

### Paradise World

by Dan Edmund

Published by Dan Edmund

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2011 by Dan Edmund

Smashwords Edition License Notes

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced into any form, whether electronic mechanical or any other means, or stored into any retrieval system without the permission of the author or the above mentioned publisher. Also this ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Author's Note

The story as well as the characters found within this novel are entirely fictitious. Any resemblance to any character either by name or profession is coincidental. The only exceptions are Sir Thomas More and the Apostle John, also known as Saint John the Divine, one of Jesus Christ's twelve apostles. Several other historical figures, however, are also mentioned in the story, as well as references to historical events, music, literature and, of course, the Bible. In all these areas I have tried to be as accurate as possible.

Concerning religions and afterlife beliefs, I have been very conscious of the fact that there are vast differences of opinions. I have thus endeavored to treat these subjects with great respect as well as accuracy. In a couple of early scenes involving the protagonist, David Eliot, and the historian, Professor Harry Marston, there are some heated debates and arguments. However, they involve the typical issues and challenges the modern Christian has to confront from today's mainstream science and history. It is sincerely hoped that no offense has been caused. Yet, even so, it will be noted that David still managed a good defense of Christianity.

As regard to millennialism specifically, I am also well aware of the similarities and differences in the teachings of the main millenarian religions. As Christ's Millennium forms the setting to this novel, I have focused on their similarities rather than their differences. The actual name of the religion in the novel, 'Millenarian Brethren,' is fictional, but encompasses the spirit that all the millenarian Christian religions share: Christ's Second Coming, Armageddon, the Millennium itself, a Paradise on Earth, a resurrection from the dead, and everlasting life to the faithful.

Publishers of fiction have very much neglected stories set in Christ's Millennium, despite the millions of worldwide believers. Although there have been a number of Christian apocalyptic, disaster type novels published during and since the 20th century, according to my research, perhaps only three had specifically the Millennium as a paradise as their actual setting. They were _The Dawn of All_ by Robert Benson, published in 1911, and _The Man Who Could Not Sin_ by Newman Watts, published in 1938. The former was a Catholic Millennium, the latter, a Protestant. But both were urban, technological societies. The third book was _Kingdom Come: The Final Victory_ by Tim LaHaye and Jerry Jenkins, published in 2007. This was the last of a series of 16 best-selling novels, collectively known as _Left Behind_ , which are based upon Born Again Christian beliefs that lead up and into the 'Last Days' and on until the final stages of the Millennium.

There have also been science fiction stories in which a very modernized Millennium had been created and ruled by a Christ-like figure who had been an extraterrestrial, or some other supernatural being. The setting of _Paradise World_ , on the other hand, although certainly not dogmatic, is nevertheless firmly rooted in Christian millenarian beliefs and ideologies, particularly as it is found in the Gospels and the Book of Revelation. _Paradise World_ is also a rural paradise, where pristine nature, viewed as God's creation, forms an integral part to the story.

However, my novel is also a spiritual odyssey, a quest to attempt to understand the great mysteries of life and death. Mainly through the character of Professor Harry Marston, a vast array of subjects are also explored, including history, science, philosophy, psychology, literature, classical music, utopias, paranormal research, conspiracy theories, esoteric symbology, as well as ancient western and eastern religions. Yet, interwoven amongst all of this is also the exploration of beauty, love, faith, forgiveness, peace and happiness. It is thus with the greatest of pleasure that I now invite you to share all the wonders and joys of _Paradise World_. May you find as much pleasure in reading it as I had in writing it.

Dan Edmund

February 15, 2012

<http://www.paradiseworld-thenovel.com/>

Prologue

I wake up and glance at the clock. It is almost midnight. I must get up. Although still vivid, the inner words to this tale are like dewdrops that would surely evaporate with the coming of the morning light. I look at my wife. She is soundly asleep. Cat-like, I get out of bed, ever so careful lest she should wake and scatter the words into oblivion. I put on my robe in the dark and make my way to the study. Ever so gently, I shut the door behind me. I switch on the light and see a stack of books and study notes on my large, antique writing desk. I remove them and pile them onto a nearby table. Tonight they would only interfere with the flow of words screaming to get out. For just a brief second or two, I wonder whether to power up my laptop. No, I reason to myself, such innermost words from the nebulous subconscious must flow freely from hand to paper without the medium of modern distractions. Instead, I place a stack of clean, crisp paper in front of me. To my right are two large bookshelves brimming mostly with historical, literary and religious works. However, my hand reaches out to only one. Tonight, and all that weekend, it is the only book I will ever open. Slowly, almost reverentially, I open it to a page near its very end. I pick up a pen and copy four of its verses: a starting point, a reference point, a theme to the strange story I am about to relate. It is of a strange and beautiful world, a world where there was neither death nor pain, nor sorrow of any kind.

****************

And I saw a new heaven and a new earth: for the first heaven and the first earth were passed away; and there was no more sea.

And I John saw the holy city, New Jerusalem, coming down from God out of heaven, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband.

And I heard a great voice out of heaven saying, Behold, the tabernacle of God is with men, and he will dwell with them, and they shall be his people, and God himself shall be with them, and be their God.

And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away.

\- Revelation 21:1-4 (King James Version)

Chapter 1 - Death

It all happened in the early morning hours on a cold November night. Jenny and I had been out celebrating our third wedding anniversary. That, along with a few drinks and some friends, and I was on a high and blissfully unaware that in a few minutes I was about to die!

We were simply cruising along Morningside Drive in Harlem, not yet wanting to go home. On our west side was Morningside Park with its sheer cliffs, on top of which strode the affluence of Morningside Heights itself. Here, like another world, stood the majestic Cathedral of Saint John the Divine. Nearby, in yet another world that was academia, was the sprawling campus of Columbia and its affiliated institutions, as well as the prestigious Manhattan School of Music where I taught.

However, at that moment, my mind was on my beloved Jenny. She was twenty-seven, and with her long, blond hair, sky-blue eyes and trim body, she looked every bit as beautiful as on the first day we had met when she had been on vacation in my home town of Portland. I had just gone through some tough times. My mother had died after a long bout of illness less than six months before. As a child, I had already lost my father, killed in a logging accident in Oregon's rugged Cascade Range. Now, with all my family gone, I felt all alone, although my music tuitions, regular gigs, and even my religion had kept me busy enough. Yet, the pain and loneliness persisted. Then along came this wonderful New York girl. We had first met in a rather pricey restaurant where I had been performing that night. During my break, we were introduced and quickly discovered we had a lot in common. We both played the classical guitar, both loved books, parks and gardens, as well as shared the same religious faith. What was more, I had known her relatives with whom she was staying, and had taken her out that night.

Suddenly, in the mist of these reveries, I heard the splutter of the engine. The automobile jerked a couple of times and died. I glanced down at the instrument panel and sighed.

"No! Don't tell me!" Jenny exclaimed.

"Yep, we're out of gas." I gave a quick reassuring smile, then added, "But don't worry, honey, everything's fine. I keep some gas for reserve. Remember?" She returned a wry smile. Of course, she remembered - it was the third time this year that we had ran out of gas.

Morningside Park had been notorious in the past for its muggings and even murders, yet, despite its improved image, I knew only too well this was not the best place to be in these late hours of the night. However, not seeing anybody, I opened the door and immediately felt a cold chill on my face. Reluctantly, I got out, walked to the back of the car and opened the trunk. I then rummaged through some junk before I found the metal container. I was about to reach out for it when I felt a cold chill akin to ice water passing down my spine. I glanced backwards and saw a huge, black youth grinning menacingly at me.

"Hey you! What ya doin here?" he sneered.

"I'm out of gas," I heard myself feebly reply.

"Out of gas!" He gave a sarcastic laugh, reached into his leather jacket and pulled out a gun, thrusting it into my chest. With his free hand, he viciously grasped my jacket collar so hard that I choked. "All right, you white...." He then ripped forth a whole string of profanities, insults and threats that reduced me to a quaking piece of jelly. "Now gimme the money!"

Too stunned to talk, he knotted the collar around my throat even tighter. "Pl...please, no!" I managed to croak.

"C'mon, the money, the money!" he snarled. Then, with the gun still pressed against my chest, and his vice-like fingers fastened around my collar, he dragged me like a rag doll around to the side of the car and pressed me hard against the back door.

"Yes! Take the mon-" I never finished the word. Jenny did the worst thing she could have done. She screamed and the gun went off.

A sharp, searing pain gripped my chest as I dropped onto my knees. I looked up and noticed his stunned expression. Then he pushed me aside and ran.

My chest seemed on fire as I felt the front of my jacket wet with blood. "Oh, David! David!" I heard Jenny scream. I tried to lift my arm towards her, but crumbled face first onto the sidewalk.

Somehow I managed to lift up my head, blood now spurting from my broken nose. Through blurry vision, I saw that Jenny was still screaming, yet strangely, her screams seemed as if afar. I opened my mouth, desperately trying to talk, yet only managed an inarticulate groan. Mercifully, the pain eased, but I felt ever colder and lighter as the blood drained out of me. My head crashed once more onto the sidewalk. I then saw a hazy outline of Jenny kneeling beside me, cradling my face and pleading: "My God! Help us! Help us!"

It made no difference. The end was near. Jenny's face faded away and incredibly other images appeared, many images, including those from the distant and long forgotten past. I saw myself as a toddler, my mother embracing me after I had nearly drowned. Then I saw an image of my father sitting me on his knees and making babyish faces at me. Other images flashed past, of later scenes of childhood, of my parents, church, school and friends. I saw my mother's shocked face as she was told of my father's sudden death. The scene then shifted to his funeral, her eyes and mine full of tears. I saw others comforting us, mentioning the paradise and resurrection. Other memories also flashed by, less painful, many even joyful. I saw myself pleased to play my first song on the guitar, then seeing my fondness for music ever increasing, then learning to play the piano as well. I then saw myself becoming ever more proficient, finally graduating with my music degree. However, next came the painful vision of my mother's prolonged illness, and of her inevitable death. I saw myself crying at her funeral whilst others tried in vain to comfort me. Flashes of Jenny then appeared: our first meeting, our wedding, and moving to our New York home. I saw myself tutoring, then performing in concert, then the two of us going to our church. Finally, came our third anniversary, our drive home, and the gunshot to the chest. All these things and more flashed before me, of things that I had done right, and the things I had not, the people I had helped, and the ones I had hurt.

Then, just as suddenly as it had come, my life review had ended. Somewhere I heard the sound of a siren, then a man's voice, and Jenny's sobs, so distant, so far away. I was seemingly getting lighter and entering a black tunnel, although I distinctly remembered seeing in the far, far distance, a strange but beautiful light. Finally, everything became black and silent as I entered into that great eternity that was commonly known as death.

Chapter 2 - The Awakening

I cannot recall anything afterwards, except that I found myself lying on a bed, stupefied and totally disoriented. It felt like I had just woken up from a long and very deep sleep. I recalled something about death, but only as a vague and distant dream. Then, as the drowsiness decreased, the memories flooded back. My God, had I been really shot? Instinctively, I grasped my chest only to discover, to my great relief, that there was neither pain nor wound. It was only then that I noticed the familiar surroundings of our bedroom at Morningside Heights. I laughed aloud at my own stupidity. My God, of course, it was all just a dream!

Or was it? The morning light filtered through the already drawn drapes as I pondered over this. Dream or no dream, this was surely the most bizarre experience I had ever had. I tried to think logically through the entire nightmare, from the moment we ran out of gas, to the time I had seemingly died. Everything now seemed so very real, the vicious youth with his gun, the searing pain, Jenny's screams, and my life flashing before me like some fantastic film. Yet, there was more. What? Through the recesses of my mind, I recalled a light, a huge all embracing light, and then...well nothing.

Hey, snap out of it! I told myself. Then, with all the resolve I could muster, I flung myself out of the bed. Only then did I realize the strange, white robe I wore. Odd. I never owned such a garment. And where was Jenny? Obviously not in the bedroom. Maybe she was in the bathroom, or the kitchen downstairs. I stepped into my slippers and made my way to the door. I reached for the handle, flung it open and shrieked in horror at what I saw. Instead of finding our familiar hallway, I stared into a strange white-marbled room.

"My God, this is impossible!" I bellowed. I turned my gaze back to our bedroom, and there it still was, exactly as I knew it, as welcoming as an old friend. Yet, in front of me, was something so bizarre that I even began to question my sanity. For several seconds I just stood there, not knowing what to do. Finally, I mustered enough courage and stepped into this bizarre, marble room. At the far end, I saw a wooden door, and slowly, hesitatingly, I made my way towards it. Then, for several moments, I just stood there, too afraid to open it, too afraid of what I might see.

I screamed, "No! I didn't die! This is only just a dream!"

I ran from the door, away from the marble room and towards the old familiar surroundings of our bedroom. Slamming the door behind me, I flung myself onto the bed. For several minutes I just laid there, too shocked to face the idea that perhaps I might not be dreaming after all, but that I had really died. I was still only thirty-five, with so much life still in front of me: time I wanted to spend with my beloved Jenny, time I needed to further my musical career, and perhaps of even becoming a father some day. Then, out of sheer desperation, I began to pray. Suddenly, a faint glow of light fell upon me, instilling me with a peace and serenity I had never known before. All fear had vaporized as I thought back to my religious upbringing, which literally had accepted Armageddon, Christ's Second Coming, the Millennium and a corporeal resurrection of the dead. Therefore, if I had really died, I must be then in Paradise, I reasoned to myself. If that was so, then Jenny might already be here waiting for me. Also my parents. Yes, surely, that must be so.

The light had vanished, yet the ecstasy remained. I launched myself from the bed and stared out of our back window. Instead of seeing the old familiar roads and buildings, I now saw a beautiful garden surrounded by majestic trees. My heart pounded wildly, and I was about to open the window to jump when I suddenly stopped myself, realizing that our bedroom was still on the second floor. This one cautious thought led me to doubt again. Could I still be dreaming, or sleepwalking, or something like that? I really did not know. However, I could not just stay in this room. I had to find out. But not through the window. Instead, I again went to our bedroom door and opened it, only this time, instead of seeing just an empty marble room, I now saw a marble room miraculously furnished with beautiful, antique furniture, including a large round wooden table, on top of which was a golden bowl ladened with beautiful ripe fruit. I walked towards the table and stared at the bananas, papayas, strawberries, grapes, slices of coconuts, cantaloupes, and many other species of fruit I had never known.

Also, on the table, was a hand-held silver mirror. It was lying face-down. Instinctively, I picked it up and saw a reflection of myself as I had never seen before. Not only did I look younger, but gone was the pale pallor of my face, my weak chin profile, and my rather longish nose. However, it still was me, only now a more handsome me, without the physical defects and blemishes.

I placed the mirror reverentially back onto the table and returned my attention back to the fruit. They were all flawless, with a vividness of color that was nothing short of extraordinary. I picked up a massive red strawberry and, after only a slight hesitation, bit into it. It was sheer ecstasy. Never had I tasted a strawberry like this before. I tried a grape and similarly reveled in its perfectly juicy and seedless flesh. Next, I bit into an unknown star-shaped fruit. It had a soft, velvety texture, not sweet like the strawberry or grape, but more of a bitter/sweet taste that was also very pleasant indeed. I could easily have reveled in yet more fruit, however, I was eager to explore this strange new world, to find out whether it was real or merely a dream.

Again I walked towards the opposite end of this strange, marble room, but this time opened the door.

I first glanced at the veranda bedecked by wooden lattices and grapevines, overflowing with succulent grapes. However, far more spectacular to me was the park-like garden beyond the veranda's archway. As if in a daze, I walked towards the edge of the veranda and simply stared at it, mesmerized by the sheer beauty of the scene. I had always enjoyed gardens and parks, and oftentimes Jenny and I had strolled through New York's Central Park. Yet, what was Central Park compared to this? Here truly was a horticultural masterpiece of luscious green lawn, manicured hedges, shrubs, trees, and scented flowers of every kind. In fact, the multiplicity of scents was staggering. Magnolias, frangipani, jasmine, and countless other exotic and exquisitely perfumed flowers wafted over me, their combined aromas intoxicating me to the very depth of my being.

Still mesmerized, I stepped through the veranda's archway and down the marble-like stairs that led into the garden. Here I gazed upon a glassy pond and a magnificent fountain, whose sprays and splashes were a delight to see and hear. I stretched my hand into the crystal clear water, feeling its coolness on my skin. I scooped some of it into my mouth, and was truly amazed at how beautiful plain water could taste.

I then continued down the pebbled path, exploring this natural wonderland, this Garden of Eden, my senses filled with delight with every step I took. An array of shimmering red roses caught my attention, and I stooped down towards the closest one. I felt its soft petals tingle my nose as its aroma wafted over me like exquisite perfume. I took a few more whiffs, then felt the smooth, thornless stem between my fingers.

Yet, nearby to where I crouched, there were not just roses, but flowers of every kind: geraniums, lilies, daisies, begonias, tulips, buttercups, violets, carnations, primroses, morning glories, bluebells, and many, many more, all in perfect bloom. Further down the track, I discovered fruit trees: apple, plum, guava, avocado, orange, and many others besides. Here in this incredible garden, not only were there all types of plants growing perfectly together, but fruiting and flowering together at the same time that was utterly impossible in the world I had known. Here, in this dreamlike world I now stood, symbiosis operated on a scale that was nothing short of divine.

I continued walking through this enchanting orchard, all full of ripe fruit, with not a rotten one to be seen. At its outer edge was a cluster of trees like none other I had ever known. They were perhaps thirty feet in height, and covered with large, crimson fruits. I walked towards the trees and plucked the nearest fruit. It had a sweet, rich creamy taste, not unlike vanilla custard. I was already on my third bite when I noticed, high up in the branches, a couple of golden-colored spider monkeys. For several seconds, I stared at them as they also fed on this delicious fruit. I made some soft cooing sounds to attract their attention. Not only did they notice me, but to my utter amazement, one of them actually climbed down towards my outstretched hand and allowed itself to be stroked.

As I patted this tame creature, I involuntarily wondered again whether this place was indeed truly real, or only just a strange but beautiful dream.

"Well, monkey, what sort of world is this, real or illusionary?" I asked, as if addressing a young child.

However, the monkey only stared blankly at me before it slowly ascended up the tree to be once more with its mate. Seeing them together, I once again became acutely aware of my solitude. Then, for some reason, I gazed behind me and noticed for the first time a shaft of white light beaming down onto the mysterious building I had awoken. The light was not very bright, in fact, barely discernible, yet it stretched high into the sky. Stranger still, it had that otherworldly glow that reminded me back to the time of my supposed death, and then again when it miraculously comforted me after my awakening. Now here it was again, rising ever so slightly above the house and back into the sky, becoming ever fainter, ever harder to see, until it finally vanished before my eyes.

