by Krishna Rose
The landscape seemed immersed in a deep enchantment which was very powerful. I understood that I was here to document the depths of creation. I could no longer content myself with surety, for the natural worlds are nothing like what I had believed it to be.
Glowing in the darkness, atop a hill, diffuse rays of light came down from above. Thirteen maidens stood in a circle, each virginal maid clutching a silver goblet between her raised hands, while the mystical light from above was held—caught within their sacred vessels. Like a dialogue between Heaven and Hell, gazing to the beyond—their eyes dripped with adoration, as they offered prayers. Here I beheld the source of the divine resonance which had carried me hither.
“I am the Elemental Mistress of Thorns,” said the old lady in a sharp, prickly voice. “My maidens here, hold “hope” in the Grail. Their sacrifice is to garner and preserve the promise of approaching deliverance. The souls found in my lands, have been drawn here inexplicably by the stirrings of what has been. I am charged to cast the thorns of truth upon their soul’s verdict,” she said in a cold, even-tempered voice.
“Those who have been brought here are now reflecting upon themselves, reviewing their own vile corruption. I hear their difficulties, as their hearts burn with despair,” she said earnestly, squeezing my hand comfortingly.
“I pray to the Lord, ‘O Lord, when Your mercy descends from the Heavens, down to the most insignificant, I am filled with a cooling drop of hope,’” she said, as the world about her seemed to suddenly stand still. Something important was stirring. “It is my belief, that the Lord created the perfection of our justice system, to help ease His worry for the lost children of creation—He is concerned for them.
“That tree over there . . .” she said, pointing to the river bank from whence I had come. “There stands the giant thorn. Have you seen it?”
“Yes” I nodded.
“That is the Tree of Doom,” she said matter-of-factly. “It ensures by its protection, that all who are swept upon this River of Remembrance, receive fairness in death—which returns to them what is due. It is not a place without regrets . . .” she said in a choked voice, trailing off, mumbling something indecipherable.
“The mirror is here cleansed, by which all can see themselves in the light of truth. In death, people’s transgressions face them for the first time. Upon recognizing their sin, they burn from within, until, from the pyre they emerge—ready for rebirth. With steady determination to begin anew—naked, free from the sting of pride; cleansed of shame—despite their nakedness; forgiven—freed from the burden of stain, they cling to hope . . . for it is all they have.
“Faced with those who in life they persecuted, understanding reaches the river of their ignorance, and as the new moon rises in the once-blackened sky, opportunity is again offered unto them. Regeneration is a beautiful thing, as within the cauldron of death, all is rightfully given and received.
“I am the great voice of conscience, which through which each moment flows like a loyal and caring friend. And when all leave the world of the living, it is I who opens the Gates of Transgression for them. Only the overshadowed traverse these waters, who by foul and unpleasant wickedness, walked the earth. Though they heed me not in life, in death they tremble before me—as I recall to them the darkness of their inhumanity.”
Beckoning me to follow, I walked behind the Elemental Mistress, slowly. Her long flowing dress casted a shadow over the landscape as it unfurled like crows’ wings on the wind behind her. The moon eclipsed. It was a bad omen. I felt uneasy as the light disappeared from view. Even the pulsing waves of hope stopped dead. In its place, a hauntingly eerie bell droned from deep within the valley. Immediately, mournful cries crept up from the caverns in the dip of the surrounding contoured lands.
Countless captives unleashed, rushed over to us.
“Here” she said, pointing a bony finger toward the sea of groaning prisoners. “These are the condemned. Do not pity them, for they are the dishonored, who, with others, were part of an untoward violence against another soul—yet remained silent. Their indignation, here offers salvation by the fiery chariot of testimony.”
Signifying another multitude, she said, “And there—those prisoners over there, they robbed another’s purity with their unhindered lust. They are a living disgrace,” she said, wrinkling her nose in disgust. “Just as they caused women and children to enslave themselves to their purpose, here they are bound, cramped in hovels, robed in shame.”
A mass of chained criminals burned in the shadows. I was taken aback by their ghoulish howls, as their hideous hands grasped at our feet as we passed them by. The gravity of their crimes seemed candidly incarnate.
“Their sins caused God to weep,” she said candidly. “For His children came under so great an evil, that as punishment for their crimes, the trespassers are lifted up and hung limb from limb without relief. Any hands which touched dishonorably, are here burned to ash. Whilst those genitals which stole what was not theirs for the taking, hang here for all to see—where they are demoralized again and again, just as they in life, corrupted and demoralized someone guiltlessly in life.
There are many who from here rise from their long and just punishment, reborn as repentant sinners, rejoicing with the holy name of the Lord upon their tongue, such that Satan himself mourns their escape,” she said enthusiastically, kicking away the evildoers from her path.
“And look over here. Those are souls who committed murder. They are most vile wretches, for they robbed people of their right to live!” she cackled. “In death they are considered to be the most wicked, hence they are from here plunged into the abyss, where they wait upon the absence of life” she said with scorn. “It is they who make sin exist, for they act according to the habits of their own polluted nature,” she said in conclusion.
