crossed over” and returned, shaping them into a novel that attempts to share the deeper fundamental meaning of what life on the “other side” might be like. 

In this fictional version of heaven, there are golf courses, baseball diamonds, amusement parks, and coffee shops! Though many things are recognizable, heaven is not a some kind of reward destination for having been good on Earth. No, heaven is the University to Earth's grammar school. There's lots to learn and Fallon goes off on a Mission not long after arriving at the Pearly Gates.

Here are Chapters 1 & 2 from Hereafter

1

  

HEAVEN . . . COULD IT BE, had I finally arrived? I’d crossed over, survived beyond the shadow of death, pierced the veil of mortality, and found myself in a new reality, the world we on earth have given the name heaven to! At last—it was a place, not merely an idea, but a world not really prepared only for us, and it was not at all like I’d imagined.

Heaven, with its well-established ancient culture and population, existed eons before we humans as soul-bearing creatures came on the scene, sprouting up from the primordial ooze of a relatively young planet Earth. Yes, there was a part of heaven developed for our kind, but there were other burrows, like the Bronx in New York City, where different flesh-and-blood beings with souls, immigrants from other worlds, ended up. 

It was not a totally unfamiliar world, though, at least on the lowest level, where we who still used bodies were kept. There were buildings and plants and animals, clouds in a sky, air to breathe, and the warmth and glow of God’s light on my face but without a sun as I sat quietly on a bench overlooking the rolling waves of what must have been an ocean.

I’d crossed over with my entire graduating class, and so missed the usual transformation after death of going through the tunnel of bright white light, being greeted by loved ones who’d already passed, before being welcomed to heaven by God.

We were all given a chance to adjust to our new glorified bodies, and our new home, with some time alone before the challenges of our life on the other side began. I was settling in, allowing the euphoria of being in heaven to quiet to an emotion I could handle when I saw a faint figure walking toward me; an image that made me think of Lydia. It was strange, though, because not only did I have this head-on view, I could see her from the sides and behind.   

How I remembered that terrible day when she took her own life. How I worried—where is Lydia’s soul? According to what I’d been taught, suicide was one of those unforgivable sins, wasn’t it—so she couldn’t be in heaven, so it couldn’t be her. Then, I vividly recalled the nightmare where I saw Lydia standing before God and being judged for her sin.

In my dream, Lydia was genuinely sorry, and tried to explain why she took her own life. God was sympathetic, but had to insist that she just wouldn’t fit in with souls who valued the life and faith they were given. God, too, was sorry, but when they finished talking, turned her away.

The approaching figure finally got close enough for me to see clearly. Recognizing who it was, I got up and ran to greet her with a hug that I wished could have lasted the rest of eternity! 

 “Lydia . . . you’re here!”

2

I GOT A BETTER LOOK at myself by seeing Lydia up close. Our glorified bodies were so much different than the flesh-and-blood forms we used while alive on earth. From a distance she appeared normal, alive and breathing, but soon I could see her skin was translucent and didn’t show any signs of aging. Nearly a thousand earth years had passed since Lydia took her own life, but to me she looked like that fateful last day when we walked into anatomy lab together. I had so much to learn and had yet to be briefed about anything to do with my new life here. I was sure Lydia would have some answers.

“Fallon, it’s wonderful to see you again. Of course, I’ve been monitoring all the extraordinary developments with you on Earth since I got here. Thanks to you I’ve been pretty popular up here when everyone learned that you, the Fallon Ford of Final Solution fame, and I were best friends!” Lydia proudly proclaimed.

I was overwhelmed, so much so that it took a few moments before I realized that Lydia wasn’t moving her mouth, and yet I was hearing her speaking in my mind. The experience was way beyond mere words, however. I seemed to be feeling Lydia’s joy over seeing me which was much more than merely speaking in words. Responding to Lydia, I tried to form the words with my lips, but she stopped me.

“Fallon, that isn’t necessary here. With us, just think your thoughts and I’ll know what you’re trying to say. Go ahead, try it!” Lydia instructed.

“Are you sure?” I blurted out using my voice.

“Go ahead . . . I’ll let you know that I’m hearing your thoughts.”

I began and got a reassuring nod of recognition from her.  

“Oh, Lydia . . . some friend I was, taking you to that rave, not sensing the signs that you were terribly depressed, and worried more about not hurting your feelings than getting you healthy. I didn’t tell your parents what you were really going through, and I should have. That doesn’t add up to a good friend in my book,” I countered, fighting back the still-crushing guilt of not doing more to save her at the time.