I just stood there, staring into the empty, clear blue sky, more than ever mystified by what I had just beheld. However, soon thereafter, I again mustered my courage and determination to explore this strange new world I was in. I therefore left the confounds of this enchanted garden and walked along a hilly path that traversed a thick forest of pines. Here I encountered several other animals, raccoons, foxes, badgers, all seemingly as docile as the monkeys I had previously seen. I even saw a deer coming up towards me, then nudge its nose playfully into my outstretched hand. However, I soon ignored its friendly advances and continued on with my search. I was now desperate to find my family, and if not my family, then at least somebody. Anybody! I was beginning to feel ever more like Robinson Crusoe stranded alone in Paradise.

For perhaps another thirty minutes or so I walked down along a gently sloping trail. Finally, I reached an open grassy plateau. I went towards its edge and gasped audibly at the scene before me. Not even in my home state of Oregon had I ever seen such spectacular and pristine scenery as this. At the bottom of the valley, a crystal clear river, tinged red by a setting sun, lazily meandered between its golden, sandy banks. Here there were more deer, in the water and out, but looking as majestic as the scenery surrounding them.

On the opposite side of the river's bank, acting as a gigantic backdrop, was another mountain range, even higher and more majestic than where I was, with some peaks almost scraping the puffs of clouds that dotted the sky above.

From where I stood, a clearly marked path led down the valley, where it eventually joined to yet another one along the river's bank. And then I saw it, the greatest sight of all. Next to the river, about a mile away to my left, scattered and partially hidden amongst the trees, I saw a small settlement of perhaps twenty or thirty homes. I whooped for joy, then with all the alacrity of a young child, I scampered down the track. I somehow instinctively knew that down below were not only people like myself, but my family as well.

Then, just as my excitement had reached fever pitch, something so incredible happened that I stopped dead in my tracks as surely as if I had been shot. There, less than thirty feet down the track, a ghostly form suddenly appeared, which eerily drifted up towards me. Closer, ever closer it came, and as it did, it slowly materialized itself into human form. A second or two later, I saw the features of an old man with a long, silver beard. He somehow reminded me of a biblical prophet. A gentle smile appeared from his lips, and out of them came the equally gentle words:

"Don't be afraid, my friend. Welcome to Paradise!"

As he said this, he fully materialized, and appeared as solid and real as any other flesh and blood mortal would.

Chapter 3 - Welcome to Paradise!

Due to my religious upbringing, I recalled a number of biblical incidents where angels had materialized, and so I naturally assumed him to be one. We had always been taught that angels were merely spirit messengers from God, and that unlike demons, they were good. Yet, even so, I felt more than a little uneasy at being suddenly confronted by one now.

"Welcome to Paradise!" he stated again with that same ingratiating smile. He was somewhat taller than me, with a friendly, cheerful face. He too was dressed in a long flowing, white robe, only his shone with an exquisite radiance. He put his arm around my shoulders and gently said, "Do not be alarmed, my friend. I am only here to help you. Please ask me any questions you like."

For a few seconds, I was too bewildered to even open my mouth. I only stared incredulously at him as he led me back up the track. Finally, I asked timidly, "Is this a dream or have I really died?"

He did not answer me until we reached the plateau, and then he looked intently into my eyes. "No, my friend, do not think yourself as dead," he gently replied. "Rather, you are very much alive, as you can see, only your life in the world of darkness has come to an end. Now you are in a world of love in which evil and pain no longer exist."

So, it was true. I really had died and been resurrected into Paradise. The angel, seemingly reading my thoughts, simply confirmed my conclusion with a smile. I then wondered about my family, and before I could vocalize my question, he replied, "Both your mother and father are down below in that settlement you have seen. They do not yet know that you are here. However, soon they will be told."

"And what about -"

"Jenny is not yet in this world. However, she will also join you here."

"When?"

"She will come when the time is right. Do not be impatient, my friend, you have first some missions to do." The angel then gave another sympathetic smile. "However, she will come soon enough, and after that, you will receive a further blessing." He paused then added, "You have only just arrived and begun to see the marvels of this paradise. You will still see a lot more, and learn more as time goes by. Now, please return back to the place you had come, back at the top of this mountain here called Anastasis. There awaits an old friend for you, and soon, just after sunset, you will see another great miracle. However, do not be alarmed, but simply wait for your mother to come." He loosened my arm and then stepped to one side. "Farewell, my friend, I will meet up with you again." Then he vanished before my very eyes.

Dumbfounded, I just stood there, not knowing whether to cry for joy or in despair. I had died. I had actually died! Even after all I had seen and heard, I still found it difficult to believe. To have been told or read about the resurrection and the Paradise was one thing, but to actually experience it was quite another.

Again I gazed around this magnificent scenery in wonder, with its majestic mountains, its amazing fauna and flora, its beautiful valley, and all of this was going to be my new home. If this was Paradise, then how much more beautiful would this world be with my beloved Jenny. Although not yet here, she soon would be. I was told by no less an authority than an angel. I just had to be patient. Thus, my thoughts turned towards my parents, my mother that I had not seen since she had died of cancer, and my father I had not seen since I had been a young child. The sun was already low on the horizon and, recalling my instructions, I hurried back to my place of awakening, full of hope and anticipation.

I virtually sprinted all the way back again, something that would have been utterly impossible in my previous life. By the time I arrived back on the outskirts of that enchanted garden, the sun had dipped even deeper, setting the sky ablaze with the most spectacular sunset colors I had ever seen. The entire horizon seemed as if on fire with red, orange and purple hues. For a second or two I simply stared, utterly amazed at its sublime beauty. Suddenly, I heard two thunderous barks and the spell was instantly broken. I looked down and there, not five yards away, and furiously wagging its tail, stood a large black dog with a unique pattern of white spots on its head. I had never again noticed those exact same markings on any other dog. Until now. My heart pounded with excitement, and memories of my childhood came flooding back. However, I was no longer a child, yet the dog clearly seemed to recognize me. How? The smell? But this was impossible. Dogs do not come back from the dead. Or do they?

"Cory?" I whispered under my breath. As soft as it was, for the dog the call was all too clear. In one big swoop, the big black labrador leapt towards me, whining and yelping with joy. "My God, it is you!" I squealed with delight.

I still had Cory in my arms when I witnessed yet another miracle, this time in the sky. Amidst the swirling sunset colors, another glowing white shaft of light appeared, only now far larger than before. Mesmerized, I stared as it got ever brighter and wider as it was making its way down towards the earth. I once again recalled the white light I had seen at the time of my death, and at the time of my resurrection. Only this light was far larger and grander, although it still somehow retained its mysterious power of love and tranquility. Soon the massive shaft of light covered much of the sky, with its base disappearing over the horizon towards the valley. It was absolutely awe-inspiring! Even Cory became subdued as he too came under its spell.

So what was this light?

Although still ignorant, I knew that its source must surely be divine, holding secrets way beyond my understanding. I was hypnotically drawn towards it, wanting to investigate it, yet I remained, waiting eagerly for my mother's arrival. The sun had now already set, yet the sky and the land all around continued to be lit as if it had still been the middle of the day. Meanwhile, I crouched down beside Cory, who in all this time, had not strayed from my side. I embraced him once again as I continued staring into this mysterious sight.

Quite some time must have past, although how much, I could not tell. I was simply too enchanted. Then Cory's thunderous bark broke the shackles of my trance. He barked once more, his tail again wagging furiously with delight. I spun around and again was totally stunned, so complete had my mother's transformation been. The last time I had seen her had been almost four years ago, when she had been frail and old, and stricken with cancer. Now she looked as young and radiant as a pin-up girl.

"Oh, David, my David!" she cried. She opened her arms and raced towards me.

The next moment, we were in each other's arms, hugging and kissing each other's cheeks, our eyes filled with tears of joy. Finally, we separated, although Mum still clasped my hands as she excitedly exclaimed, "Oh, David, my dear David, how wonderful to see you again!"

"And you too, Mum!" I stepped back, grinning. "Hey, I can hardly recognize you. You look so young and beautiful!"

"Oh, David, we all do. Paradise is everything we had ever hoped for, and more!"

"I know! I know! " I replied. Not wanting to be ignored, Cory then started jumping excitedly around us. I started to laugh. "And to see Cory again!"

My mother also laughed. "Yes. He came as a surprise to us as well. We suddenly saw him in front of our house about six months ago. As you know, we never thought animals would ever be resurrected."

I nodded, then asked, "But how did he recognize me? He only knew me as a boy? Did he recognize me by my smell, or what?"

"I don't know, but it's surely just another miracle in a life full of miracles."

"But what about Dad? Where's he?"

Her beaming smile even widened. "Your dad has also been resurrected, but he's still in the Divine Light, back at our village. Oh, David, he'll be so glad to see you again!"

"Yeah. It'll be also great to see him again. Ah, it's been so long. I was only a boy when I last saw him." I hesitated, conscious again of that incredible light above us. "But what do you mean by Dad being in the divine light?" I then stared into the sky. "Is that what you mean? What is that light anyway? It seems so strange and mysterious to me. It seems as if...." I let the sentence fade, unsure what to say.

My mother's mood also changed, suddenly becoming very grave as she stared up with me towards that huge bright shaft of light. "That's the Divine Light!" she venerably replied. We both then continued staring up towards this magnificent sight, its hypnotic effect growing ever stronger the longer we gazed into it. Finally, we forced our eyes away and again faced each other.

"For us, it's something like the symbolic tent of God mentioned in Revelation," she said in that same reverential tone. "It's like a visible symbol of God's presence and power here in this new world of ours." She smiled at me, then added, "Oh, David, it really has such power once you're inside it. Never has God's Holy Spirit been experienced like this before, not even at Pentecost!"

It surprised me a little to hear Mum speak in such mystical terms, yet I could see with my own eyes that there were far grander and stranger things here in God's Paradise than we could have ever had imagined.

"Tell me more about it!" I urged.

"Well, it comes every month, the first day of the month, on the new moon. When we're inside the Divine Light, we feel as if we're in the very presence of God. Here we get direction and information from God and the angels, although it's usually given through our village's spiritual mentor." She paused for a moment and smiled. "Like tonight, David, when Carlos, our village mentor, was told of your resurrection. That's why I knew you were already here, why I now came."

She tenderly held my arm and smiled. "But you'll see for yourself. As I said, your dad, in fact, our whole Deer Park community is still within the Divine Light." She then playfully tugged my arm. "Come on, David, let's get back down."

Then together, arm in arm, with Cory following behind, we retraced our steps down towards the valley. Along the way, I had explained to her about the way I had died, and how I had met my wife, Jenny, and that she had been likewise of our faith. This enthralled my mother even further. "Oh, David, that's wonderful!" Then, like a fountain, words bubbled forth out of my mother's mouth, extolling the virtues and splendors of God, Christ and Paradise. And all that while, the Light continued radiating its magnificence: a supreme verification of my mother's every word.

When we arrived at the edge of the plateau overlooking the valley, I told Mum of the angel that I had met.

She suddenly stopped and stared at me in wonder. "Really, David? What a great honor. Very seldom does that happen outside the Divine Light, and then only to our spiritual mentors."

This somehow surprised me, considering all the strange and incredible things I had already experienced. For a while, we remained silent as we continued down towards the valley and onto the path that led into the village. The closer we got, the closer and brighter the Divine Light became, so that by the time we reached the outskirts of the village itself, I was almost blinded by its intensity. Now I only saw the vaguest of outlines of the scenery around me, and yet ever closer we went towards that divine and mysterious light. Then, as if realizing my discomfort, its brilliance faded to a soft and gentle glow, so that once again, I saw the beauty of this paradise around me.

I now noticed that the village dwellings were scattered spaciously along the river valley, nestled neatly in between an assortment of fruit trees, pines and oaks. I reflected on all of this and was swept away by a sheer sense of wonder and admiration, not just of the Light, but also for the serenity and rustic beauty of the type of world I had entered. Deer Park Village, as it was called, had an earthy and pristine quality that blended perfectly into its environment.

The houses were mostly timber homes, with large verandas adorned with beautiful plants and shrubs. Mum told me that inside they were simply but comfortably furnished with handcrafted furniture, curtains, paintings, wooden carvings and other decorations, and floored with either finely woven carpets, or else highly polished wooden floors.

"Oh, David, everything is just so perfect!" she declared, brimming with delight.

My mother was right: everything was perfect. The beautiful, tranquil flow of the river on my right, with its ripples gently stroking the river's bank, the quaint homes, the forests, the landscape, the wildlife, my resurrected mother in my arms, and my dear friend, Cory, trailing behind. Here was a world, I now felt, that was full of God's goodness, a world where nothing seemed wrong, or even could go wrong. How different it all seemed to the bustle of the cosmopolitan world I had so recently left behind.

However, most impressive of all was still the sight of the Divine Light beaming down near the center of this tranquil settlement. From the vantage point near the edge of the village, and only a few hundred yards from the Light's outer rim, its sheer size alone was enough to take my breath away. Although perhaps only two hundred yards in width, in height it stretched out towards the heavens as far as the eye could see, dwarfing the tallest Manhattan skyscrapers into insignificance. Yet, more spectacular still, was the sheer brilliance of the Light itself. Despite its now obviously reduced intensity, it still sent shivers down my spine.

We passed a large impressive wooden building that Mum called the Fellowship Hall, yet I hardly noticed it due to the magnificence of the Light. Now, at this close range, and with its reduced and gentle luminosity, it radiated a feeling of warmth and love that was impossible to describe. Then, only fifty yards or so away, a figure miraculously stepped out from this celestial Light. Under normal circumstances, it would have been less bizarre had I seen somebody stepping out unharmed from inside a blazing furnace. However, here in this world, nothing seemed too extraordinary. He glowed with a tremendous aura, and I naturally concluded that I was seeing yet another angel. However, the bodily aura quickly faded, but still there remained a faint afterglow around the head and face. I recalled how, according to the Bible, Moses' face radiated with a similar glow after speaking with God on Mount Sinai. However, here was not Moses but my father, who like my dear mother and I, had also risen from the grave.

Seconds later, we were in each other's arms. The aura around his face and body was gone, although I still felt the latent energy from the Light surging through his body.

"Oh, son, it's great to see you again!" my father exclaimed, then stepped back, stared at me, and shook his head in disbelief. "Boy, it sure is incredible seeing you again, especially seeing you now as a man."

I had only been ten when a falling tree had crushed Dad. Now, here he was again, standing next to me, in front of this mysterious, fantastic Light.

"It's sure great to see you also!" I replied gleefully.

He again embraced me, then pointed towards the Light. "All the folks are still inside and waiting for us to enter. Are you cummin inside? There's nothing to be afraid of, son. It's an incredible experience."

Being now so close to the Light was more than just awe inspiring, it was totally and stupendously divine! Even from this distance of about fifty yards, I could feel its unbelievable energy, and with its luminosity once again increasing to its previous level, its glow was like a thousand suns. However, despite all of this, the Divine Light did not create blindness, nor cause any pain. It only emitted total and absolute love, and a tranquility that was simply irresistible.

I solemnly nodded, then noticed Cory no longer by our side.

"What about Cory?" I heard myself dreamily ask.

"He'll be okay. We'll probably see him when we get back home," I heard my father's reply.

Dad placed his arms around us both and led us into that utterly awesome, yet wonderful sight. We entered together and all bodily sensations ceased. I was filled with fear at this utterly strange and seemingly bizarre phenomenon. However, the feeling lasted only for a moment as I was swept up by the Light's sublime love. Now, all three of our bodies shimmered with a bluish-white glow.

Once again, I felt the same permeating tranquility I had felt just after my resurrection, only now the Light was much stronger, the sensations far more acute. Amidst the fantastic swirl of colors, I now heard the sound of applause. I saw a crowd of people in front of us, all looking towards me, all dressed in the same white robes, and all shimmering with the same gentle glow. I felt their love towards me, just as I felt God's own love towards us all. I knew I was now one of them, a member of those privileged to be a part of God's Paradise World.

"Welcome! Welcome, dear friend!" I heard a voice declare. I turned towards the front and noticed another shimmering figure that seemed to be hovering on a beam of light. He then announced: "We all welcome you, David, to your new life in Paradise!" There then followed another applause, louder and longer than before. "Come, brethren, let us now give thanks to our God in the heavens!" The whole community then broke out in song, a song I knew from childhood, a hymn of praise to God. I joined in, and like everybody else, became ecstatic, mesmerized by it all, with tears of joy streaming down my face. The words simply flowed out of me like water, all personal thoughts and feelings eradicated, totally unworthy on such a grand occasion.

When the hymn had finished, the shimmering elevated figure in the front now began a public prayer that thanked the Almighty for life, for the Paradise, and for the resurrection of their latest brethren. At the conclusion of the prayer, the figure on the beam of light descended. Then, slowly, almost imperceptibly at first, the actual Divine Light itself began to lift, first past our ankles, then knees, hips, chest, shoulders, then finally over our heads. Once past our heads, our normal state of consciousness returned, yet still we all looked up in awe as the Divine Light rose ever higher into the night sky until finally it was gone.

"Incredible! Absolutely incredible!" I murmured to myself.

The sky darkened and now only the crescent of the new moon and the sparkling lights of the stars remained, only far more numerous and brighter than I had ever seen before, spreading a dark blue hue over the entire land. Although the Divine Light had now departed, and with it the aura surrounding everyone, the euphoric feelings nonetheless lingered on. People hugged each other, expressing endearments to one another, and praises to Almighty God. Never had I seen so much hugging, never had I been hugged so much before. On and on it went until finally, one by one, they started drifting home, and even then, many were still clinging on to one another as they did. Dad also swung his arms around his family, and the three of us likewise ambled home.

Then, once again, I recalled the angel's words:

"Welcome to Paradise!"

Chapter 4 - Paradise At Home

My parent's home was on a small hill near the river's bank. Being on the furthest western limits of the village, we walked along the river trail leading away from Mount Anastasis. From a distance, my parent's home appeared like a beautiful silhouette drawn against the sparkling blue backdrop that was the night sky of Paradise. Upon getting closer, I noticed their home was also constructed from wood, which likewise blended beautifully into its environment. And just as environmentally friendly was my mother's nearby garden, where I saw basketball size cauliflower heads jutting out of the ground, and behind them, lines of leafy carrot tops standing upright like miniature sentries of the night.

"Everything grows so wonderfully here," my mother explained, "and there're no pests, frosts or storms to destroy what you planted. Neither do we need to weed."

I chuckled and looked around me. "Nor does it seem to get truly dark. And the stars. Wow! I've never seen so many before. Is it always like this at nights?"

"Always," my father replied. "Plus, our eyesight is probably as good as owls."

"Incredible!" Then noticing my mother's garden again, I asked, "But why bother with a vegetable garden when so many exotic fruits and vegetables grow naturally by themselves, or even seemingly appear miraculously out of thin air?"

Mum laughed. "Oh, David, food does not appear out of thin air, it grows naturally, with God's help. However, certain crops still need to be planted, like these carrots and cauliflowers. You also have to remember that we find pleasure in working with our hands, and seeing the fruitage of our own labors."