I felt heavy in my heart, hearing such atrocities.
In this realm, all manner of interminable sorrow was unlocked. Nothing was hidden. And though I was horrified, I too was astonished by the rightness of giving wrongdoers what is due.
Aristocrats, politicians, religious leaders, fathers, uncles, brothers, and mothers, are here reduced—cast down to recall every violation they had guarded as secrets whilst living. From here, with a changed heart, the texture of desire woven upon the soul’s tapestry, is forever changed.
People’s miseries danced like a play of light on the surface of the water. I was filled with cowardice, for their desperate cries of woe would surely haunt me the rest of my days. I was sure, that as strong winds guide the sand across the desert, the scenes here would one day become the sails of my achievement.
Here, each and every soul has their own cross to bear, only with no witness, and no historical account of their mephitic crimes being repaid. I wondered if the men who had caused Jesu to suffer, might here reunite in the midst of their soul’s migration—to lay upon the enormity of their lives spent plundering without conscience.
Unnerved and sickened of heart, I moved clumsily past the shadowy crowds of lurid ghosts, as forked lightning snapped through the valley. Their eyes were vacant with despair. It is hard for me to express in words things that are so bitter.
“Is each person’s fate pre-ordained or do they have power to avert the evil that drives them?” I asked, trying to fathom what leads a man to do such things.
“Bad things do not happen to good people, Mary,” she said sincerely. “Some people cry when immorality is repaid, eye for an eye. While others lay blame and admonish the Lord when lawfulness is not settled upon the guilty. They have no knowledge of the just punishment which hides behind every sorrow administered, waiting to grab hold—therefore the confusion!” she said straightening her gown, where the claws of many still groped at her as she passed them by.
“What p
eople do not know or see in life, is carried into my realm, where opportunity is ready to impose itself. To mete out what is theirs. No crime goes unpunished in the Lord’s system. Even the most powerful Emperors and Kings, who in life seemed infallible, are here brought to heel. Knowledge is the key. If you could reveal even a glimpse of the hereafter and what it holds for them, so quickly would people discard their inflated sense of self-importance. For in these worlds, nothing goes unseen. And trust me when I say, none would ever wish to enter the gates to the underworlds knowingly,” she admitted.
“I’m innocent!” a voice cried from the trenches below, as a round of thunder rattled loudly above our heads.
“Do not show him pity,” she said with a harsh tone. “This one killed his wife after accusing her of adultery, of which she was innocent. He was in truth the cheater, and by murdering his wife, he planned to remarry his mistress. Yet eye for an eye, inexcusable debt is repaid as time taken from them. There is not one innocent soul brought to my shores,” she said with a half-smile, reassuringly, “still—they profess to be guiltless!” she said laughing spikily.
“As it happens, you would be surprised to know that matrimony plays a significant role in bringing mortals hither,” she said beneath a loud shriek of laughter.
“There is no greater sorrow than the need to be right, especially the need to be seen as right in the eyes of others! When Julius Caesar passed this way, he tried to sway the gods, telling them he was innocent. He claimed that his soldiers were the guilty ones, for it was by their hand that anyone had been killed—by his command. It was entertainment the likes of which we had not seen in decades,” she said, grinning deliberately from ear to ear.
“Of course he held no influence here, nor could he manipulate the outcome of the violations he effectuated in life. He was dragged down just like the rest of them, sent into a designated inferno, where he faced the mass carnage created by his mandate,” she said raising one eyebrow, her eyes cold as ice.
“Look here,” she said. “These are the souls of those who in life committed perjury without repentance. Forced to labor hard in the fiery dungeons as repayment for their dishonesty, they weep regretfully for the misery they created.
“Look over there. See? Those are the most foul of souls who assaulted, beat, and violated women and children. Their deprivations cause a mighty distress, for they are forced to drink liquid fire which burns yet kills them not.”
Staring in disbelief, I saw souls receiving all kinds of punishment, as they retched and writhed in agony—crying out in shrill voices.
“What of the souls who were righteous in life, but made mistakes born of association with immoral people? What is their fate?” I asked.
“Remorse and apology is their reprieve. And if no harm was intended, their debts will be settled in another life. Repentance is key,” she said thoughtfully. “There are many more things to be seen in due course of time, but now, it is time for you to leave . . .” she said, retracing her steps to return me to the river.
“This realm is where the wicked pass over from life to be judged. But their eventual punishment is yet settled upon them in the underworlds beyond even these lands,” she said pointing across the shore to the burrow. “In time you will be shown what these wretched souls bring upon themselves. But for now we shall say goodbye.”
The thirteen maidens resumed their vigil, and the light of hope was again invoked into their cups.
Though souls are rightfully punished for the evil they choose, I was thankful to have seen such a place as this, for it amplified the unmistakable vault of accountability we each have unto ourselves and others. I certainly had much to contemplate. I dropped the blood-red gown to the ground by the riverbank and entered the milky waters, swiftly returning to the other side.