“Please, Fallon, don’t think about it that way. Everything happens for a reason. I’m here, aren’t I? Yes, like in your dream, and yes I’ve been able to monitor you pretty closely, when I crossed over Jesus asked me how I felt about what I’d done. He could see I was upset. I said, He, but Jesus appeared to me as a woman,” Lydia shared.

“How can that be?” I asked.

“You know, we both went to the same church growing up, but I always thought there was something not quite right about how God was typically represented as a male figure. That went for Jesus, the apostles, and in our day it was always a man standing behind the pulpit interpreting scripture from a man’s point of view. Men were the head of families and women always took a back seat. That rubbed me the wrong way so I always tried to imagine God as a woman. Sure enough, when it was my time to cross over, there She was, a feminine divinity, but having the same loving, understanding nature as we’ve come to expect from Jesus.”

“Amazing,” I reacted supportively.

“Yah, it’s not like that around here, sexism, I mean. It’s truly not about what’s on the outside here. In fact, how you appear to others is only partly dependent on your glorified physical body,” Lydia added.

“And, now, just what do you mean by that?”

“Take me for example. When we met just a few minutes ago, your last memory of me back in Manistique, both seniors in high school, became the projector through which you formed the image you’re seeing of me now. When my grandmother first saw me here, I was the seven-year-old child she remembered just before passing.”

“I guess that makes sense, but how does anyone here maintain an identity?” I asked, legitimately concerned about such a fundamental difference from life on earth.

“It’s simple, Fallon. Don’t be concerned. These glorified bodies are just a shell, a mask, giving a physical shape to our true identities in spirit. Just like you transitioned to heaven, if we do well on this level, we’ll advance and eventually not need bodies,” Lydia explained.

“I’m not sure you really answered my question?”

“Sure I did. When you recognized me, yes you saw my physical form, one that was familiar, but what you really connected with was my soul, my consciousness. It’s like if you had your eyes closed and heard my voice, you’d know it was me, wouldn’t you?”

“Absolutely.”

“Well, up here you can recognize familiar souls because they’re like spiritual fingerprints, spiritual DNA,” Lydia went on.

“Okay, let’s leave that issue behind for now. What have you been doing since you got here . . . almost a thousand years ago, now?” I was eager to know.

“First of all, try not to think about time passing the way you’re used to. There are no years going by up here. We don’t age, we don’t die, we don’t get sick, but we do and we’re expected to grow spiritually. I’ve been in school you might say, but it’s not about acquiring knowledge. All the knowledge in the universe is available to anyone who crosses over through our access to the Universal Mind. Think Wikipedia on steroids. Spiritual truths, skills, experiences, however, can’t be known, they must be first experienced, then incorporated into the intelligence of our souls.”

“That sounds challenging, but I must admit the exiting possibilities seem endless. What more can you tell me?” I eagerly asked.

“Think of what you went through on earth, helping to defeat the Guardian and then leading the rebuilding of the Christian Church. You earned your wings, so to speak, didn’t you, but it wasn’t easy. When you chose God over the Guardian you risked your life, you made sacrifices, you endured hardships, but you knew it was right thing to do and your soul grew spiritually as a result. I just got back from an assignment, actually.”

“Was it on Earth? Why didn’t you get in touch with me? It would have been nice to know you were all right! How did you end up here, anyway?” I asked, more curious now than puzzled or concerned.

“No, it sure wasn’t on Earth, and I knew I’d see you soon enough. As far as me being here, everyone comes here first. You talk things out with God and you decide whether you want to stay and join the family, possibly go back to complete any unfinished spiritual business, or leave. No one is forced to stay here and no one if forced to leave. Look, there’s so much you need to learn and I’ve been assigned to be your mentor until you’re ready for your first assignment, so let’s take a walk. I know a nice café where we can talk more.”

“Sure, let’s go, but where is everybody? I don’t see a soul, excuse the pun, anywhere?”

“Come . . . this way.”

I got up from the park bench and took Lydia’s hand as we strolled down an Alice-in-Wonderland storybook path lined with surreal dome-shaped trees laden with luscious succulent rainbow-striped ripe fruit hanging just within reach. There were bushes that appeared to be cut to resemble sculptures, but which came to life and started moving as we went by as if saying hello. Playful creatures, some resembling squirrels, others flying like birds, were following us out of innocent curiosity. Lydia saw me eyeing up what resembled peaches.