"Yeah, and the work here doesn't break your back either!" my father added. He chuckled. "In fact, it's kinda fun, as you'll soon find out."

I nodded, despite the fact that I had never considered physical work as being fun.

As we neared the house, Cory came bounding from out of the bushes, barking and jumping excitedly around us. I once again played with him and thought back to my own childhood, feeling how wonderful it was to be as carefree as a child once more. A short while later, we reached the front veranda and entered into my new home. In the darkness, I saw my father reaching out to some round object that hung from the ceiling near the entrance of the door. "Wait for this, son, you'll get a real kick out of this!" He gently rubbed the small round object and amazingly it began to glow. He rubbed a little harder and miraculously the room lit up to a warm and gentle glow. "If you need more light, you just rub a little harder. However, it slowly fades out after a little while. So, to keep it going, you just put the 'light crystal,' as we call them, and place it inside this glass bowl and then hang it up, or place it on the table, or anywhere else you like. The light now won't go out until the light crystal is removed." He again chuckled. "Neat, ain't it?"

"Yeah, sure, but how on earth does it work? I suppose it's just another miracle!"

"We've been told that there's limitless energy all around us. How that works, we don't rightly know. But I guess the power must come from God somehow."

I nodded and examined the house's interior. The living room was simply and tastefully furnished. A large red rug covered much of the smoothly polished wooden floor. In the center were three rocking chairs and a small coffee table. On the far side stood a massive handcrafted cabinet filled with an assortment of crockery, figurines, and other paraphernalia. On one side of the pine paneled walls hung two canvas paintings, one a beautiful landscape, the other a life-like portrait of my parents. Nearby was a table on which were two bowls ladened with fruit, a full carafe of what seemed red wine, along with three wine glasses, plates and cutlery.

Seeing my surprised look, Mum laughed. "Oh, David, we knew you were coming one day soon. So, for the last several Divine Light appearances, we've set the table for the three of us."

I smiled appreciatively and then told them of the table and food that had miraculously appeared upon my resurrection. "However, just as incredible was the bedroom. It looked exactly like our bedroom in New York!" I added excitedly.

My father nodded. "Yeah, those kind of miracles can happen upon Mount Anastasis during a resurrection. The same thing happened to me. I guess being resurrected in what appears to be your bedroom, or some other familiar surroundings, makes the transition somewhat easier for some. It did with me. But here's your real home now, son. Do you like it?"

"Yeah, I do," I replied. "It all looks very rustic but charming."

Dad then tapped me on the shoulder. "Come on, son, have a closer look at these paintings."

I examined the portrait of my parents first, and was impressed by how lifelike they appeared. They were in each other's arms, beaming radiant smiles at each other.

"That one was done by one of the brethren here in this village," my father said.

"And this one?" I pointed to the landscape.

"That's the Deer River here in this valley." Dad chuckled. "Your ma painted that."

"Mum!" I exclaimed in disbelief. I vividly recalled Mum's attempts at painting, which even to me as a teenager had seemed rather amateurish. Yet, here in front of me was, well, not quite a masterpiece, or an Albert Bierstadt, but good nonetheless. "Mum really painted that?"

"Yes, I did!" she said, trying to sound indignant. "I know my paintings weren't any good when you saw them, but here in Paradise, we seem to be able to develop skills that we could only have dreamt about."

My father chuckled and nodded. "Yeah, I sure agree. I could cut trees down all right, but making things from them, well, I never could take to that. But now I learnt to love it. It's all so easy here. There's also all types of lumber and other materials which never existed in the old world, which makes work so much easier."

"Yes, it all seems incredible!" I agreed.

"Anyway, son, how about some good old-fashioned dinner? But Paradise style!" He gave a cheeky grin. "Hey, son, do you like roast beef?"

"Yes, sure, but I'm surprised to hear that we still eat meat here, I mean, that animals are still slaughtered!"

Dad shook his head and chuckled. "No, son, no animals are killed. They live just as peacefully as we do. Believe it or not, animals here don't even get sick, nor do they get old and die."

This again surprised me. "Really! So how is it possible to have roast beef?"

"No, it isn't really roast beef. It's what we call 'Roast Leaf,' which is a very thick leaf-like plant that tastes every bit like beef, and when roasted, it tastes like the best roast beef you've ever had. No foolin! Follow me and I'll show you."

Mum and I followed Dad as he walked to the far end of the room. He opened a door and drolly announced: "That's our kitchen! Kinda looks plain, don't it? But don't let that fool you. Here we can cook the grandest dinner you could imagine."

"Oh, indeed we can, David!" Mum heartily agreed.

I stared into the rustic looking kitchen, which was totally bare except for a wooden bench, a sink, a cupboard, and a large silvery colored box at the side of the wall.

"What's that?" I asked, pointing to the box.

"Our stove. That's where we're going to cook our roast leaf, or roast beef if you like. Here, I'll show you. This you also gotta see." My father opened the cupboard, took out a large earthenware pot, and opened the lid. "These here carrots were grown by your ma." He picked one up and handed it to me. It was large, bright orange, and perfectly smooth. "Go ahead, try it!" he urged.

Carrots had always been just plain old carrots to me. I never thought of them as anything special. However, to humor him, I nonchalantly bit into it. "Hey, you're right, not bad for carrots. Not bad at all!"

"All fruit and vegetables grow absolutely perfectly here," my mother reminded me, "and they never rot nor do they need refrigeration because there simply isn't any harmful bacteria or things like that around." She then entwined her arm into mine. "Also, because we don't have any insects or other pests, we don't even need to cover the food." To prove her point, my mother then brought out a lidless clay pot from out of the cupboard. "These are cauliflower and potatoes, also from our garden. Do you want to try these?"

I did and was similarly surprised.

Dad then opened the oven door and took out what looked to me to be a piece of cooked meat. "Although it ain't been heated up yet," he said, "it already tastes great. Here, have a taste!"

He sliced off a piece and handed it to me. Again I took a bite. Although a plant, it really did taste like a cold piece of prime roast beef. "Now, watch this!" he added eagerly. He rubbed the inside walls of the oven with the palm of his hand. "It works on the same principle as the lamp. It somehow absorbs energy from the surrounding area and converts this into heat. And get this!" he then nudged me with his elbow. "This oven only heats the roast leaf, or any other food for that matter, but can't burn anything that's human or animal. The heat only affects plants, but only to the point of heating it, but never burning it!" He then gave me a wink and chuckled. "Even a hopeless cook like me can now cook up a storm!"

I again shook my head incredulously. "It all seems so impossible, I mean, it all goes so contrary to the laws of science," I said.

Dad laughed. "Yeah, it does. All that old science stuff means nothing here. Zilch!"

"I know it does. But how can that be?" I asked, mystified. "We were always taught by our religion that God's laws were immutable! Sort of anyway, except for the miracles, of course. However, in school we were taught there were scientific laws which always held true and...." I let the rest of my sentence fade into silence when I thought back to all the things I had just experienced: my resurrection from the dead, standing here talking with my formerly deceased parents, that strange, enchanted house on top of the mountain, seeing and talking to angels, then, most incredible of all, that mysterious Light! I combed my fingers through my hair and sighed. "Yeah, I can see what you mean!"

Mum, seeing my sudden confusion at the culture shock I was undergoing, held my hand and gently replied, "Don't worry, David, it will just take a little while for you to get adjusted. But it doesn't take long, especially when everything is just so wonderful and easy here." She then playfully pulled my hand and added, "Come, we'll let your father do the cooking and I'll show you your bedroom. Perhaps you may want to lie down for a while."

We returned to the living room and on into a hallway that led to three bedrooms, one of which was mine. Once in the room, Mum rubbed a light crystal and again there was light. I saw a single bed, a wardrobe, writing table, chair, small dresser, and another landscape by Mum. On the far side, dark brown curtains draped the window.

"Why don't you lie down a bit and rest," she suggested. "I'm sure you've never had a bed as soft as this."

Although not the least bit tired, for the sake of Mum, I tried the bed and was surprised at its softness. "What's inside the mattress? Eiderdown?"

"Eiderdown? Oh!" My mother then giggled like a little girl. "No, here we don't pluck feathers from birds. It's made from a special plant material that's even softer, and gives better support for the back."

As comfortable and inviting as the bed was, I nonetheless got up.

"Are you sure you're okay?" she asked.

I returned a reassuring smile. "Yes, sure. I'm fine! So, where's the bathroom?"

Mum smiled coyly and then again held my hand. "All right, but be ready for another surprise." Then, like a little child, she led me to the bathroom at the end of the hallway. Here I saw a large wooden bath and a hand basin fitted with hand pumps instead of taps, a hand towel rack with a couple of towels, a small round table and a mirror.

"Very quaint. Makes you think back to the early pioneer days. But wooden bathtubs and washbasins, with hand pumps! Isn't that going a bit far with all that nature stuff?"

My mother shook her head. "Oh, no! This is not the old world you knew, but rather where we're at one with God's now perfect nature. There are no steelworks, mass production, and things like that. All things are now crafted by hand. That's why we use wood so much."

"But does not the water affect the wood, you know, rot or warp, or that sort of thing?" I already knew it was a stupid question even before I finished asking.

"No, here in Paradise nothing breaks, nor needs any maintenance. It's like the food and everything else, you know, no bacteria or fungus. That's why nothing ever rots."

"Nothing? Mum, then what about the food you eat, and what comes out?" I paused and chuckled mischievously. "I'll be polite and use the word 'excreta.' Besides, where is the lavatory in this house? Is there an outhouse or something? If there is," I flashed a cheeky grin, "I hope it's at least private!"

Mum returned the smile, then laughed. "Oh, David, of course not. There're no lavatories, or outhouses, or things like that."

"What! You just do it in the -"

"No! No! No!" My mother seemed genuinely shocked. "We don't need one."

"What do you mean, you don't need one?"

"No, we don't, although I can understand what you mean. However, in Paradise we don't have the need for these things."

"Mum, what on earth do you mean?"

"Well, our whole metabolism has changed. Internally, we're no longer quite the same."

I shook my head in bewilderment. "Yeah, I should have guessed as much."

Mum then held both my hands and said softly, "As I already told you, don't worry. In a very short while everything will seem very normal to you, and you'll wonder how it was ever possible to have lived any other way." She then led me back into the living room where Dad was just in the process of serving dinner. "Come, take a seat, son. Just wait till you try this food!"

"Yeah, it sure smells great!"

Once the food was prepared and served, my father gave grace for the meal, as well as heartily thanked God for my resurrection and the blessings of Paradise.

"Amen to that!" I added in all sincerity. Then, for just a second or two, I thought of Jenny. How I wished she were here now at this family reunion.

Noticing, my sudden sullen look, my mother asked, "David, what's wrong?"

"Oh, it's just...no, I'm okay. But I was just thinking how nice it would be to have Jenny here as well."

"But she will be!" my mother reminded me.

"Yeah, I know." Then smiling, I added, "But it's sure great to see you two again."

Dad flashed a huge smile. "Yeah, it's also great to see you, son."

"Oh, it is!" Mum added whilst clasping my hand.

"Well, son, how about trying the food I cooked up?"

I stared at the cauliflower and carrots, and at the vegetarian roast beef smothered in sauce. I carved off a slice, placed it in my mouth and savored the taste.

"Well, how do you like the roast leaf?" Dad asked.

"Yeah, it tastes great!" I exclaimed. I had not been exaggerating. Never in my former life had roast beef tasted so good before.

Seeing Cory next to me, eyeing me as I ate, my father suddenly exclaimed, "I'm sorry, boy. Because of all the excitement, I forgot about you." He got up, went to the kitchen and carved up a generous serving of roast leaf for Cory.

"That dog just loves my roast leaf. Always cleans out his bowl so that nothing is left!" my father said, chuckling as he came back. He then poured us all a glass of wine. "Take one glass and you feel fine. Take two, you feel even better, but take ten, and you're still the same. You simply can't get drunk, no matter how much you drink of that stuff!"

However, the thing Dad called 'stuff' was a special type of red grape juice, although it tasted like a very good claret. Upon my second glass, I related the details of my death and suddenly not the best wine, nor even Paradise itself, could stop me from becoming glum. The room became silent, the mood distinctly somber as I relived those horrible last few moments of my previous life. "It was seeing Jenny sobbing like that which was the hardest part, knowing how much she must have suffered," I added, fighting back the tears.

Mum's hand reached out to mine. "You know, David, of course the painful memory is still there on the first day of your resurrection. But no pain lasts long in Paradise!" I solemnly nodded my head. Mum then held me close to her breast, trying to comfort me only the way mothers could. "And you'll see, soon she'll be here as well."

I brushed back the tears. "Yes, I know. But how soon?"

"All in God's good time," she replied. "Meanwhile, enjoy Paradise."

Dad then drew himself towards us and entwined his massive arms around us both. "Yeah, son, this is sure one incredible world. Yes, sir, one incredible world!"

I knew they were right. After dinner, the three of us sat in our rocking chairs and quickly my joy returned. Once again, we laughed and talked until finally, after our final embrace, we all went off to bed. Minutes later, I was peacefully asleep, dreaming of Jenny here with me in Paradise.

Chapter 5 - The Dawning of A New Day

I began to stir as the first rays of sunlight filtered through the curtains. Lazily, I stretched my limbs and opened my eyes after a long, deep and wonderful sleep. Unconsciously, I muttered Jenny's name, then realized I had died and was now in another life in seemingly another world. However, the thought of being without Jenny now no longer saddened me. There was something about this world, an ambience that was like a drug in which prolonged sadness seemed impossible. Besides, she will soon be here anyway, I reminded myself. I thus sprang out of bed and opened the curtains and felt the euphoria rise even higher. Straddled underneath a clear blue sky was a pristine, almost mystical beauty that I had never seen before my death. I stared in awe towards the distance, beyond the other side of the village, to that majestic peak of Anastasis onto which I had only yesterday awoken from death. For a moment or two, I just stared in wonder.

"Good morning, dear." I spun round and saw my mother's welcoming smile. Then, with outstretched arms, she rushed towards me, embracing me and tenderly kissing my cheek. "How do you feel this morning?"

"I feel great, like living in some fantastic but wonderful dream."

Mum chuckled. "Of course, it's only natural. But as you can see, it's not a dream, is it?"

I shook my head. "No, I now know that it's not." I then pointed to the lofty peak in the background. "Yet, on that mountain back there, as I had told you yesterday, there was a time when I wasn't sure whether I was dreaming or not."

"Well, never mind now, we're so glad to have you again."

"Yes, and it's sure great to see you and Dad also!" I then laughed and added, "And Cory!"

She giggled. "Yes, we mustn't forget Cory!"

"So where is he now?"

"Cory? Oh, he's probably roaming about somewhere. He often does, especially in the mornings." She held my arm. "But let's talk whilst having breakfast. Your father has just prepared some of his delicious apple pie."

Over breakfast, my parents explained what had happened since my death way back in 1999. Armageddon, that long awaited event so many Christians throughout the centuries had awaited, had indeed finally come in 2055, just as a global Ebola pandemic was sweeping the world. By the 2040's, the world had already suffered several considerable catastrophes. Global warming, on a scale far more devastating than had been predicted, had caused chaos with the Earth's weather pattern, resulting not only in unprecedented violent hurricanes and flooding, but global famines as well. This in turn, triggered either wars or anarchy throughout the world.

Upon hearing of all these disasters, my appetite for apple pie suddenly waned. I naturally enough feared for Jenny, and I wandered whether she had died during those horrific global disasters.

"It was a dying world, son," Dad added solemnly, "and had it not been for Divine intervention, it seems everybody would have died!" I then recalled the words from the Gospel of Matthew: 'For there shall be then great tribulation, such as was not from the beginning of the world till now, no, nor may be. And if those days were not shortened, no flesh would have been saved.'

Mum, noticing my troubled look, held my hand reassuringly. "But it's over now. Nobody suffers anymore, not since the last thirty years. It's as if the world has been given another chance."

I nodded. "Is that how long Paradise has existed? Thirty years?" They both nodded. I did some quick mental calculations. "So if Armageddon happened in 2055, we're now in the year 2085. That means I've been dead for 86 years!" I heaved a deep breath, then sighed. "That seems weird because to me it seems I only died yesterday!"

"Yeah, it felt the same way to me. I've only been here these last three years," my father replied. "But your ma has been here about ten. Many in the village have been here for more than twenty. A few, although they're mostly in different parts of Paradise, are even Armageddon survivors, and thus have been here since the beginning."

"Carlos has been here almost that long," my mother added. "He was resurrected at the very beginning of Paradise."

"Carlos?" I asked.

"Yes, our village spiritual mentor that I mentioned yesterday. But you also met him last night. He's the one who introduced you and gave the public prayer within the Divine Light." My mother paused and her eyes lit up. "Actually, this would also interest you. Carlos used to be, and actually still is, a musical instrument maker. He also plays the guitar, and sings beautifully, doesn't he, Paul?"

"Yeah, he sure does! And from what your ma told me, you must be one heck of a guitarist yourself. Anyway, Carlos often brings his guitar with him where he goes, and he may even have it with him at the building program this morning."

"Building program?" I asked.

"For the Great Resurrection, of course!" my mother eagerly replied. "We've been told that soon not only the 'Millenarian Brethren' are to be resurrected, but millions, perhaps even billions of others throughout the ages."

"Yes, true, son," my father agreed. "That's why we're starting to build so many houses. I usually help out with some of the building. We all do, at least some of the time, even your mother. So, if you like, we can all go there this morning and help out."

I laughed. "But I don't know the first thing about building houses."

Dad gave me a wink and then slapped me playfully on the shoulder. "Well, son, you can always learn. Besides, here in Paradise, it's all made so easy for you, like cooking, getting food and the like. There's nothing to it, as you've already seen. Of course, if folks really wanted to, they could even sleep out under the stars because it never gets cold or rains."

"Never rains?" I queried.

"Yep! Never! It don't need to." He chuckled, then added, "I'm not quite sure why, but I think it has to do with the soil always having moisture. The water actually seems to come from under the ground, as if there's an endless supply. That's why the rivers and lakes always have plenty of water. I think even the air contains lots of water, although you wouldn't know it because it's never humid."

I stared in amazement. "Again different laws of science?"

Dad grinned. "Yep! But what I wanted to say was that even though you could live out in the open, you'd rather live in a house, wouldn't you?"

"Well, yes, of course."

"Well, it's the same with everybody else. Besides, people work around here because it's good for the soul, as the saying goes."

"Is it?" I sniggered. "No, I'm only joking. Sure, I'll help. So what time do we start?"

"Well, any time you want to, son. But after breakfast, I suppose." Dad chuckled. "Besides, don't worry about the time. We don't use clocks anymore."

"I'm mighty glad to hear it," I said.