As I walked through the circle of ancient trees, with the ominous cavern at its center, I glanced at its hollow access, breathing in the pervasive sorrow which clung to the air irredeemably. Returning to the Door in the West, the High-Priest greeted me. “Mary, return whole and complete unto the land of the living,” he said tenderly, with kindness like that of a father.
I vowed to make it known to one and all, of these fates I had witnessed—that people might rectify themselves in life and avoid the shores of their sin in the hereafter.
Thus, I was blessed with a glimpse into kismet, where the unrighteous are rewarded with their perfect lessons—relieving those who suffered at their hands. I vowed to forever be that lighthouse by which souls could voyage, without wrecking themselves upon the sharp rocks lining the unseen shores of the afterlife.
It would be years before I would return to the hall to enter the final door—the Door in the South.
Paul secretly feared Brother James. In his heart he had known what the outcome would be, hence he preferred to preach unendorsed, rather than be renounced by the Master’s brother. Ultimately Peter convinced Paul that James might give him a title or reward for all his efforts, thereby Paul agreed to go with him to Jerusalem.
I received a letter from Peter. A council meeting had been summoned in Jerusalem. Paul, accompanied by Barnabas and Titus, came before Jesu’s brother, who was seated in the company of elders. James charged Paul with forsaking Moses and defiling our sacred laws of righteous speech—subsequently asking him to refrain from preaching in Jesu’s name.
Peter wrote to me, describing the back-and-forth conversations that had transpired within the group, saying that their appeals were so forceful, that even Barnabas was carried away by their dissimulations.
Paul called Peter an envious fanatic before the council, claiming that the only reason he had brought him there, was in fact because Peter himself wished to be head of the church. Hence Paul claimed Peter had dragged him there, knowing James would remove him from any position of authority—leaving Peter free to govern. James scoffed at Paul, seeing through his crooked delirium.
“Do the new followers become Jewish, or do we baptize them in spirit which is beyond such designations?” James asked Paul.
“Paul preaches that your brother speaks through him,” Peter interrupted.
“My brother came to set himself free of the deadening influence of leaders who control and misguide people in one way or another. You have understood nothing of he who you claim speaks through you,” James told Paul veritably.
“You dare say I understand nothing!” Paul had apparently replied facetiously.
“Until all your affairs both inside and out are blanketed with honesty, virtue, and truthfulness, rather than the moral desert I see you have become, you cannot claim to know my brother, nor speak on his behalf. You are like a white sepulcher that appears outwardly beautiful, yet within, is full of dead men’s bones and all uncleanliness. Our duty is to speak what was spoken, and narrate the story as it is, for it is glorious. My brother needs no ribbons or bows by which to package an untruth!
“Furthermore, Peter tells me that you have claimed our mother as a virgin who begot my brother by a miracle. This concept is a pagan one, Paul! Knowing the Greeks and Romans have myths with virgin birth at their center—you have tried to compete for a place in history by turning us into gods!
“The truth is, our blessed mother, ‘May the Lord bless her soul,’ was a legally wed noblewoman, who rightly conceived within the confines of Judaic law. My brother did not believe in a life spent in lies—for wicked self-promotion. He came so as to shake the foundations of untruth and misinformation!
“Did you know that even Caesar was said to have ascended to Heaven upon a cloud when he died? Some now even say—he was the son of God! Yet the truth is, it is written in the Torah, that all men are sons of the Most-High. My brother never claimed to be the son of God, but the son of man. It is you who have put words into his mouth, not he th
at is putting words into yours!
“You claim that my brother ascended to Heaven, while he still yet lives! So too do you compare him to the son of Osiris! Do tell us, why do you spread such lies? Is not the message he came to bring enough?”
Peter narrated the entire conversation to me in his letter, and I was well pleased. Now the wheels of fate would play out.
There was once a devoted and faithful man on pilgrimage alone when he was suddenly stricken with a terrible illness. Crawling away from the main road, he took shelter within a cave in a forest nearby. The next day, an old man came with herbs to heal him, and rice and yogurt for the sick man to eat. The faithful man, took the herbs and ate the rice and yogurt after offering it to the Lord with prayers.
Over the next few days, the old man continued to bring the herbs and food. After a while, the devoted man was aroused with curiosity, asking him, “Who are you?”
To which the old man replied, “Why does it concern you who I am? Take your medicines and eat.”
The sick man said, “I shall not eat, nor shall I take these herbs until you tell me who you are.”
After some time, the man again became weak from illness, as he refused to eat or drink anything. Finally, the Lord manifested Himself in place of the old man and the devoted man fell at His feet weeping, saying, “Lord, I had a feeling that in the fearful forest of life, who else would have come to help me but You?”
“If there is someone available to help the faithful when they suffer, then I send them. Otherwise, I come Myself,” the Lord explained.
If a man suffers from an illness, but has wholehearted faith that he can be healed by the Lord alone—we should rest assured that the Lord will heal him. But if someone says, “No doubt the Lord shall heal me, but it is the medicine that will be the means,” it should be understood that his faith is split.