“Go ahead . . . take one! You won’t experience hunger or thirst here, but that doesn’t mean we can’t still relish the pleasure of something delicious on our palate. There are restaurants here and cafes, even bars, but not like on earth!”

“Do tell me more,” I replied, while sinking my teeth and lips into the most delectable pulp as it released a composite flavor more intense than anything you could taste on earth.

“What’s that like?” Lydia wanted to know, having long since forgotten her “first time” with a similar experience.

“Oh . . . my . . . G . . .”

“Watch your words now . . . don’t forget you’re in heaven!” Lydia playfully reminded.

“I mean, oh . . . my . . . goodness . . . that was totally amazing. You say there are restaurants here?” I asked, panting from the aftereffects of swallowing the fruit’s nectar.

“Everything up here is so much more than about mere senses. When you bit into that fruit, and by the way it’s called a moringa, the flavor was amplified by your glorified body’s enhanced sense of smell. More than that, though, relationships on the other side are always transactions involving our form of currency, spiritual energy, the dalasi. The plants give dalasi credits to us so we can have extra to share dalasi blessings with other living things; animals or other spirit beings. We call ourselves, those of us who live in heaven, the divorare.”

“Blessings, now that’s an earth-bound concept I can wrap my wingless sub-angel mind around,” I interrupted, thrilled that at least some familiar things carried over from before.

“Remember when we hugged, and you didn’t want to let go?”

“I sure do . . . I’m still buzzing from it,” I admitted.

“What you felt were dalasi blessings streaming into your soul. It was a trip, wasn’t it? I still remember my first time!” Lydia shared, beaming with the joy of the recollection of her first hug after crossing over.

“That was something, indeed . . . so finally, a concrete connection to the concept of a blessing. I like it!”

“Fallon, look around now . . . what do you see?” Lydia hinted, not wanting to spoil the surprise.

We’d been walking and talking for close to a half hour and I was beginning to wonder if we were alone in heaven because I didn’t see any other people. Suddenly, I looked up and there were divorare of all kinds, shapes, and sizes. Heaven was indeed a magical place. When I needed to be alone, Lydia and I were somehow isolated from distractions, but when I was ready to begin to engage with my new world, the veil was lifted.

Most of the divorare I saw had wings of different sizes and all had glowing orbs over their heads, but of different intensities. There were human-looking beings and others not-so-human. Continuing down the path we were on, I passed by a number of people talking with animals who were apparently intelligent, sentient beings whose souls were upgraded to eternal and who played an important role during their time on Earth. They were conversing, but using telepathy instead of spoken words. I couldn’t help but be surprised to see the alien-appearing creatures. We followed a small stream to a lush moss garden near the bank.

Surrounding the moss was a ring of mushrooms. I thought I saw some small floating objects glowing gold, like a special kind of firefly. Bending down to get a closer look I saw what appeared to be elegant butterfly wings on the backs of human-looking creatures the size of humming birds. They must have been fairies! Reclining on the mushroom caps, long, flowing, golden locks drifting down to modestly conceal nubile bodies, they seemed completely content to simply exist. Clearly in God’s world the only thing that mattered was soul, not size.

“Lydia, what is going on? Where are these creatures from?” I stammered, after noticing a different group of unusual beings.

“Remember, I told you I just got back from my last assignment, well it wasn’t on Earth and it wasn’t in our solar system. It was from a different part of our galaxy, a planetary system in the Sagittarius spiral arm of the Milky Way. Everyone in this part of heaven either comes from or works in the Milky Way,” Lydia explained, passing on just a little more information than I was ready or able to process.

“Are you trying to tell me the people where you were like that?” I asked, pointing to the ET-looking long-necked, short-limbed creatures waddling down a parallel path near the stream.

“That’s right, though not exactly. Where I was they had two heads and a tail they could use as a weapon if needed!”

“Why are they so different from us?” I just couldn’t help asking.

“God has been sending out angels to seed life in many places around the universe. The seeds provide the basic building blocks for life to take hold, but after that the ultimate forms that develop can vary,” Lydia explained.

“You mean like how a tree can be an oak or a maple, or a mammal a cat or a dog?” I replied.

“Exactly, God values diversity and built into everything created is a drive to evolve toward a unique perfection, both in their physical form and in the maturity of their souls.”