However, from our ongoing conversation during breakfast, I discovered that at least some routines were still followed, and although not essential, were nonetheless encouraged. Usually, for at least part of the morning, most were engaged in some kind of communal work, from building homes and furniture, to fruit picking and cooking. Yet, afternoons were always looked upon as recreation times in which people devoted themselves to their hobbies and interests, be it painting, music, games, socializing, or simply idling the time away under a shady tree. It simply did not matter, as long as it did not conflict with the moral precepts of a world ruled under the theocracy of a benign, gentle and loving God. However, being a theocracy, worship was also an integral part of life.

"You see, dear," my mother explained, "the Divine Light arrives every month, on the first day of the month, and it's a most wonderful occasion, as you saw for yourself."

"Yes, I did," I agreed. "So is that our only religious service?"

"No," my mother replied. "In the evening of every seventh day, we hold our service in our Hall of Worship, where we have prayers, sing hymns, listen to instructions from our spiritual mentor, as well as readings from the 'Paradise Text.'"

"What's that?" I asked.

"That has become our main sacred text," my mother explained. "It's also been written under inspiration, but here in Paradise. It's like an update on the original Bible, but directed towards people living in Paradise."

"Then the old Bible is no longer used?" I asked, somewhat surprised.

My mother smiled sympathetically. "No, it's still used, but we use an improved perfect version which does away with all the little variations that existed in the various versions and translations we had in the 'Old World.'"

"Really!"

"But that's only our worship routine," my father said as he finished his last slice of pie. "There's more."

I gave a mock ironic laugh. "It sounds like we're not so free after all!"

Dad chuckled. "No, son, you're wrong. It's nothing like the 'Old World' we'd known. We have far more freedom now. Here, nobody is forced to do anything. We only do things because we want to. That's why life is far happier." He then drained his herbal tea. "But what I was trying to say is that tonight we're having our Love Feast."

"Love Feast? What do you mean?"

"Well, son, although we never had them in our church services before the Paradise, they are mentioned in the Epistle of Jude as an early Christian custom. So, once a week, we get together in our Fellowship Hall, where we enjoy a community meal and fellowship together." He again chuckled. "They'll sure make a big fuss about you tonight, you being the new arrival in Paradise and all that. But anyway, that's tonight. But this morning, as I already said, there's construction work going on." He paused, then added, "Mind you, you don't have to come."

"No, Dad, I want to come. I want to experience everything here in Paradise."

Chapter 6 - Paradise At Work

The three of us changed from our usual white robes into darker and heavier working ones, and replaced our sandals with sturdy shoes. Then leisurely we strolled towards the construction area, located on the southern edge of the village. As our house was situated at the outer western limits of the community, we followed a forested trail to an area about half a mile south-east of the open grasslands, where the Divine Light had come down last night.

Along the way we saw Cory with another dog. They ran towards us and within seconds, Cory was in my arms. "Hey, boy, who's your friend? And why weren't you there to greet me when I woke up this morning?"

Cory's reply was a bark and a lick across the face.

Dad laughed. "I guess the bark means he's introducing you to his friend, Samba, and the lick means he's sorry he wasn't there to greet you."

After a few minutes of frolicking with the dogs, we continued onwards, with our two canine companions traipsing merrily behind. Upon reaching the construction site, I was genuinely surprised to see both the number of houses being built, and the amount of people that were there. Some were leveling the ground with their spades, some were sawing wood, others taking measurements. However, as soon as they saw us, they came and greeted us with their customary smiles and embraces.

Finally, a jovial, swarthy looking man with jet-black hair and a pencil fine moustache came and greeted me. "Ah, to embrace is so much better than a cold handshake, isn't it?"

It was Carlos, the community's spiritual mentor that had introduced me to the community last night. How totally different he now seemed. Within the Divine Light, he had looked and sounded so imposing, now he seemed as gentle as a lamb. Carlos looked down behind me and his grin broadened. "Ah, I see you have already met Samba."

"Samba? Oh, yes, Cory's friend. We met along the way."

Carlos then patted both dogs. "You have a fine dog, as my daughter keeps reminding me." He then placed his arm around me. "So, David, would you like to help us?"

"Yes, sure, but as I already told my father, I don't know anything about building houses."

Carlos laughed heartily. "Ah, that doesn't matter! We'll soon teach you."

"Okay, I'll sure give it a try!" I replied, sounding more optimistic than I really was.

Thus, my father, Carlos and I walked towards the furthest building site, with Cory and Samba still trailing behind.

"What about Mum?" I asked. "Isn't she coming?"

"No. I think your ma, by the look of things, is going to do some interior decorating this morning."

"What about us?" I queried.

Dad gave a cheeky grin. "We're doing some real exciting stuff. Shoveling! Ain't that right, Carlos?"

Carlos likewise grinned.

"Oh great, I can hardly wait!" I muttered under my breath.

Dad slapped me on the back. "Oh, come on, son. Cheer up! Remember, I told you that the work is real easy."

We walked towards the allotted site, which at this early stage consisted of only four stakes hammered into the ground. I watched as my father and Carlos strung a line around the stakes, which I was told formed the outer perimeter of the house. My father then came up to me and handed me a spade.

"So, what do I do with this?" I asked.

He shook his head and laughed good-naturedly. "You really haven't done much physical work, have you, son?"

I smiled sheepishly. "No, I suppose not."

"Well, don't fret, just follow me and I'll show you how it's done." Dad then led me to the center of the pegged area. "This building will be sort of special because it'll have a concrete floor. So what we're going to do now is just level off the high parts and fill in the low parts until it's all smooth and flat, like this." He demonstrated the technique for about a minute or so before asking, "What about it, want to give it a whirl?" I stared at the spade and wondered just for an instant whether this new life was a paradise after all. Amused by my hesitation, he again encouragingly slapped me on my back. "Come on, son, you might surprise yourself by enjoying it. Don't forget, you're now a whole lot stronger and fitter than what you used to be."

I tentatively took the spade and followed his instructions. To my astonishment, the spade glided effortlessly into the soil, and with just a little practice, I was working as neatly and efficiently as Carlos and my dad. In no time at all, we had dug a perfectly straight seventy by fifty foot hole, three inches deep, and scraped as flat and smooth as a billiard table. I only then noticed that Cory had gone.

Seeing my concern, my father said, "Don't worry about him. He and his pal just wandered back into the woods. He's perfectly safe."

"Yeah, I know. So what happens now?" I asked.

"We're now going to lay the 'natconcrete,'" my father replied.

"Natconcrete? What do you mean?"

"Natconcrete," my father chuckled, "is like concrete, only it's a natural product, like everything here in Paradise. It's also how we forge metal so easily. You see, unlike ordinary concrete in which you had to mix cement, sand, gravel and water, natconcrete can be found in several locations, including a site near our village. In its raw form, it's like a light brown soil, but when sprinkled with water, it mixes into a soft brown paste that can be easily shaped into any form. Then, when a special gray soil is added, it hardens within minutes."

Shortly thereafter, several people came with wheelbarrows, and I watched this process at work. Perhaps an hour later, the concrete slab was finished.

It was just then that I heard a distant cry: "Timber!"

There followed a creaking and cracking sound of splintering wood, and then a thunderous dull thud as a giant pine crashed and crumbled to the ground. My father was standing behind me and I spun around and exclaimed in horror, "They just knocked down a tree!"

Considering all the lumber that was used in making houses here in Paradise, it should have come as no surprise. Yet, it did. Also, despite the fact that my father had been a lumberjack, all my adult life I had been a strong advocate against the deforestation that occurred during my lifetime. Now, here in Paradise, the act of felling a tree not only seemed incongruous, but even obscene. I said as much to him.

Dad only chuckled. "You needn't get so worked up about it, but I understand your point of view. However, here pine trees don't die when they're chopped down, provided some roots remain in the ground. Also, trees grow to full maturity in just a few weeks."

"A few weeks!" I exclaimed.

"Yeah, incredible, ain't it! And that's not all. The trees we normally cut down, like that one you just heard are what we call 'pole pines.'"

"Pole pines?"

Dad laughed. "Yeah, you wouldn't believe it. It could only happen here in Paradise. But these trees have been created just for our usage in that they grow perfectly smooth and straight, have only branches near the top, and get this, they don't have bark of any kind!" He paused for a moment to let the point sink in. "Then these trees are sawed to the size we need, and there you have it, logs ready to be used." He again slapped me on the back. "So, how about you and me cutting up some of that lumber?"

I smiled wryly. "Sure, why not? It sounds like fun."

We walked towards the felled tree, picked up a large bow saw and began our task. Again, to my surprise, I found sawing no harder than I had found digging, and soon we had several logs stacked up. Others then came and carted them off, all ready to be used.

What a strange world this was, I thought to myself. Unlike the world I had known, where nature had to be seemingly conquered and subdued, here in Paradise, nature was a benign and wonderful servant ever ready to please.

"Do you feel like eating, son?"

I nodded, then followed my father to the next Paradise event.

Chapter 7 - Food, Song and Joy

My father and I joined a group that was already preparing lunch under a shady tree. After some more Paradise greetings, we went to a nearby creek to wash our hands. Even though there were no longer any harmful bacteria or viruses around, we still washed the soil from our hands. Shortly thereafter, the others arrived. We then ate and drank, talked and laughed, all grateful to be alive in a wonder world as this.

Suddenly, I heard the unmistakable sound of someone tuning a guitar. It was Carlos. He then strummed an introductory chord progression and all became silent as we watched and heard him sing. After the first verse, others began to accompany him, and by the third, almost all had joined the hymn of praise. After the hymn and applause, Carlos stared directly at me, a teasing yet gentle smile on his face. "Ah, David, we've heard that you're a very good guitarist. I'm sure everybody would love to hear you play." After a chorus of encouragements, Carlos invitingly held out his guitar.

Being long accustomed to performing, I readily got up to play. However, I winced when I saw that the guitar was made from pinewood, a wood no luthier worthy of his name would ever have used. Yet, on closer inspection, I could see no signs of imperfection. The neck was straight and true, its fingerboard hard and perfectly smooth. I fingered an E major chord and slowly let my thumb glide over the nylon-like strings. The guitar was perfectly tuned, only far too flat for concert pitch. I asked Carlos whether the guitar could withstand a tightening of the strings. He assured me that it could. Accepting his confidence, I thus tuned the guitar to the desired pitch. I played the E chord again, this time genuinely amazed by the sweetness of its tone. I then played a C major scale and was similarly impressed by both its action and the trueness of each note. I shook my head in wonder and then looked up at him.

"This is a surprisingly good guitar!" I declared. "But how in the world could it be made from pinewood but still have such a beautiful tone?"

He laughed. "It's a special type of pine only found in Paradise. It has all the sound qualities of rosewood, yet it's also extremely strong."

I shook my head in disbelief. "And you made this guitar yourself?"

He smiled coyly and nodded. "But I think only a fine musician like yourself can make this instrument truly sing."

"But I'm not quite sure what you want me to play."

"Play whatever you like."

I smiled approvingly, then wondered what music from my classical repertoire would be appropriate for a gathering such as this. I decided on something light-hearted, romantic and familiar, and then immediately thought of Sebastian Yradier's famous habanera.

"What about _La Paloma_?" I asked.

Carlos beamed his approval. "Of course, that's a wonderful song!"

I loosened the low E bass string to a D, and then for a brief moment rehearsed in my mind Francisco Tarrega's guitar arrangement for this song. It had been a long time since I played it, yet it was not difficult, and I was confident that I could still play it well. Like nearly all classically trained guitarists, I normally played on a chair, and used a footstool to elevate my leg where the guitar would rest. However, here in this picnic setting I had to improvise. I thus crouched with one knee onto the ground, leaving the other elevated to support the guitar. I rechecked the tuning and then quickly played some scales to loosen up. Then, with my right hand fingers hovering over the strings, and my left hand fingers and thumb supporting the neck, I was ready to play.

I started with a glissando, firmly striking the fourth string and letting my little left hand finger slide from F# to an A. There then followed a tango-like habanera rhythm in the bass, a captivating rhythm that flowed through much of the song. Meanwhile, the melody continued to sing out from the treble strings. Already, during the first few bars, I noticed the looks of recognition from the audience. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the smiles of delight as I reached the middle section, my left hand fingering the lower neck of the guitar whilst plucking the strings hard with my right. Then, the third part, I played rubato, slower, more subdued. Finally, the melody ended, although the habanera rhythm played by my thumb continued for another three bars before I ended with a slow, drawn-out diminuendo cadence. There it was done.

My audience clapped and cheered, seemingly genuinely moved by my performance. Dad rushed up to me, excitedly slapping my back as he blustered, "Wow! Well done, son. That was great!" Others also came, though rather less boisterous and extravagant in their praise.

Carlos was the last to come. He embraced me. "Oh, how beautiful!" he said, genuinely moved. "It brought back so many memories of my family and friends when I was a young man in Mexico. Back then, everybody knew and loved that song."

However, despite all the praise, I thought of my beloved Jenny. It had been her favorite song. I then thought over the song's motive. _La Paloma_ was Spanish, and translated into English as 'The Dove.' However, the motive itself dated back to ancient Greek times, where it was believed that white doves brought back a final message of love of those who were lost at sea.

Carlos saw the tears in my eyes. He tapped me gently on the shoulder. "Perhaps we are both thinking of the same thing. I'm waiting for my loved ones to return, and you of yours. Is that not true, amigo?"

I solemnly nodded, then whispered, "My wife."

He then gently held my arm. "My wife and child are already here, as are two of my sisters, but not yet my mother and father, nor my five brothers." He then paused and gave another one of his wide grins. "But let's not be so sad. Let's cheer ourselves up, hey! You know how to play the accompaniment to _La Paloma_?"

"Yes."

"Good! So what about you playing it and allowing me to sing along with the original Spanish lyrics?"

For a moment I remained silent, but through the urgings of the others, I finally agreed. I again squatted down and began the habanera rhythm, romantic and sedate.

Carlos laughed. "Play quicker, my friend. Let's make this song now happy!"

I increased the tempo significantly as Carlos began to sing in his rich baritone voice:

" _Cuando salí de la Habana;_

Valgame Dios!

Nadie me ha visto salir

_Si no fuí yo_..."

After the song and the expected acclaim, Carlos and I sat down next to my parents and simply relaxed. I was happy again. The sun shone radiantly over our heads, the birds sang and the wind blew refreshingly upon us. I began to recline on the soft green grass, looking idly into the vivid blue sky that was speckled with small, puffy white clouds. I now heard somebody else playing music, a very simple tune on a simple bamboo flute, yet contributing perfectly to the ambience of tranquility and contentment we all felt. No, I could not be sad for long in a beautiful world like this, a world where all sorrows would be healed. Closing my eyes, I now thought of Jenny once more, my beautiful Jenny with her long blond hair, and of _La Paloma_ , that beautiful dove relaying my own message of love to her. How perfect life now would be, I thought to myself, if she could also be here with us to revel in the delights of Paradise. I repeated the name 'Jenny' several times to myself as I listened to the soporific music, letting it all waft over me like a hot shower on a cold winter's night. Then gradually, I drifted off to sleep.

Chapter 8 - An Afternoon of Leisure

I woke up with only my parents still sitting next to me, and Cory not far away.

"How long have I slept?" I asked, rubbing my eyes.

"Oh, not for very long. It doesn't matter anyway," Mum casually replied.

I knew what she meant. There was something mercifully missing that seemed ubiquitous in the world I had known. It was that relentless sense of urgency, that constant looking and battling against the clock. Here in Paradise, the only clocks were God's own chronometers: the movement of the sun during the day, and the moon and stars at night.

I stretched and yawned and slowly got up. "So what do we do now?" I asked.

"Well, son, that's all up to you," my father answered. "Like I said this morning, the afternoon is usually the time where we go about our own interests. As you can see, nobody is working anymore." He shrugged his shoulders. "As for us, I don't know, but I thought maybe we could go for a walk and show you around the place. Maybe we can walk along the river. What do you say?"

"Sure, that's okay by me," I replied. Seeing I was awake, Cory then came to my side. "What about you, Cory? Feel like going for a walk?" I patted his head. Cory wagged his tail. I laughed. "Stupid question, right?"

Thus, we went home, exchanged our working garb for our robes and sandals, and strolled with Cory along the trail by the river's bank that led to Mount Anastasis. However, instead of veering up towards the mountain, we continued eastwards. I recalled the deer I had seen yesterday and casually remarked about their absence.

"Oh, I'd say they just wandered off to some grazing area," my mother answered. "They come back and forth all the time. Sometimes they cross the bridge further up."

"What bridge?" I asked.

"Just straight ahead of us," she replied.

"I don't see any bridge." I hesitated, then added, "Wait. Yes, I can. Ah, or at least something."

Mum smiled. "Of course, you can. Remember, your eyes are much better now. Just focus on what you want to see."

I focused onto a small speck in the distance. By some miracle, the speck then transformed itself into a small wooden bridge. Nearby, I saw some movement in the water, and by focusing a little harder, I clearly saw some children. "Wow! It's like having telescopic sight!"

My father chuckled. "Yeah, it's amazing all right. It takes a while to get used to all those improved senses of ours. It did with me at least." Dad cocked his ear. "If you keep perfectly still and quiet you can even hear the children playing. Try it, son, and you'll realize that you can now hear as good as a dog."

I tried and was likewise surprised to hear the unmistakable sound of children at play, albeit faintly.

In fact, there were four children, the total population of all the children in our village, although I was told there were thousands of other children scattered in similar villages throughout the world.

"Were most of them born here?" I asked.

"No, none of them were," my father replied. Then, to my surprise, he added, "Apart from the occasional animals, nobody ever gets born here in Paradise. They are either survivors of Armageddon, or else had died young and were therefore resurrected as children, as was the case with the three girls and one boy in our village."

"Do you mean resurrected at exactly the same stage of development as when they died?" I asked.

Dad nodded. "Yeah, and, of course, they grow up into adults. A couple were even babies when they were resurrected, and thus knew of no other kind of life. Ain't that so, Margaret?"

My mother concurred. "Yes, and they're very blessed not to have remembered the other life, with all its miseries that we had."

I mused over that statement for a while and later, upon seeing the children frolicking so carefree in the water, wholeheartedly agreed. Our arrival at the bridge only heightened my respect for them. One young girl even politely asked if she could play with Cory.

"Why certainly," my mother replied.

She called out to Cory, who immediately charged into the river, sending great jets of water into every direction, to the great delight of the children.

"That cute little thing," my father said, pointing towards a little black-haired girl, "is Carlos's daughter, Isabella. She was resurrected three years ago." Then, more somberly, he added, "Isabella apparently died when she was only four, when Carlos and his wife, Maria, were still young. Maria couldn't have any more children, and thus Isabella was their only child."

"I see. However, aren't there any adults here to supervise these young children?"

Dad chuckled. "No, there's no need to. These kids are perfectly safe here. Nothing can happen."

"But what if somebody was to drown or -"

"No, son, guaranteed not to happen," my father insisted. "Believe me, they're all perfectly safe." He then slapped me on the shoulder. "Even if they were to try to drown themselves, or hurt themselves on purpose, it simply wouldn't be possible. It's as if God, or at least some part of God's spiritual force, is here to ensure nothing could ever happen, not just to the children, but to all of us. Even if we were to somehow injure ourselves, we would instantly heal anyway."

I nodded, too dumbfounded to say anything. Yet, this was God's Paradise where everything seemed possible. The trees, the flowers, the birds, the mountains, the river, the sun, the weather, the food, the work, the people, the love, my new body, all seemed to sing the glory of God on high. In one swift moment, I soaked it all in, feeling the peace and joy that so sublimely radiated all around me. I smiled serenely and nodded my head once again in comprehension. Indeed, what a wonderful world this was, a world without any dangers, a world of perfect peace.

For a quite some time, we watched the innocence of Paradise children at play, but finally we continued with our walk, with a dripping wet dog by our sides. Soon the sunny grasslands yielded and the path plunged us into a majestic forest that covered both sides of the river. I had felt quite warm and welcomed now the refreshing coolness of the shade that the assortment of pine, chestnut and oak trees provided. I took a deep breath and reveled in the tranquility all around.

Suddenly, Mum pointed straight ahead. "Look!" she excitedly exclaimed.

There, in the clearing up ahead, a lone fawn was standing by itself. We then saw a gray timber wolf ambling straight towards it. The fawn only looked up and watched as the wolf passed it by and continued on through the woods.

"You see," my father said, "even animals are perfectly safe in this wonderful world."

For a minute or so, we watched the lone fawn feeding contentedly before we proceeded once more along the forest trail. Like gleams of gold, the sun's rays now filtered through the thick canopy of trees as a gentle cool breeze caressed our skin. For almost a mile we walked in silence, as each of us luxuriated in the loving hands of nature at its most benign. The only sound we heard was Cory's panting, the scuffling of our feet, and the rustling of leaves and branches swaying to and fro in rhythm to the dictates of a gentle breeze.

Chapter 9 - The Love Feast

We arrived home late in the afternoon. Just a few minutes after stepping inside our home, I again heard the familiar sound of a strummed guitar. I opened the front door and there stood Carlos, a big smile on his face and a guitar in one hand.

"Ah, David, my friend, just the person I wanted to see. You said that you liked the guitar. Well, it's now yours." He then held the instrument in front of me.

"But that's your guitar!" I protested.

"No, it's now yours!" he insisted. "I have another one." Then, with the other hand, he picked up a beautifully crafted wooden guitar case and handed them both to me.

For a moment I was speechless, unsure what to say to such a gesture of selfless generosity. I knew even in Paradise, the guitar with its case must have involved a lot of dedicated and exacting work. "Thank you, Carlos," I finally said as graciously and sincerely as I could. I was indeed touched by his generosity, as well as pleased to own such a fine musical instrument.

He flashed a smile and held up a finger. "Ah! But there's one condition, and that is that you'll play at the Love Feast tonight."

I returned his smile. "All right. I'd love to. I'll practice a couple of pieces."

"Including _La Paloma_?"

I laughed. "Sure, including _La Paloma_!"

Thus, after he left, I practiced for an hour or so in my bedroom, familiarizing myself with the instrument, pleased again with both its performance and mine. Through my bedroom window, I saw the sun dipping towards the horizon in another blazing sunset. It was time to go. We changed into what were considered our formal robes, which were likewise white, but made from finer material, and more eloquently designed, and with embroidery.

Then, with the guitar in its case and firmly clasped in my hand, the three of us made our way towards the village. Cory remained obediently behind.

The Love Feasts were always held at the Fellowship Hall, located near the center of the village. The hall's exterior had the same rustic look about it that all the other houses had, only far larger, and with a much higher and steeper roof. However, as we stepped onto its veranda and on through the large double doors, the hall seemed anything but homely.

We stood upon a highly polished parquet floor that covered the entire surface of the interior. High above us, upon a huge barrel-vaulted ceiling, were exquisite frescos of people, animals, birds and trees, all seemingly illuminated by the one huge image of the Divine Light. Below, at ground level, stately looking tables and chairs furnished the inside. At the center, an extremely long table brimming with food and drink was invitingly laid out for our consumption. Also, large windows flanked us on either side. At the far end of the hall, on the stage, a group of musicians sat idly, seemingly waiting for their cue to perform. However, even without the music, the entire hall was already filled with a beautiful sound: the voices and laughter of a happy throng.

Carlos, standing by the entrance, was the first to greet us with the customary paradise hug. His wife, Maria, swiftly followed, along with a score of others, a list too long to name. At the completion of the greetings, Carlos finally made his way through the throng and up to the stage, where he invited us all to select our food from the smorgasbord on offer. We lined ourselves along the massive table, and for a moment I simply stared in bewilderment at the vast array of familiar and exotic food, all vegetarian, although, by mere sight alone, I could have sworn it included meat.

My father chuckled. "Pick whatever food you like, son. It all tastes great!"

Thus I loaded my plate with as much variety as I could, then helped myself to a cool glass of plain old pineapple juice, but sweeter and tastier than any I ever had. My family and I were then invited to a table close to the stage where Carlos still stood, waiting patiently until everybody were at the tables and ready to dine. Gradually the hall became silent, and Carlos gave the customary grace before the meal. After a chorus of amens, the feasting began, all amidst the backdrop of pleasant conversation and gentle music for the soul.

The trio consisted of a flutist, violinist and pianist. To my trained musical ear, their music was simple yet still delightful, all composed here in Paradise, and thus ideal for our background dinner music. For a minute or so I listened and watched, greatly intrigued by the piano, which appeared to be nothing more than a keyboard on top of a polished wooden box with legs. However, it amazingly sounded like a grand piano. Carlos sat opposite to me and I asked how such a thing was possible.

"Ah, I think you would be truly amazed by its simplicity." He chuckled. "It's like the guitar. It's also made from a special type of wood that exists only here in Paradise. The same with the strings. They're also of a special type of fiber, and on the bottom of each key are these fibers of different lengths to produce the piano sounding notes."

"What!" I exclaimed in astonishment. "All without the use of hammers, hammer shanks, dampers, levers, springs and other mechanical devices that are needed?"

"Yes, amazing isn't it?"

I shook my head and gave an ironic grin. I should have known. I then commenced my meal, and it was indeed great, just as my father had said. I was just about to place another piece of roast leaf - the vegetarian roast beef - into my mouth when somebody tapped me lightly on the shoulder from behind.

I turned my head and saw a young and attractive blond staring down at me. "Hello, David, remember me?" She then winked at my mother. "Now, don't tell him, Margaret. Let him work it out for himself."

For a moment I stared intently at her, then slowly shook my head. Two days ago I would have said that such a beauty was not easily forgotten. However, in this world, everybody looked beautiful. I smiled and regretfully shrugged my shoulders.

She gave a teasing smile. "No! Well, remember Jane Murray?" she asked, still smiling. "You know, the little old lady from the church in Portland, the one who had given you that little black pup."

"Cory!" I blurted out. "Of course, I remember now, but you were..." I gave a tentative laugh, "well, so..."

"Old!" she finished my sentence, then laughed along with my parents next to me.

She certainly looked different. I had been about ten and she in her eighties, although to me at the time she looked more like a hundred. Yet, how incredible it was to see her before me as this stunningly attractive blond. She then embraced me as if I had been some long lost relative, then called out to three people nearby.

"This is my husband, Sam. I don't think you've ever met him, as he died before you were born." A tall, red-haired man embraced me, then I was introduced to yet another beautiful blond. "This is our daughter, Nicole." She flashed a smile and likewise embraced me. Others also followed, and soon our table became abuzz with cheery conversation.

After finishing my dinner, the now young Jane gave me an endearing grin. "David, I heard all about your wonderful guitar playing abilities. You simply must perform for us tonight."

"Sure!" I eagerly replied. "Carlos has already requested that I would."

However, I had to wait for the trio to finish their repertoire for the night. Carlos then ascended onto the stage, thanked the musicians for their performance, which was sincerely applauded by everyone, and then announced me to the audience, not just as a musician, but also as a "dear brother that God has brought back to life last night." Amidst the loud but warm applause, I opened the guitar case, took out my newly acquired guitar, picked up a makeshift footstool that Carlos had found for me, and made my way onto the stage. After sitting on a chair and positioning myself in the classical guitar position, I tuned the instrument, thanked the audience, and then introduced the music I was about to perform.

Again, it was Francisco Tarrega's guitar arrangement of _La Paloma_. A hush of anticipation filled the hall as I made sure the sixth string was still correctly tuned to the D note. I then took a deep breath, placed my hands into position, and commenced to play.

I was pleased with the acoustics of the Fellowship Hall, and here the guitar sounded both louder and fuller than my earlier midday performance in the open air. Likewise, I was pleased with my own performance, playing each note and chord not only accurately, but with a sense of interpretation and tonal coloring that I could only achieve when I was at my very best. And performing here in Paradise, I was truly at my very best, and by the applause of the audience at the song's conclusion, I had no doubt that it was enjoyed. Many clamored for more. I thus opted for my next performance one of my own favorites, an original guitar composition by Tarrega himself, and one of the best loved and evocative pieces of music in the classical guitar repertoire: _Recuerdos de la Alhambra_.

I tuned the sixth string back to the standard E, then, with my left hand, I fingered the correct chord, whilst my right hand fingers hovered slightly over the second string, and my thumb over the fifth. Feeling slightly nervous as I normally do just before a major performance, I took another deep breath and slowly breathed out, and as I did, my fingers on my right hand began the tremolo plucking movement of my thumb, ring, middle and index fingers, all in extremely quick consecutive order, over and over again, my thumb playing the base strings, the fingers the melody in the treble. Each single melody note was a demisemiquaver, a thirty-second note, a single note played six times in rapid succession so that almost magically the illusion of a single note appeared, followed by other notes executed the same way, the tremolo that formed the basis to a beautifully haunting melody. On and on my right hand fingers and thumb flowed, small tight movements plucking more than eight notes a second, whilst my left fingers stretched to different positions of the fingerboard as the music progressed. Near the middle, the music modulated from A minor to A major. I glanced at the audience, seeing their mesmerized looks as the notes continued relentlessly, producing a soft romantic but stirring melody throughout. My right hand finger movements continued like a self-programmed machine, my consciousness fully directed towards the music that conveyed the romance of the sparkling fountains at the palace of Alhambra, in old Moorish Spain. The music then neared its end, and with the last few bars, I steadily slowed the tempo. I arrived at the third last bar, then softly and gently, pianissimo, I played the closing arpeggio, letting each quaver note chime out clearly and distinctly before ending on a cadence with two long but sonorous chords.

Applause erupted. The audience were clearly moved; they always were upon hearing this musical masterpiece. Several shouted for more, but for me, that was enough. I again thanked the audience and made my way to our table, with the sound of applause still ringing in my ears. For a long time afterwards, people were still coming up to me, not only telling me how much they had enjoyed the music, but telling me of themselves and their life in Paradise. I was as if intoxicated, not just from the appreciation of my musical performance, but more so from the love and kindness I was shown. Finally, my parents and I were amongst the last to leave this 'Love Feast,' which certainly lived up to its name. The night was well along before I finally went to bed, happy and content. Thus ended my first full day in Paradise, and what an incredible day it had been.

Chapter 10 - A Day of Solitude and Contemplation

The next few days were just as blissful: I worked, I played, I socialized. However, on the sixth day, I had the urge for solitude and reflection, and I therefore spent most of the day on the mysterious Mount Anastasis. This was our own Mount Sinai, a place where God showed his power not by thunder and lightning, but by the greater miracle of bringing the dead back to life again. This mountain, however, was only one of many such mounts scattered throughout Paradise World in which resurrections had already taken place. Thus, these places were viewed as something sacred, and very few went up them except when instructed. Yet, on that sixth day, something deep within me moved me to venture up our sacred mount.

I left early in the morning, and upon reaching the grassy plateau, I stopped and again stared in wonder at the magnificent view that was all around. I thought back to that strange encounter with the angel, the spirit that had materialized in front of me. Would he come again? I wondered. For several minutes, I just stood there, waiting in anticipation. The wind whistled past, birds flew above, but no angel came to greet me. So I ventured onwards and upwards into the forest and on towards the miraculous place we called the 'Resurrection Sanctuary.' With its pools and fountains, trees and flowers, the garden looked just as enchanted as before. However, more importantly than just its beauty was its mystical, otherworldly energy it seemed to exude. For a long moment I soaked it all in, letting my spirits soar to dizzying heights. Then slowly, my senses returned to normal, and I continued my reverential stroll through the garden until....

It was gone! I closed my eyes and slowly reopened them, yet the building I had been resurrected in was no longer there. I do not know why that should have surprised me, but it did. The staircase leading up to the building was still there, but not the house, nor its beautiful veranda. I hesitated, wondering whether I had the right to venture any further. A voice within me told me that I did, and so with slow and deliberate strides I made my way towards and up the steps and onto the large empty slab of marble. Here that eerie sense of latent divine power was even stronger than before, a power that I somehow knew was channeled into this place, a place of miraculous creation, a place were even the dead could rise. I closed my eyes and saw myself once more in that strange yet perfect copy of our New York bedroom. However, upon opening my eyes, I again saw only an empty marble slab. Although not afraid, I felt strangely uncomfortable, as if overwhelmed by things I could not understand. Thus, I retraced my way back down the steps and back to the enchanted garden, then sat on the soft grass under the shade of a mango tree. Now, once more, I felt at perfect peace; my thoughts back to the things of Paradise that I understood. I reflected over these last few days. They had been truly blissful, even without my beloved Jenny.

Then oddly, my thoughts turned to the last few minutes of my former life: the gunshot wound, Jenny's screams, my body getting cold as the life force was draining out of me. I again recalled entering into that dark tunnel, then seeing a great and tremendous light, a light I had come to know here as the Divine Light. For just a fleeting moment, I recalled something else. What? No, I could not recall. I reasoned it might have been a mere dream after I had been resurrected, although still asleep in that mysterious room. It now seemed strange that upon my awakening, my death had then only seemed like a dream, and even stranger when a little later, I could not know whether I was still in a dream or not. Now, here I was, on my sixth day, thinking: Paradise was not a dream.

I reflected on all the brethren I had known in Portland, as well as the ones in Morningside Heights. Apart from Jane Murray and my parents, none were here in Deer Park. So where were they all? I wondered. Many were probably already living somewhere else in this vast new world, and the others, I reasoned, would soon be resurrected.

Suddenly, I felt acutely aware of Jenny's absence. I had largely come up to Mount Anastasis believing that I would be closer to the source which could make all things happen, even bestowing life to the dead. I closed my eyes and began to pray, seemingly feeling God's spirit enveloping all around me, far stronger than I had ever felt in my previous life, and almost as strong as within the Light itself. I prayed for Jenny's resurrection, and was somehow again told that it would be soon. But how soon? I again did not get an answer, only a kind of premonition that there were still some missions for me ahead, missions as yet unrevealed. Then the awesome feeling left me, but the elated feeling remained. I kept my eyes closed, lapping in the comforting warmth of the sun, the cool refreshing breeze, the chirping of nearby birds, and the sudden vivid fantasy of my beloved Jenny lying next to me. I let my imagination run wild and free, and now I could almost feel her lying next to me, feeling the touch of her warm and gentle hands, and her body close to mine. I became intoxicated in my reveries, a vision of pure delight. Then the image faded, and a heavy drowsiness swamped over me as I fell into a deep and soothing sleep.

Chapter 11 - Roll Call For The Dead

The next day, we had our weekly worship session. These were always held in the evenings, on the seventh day of the week. The old familiar names of the day were now simply referred to by their numeric order, with Saturday being our seventh day, and Sunday being our first. I had done very little on that day. Just as the day of the coming of the Divine Light, the seventh day was a day of rest from community work, a day spent at home with the family, or spent in quiet meditation and reflection, preparing ourselves for our evening session of worship. However, on this particular day, late that afternoon, a rumor was spreading throughout the village that Hezekiah Suther, the spiritual mentor for our region, would be here tonight. It seemed he had some extremely important news to announce. Thus, the fire of anticipation was ablaze as we gathered for our Worship Hall that night.

Even larger and more imposing than our Fellowship Hall, our Worship Hall stood majestically on a hill above the other dwellings at the far south-eastern edge of the village, not far from the western foot of Mount Anastasis. Our place of worship was also constructed out of wood, but from a type of wood that also could only exist in Paradise, a wood when oiled and polished, became as reflective as a mirror. Thus, in sunlight, our church sparkled like a jewel. Also, with its high, steep roof, it was easily the most impressive structure in the village. And its interior was no less grand. Its cathedral-type ceiling would have rivaled many churches of the old world, and its parquet floor and cedar walls were as smooth and shiny as polished brass.

Carlos announced the start of our service, and we all made our way to the velvet-cushioned pews. The pianist played the first four introductory bars, and we all stood up and joined the rousing hymn of praise: "Come all you lost ones from the graves, come and taste the joys of Paradise! Come all...."

At the hymn's conclusion, a tall, distinguished looking man stepped onto the pulpit, petitioned us to bow our heads, then commenced a long but heartfelt prayer. Upon finishing, Hezekiah Suther looked up at his audience, his eyes full of fervent zeal. "Yes, dear brethren, the time is near at hand!" he boomed. "Yes, truly indeed, the Great Resurrection will soon be upon us!" He paused to allow the gasps and rapturous cheers to subside. "Last night I had a dream!" he continued. "And a dream so wonderful that it filled me with the greatest of joys. I saw how books were opened in heaven, just as it is stated in Revelation. Then I saw graves opening, which could mean nothing else than...."

For several minutes, he then spoke of the resurrection of the dead, quoting profusely from our Paradise Text as he did. I had never been fond of sermons, even at the best of times, yet now I, like everybody else, hung onto every word he said.

"Let us now read again another passage from our text and see what our beloved Jesus had to say. It's in chapter sixteen, verses four to six."

There was a rustling of pages as everybody turned to the appropriate verses. He cleared his throat and read:

"'Be kind and patient with all those who are to be brought back from the grave, for they are all those since the world's creation, and their number will exceed three hundred and twenty times ten thousand times ten thousand. Look after them as if they were your own beloved children. A mother when giving birth does not reprimand her newly born child because of giving her pain. Rather, she rejoices in the new life. She loves and nurtures the infant, and does not lose her patience. So you must likewise be.'"

He then looked up, smiling as he did. "And according to this text, and my dream, there will be more than 32 billion people raised from the dead!"

There was a loud and thunderous applause. Hezekiah Suther then placed the Paradise Text back onto the pulpit and picked up our other sacred text. He lifted it high into the air as he declared: "Here in the Bible, in the Book of Acts, at the twenty-fourth chapter, it reads: 'That there shall be a resurrection of the dead, both of the just and unjust.'" He then stared at the audience, his solemn gaze again changing into one of sheer delight. "Dear brethren, the time is very soon at hand!"