“Whoa, Lydia, slow down . . . you’re losing me. Can that be a coffee shop I see up ahead? Can we please go in and just sit down. I need a chance to process through everything you’ve just told me.”

“Sure, Fallon, I’m sorry. This is a lot to take in all at one time.”

Approaching what looked like a normal glass door for the Soft Landing Cafe, Lydia led the way and simply passed right through. When I froze in front of what looked like a solid pane, Lydia turned to wave me on.

“Oh, I forgot to tell you . . . here you don’t have to worry about doors or walls or running into things, or being confined in any way,” Lydia explained.

“Another perk of a glorified body, I see,” I whimsically replied as she pulled me along while I looked back at the glass in disbelief.

It was an inviting space, softly lit, and featuring a slow, recessed, double-S-curve partition sculpted into the ceiling and featuring a blue sky-and-cloud mural. A series of four-foot in diameter mushroom cap lenses followed the curve providing quiet light to the patrons. The coffee bar was to the right, but along the left wall of the café was a kind of Star Trek holodeck, only the real thing, broadcasting news from around the Milky Way Galaxy.

Way beyond 3-D HDTV, the holodeck viewing chambers, each about the area of a small theater screen, were providing live, real-time holographic transmissions projecting actual events, complete with all associated smells and sounds as if you were right there. The patrons, and they looked like a scene from the Star Chamber Café on the Star Wars’ planet Tatooine—every possible variation on the human body type. I could hear them speaking in strange tongues to each other, but everyone in heaven has the gift to be able to understand what is said to them, no matter the language. Like Spanglish, it was communication based on both telepathy and words automatically translated by the ear.

For five dalasi credits you could change the channel to whatever place in the Milky Way you were interested in and watch the news stream for five minutes. For five more, you could also adjust the scene back or forward in time. There was touch-screen console where you place your holodeck. After an “I Agree” screen, a laser probe would scan your halo and download the dalasi credits.

“Fallon, you don’t mind, do you, I don’t get down here that often and I’m curious about what’s been happening on Centaurus, the planet where I was stationed, since I’ve been gone?”

“Of course not, as long as you first tell me about what you were doing there for all those years,” I requested, eager to hear more about Lydia in hopes of learning more about what I might be doing for my first assignment.

Lydia punched in the galaxy, the Milky Way, the zone, the Sagittarius Spiral Arm, the planet, Centaurus, and some GPS-type coordinates for the city she was in. After agreeing to the fee, her halo first sputtered, before dimming slightly as the five dalasi credits were transferred. In a few seconds the image began to form.

“Look, that’s the family I was sent to be with!”

“But, you can’t be serious, they don’t even look human!” I challenged, after being grossed out by their elephant-like trunks and thick, leathery glove-like hands.

“That’s the first thing you’re going to have to get over. When I volunteered for this assignment I knew what I was going to look like, but none of that physical stuff matters anymore.”

“What do you mean, you volunteered. Why would you leave heaven and go off to such a remote and backward place?” I pestered.

“I don’t understand why this bothers you—Fallon Ford, of all people should know what a call to Service is all about.”

“Service . . . okay . . . I can relate to that. Tell me what you were doing there,” I asked, still having trouble shaking the idea that heaven wasn’t the ultimate destination and that simply getting there was the reason for our existence on earth.

“We have these meetings periodically with the souls of those who have been chosen or volunteered to be born on one of the thousand or so habitable planets in our galaxy. Each planet is at a different stage of biological evolution, spiritual and cultural development. Much of the intelligent life lived throughout the universe takes place in the context of a typical family. During this meeting, the older souls involved discuss what roles they wish to play in the soul-bending dramas about to unfold around the family unit.”

“Wait a minute. Older, what do you mean by that?” I asked.

“Older, you know, they’re not new souls. Most of the souls on earth were older souls, earth was their classroom, and they were experiencing things to help them grow spiritually. Take me, for example, I wasn’t a brand new soul. I came to earth to learn how valuable and precious life is—a lesson I had to learn the hard way, but now I can move on.”

“How about me, am I an old soul?”

“Do you even have to ask . . . who but a wise older soul would have been able to take on the spiritual challenges God dropped onto your shoulders. Yes, you are an old soul.”

“Great . . . I’m not sure how I feel about that. So, in heaven, older is better?”

“Now you’re being silly. Anyway, getting back to the meeting, there’s a spiritual counselor, usually an angel, who helps everyone determine what the next spiritual principle is they should work on. When the goals are established, the appointments are made and the souls wait until they are called.”