There then followed another thunderous applause. Finally, after several minutes, Hezekiah raised his arm and instantly the applause subsided. Everyone then waited for his next earth-shattering announcement.

"However, there is more. Much more!" he continued, seemingly relishing every moment. "When I had this visionary dream, I was then awoken by one of the Lord's great angels who had materialized before me. He gave me several sheets of paper, each sheet being a list of names for each village." He swept a sheet in front of us. "My brethren, this page is your list!"

Rapturous applause then once more erupted. Finally, as order once more returned, he announced: "It's as if these names came directly from the symbolic 'Book of Life' found in Revelation. Therefore, each name that I will now read out will very soon come back to life again. These will be amongst the first to be blessed by the Great Resurrection that will then be at hand!"

More applause.

"Some of these will be your family members!"

Gigantic applause, louder and longer than before.

Again he raised his hand for silence. Again the response was immediate. "However, some will be not. Some you will know, others not."

Then, for several seconds, he just stood there, looking to and fro over his spellbound audience. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he read out the first name:

"Peter Stevenson!"

Amongst the continued cheers and applause, I heard an almost hysterical shriek from the back. I turned round and saw a woman screeching: "My son, my son!"

Then more names were announced, many names, each time amongst the applause there were cheers, laughter and jubilant cries. I too was caught up in the ecstasy, hoping against hope that my beloved Jenny would be amongst this exclusive list. Yet, each time it was someone else.

"Harry Marston!"

Another applause erupted, but this time I heard no cries of jubilation. However, I repeated the name silently to myself, realizing that I recognized the name.

Then yet another name was announced:

"Ron Bristol!"

More applause, but again no jubilant exclamations. Although this name meant nothing to me, I suddenly had this strange and inexplicable foreboding of something. But of what? I simply did not know. Then, amidst this strange and eerie feeling, another name was announced:

"Jenny Eliot!"

The name struck me as if I had been hit by a thunderbolt. I lept into the air amidst the applause, all sense of foreboding and self-restraint obliterated as I ecstatically whooped: "It's Jenny! It's my beloved Jenny!"

The euphoria and excitement remained as I went to bed that night. For the first time since my resurrection, I could not fall asleep. For a long time I laid awake in bed, fantasizing about our new life together in Paradise: of having our own home, inviting guests, making music together, playing games, learning to paint, going on hikes, investigating the flora and fauna, traveling the world together, meeting new friends in far off places, or even from other times - the list of things to see and do could be endless in a life that never ends.

Chapter 12 - The Return of the Light

Hezekiah Suther, armed with his 'miracle sheets of life,' left our village early next morning on his sojourn to other communities within the region. Meanwhile, everybody in Deer Park was still astir, eagerly awaiting the next coming of the Light. It was only three weeks away, yet anxious as I was, it seemed more like an eternity. However, finally the great day arrived. Late that afternoon, I was with Cory on the lush green grassland hills opposite our village. There I whooped with delight when I first glimpsed that giant shaft of light coming down from the sky. I sprinted back to the village, constantly glancing upwards, the Light seemingly growing ever larger and brighter with every strode I took.

By the time Cory and I reached the village, the Light had descended. Everybody had already gathered; emotions were in overdrive. I found my parents near the end of the line, then told Cory to go back home. Shortly after, amongst the gasps and squeals of delight, an opening appeared at the Light's base. For a second or two, everybody seemed too excited to move, but then slowly, reverentially, one by one and two by two, the people started moving and vanishing into the Light. When our turn came, my mother clutched my hand, who in turn clutched my father's. My heart thumped, my pulse raced, and then all bodily sensations ceased as I felt myself immersed once more in that boundless power of love. Again light radiated all around me, not just from the Divine Light, but from everybody, each seemingly radiating their own unique aura of light. However, as always, the strongest and most brilliant aura of all came from Carlos, as he was perched upon that magical beam of violet light in front of us. A glazed, almost unearthly look was in his eyes - a sure sign that he was aglow with the Spirit and ready to utter majestic words from the Divine.

"So, my friends," he jubilantly announced, "tonight's the night we've all been waiting for, the night that will start off the Great Resurrection!"

Although not a word was uttered, we nonetheless felt each other's surge of excitement. Carlos then commenced to pray, and once more we felt ourselves united in God's love, lifting our hearts together to the One who could make all things possible, even to raise the dead from their graves. After prayer, we sang a hymn of praise:

"Although sleeping in a cold and dismal grave, the time is now at hand for the dead to...." I now knew this hymn and I joyously sang along with those wonderful words: "Arise you who have fallen asleep in death, arise and drink the sweet water of God's Paradise...."

As the words flowed on, our emotions rose ever higher. Then something truly astounding happened. A shimmering white light appeared above us, bright and beautiful, laced with streams of gold. Surprisingly, it first hovered towards me, and as it did it, it slowly formed itself into human form. It materialized, and instantly I recognized him as the angel I had encountered during that first momentous day in Paradise.

Awestruck, I asked: "Are you Jesus?"

"No," came the telepathic reply. "I am only just another fellow servant and messenger from another higher realm, a realm you know as heaven."

I thought of Jenny and suddenly a great surge of excitement swept over me.

The angel read my thoughts and smiled serenely. "Soon, David," came the reply. "However, two people that you know will enter into this world before her. One is already here, the other is yet to come on another day. But now begin your first mission, and go to Anastasis and help Harry Marston."

The angel departed and drifted towards Carlos. I somehow sensed he was relaying the message of Marston's resurrection. Carlos then looked at me and I knew it was time to go. I loosened the grip of my parents and made my way out of the Light. Still in this altered state of consciousness, I proceeded up to Anastasis. Upon reaching the plateau, my trance began to lift. Yet still, for several moments, I simply stood there staring at the intensity of the Light.

My thoughts then turned to Harry Marston. So, it was him after all. But why him? Why me? I only knew him as a passing acquaintance.

I also knew he had an interest in religion, but only as a scholar, not as a devotee. In fact, I knew him to be an atheist. So why was he resurrected so early, even ahead of Jenny? It just did not make any sense to me. However, like it or not, I had to accept my first mission. Resigned to this fact, I resumed my journey towards the Resurrection Sanctuary.

And there he was, in front of a small Greek-like temple, from which a thin shaft of light stretched up towards the Divine Light. Mesmerized, he stared up towards it. He looked totally bewildered, as if he had been bodily abducted by aliens and beamed onto another world. Yet, how else could a person feel, I reasoned, one who had never been nurtured in the belief of a bodily resurrection, or even in an afterlife of any kind? I then recalled my first experiences; the initial denial of my death, even believing it to be some fantastic dream, and that was despite my religious, millenarian upbringing.

However, was this really Harry Marston? I certainly did not recognize him. I had only known him as an elderly, gray-haired, slightly stooped history professor who had originally come from Australia. However, now in front of me was a man in his prime. Gone were the gray hair, stoop and wrinkles. Instead, his hair was black, his body erect, and his skin tanned and tight.

I continued walking towards him, yet all the while he continued gazing into the Light. Then, standing almost directly in front of him, I softly asked, "Harry, is that you?" Trance-like, he turned his gaze towards me. "Harry, it's me, David Eliot."

Although my words were intended to be soft and gentle, to Harry they were like a thunderclap that shocked him out of his dreamy state. "What the hell is going on?" he shrieked.

For a moment I was speechless. How do you tell an atheist that he had died but was now alive in Paradise? However, finally I replied, "Harry, you're now in a much better world."

His face contorted. "What do you mean, better world?"

I hesitated and then added bluntly, "Harry, you've died, but now you've been resurrected back to -"

"No!" he bellowed. "This is just another crazy dream!"

I slowly shook my head. "No, Harry, this is no dream." I then sympathetically reached out my hand towards him, but he angrily pushed it aside. "Harry, don't you remember me?"

"Yes, I remember you. You're that guitar player, aren't you, that religious bloke?" He then violently shook his head. "No, you can't be, you're dead! You're just a character in another crazy dream. Another fantasy, that's all!"

"No, Harry, I'm no fantasy, and this is not a dream," I gently replied. "Harry, don't you recall what's happened to you?"

"Of course, I know! Do ya also think I've gone off my rocker?" He now spoke cruder, with a far stronger Australian accent than I ever remembered him having. "I went to bed last night and fell asleep, and now I'm dreaming about you. It must be a dream because I know you're not real, mate. You're dead. Stone dead!"

I nodded and smiled sympathetically. "Yes, Harry, that's true. I have died." Then more softly, I added, "But so have you."

He vigorously shook his head in denial. "No!" he bawled. "I know that can't be true!" He paused for a moment as if in reflection, then added, "It must be like that weirdo friend of mine in the psychology department had been telling me, that I'm having more lucid dreams." There was another pause, and then he added, as if to reassure himself, "Yeah, sure, that's all it is, another one of those crazy lucid dreams he kept raving on about."

"Lucid dreams?" I asked, confused.

"Yeah, lucid dreams. You become fully conscious inside your dream. For me, it's been absolute hell at times. However, I'll be damned if I'll let myself go through this one tonight." He then violently shook his head several times whilst pathetically shouting, "I got to break free! I got to break free!" Finally, he stopped, then stared at me with both horror and disbelief. He cursed, then shouted, "My God, I'm still here!"

"Of course, you're still here. You're not dreaming!" I repeated again.

"No! No! I'm still in one of my blasted lucid dreams." Still, with that glazed look in his eyes, he then started rambling like a lunatic:

"They're a proven psychological fact, so Roger assures me. To some poor blighters like myself, dreams can seemingly take on reality. However, normally in lucid dreams, you know you're dreaming, but still everything around you seems to be so very real, although you usually know it's only a dream because things happen which you know are impossible, like talking to a person who you know is already dead, or being in a fantasy looking place like this, which you know couldn't possibly exist. Or like the time I was back in the days of my childhood, or on the _Titanic_ , or in the Wild West, even more crazier, in someone else's imagination, like I was in More's fantasy world of _Utopia_. Much worse, I even once found myself in your blasted religious Apocalypse, a nightmare that seemed to go on for days. I virtually had a nervous breakdown after that." He cursed once more, then looked pathetically at me as he continued with his frantic flow of irrational words. "As if experiencing the real life nightmare of 9/11 wasn't enough! Mind you, I don't hallucinate when I'm awake. I know what's real and what's not. Yet some shrink even asked me if I was taking LSD, or some other hallucinogenic drug." Then, as if catching his breath, he abruptly halted his rambling monologue, rolled his eyes in disgust, then moaned, "I don't know why I'm telling you all of this since I know you're just a character in my dream, and thus a figment of my blasted imagination." He then laughed like a lunatic. "So, in a few minutes, or else at most a few hours, I know I'll wake up, open my eyes and you and this whole blasted scene will have vanished!"

I shook my head and once again smiled sympathetically. "Harry, this is no lucid dream, or whatever you called it. You know, at first, I also thought I was dreaming. However, I have been here in Paradise now for a month, and so I know this world is real and not just a dream. The Earth has now become a paradise ruled by God and Christ."

He scoffed at this. However, I continued explaining as patiently as I could: "It may have happened like this, Harry. You may have died in your sleep without you realizing it, perhaps even whilst you were in a dream." His eyes widened further, and he now glared at me with not just disbelief, but with outright contempt.

I heaved a sigh. "All right. I guess the only way I can prove it to you is to show you this world." I then pointed towards the sky and asked, "Do you know what that is?"

He again stared up towards the Light, then bellowed: "It's just some fantastic light, which I know could not possibly exist, except in dreams, or hallucinations of crazy mystics."

I pitifully shook my head. "No, Harry, it's the Divine Light of God."

"The Divine Light of what?" he asked mockingly.

"Of God. Or sometimes we just call it 'The Light.' It's of course not God, but it's like a manifestation of -"

He again laughed sarcastically. "The Light! You must be crazy!" he declared. "It's like I already had said, they're nothing but crazy hallucinations that Tibetan lamas and masochistic medieval Christian mystics used to have."

"But why can't you believe me? Is it only because you don't believe in God?"

He shook his head and scoffed. "No, mate, I don't. I know too much ancient and medieval myth and history to be persuaded by that sort of tripe!"

I winced but remained calm. I pointed towards the Light. "So how do you explain this?"

He sniggered. "You ignoramus, I've already told you twice that they're only just hallucinations or wild dreams, like I'm having now, only this one is obviously Christian." He again mockingly laughed. "Unlike you, I'm no fool, you know!"

I sighed with frustration. I realized this was going to be much harder than I thought. However, he had to face the reality of his death sooner or later. I therefore reasoned that the best way was to simply give him sufficient time and let him experience Paradise firsthand. However, it took considerable effort even just to coax him into coming down to our village.

"All right, mate, I'll come," he finally said. "Who knows, but it might even prove to be interesting."

"It will be!" I assured him.

Therefore, along the way, I would stop and point out an animal with some special characteristic, or some exotic plant that only existed here in Paradise. However, to my annoyance, he showed little or no interest in anything. He merely shrugged his shoulders and remained silent. A few times he even yawned. Not even the sudden appearance of a cougar crossing our path not ten yards away could capture his interest. In fact, he even closed his eyes and seemed to pretend to fall asleep out of sheer boredom. However, to my amazement, I quickly discovered that he was not pretending at all. He truly fell asleep whilst walking. I could not believe it. He was actually sleepwalking! What in the world was going on? I had no idea but I placed my arm around his and guided him down towards Deer Park.

By the time we reached the outskirts of the village, the Light was already ascending back into the sky. We stopped. I now forced his eyes open and made him watch the spectacle. Yet, incredibly, he continued sleeping. Was this man a zombie? I asked myself. In sheer frustration, I shook him, trying to break the seeming trance he was in.

"Hey, wh...what ya doin?" he sleepily slurred.

"Harry, come on, buddy, snap out of it! Can't you see it?"

"See what?"

"The Light! The Light!" I yelled.

"Oh, yeah, it's dis...disappear...." He paused as if to gather his senses. "See, I told you, it was just a dream."

Once more I heaved a heavy sigh. "All right, have it your way. It's all just a dream. But first meet some dream characters, and then I'll take you to bed. When you wake up in the morning, you'll then see whether it's all just a dream or not."

In response, he again closed his eyes and drifted back to sleep. Thus, once again, I held the somnambulist by his arm and led him to the place where the Light had been.

However, upon arrival, the community was quick to realize that something was gravely wrong. Not only did he not respond to the usual Paradise greetings of love and affection, he acted as if these people did not even exist. For a long time after the Light had already ascended back into the heavens, and the community had returned to their normal waking consciousness, they were still milling around us, staring in disbelief at the sleepwalker that was still in front of them.

"What's wrong with him, why doesn't he respond to us?" my mother asked, dismayed.

"He's asleep. When I wake him up, he thinks it's all just a dream. He refuses to believe anything I say, or even what he sees." I then turned towards Carlos. "Do you know what's going on? Because I sure don't!"

Carlos sagely nodded his head. "Within the Divine Light, an angel told me there would be difficulties. It seems the difficulty, as you say, is that he does not believe he has died and been resurrected."

"Resurrected!" I retorted in frustration. "He can't even believe that he's out of bed and not dreaming!"

Carlos rubbed his jaw and grinned. "Of course, we need to understand that he never was one of us, and never shared our belief in a resurrection, and everlasting life in Paradise. I'm sure after he goes to bed and wakes up tomorrow morning, he'll realize that he's not dreaming." He then paused for a moment's reflection, then chuckled. "Well, if not tomorrow, then at least eventually! We simply must trust in the wisdom of God."

We all assented to this final statement, yet even so, it was obvious to everybody that something had gone terribly wrong tonight. We were all expecting the start of the Great Resurrection, and to see many of our loved ones come back to life. Yet, all we had in front of us was a man who thought he was still in a dream. However, nobody complained; we all implicitly trusted in the wisdom of God. So, we all lingered a while longer, and before long, we all bounced back to our natural, happy and buoyant selves. Finally, everybody went back to their homes. As for me, I led the somnambulist by the arm and led him to our home, with my bewildered parents following closely behind. Along the way, I told them all I knew about Harry, and what had happened within the Divine Light and upon Mount Anastasis.

"So, it's supposed to be your mission to look after him? In our house?" my mother asked, seemingly alarmed at the prospect.

Dad reassuringly grasped Mum's shoulder. "Now, Margaret, don't fret yourself. I'm sure everything will be just fine. If that's David's divine mission, we'll just have to go along with it. You wait. After this guy wakes up in the morning, he'll be like a new man."

However, when we stepped inside our house, to our surprise, Harry suddenly awoke and gruffly yelled: "Oh, no! Not again!"

"What again?" I asked, shocked by his sudden outburst.

"That dream, and by God, you're still here!"

"Of course, I'm still here, and so are my parents. This is our home, the place where you'll sleep tonight, and for the next few nights. In fact, as long as you like," I said, trying to sound as amiable as I could. I then pointed towards the dinner table and asked, "Do you want to sit down and eat. My mother will cook up the best meal you ever -"

"No, I don't want to darn well eat! I want to wake up from this wretched dream!" he said, almost pleadingly.

"Sure, Harry, whatever you say. I'll take you to bed, and in the morning you'll feel much better," I replied, trying to sound confident.

However, in reality, I was anything but confident. For the first time since my arrival in Paradise, I dreaded the coming of the next day.

Chapter 13 - On Dreams, Nightmares and Reality

I did not have to wait for the next day; the drama continued to unfold.

I took him to our spare bedroom, where instead of lying down and drifting back to sleep, as I had expected, he simply sat on the bed and started complaining about the curse he was under. I saw his hands trembling and I sat next to him, gently patting him on the shoulder. "Oh, Harry, this is not a curse. This is Paradise!"

He vehemently shook his head. "I've been through these types of dreams before, and I know I'll get through this one also." He sighed, and then in a quieter, more subdued voice added, "I suppose I'd better see the psychiatrist again, and maybe get some more pills to settle my fragile nerves. God knows, I need them now!" He forced a pitiful smile. "Roger, on the other hand, wants to conduct some hypnotherapy on me, but I think more for his own research than for my own good. He paused, again shook his head, then lamented, "Maybe he already has!" Then, staring directly at me, he asked, "Do you know him?"

"Who's that?"

"Dr. Roger Farthing. He's in the Psychology Department at Columbia."

I shrugged. "I'm not sure. I don't think so."

He gave a short, ironic laugh. Then suddenly, his whole demeanor changed. Despite his ramblings, he now seemed calm and alert, and his speech articulate, and without the strong Australian drawl of before. "Roger is rather eccentric, not just with his mannerism, but with some of the things he believes in. When I first knew him, I thought he was the one needing a psychiatrist, not me!" He laughed, then heaved a sigh. "However, it seems I might be wrong. Perhaps he can help me with his hypnosis after all. Roger also mentioned something called 'Process Individuation.'"

Harry then proceeded to lecture me on this facet of Jungian psychology:

"As far as I could understand, the therapy involves the discovery of our own myths through our dreams and imaginations. Anyway, he always was interested in dreams. He often discussed with me Carl Jung's theory about the 'Collective Unconscious,' which are supposedly unconscious experiences, not just of our own mind, but those of humanity, if only symbolically, or some such nonsense."

"Yes, nonsense!" I agreed.

He nodded slightly, then continued with his lecture. "Yes, anyway, on several occasions, even before my nervous breakdown, he had asked me things pertaining to ancient and medieval religious myths and symbols, and how these could relate to Jungian interpretation of dreams. Other scholars like Mircea Eliade, Joseph Campbell and James Frazer had also noticed frequent similarities of myths from around the world, and all had their own theories about that, although, of course, different from the theory Jung had proposed. However, Roger had taken the theory seriously. He even personally believed that through my lucid dreams, I was perhaps tapping into this collective unconscious, or perhaps even into actual spirit realms, which according to Jung at least, were just part of the collective unconscious inside the person himself." He sneered as he added, "Of course, there's no empirical evidence for that, or for an afterlife of any kind, although Roger tries to assure me that William Crookes's laboratory controlled experiments and observations of a medium called Daniel Home, and more recently by the so-called 'Near-Death Experiences,' offer the next best things to it. He claims to have had such an experience once himself when he nearly drowned as a child, having supposedly momentarily left his drowning body." He snorted contemptuously. "Well, that's his story. Anyway, he claims that it was a pivotal event for him, in that it influenced him to eventually study psychology, and later his research into parapsychology, which supposedly pertains to paranormal things like Near-Death Experiences, telepathy, spirit mediums and other supposed psychic matters. He told me that he was also influenced by the paranormal research done by the American psychologist, William James, and, of course, the research by Carl Jung." He abruptly stopped and again heaved a sigh. "However, Roger now wants to study my lucid dreams, you know, dreams in which you become fully conscious inside your dreams."

"Yes, so you've told me."

"Did I? Anyway, he told me that although being extremely rare, they're a genuine phenomenon, as I can certainly testify. There have even been a number of scientific studies conducted by sleep researchers, even in modern times. However, Roger gave me a copy of an article by Frederik van Eeden, a Dutch psychiatrist, who wrote about his own lucid dreams back in the early part of the twentieth century. His dreams seemed even crazier than mine. He not only claimed to have spoken to deceased people, like in my dream now, but also of being harassed by demons."

"Harry, you don't have to talk about these things. It's all over now, you're now living in -"

"What? Heaven!" he snapped.

"No, this is still the Earth, but transformed into a paradise," I replied. "Remember, I already told you that!"

He frowned and shook his head. "No, I don't believe that. I know I'm just dreaming."

"But you're not!" I insisted.

He again sniggered and gave me a condescending stare as if I was some misguided fool. "Dreams and hallucinations are purely psychological conditions of the brain. Freud was probably right when he claimed that the content of a dream is derived from experience, our own experience, nothing else!" He paused as if to weigh up the balance of that last statement, and then in a low, far more pessimistic tone added, "Yet, I know I've had dreams where this could not possibly have been the case. Perhaps Freud was wrong and Jung correct with his theory of the collective unconscious." Then, with a quiver in his voice, he added, "Hopefully, this crazy dream won't carry on for days, like that apocalyptic dream I had. I was already traumatized enough when I witnessed the horror of 9/11. I had lots of nightmares after that."

"What's 9/11?" I asked.

Once again his entire demeanor changed. Gone was the calm and composed exterior. He was again a runaway train ready to derail.

"What's 9/11!" he roared. "A massive terrorist attack, that's what it was! Two hijacked airliners crashed into the Twin Towers, and a third hit the Pentagon. Close to three thousand people were killed. I had a free day and was in Lower Manhattan that morning, and only two blocks away from the World Trade Center when the first plane struck the North Tower. I was inside a store, but heard this almighty explosion. I, like so many others, were then on the streets, watching in horror as the North Tower became engulfed in flames." He paused for a second or two, his eyes ablaze with horror. "About fifteen minutes later, another hijacked airliner crashed, only now into the South Tower. This time I actually saw the plane crashing directly into the building. It was shocking! Another almighty explosion, fire, smoke, people jumping to their deaths to escape the flames, people on the streets staring and screaming in horror, pandemonium, firemen and cops urging us back, then the first collapse, the debris and the dust, then all of us running for our lives!" He paused for breath, then added, "The South Tower had collapsed, and half an hour later, the North."

I was, of course, appalled by what he described, but considering all he had told me so far, I doubted his ability to judge what was real and what was not. "But are you sure this was not just another one of your dreams or nightmares?"

He looked at me as if I was the crazy one. "No, you idiot! This was real! It happened on September 11, 2001. For weeks afterwards I was traumatized by it. I had nightmares every night. Once I even had a lucid dream where I believed I was in the North Tower at the time of impact. It was only with the aid of tranquilizers that the nightmares stopped."

I closed my eyes and solemnly nodded. I now understood why he was so traumatized. Then I wondered whether he had overdosed on his tranquilizers, but considered it prudent not to ask. "I'm truly sorry, Harry. I had no idea. You see, I died two years earlier, in November, in 1999." Tentatively, I then asked: "Harry, what about you? What year did you...." I hesitated, realizing that he would not acknowledge his death. Therefore, I asked, "What is the date today?"

He ignored my question and instead related some of the nightmares he had since being traumatized. He mentioned an apocalyptic dream, which seemed to have been especially vivid and strange. Because it pertained to Armageddon, it naturally enough aroused my curiosity.

"Why, what happened, Harry?" I asked tactfully, knowing how excitable and traumatized he was.

For a moment he just sat there, seemingly stunned by my question. Then he erupted like a volcano.

"So you want to know what that was like?" he snapped. "It was hell! Sheer hell!" There then followed a whole string of profanities.

It was just then that I heard a knock and my father's voice call out, "Hey, son, is everything all right in there?"

"Yes, Dad, it's okay. Please, just let us talk privately."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure."

My father mumbled something under his breath, and I heard his footsteps fade away. I then returned my attention to Harry, who thankfully calmed down again, although he still had that wild-eyed, crazed look about him. "This world I'm now in, it's supposed to be some sort of post-apocalyptic world, isn't it?"

"Yes, Christ's Millennium, it's -"

"Yes, I know what Christ's Millennium is!" he retorted impatiently. "A lot of you fundamentalist Christians have vainly been waiting for that since the first century. The character who wrote Revelation must have had dreams and hallucinations as weird as mine, although you people take these dreams as fact when, at best, they only have symbolic value, if you believe all that Jungian stuff." He gave a sudden crazed laugh, then mockingly asked, "So, do you still want to know what my apocalyptic dream was about?"

I hesitatingly nodded, now unsure whether it was wise for him to go on. I certainly knew I was not dealing with a stable personality. I had a quick, silent prayer and replied, "Okay, Harry, if it will help."

"What! Tell a crazy dream whilst being in a crazy dream!" He laughed at his attempted witticism. Then, after a moment's hesitation, he gravely nodded. "All right. Who knows," he said, more to himself than to me, "Jung, with his Process Individuation, may have some merit after all, even if only in a dream." He then looked up at me and grinned. "I suppose you, as my dream character within my dream, might be as good a psychotherapist as anybody else." He then looked down onto his feet and said forlornly, "I really want to stop these nightmares. I'm now willing to try anything, even getting therapy in my dream, if that's what it will take." He paused, then looked directly into my eyes. "Do you know anything about Jung and his methods?"

I shook my head. "Only what you told me."

He glared at me. "I didn't tell you anything about it! Now listen to what I say!"

I forced a smile, trying to keep him calm. "I'm sorry, Harry. Please tell me all about it."

Therefore, once more, I was forced to listen to a lecture on Jungian psychology.

"All right, although I don't know much about it either, except the little I've read and been told by Roger. However, according to Process Individuation, to become a more complete personality, you're supposed to discover your own myths, as expressed in dreams and fantasies," he explained again. "You see, Jung believed that the Christian religion was part of an historic process necessary for the development of consciousness, and he thought that so-called heretical movements, such Gnosticism and medieval alchemy, were manifestations of unconscious archetypal elements, which seemingly Christianity lacked. The symbols found in these more occult-like philosophies could be helpful in interpreting dreams, at least that's what Jung believed." He paused and looked at me. "Are you still with me?"

I shrugged. "I'm not sure. But anyway, I don't know how -"

He again ignored me. "However, Process Individuation, as Roger assures me, has had some good results. This lucid dream has obvious Christian symbolisms, and you're a Christian dream character, and the dream I'm now going to relate also has strong Christian symbolisms, albeit apocalyptic ones. As Jung somewhere said, 'The dream is a little hidden door in the innermost and most secret recesses of the soul.'" He then gave another sarcastic laugh. "Seemingly even Jung himself had trouble with vivid dreams and fantasies in childhood. But, what the hell! For what it's worth, I'll also attempt to open up my soul by telling you about this dream, and since you're only a dream, I can be assured that this dream will not be spread to others, thus spoiling my reputation as being compos mentis. I don't want my reputation being tarnished any further. Do you understand?"

"Yes, of course," I agreed. However, instead of telling me his dream, he simply sat there in silence. By his demeanor, I could tell that an inner conflict was taking place. Thus, for several seconds, an eerie silence of anticipation wafted over me like a child ready to listen to some spine-chilling ghost story. Finally, after what seemed like an age, he related the strangest dream I had ever heard. And his rambling dream interpretations seemed no less bizarre:

"It was absolutely mind boggling, even sinister," he uttered in a low undertone. "It was past midnight, and I had been feeling particularly agitated and unable to sleep. I got out of bed and, having run out of tranquillizers, I decided to drink a glass or two of port. My wife was still sleeping in the bedroom, yet for some reason, I decided to go to our lounge, have the port, but to also listen to Mozart's _The Magic Flute_ on our hi-fi." He paused and stared at me. "Do you know the music?"

I nodded. "One of Mozart's operas," I replied, then as an afterthought added, "Fernando Sor, a nineteenth century Spanish guitarist, wrote a theme and variations for it. I used to play it."

"And what do you know about it?"

"The music Sor had used as his theme was _Das Klinget so Herrlich_ , which was a brief chorus that appeared in the first act of Mozart's opera."

"What do the words mean?"

"I'm not sure. I don't speak German, but I think it means something like 'it rings' or 'it sounds so beautiful.'" I reflected on the tune for a second or two then added, "It's a rather delightful tune."

"What else? I mean, about the opera itself."

"I don't know," I replied, puzzled by his sudden interest in the music. "I only know its setting was ancient Egypt, and supposedly something to do with Freemasonry, or something like that, but I can't see -"

"Exactly!" he bellowed before I finished my sentence. "You've hit the nail on the head!"

I had no idea what he meant, however, for the sake of Harry, I kept up my charade as psychotherapist, or whatever I was supposed to be. "Okay. But what do you mean?" I asked, fearing yet again another eruption from this very volatile man.

"Don't you see, my boy, don't you see? Mozart himself was a Freemason, and this opera symbolizes the ideals of Freemasonry. So maybe Jung was right. I need to find the religious symbolisms of my dream, particularly in those esoteric movements, as Jung had believed."

There was a pause where he must have reflected on potential symbols. Suddenly, he bellowed, "Of course! That's it! The setting of some of the opera scenes take place by the 'Temple of Ordeal,' and the main characters, who are lovers, must pass a series of tests." He again paused for reflection. "Let's see, there was the 'Test of Silence,' but what could that mean? What about the wicked 'Queen of the Night?' She represents irrational-diabolic obscurantism. Then, there was a serpent that was killed...." He again paused before blustering, "Yes, serpents, dragons and the like creep up into so many ancient myths, including Christianity. Obviously a symbolism of evil, at least in Western and Middle Eastern symbolisms." He paused for several more seconds before adding, "Let's see, then there was Sarastro, the wise priest of Isis and Osiris. Yes, the priest symbolizes wisdom and enlightenment. Then there was -"

"Harry, please, stop it!" I pleaded.

"But don't you see? Isis, the famous Egyptian goddess, defended her child, Horus, against the attacks of scorpions and serpents. Even Isis herself was also sometimes represented as a serpent. On the other hand, Osiris was the husband and brother of Isis, and the father of Horus. When Osiris was slain by the evil god Seth, he was resurrected by Isis, and thus Osiris became god of the underworld."

"Harry, knock it off! Isis and Horus, or whatever, have nothing to do with you being here."

"Yes! Yes! You're right, I must concentrate on dreams, and this dream has clearly Christian symbolisms in it, although I can see some ancient Egyptian and Masonic connotations. Anyway, the Christian, yes the Christian, I must concentrate on those symbols, like the serpent obviously representing the Devil, or at least some form of evil. The dream I had before this one certainly has a connection, and probably many other Christian symbolisms."

"Your apocalyptic dream?" I asked hesitatingly.

"Yes! Yes! Apocalyptic, in this case the 'End Times.' It's a central theme in the study of eschatology. They appear in several ancient and medieval religions and myths, notably Zoroastrianism, Judaism, Christianity and Islam. Of course, it's with Christianity I must now deal with, so I will continue with my last dream. I took -"

"It's all right, Harry. I don't need to know!" I interrupted, eager that he would stop all these nonsensical ramblings. Again he totally ignored me. He was like a man possessed.

"After finishing that second glass of port, or third, or whatever, I sat on the sofa and fell asleep. And suddenly there I was!"

It was no use. I was forced to listen. "Where?" I reluctantly asked.

"Right in the middle of the campus of Columbia, just below the steps that lead up to Low Library. Do you know the place I'm talking about?"

"Yes, of course," I wearily replied.

"I was now all alone on the campus. Not a soul was to be found. I thought I had gone crazy. I then desperately tried to find my wife. She's a librarian, and so I checked both Low and Butler Library, but when coming out of the latter, right in the midst of Low Plaza, there was a huge silvery, glass-like pyramid. It was like something out of Star Wars, so incongruous did it look amidst the historic buildings surrounding it. However, it was not so much the incongruity that shocked me, but that it was actually there at all, as if it had been conjured up by magic. Now I felt I was surely going mad!"

"But it was only a dream!"

"No! No! Much more than that, it was a lucid dream. I had become fully awake in my dream. Like now!" he emphasized. "You have no idea what that is until you have one yourself. Only there, unlike the other lucid dreams, I did not know I was dreaming. For me, it was total reality, only that I now really thought I had gone mad. For quite some time I just stood there and stared in disbelief at this glass pyramid. Finally, I had the courage to enter. Once inside, there was this strange greenish light. I also saw an elevator, and for some reason, I was driven towards it. I went up the lift but found nobody. Then, on another floor, I found what was called a 'Holographic Virtual Reality Viewing Theatre.' I had no idea what that was, but still I went to its control room. It was all space-age looking, but somehow I managed to trigger it off, and there it came."

"What?" I heard myself ask.

"This holographic image of a woman. She looked absolutely real, except a little ghostlike, in that you could see right through her. However, it was not her that was the greatest shock, but her message. She said, 'If anybody is out there to hear me, thank God for that! At least somebody has survived!' That's exactly what she said." Harry was silent for a moment, as if reliving his nightmare. Then, with his face contorted, he continued. "I wanted to scream. You have to understand that one moment I was there on the sofa at home, listening quietly to Mozart's opera, then POW! Suddenly there I was, half a century into the future and facing doomsday!" He paused to drive the point home. "Then you know what else she said?"

I only shook my head, wondering what other bizarre nonsense he would relate.

With glazed eyes, as if in a trance, he continued: "I remember every single word. Every single word!" he emphasized again. "The holographic image was now fighting back her tears. She then stated, 'The date is May 22, 2055, and this is my last testament, and perhaps the world's. I'm the last one here in Columbia.'" Harry's eyes widened; he looked crazier than ever. "She then said, 'The order to evacuate New York City had already been given two weeks ago. I had no reason to evacuate. I have already been infected, and I know I will die. This airborne strain of Ebola had become a global pandemic, and it had no mercy. In case you are not of this world, but from some other, or from some distant place in time, then my testament will serve as a history of how our world had died!'"

He paused, looked up, and noticed now my stunned expression. Satisfied, he continued with his narration:

"Crying, she now added, 'The first outbreak of the Ebola virus was in 1976, and then again in 1995. For decades it remained a dormant sleeping monster, but then it reappeared in 2055. We thought that we had developed a suitable vaccine for the virus, but not for this type, which we thought had something to do with the green mist that had been approaching our Earth. This new version of Ebola had mutated into a far deadlier airborne strain, with a longer incubation period, but still with all the traditional symptoms of Ebola, of massive internal hemorrhaging of the vital organs such as the spleen, liver and the brain. Death nearly always resulted within fourteen days after first making itself manifest. However, having now a four to five week incubation period, and being airborne, the virus could rapidly spread to all parts of the world without anybody being aware of it. Then, when we became aware of it, it was too late!'"

"Really!" I exclaimed.

Harry, thinking I was mocking him, glared at me. "Why? What's wrong? Do you think I'm just making this whole dream up?"

I vigorously shook my head. "No!" I replied hastily. "However, the spread of a global airborne Ebola pandemic is exactly what did happen, and in the year 2055, exactly the way you're telling me!"

He smiled with self-gratification. "So, you're starting to believe me, hey? Good! Because this dream I'm having now is connected somehow. But why and for what reason, and what its symbolisms are, I don't know." He heaved a sigh then continued his long-winded but nonetheless intriguing narration of his dream. "I raced out of the auditorium and out of the building in sheer terror, trying to get as far and fast away from this crazy place as possible. I ran across Low Plaza and down College Walk towards Amsterdam Avenue. I started running south. However, all this time I didn't see anybody." He then looked at me in utter terror.

I tried to reach out to him. "It's okay, Harry. You don't have to tell me your -"

He brushed my hand aside. "Don't patronize me! Listen to my dream!" he demanded. "I finally reached home, but everything looked so different, more modern. Many of the older buildings were gone, and the roads were different too. However, I found my way home." He paused for breath, then continued. "I pounded on my front door. 'Elizabeth! Elizabeth!' I shouted. However, there was no reply. I took the keys from my pocket, and with trembling hands, managed to unlock the door. 'Elizabeth! Elizabeth!' I yelled again as I entered into the house. Still there was no reply. I stumbled through the hallway and up the stairs into our bedroom. I noticed that so many things looked different, as it did throughout the house. You know, everything looked so modern, including contraptions that I had never seen before!" He shook his head in dismay. "Neither Elizabeth nor I liked modern décor. We both liked antiques, you know."

"Yes, Harry, I understand."

"Then I saw it!" He paused, then went absolutely pale.

"Saw what?" I asked, now totally absorbed by his dream.

"It was a photo of Elizabeth, but it was not Elizabeth, at least never the way I saw her before. She is sixteen years younger than me, only forty-eight. But in this picture, I saw a woman of perhaps ninety. She looked so old, so different, but I knew it was Elizabeth! So I started to scream. I couldn't control myself any longer. I dropped myself onto the bed, and with my face onto the pillow, I sobbed myself to sleep."