“Called . . . what do you mean?”

“You know, the parents have to be born first, so when their parents conceive, their soul will inhabit the unborn child. So you see, time had to pass before my family was ready to have me as a child. Of course, when you’re born you don’t have any active memory of the meeting in heaven or what your role is, but your Path is slowly revealed to you.”

“What do you do while you’re waiting?” I pestered.

“You hang out in heaven, study, take classes, or you can go on short-term guardian-angel gigs.”

“Guardian Angels . . . are you saying people, humans, can become angels?”

“That’s right, it’s just a temporary gig, and, of course, you have to earn your wings, like I did . . . see,” Lydia said while pointing proudly to her two-foot pair of white fluffy training wings sprouting from her back.

I asked Lydia to look for mine, but they were just buds waiting for the right experiences in order to grow. Turning back, I could see she was upset by the scene in the holodeck.

“Lydia, what’s going on with your family . . . they’re all crying, and standing around a small casket. What’s up with that?” I asked, pointing to the holodeck Lydia had called up.

“Yah, that’s me . . . or what’s left of me in there.”

“Oh no . . . you must only have been five or six years old,” I suggested, based on the size of the casket.

“Well, again, try not to liken conditions on other planets with our Earth. Centaurus is a huge planet that rotates very slowly so that one day to them is like a month of passing time to us. Our bodies aged slower, but our minds developed much faster than on earth. My assignment was to be born and die of an accident so that my mother could learn how to forgive my father for causing my death.”

“I don’t know . . . she seems pretty upset.”

“Yah . . . that’s why I’m checking in . . . there’s no guarantee she will learn that lesson. It takes an act of free will and the spiritual insight to know how important forgiveness is. They haven’t yet had a spiritual envoy from heaven sent to their world to help them begin to know spiritual truths. Of course, they have the natural world, and spiritual truths can come from the wonder of creation, but that takes time.  I’ll check in from time to time to see how they’re doing, but I’m not worried.”

“Are they practicing any form of worship right now?” I asked, my mind racing to imagine all the possibilities.

“It seems to be fairly standard across the universe that the earliest forms of worship always focus on some aspect of creation, often the planet’s sun. On Centaurus, the people carved huge representations of their sun in stone. Each village had one of these stone monuments and they had worship services once a month on the night of a full moon. Like I said, some variation of this basic theme can be found on many planets where the civilization is just getting started.”

“What were their worship services like? Were they gory and bloody?” I wondered, thinking of what I knew of the Mayan human sacrifices during which heads were lopped off and still-beating hearts cut out.

“You know, on Centaurus things were pretty tame. It all depends on if the Holy Spirit has makes an impression on the people or if they become influenced by darker forces. Without a Bible or some other word from God to turn to, people have free will and the impulses to kill, steal, intimidate with violence, lie, cheat, basically indulge all the more animalistic traits, are right there for people to choose. The more primitive the society, the more likely they will follow the primitive code of Kill or Be Killed.”

“So, tell me about their rituals,” I persisted.

“Like I was saying, there are many societies where animal or even human sacrifices were common, but on Centaurus the Spirit had taken hold. On the night of a full moon their shaman would lead the people in a prayer to their sun goddess, Hathoria, after which a symbolic meal of fish and vegetables would be burnt as an offering hoping to encourage the goddess to continue to provide food for the people.”

“That is pretty tame, but is God just going to let them fend for themselves spiritually?” seemed the next logical question to ask.

“Knowing that kind of thing is way above my pay grade, but I can tell you that Earth is the only place where Jesus came and died on a cross in order to lead a spiritual revolution on a planetary scale. Like I was saying, God’s spiritual plan for a culture is tailored to meet needs based on their cultural development. To answer your question though, yes, God will send someone, or should I say a team, eventually.”

While we were talking, Lydia’s holodeck transmission timed out and someone else’s started.

“That didn’t last long,” I complained on Lydia’s behalf.

“I saw enough, anyway let someone else have a chance. Now, what would you like to sip on? Let’s go up to the counter and whatever you want is on me,” Lydia generously offered, which was a good thing because I didn’t have any dalasi credits yet.

Walking up to the counter, what I saw was remarkably familiar, but then, that was the idea, to ease our transition to the new reality of life in heaven. The unmistakable prolonged, whining, gurgling hiss of the steamer frothing up a moringa chai latte could be heard throughout the café. The scent and sight of bright white milk products was unmistakable. Were there cows in heaven? Even the baristas were the expected college-age types. But then, I’d already learned that age didn’t matter here. They could have been thousands of years old, for all I knew. I noticed they had a real flickering log fireplace.

“Lydia, I’ll be right back. I want to warm my hands by the fire,” I said just before leaving.

“Wait . . . Fallon . . . it’s not exactly what you think?” Lydia tried to explain.

A few paces and I sat down on the hearth stone which was a strange kind of warm and reached out with my right hand and felt the knowledge of warmth without the same tactile sensation on the skin of my hand. I was drawn by comforting cherished memories of being warmed by the enveloping hug of glowing embers and prancing flames. This different feeling was something of a disappointment. I only stayed for a minute before returning to Lydia.

“I tried to tell you,” she said.

“I should have known it wouldn’t be the same,” I admitted, releasing the words with a sigh of deep regret.

“It’s just another attempt here on Level 1 to ease the transition to heaven. I remember it taking some getting used to, not feeling warm or cold in the same way, but I don’t miss it now. It stems from the fact that extremes of hot and cold can’t hurt you anymore. It won’t take you long to adjust,” Lydia thoughtfully predicted.

On one level, heaven was like living in a dream. I could see what was really in front of me, or, in situations where it really didn’t matter, I might just as easily be seeing what my imagination conjured up from my collection of memories and expectations. Waiting in line, I perused the handwritten colored-chalk-on-blackboard list of drinks and the cost in dalasi credits. There were ten exotic-sounding coffees with their planets of origin mention along with a description of the flavor profile, and as many more tea varieties. Various smoothies combining rare fruits from around the planetary systems of the Milky Way were also available. Still undecided, Lydia jabbed me on the shoulder.

“You’ve got to try the Moonstruck Spicy Mocha. The special dark chocolate from the hills of Pandora accented with just the right amount of hot Tucana psychedelic pepper to open up pathways to amazing lucid daydreams. Or, you could try the Oolong tea. It’s the best stress reliever you could ever imagine.”

“I think the mocha sounds good . . . yah, I’ll go there, not that I’m feeling the need to escape or anything like that.”

We moved off to the side and waited while barista Brandy did her thing.

“So, why is this place named the Soft Landing Café?” I asked after noticing the Starbucks-like logo of two angels descending to the ground, on a sign behind the counter.

“Look over there,” Lydia replied, pointing at a special round holodeck centered behind a semicircular stage.

All of a sudden there was a blinding flash of white light, and two angels appeared; one on each side of a person who looked like they’d just been through a harrowing ordeal.

“Yah, every few minutes someone who dies is escorted to heaven by at least two messenger angels. They use a wormhole, you know, the tunnel of white light, to transport individuals to the alternative universe that is heaven. There are thousands of these wormhole terminals scattered throughout this quadrant of heaven serving a segment of the Milky Way that includes the earth’s solar system. So, get it . . . the Soft Landing Café?”

“Okay . . . makes perfect poetic sense!”

I was completely mesmerized by my entire experience in heaven. So many perplexing mysteries from my days on earth were slowly being unraveled. I was beginning to understand why all of this wasn’t revealed while we were living in our flesh-and-blood bodies on earth. It would have been too much to process and it would have detracted from the focus of our spiritual mission.

The God who I knew loved me so on earth, the God who extended an invitation to join the family of believers on a higher plane, continued to envelop me in the reassuring embrace of familiar surroundings in heaven. Lydia made it clear that we were on heaven’s lowest level, but that was fine with me—that’s exactly how it needs to be for us rookies. Then, I realized what I was thinking—Everything is Always Exactly as it Needs to Be!        

 While we sipped on our mochas, Lydia was flipping through messages on what must have been heaven’s version of an iPhone; a cell of sorts, but it looked like primitive Earth technology—a flip-up phone resembling the Motorola Razr. A few minutes later she turned to me. 

“Well, I just got word that it’s time to get you settled in at the dorm. You’ll be rooming with me since I’ve been assigned to keep an eye on you. That’s all right, isn’t it?” Lydia politely and respectfully asked.

“Oh, sure . . . of course, but am I going to get one of the phone gizmos?” I curiously wanted to know, not used to being unhooked from the neural and digital network that the Internet had evolved to on Earth.

“All in good time my dear. Come along, now.”