Harry once more stared at me with that same dazed look. However, I remained speechless. It all seemed too fantastic.

"Just before I fell asleep," Harry continued, "I comforted myself that this was all just a crazy dream, and when I wake up, everything would be back to normal. But it didn't. When I woke up the next morning, I was still in my nightmarish world. I again started to scream, I mean hysterically. You have to imagine what I was going through, although I know you can't because you're just a figment of my imagination. However, after several minutes, I started looking for some tranquillizers. Luckily they were there, even if only in my dream. Anyway, eventually I found them. For a minute I was tempted to take the whole bottle, trying to end my life there and then. However, I forced myself to take only two tablets, double the amount prescribed, although, of course, not enough to kill myself, but enough to calm myself down, and hopefully stop this cursed hallucination. I had never been diagnosed for hallucinations, only for post-traumatic stress. However, I now believed that I was hallucinating, and not just dreaming. So I just sat there in a chair, letting the drug do its business. I sat watching the digital clock on the wall. An hour passed by and still the nightmare continued. Then another hour, yet still the scene did not change. However, I was now a lot calmer, and no longer hysterical. So, in this calmer state, I now concluded that perhaps I wasn't dreaming or hallucinating after all. I thought to myself, perhaps I really had traveled half a century into the future, in a world that was in its death throes. I knew it was illogical, but what else could I do? I recalled certain astrophysicist's theories about the potential of time travel through wormholes, and also Einstein's 'Theory of Relativity,' in which time was relative to motion. Of course, I have also read HG Well's _The Time Machine_. However, Roger had also recently spoken to me about strange conspiracy theories concerning time travel, like 'The Philadelphia Experiment' during World War II, and in more recent years, the so-called 'Montauk Project.' I thought at the time that this was all just total nonsense. Even Roger did. However, in my dream state, I now thought that this could all be possible." Then, challengingly, he glared at me. "Of course, in dreams all things are possible!"

I shrugged and murmured, "Yeah, sure, I guess so."

"However, you have to remember that unlike some of the other weird lucid dreams I had, in this dream at least, I was not aware that I was dreaming. I thought it was reality, and during that time, everything certainly seemed real. Yet, after taking the tranquillizers, or dreaming that I had taken them, I was now much calmer. I recalled former Ebola outbreaks were not airborne, but could only be spread through contact with infected blood, semen and other body fluids. However, I remembered reading something about airborne strains of Ebola having once existed in a laboratory at USAMRIID, the American army infectious diseases institute. So I could believe Ebola could have mutated either naturally, or else been genetically modified. Then, suddenly, in this dream state, I thought perhaps I had not traveled forwards in time, but more plausibly been asleep or in some sort of coma all these years, like in the story of _Rip Van Winkle_ or Well's _The Sleeper Awakes_. More importantly, I have read of actual cases where people had really been comatose for years, even decades. At least it was a possibility! Anyway, all I now knew was that I suddenly found myself in an apocalyptic future, and now in this calmer state, I wanted to live. I thus went downstairs and rummaged around our kitchen and found at least some food and drink. In our lounge, I found a lot of modern electronic gadgets, including this giant semi-circular TV screen, probably a plasma screen of sorts, although I wasn't sure. Anyway, I wanted some news about where to go, areas which were still virus free. I tried the TV, but of course, everything was dead. No power, you see. Then, on a small nearby table, I saw a tiny silvery disk-shaped gadget, about the size of a silver dollar. I reached towards it and picked it up, noticing that it had some sort of LCD display, or something like it. Two miniscule buttons were on one of its side. I depressed one of the buttons and the gadget sprang to life, displaying some kind of menu system. I then realized it was a miniaturized computer, as well as a television and radio. By manipulating the two buttons, I soon learnt to navigate around the system. I finally found a signal from Canada. I now realized I was not the only person alive, and what was more, I learnt that central and northern parts of Canada were still not infected. So, of course, that's the place I wanted to go." He stopped and then looked hard at me. "Are you still listening?"

"Yes, I am. To every word!" I truthfully replied. "It's incredible

that -"

"Good!" he snapped. "Then help me look for symbols, or anything that could be of help."

Harry then explained that he had gone into their garage to find an electric car. It was fully charged. After finally working out how the voice controls and 'Hand Geometry Recognition Systems' worked, he packed what supplies he could, including his tranquillizers. He then drove out of New York City and headed northwards to Canada. All the time he had been driving, he had not seen anybody, alive nor dead. Then, just south of Kingston, in upstate New York, he saw the first human. A corpse. However, he explained that he then saw many other dead and dying people along the road, but he kept on driving until suddenly he had reached a roadblock that was choked for miles ahead. It seemed everybody was trying to reach the safety of the uninfected areas of Canada. He then told me something else about his dream that truly shocked me. A number of helicopter gunships had arrived and were attacking the traffic jam with napalm. He had only just managed to escape by flinging himself out of the car and running into the safety of the woods. He managed to stumble through the forest for a couple of miles before he finally collapsed into a coma. Then, in his dream, he remembered waking up the next day in some kindly old man's cabin in the Catskill Mountains. It was here that he had been told about some strange green mist that had been coming towards the Earth, a mist that astronomers, according to his dream, had already been seen for many weeks before the Ebola outbreak.

Harry, becoming increasingly excited, suddenly stood up. I saw his knees shaking, but he continued narrating, words flowing now ever faster, ever wilder:

"Seeing now this weird green mist heading towards the old man's cabin, I wanted to get the hell out of there. However, the old man kept telling me that it was no use trying to escape, that this was God's war of Armageddon. Only if I was found to be righteous could I be saved. I thought the old man was crazy, but then through the window, I saw the mist, now no longer high in the sky, but reaching the ground. It was forming itself into greenish figures, and they were then changing to a fiery red color. They looked like demons from hell, and they were now coming directly towards us! They were coming through the window and into the cabin, filling the entire room with their blinding red light. I clenched my eyes shut and screamed over and over, 'Please, God, help me! Help me!' Even with my eyes shut tight, and my hands covering my face, the blinding light was tearing through my eyes and into my brain."

Harry shrieked a spine-chilling scream that jolted me onto my feet.

For a split second, I imagined I saw these demons as well, so engrossed had I been in his dream.

"Get away from me! Get away from me!" he screamed

Then, suddenly, there was silence.

Another miracle, but this time in our room. An intense white light formed itself into a human form, and once again I saw an angel.

"Be calm, Harry. Everything will be all right," he said, and instantly Harry became calm.

The angel then looked at me. He was only semi-materialized and radiated a tremendous aura of light, but I could tell it was the same angel I had seen on Mount Anastasis, and within the Divine Light. He looked at me serenely and again telepathically relayed the message that Harry needed my help. The angel then drifted towards Harry and placed his ghostly hand upon his head. "With the power of God, and with the help of David and this world, you will completely heal within a short time." He then radiated a wonderful smile, and suddenly we were all engulfed within the Light. I was no longer afraid; I was at peace, a peace that once again pervaded my entire being.

Then, just as suddenly as the angel and the Light appeared, they were gone. Harry was now lying in bed, peacefully asleep. I simply stood there for several seconds, too stunned to move. However, I eventually went to Harry and took off his sandals. I reduced the bedroom light to a soft, gentle glow, and shut the door behind me, bewildered but strangely still at peace.

Chapter 14 - Controversy!

I went back to our living room where my parents were anxiously waiting. I flashed them a reassuring smile. "Hey, don't worry," I said.

"Don't worry!" my mother shrieked. "We don't understand. What happened in there?"

"Yeah, son, it sounded like a riot."

Not to alarm my parents any further, I decided not to reveal Harry's bizarre dream. "No, really, it's all right. He just got a bit excited, that's all. An angel then arrived -"

"Another angel!" my mother exclaimed.

"Yes, and with him this bright light. It must be part of the Divine Light because suddenly he calmed down. He's actually now soundly asleep."

"Oh, thanks be to God!" Mum sighed with relief. "Even though I still don't really understand, I know we must have trust and have faith in God."

After a few more reassuring comments, I suddenly became overwhelmingly tired. I bade my parents goodnight and went off to bed. The next morning, as the morning rays filtered through the window, I felt fully refreshed and confident that Harry would now also be all right. Or would he? My answer came with a loud and bitter shriek.

"No! Not again! And get this beast away from me!"

I jumped to my feet and rushed over to the spare bedroom to see Cory lying on the bed, and on top of Harry. "Cory, get off him, and come here!" I snapped. Still wagging his tail, Cory jumped off and came to my side. "I'm sorry, Harry, he's just trying to be -"

I had no time to finish my sentence. In one swift movement, he flung himself off the bed and pounced towards me. I thought for a second he was going to hit me. However, he only reached out to touch me. "Oh, my God, and you're still here! And why haven't I woken up in my own bedroom?" he moaned.

Just then, my parents came out of their bedroom, but I beckoned them not to come. Reluctantly, they went to the living room. I sent Cory outside and closed the bedroom door. Meanwhile, Harry slumped back onto the bed. "What in God's name is going on?"

I prayed silently for another miracle, but none came. However, I felt relaxed and patient enough to accept the challenge of my mission. "Listen, Harry, don't you recall what happened yesterday?"

"Yesterday?" he asked blankly. He shook his head in despair. "I only remember dreaming about you and this crazy world of yours!" He banged the table with his fist. "What the hell is going on?" There was a poignant pause, and the air was almost palpable with grief and confusion. Then he uttered in a low undertone, "Yesterday I was safely at home. But then I didn't feel well and went to bed early that night and dreamt that...." His voice trailed off. He again looked as if he would go back into another one of his trances. Fortunately, he did not.

Nonetheless, he went ghostly pale and stammered, "Oh my God! What the Devil is happening to me? I thought after waking up this morning, this ridiculous dream would finally end. But I see that it hasn't." He then looked at me in disbelief. "Obviously, I must be only dreaming that I have woken up from my dream. Yet, when will it end? When will it end?"

"Harry, it's all right," I said comfortingly. "Don't you remember that I met you yesterday on top of a mountain, and that I took you here to our village, and then to our home?"

He reluctantly nodded. "Yes, I...I do recall dreaming that," he stammered, "but...." His voice trailed off once more. He then violently shook his head, desperately trying to wake himself up. However, when he realized I would not disappear, he gave a pitiful laugh. "I guess I'm doomed to continue this crazy dream of mine, at least for a while longer." His face hardened. "Very well then. So be it! I guess I'll just have to endure it."

It was obvious the angel and the Light had not provided the total and instant cure I had believed. However, he seemed no longer as traumatized and neurotic as last night. There definitely seemed to be an improvement, and at least he now resigned himself to the fact of being here, albeit in a dream. Recalling now the angel's request of helping him, I tactfully asked whether he remembered telling me last night about his strange apocalyptic dream, and of seeing an angel, and being immersed in the Light.

He shook his head. "What angel and what light? You must be the one dreaming." He then paused before adding sardonically, "Rather, I'm the one dreaming since you can't possibly be dreaming because you're dead, and dead men dream no dreams." He forced a feeble laugh. Then again he went ghostly pale. "Oh, my God!" he gasped. "I do vaguely recall having such a dream. It was even a lucid dream!" He then abruptly stopped and shook his head in disbelief. "Yet, the strange thing is," he was again talking more to himself than to me, "I can't recall any details. How is that possible? I remember even writing the details out in my journal and discussing it with Roger. I never forget any of my lucid dreams when they are written out in full." He then chuckled to himself. "Of course, stupid of me. For a second I forgot that this is only a dream. You can't remember your other dreams whilst being within a dream!" He frowned. "At least I think you can't."

I now knew it was pointless to still try to persuade him that he was not dreaming. He still needed more time. However, I was very glad to see him no longer as traumatized as last night. This was already a big step. With God's help, I was now determined to make his rehabilitation complete. Last night he held psychology in high esteem, so I now decided to use a bit of psychology myself. Why not simply play along with the game and let time do the rest? I flashed a devious smile, then casually said, "All right, Harry, just accept that it's only a dream. I don't mind. However, I promise you it'll be a wonderful dream, in fact, the best dream you've ever had, one that will not only cure you of your trauma, but will give you happiness for the rest of your life." I placed my hand consolingly on his shoulder. "So let me be your guide in this dream. Then, when you'll finally wake up, you'll really have something to write about in your journal." Knowing it would flatter his ego, I then stated flamboyantly, "Who knows, you might have stumbled upon the Rosetta Stone of dream interpretation, and like Carl Jung, be making history yourself!"

The ploy worked. He suddenly smiled with self-gratification and nodded. "Yes, you may have a point. Roger always believed my dreams to be truly unique, even amongst lucid dreamers."

"Good!" I cheerily exclaimed. "So how about meeting my folks again and having some breakfast before we explore this dreamworld together?"

Thus we all sat together over the breakfast table, enjoying our flapjacks and freshly brewed herbal coffee that in taste and aroma would have surpassed the finest _Arabica_ beans of the former world. My parents were both delighted and amazed over Harry's drastic change. Informed of my scheme, they also played along with the charade. The best part of it was that the more we talked about this paradise dream, the more interested Harry became.

After breakfast, Dad also demonstrated how the lighting and cooking within the house worked, and he seemed genuinely intrigued. "It makes no scientific sense!" he naturally exclaimed. "However, if this was all possible, it would surely answer all the global warming and energy problems." Yet, what impressed him the most was when he saw his reflection as a young man in the mirror. "It's absolutely incredible! It seems I have discovered the fabled 'Fountain of Youth.'" He smiled forlornly, "Too bad it's only just a dream!"

"I know for you it still seems like a dream. You just need more time, that's all," I said, forgetting my charade. "However, for us it's not a dream, and we all look that young, and some of the people have lived here for years, even decades!"

"Doing what?" he asked.

"Well, all sorts of things," my father now responded. "For example, I enjoy building furniture. My wife likes gardening and doing paintings, and my son enjoys playing his guitar."

Harry smiled. "Yes, I've heard him play in real life. I must admit, I was rather impressed by his performance." He then gave a wry smile. "It was the same day I also met his rather pretty, but overbearing wife."

I thought back to that time when I had been asked to perform at a wedding reception for the daughter of one of the faculty members of the history department. Jenny had also been invited, but only because she had been my wife. During the party, she had become involved in a religious debate between Harry and a faculty member from the theology department. I chuckled at the idea that Jenny, with only a modest education, but with all the preaching zeal of a missionary, would debate with these two learned men about early Christianity and their religious beliefs, particularly about the Millennium.

Harry, noticing my chuckle, replied, "Ah, you recall our little argument, I gather?"

"I certainly do, and it looks like she was right!" I said with a smile.

Harry neither laughed nor smiled. "Yes, of course she was," he answered, then hastily and emphatically added, "in her dreams!"

I laughed. "And also in yours!"

Harry flashed a short, sardonic smile. "So where is this wife of yours? Why isn't she also here in this dream of mine?"

"She hasn't been resurrected yet. But soon she will be!" I answered cheerily.

"Of course, anything is possible in dreams!"

"It sure is! And this is one heck of a dream to live in," my father said, keeping up the charade. Dad then turned towards me. "Hey, son, since he liked your playing so much, how about giving him a number or two?"

Harry looked at me. "Yes, why not? I suppose you'll play as well in my dream as you did in real life."

"Better!" I bragged. I therefore retrieved my guitar and footstool and sat myself on a chair in the middle of our living room. "All right, Harry, any requests?"

For a moment he was silent, unsure of his choice. Finally, he replied, "Beethoven's _Moonlight Sonata_."

Although written for the pianoforte, and thus technically not part of the guitar repertoire, nonetheless, Francisco Tarrega had also arranged a guitar version for it. I had always loved both the piano and guitar versions, and thus played it often at guitar recitals. I took a second or two to compose myself. Then I commenced the famous arpeggio introduction, slowly and somberly, letting the notes ripple forth their melancholic charm. Then came its equally melancholic melody, riding with and above the ongoing arpeggio. Harry and my parents stared and listened intently to the music flowing gently and seductively out of that magical musical box. Occasionally, I glanced up at Harry, delighted to see that he too seemed to be enjoying it.

Finally, upon completion, my parents clapped, grinning with admiration. Yet Harry looked as mournful as the music he had just heard. "Yes, a fine performance. Well done!" Then with another ironic smile, he added, "Perhaps even Segovia would have approved."

"You know of Andres Segovia?" I asked, complemented by the praise.

"Yes. I have even seen him perform live in concert, as I have a number of other great musicians, including the pianist, Wilhelm Kempff, and the violinist, Mischa Elman."

"By the sounds of it, you're a music connoisseur. Did you also play an instrument?" I asked.

He gravely shook his head. "No, I knew I would never have the talent, nor in fact the time."

"But here you have!" I quickly added. "I can teach you. I also play the piano. It had been, after all, my second instrument of choice for my master's degree in music. Of course, I can't play it nearly as well as the guitar. Still, I can teach you either, or even both of these instruments. Would you like to learn?"

Harry sniggered. "What? Learn to play a musical instrument whilst still being in a dream!"

I smiled almost mischievously at my next ploy. "But didn't you say anything is possible in dreams?"

He nodded. "Yes, I did."

"Well, Harry, because you believe anything is possible in dreams, what about you now playing the guitar?"

He hesitated for a moment and then accepted the challenge. "All right, I'll just focus on the belief that I can play Beethoven on the guitar. As Roger had suggested to me, when I'm in one of these lucid dreams, I need to take control. He believed it was possible by visualizing something strongly enough, I might be able to affect the outcome of the dream." He shrugged his shoulders. "All right, I might as well test his hypothesis right now." He placed the guitar on his lap and clumsily placed his left fingers on the fretboard, and the right hand over the strings near the sounding hole. Then, almost theatrically, he closed his eyes and visualized himself playing the guitar. He must have gone through the entire score, but finally he opened his eyes, and then with an intent glare, he started to pluck the strings. However, instead of _Moonlight Sonata_ we only heard some muffled and uncoordinated notes. We all laughed heartily, except Harry. He instantly stopped and angrily pushed the guitar back at me. "I told you I couldn't play!"

We all stifled our laughter. "I'm sorry, Harry, but you either just proved the error of Roger's hypothesis, or else we have finally proved to you that you're not dreaming."

"You've done nothing of the kind! I just couldn't focus myself enough, that's all."

I smiled and nodded. "All right, Harry, I won't try to convince you. Just go ahead and continue dreaming. Meanwhile, as long as it lasts, can I show you around your very own dream?"

It was just then that Cory started sniffing around Harry's legs. "Does this dog have to come with us?" he asked, pushing Cory aside.

It was obvious that Harry was no animal lover, but I simply smiled and replied, "No, of course not."

"Good!" he snapped. "Have you any pens and writing material in this dreamworld?"

Puzzled, I asked, "Yes, but why's that?"

He stared at me as if I was an imbecile. "I thought that would be obvious." He then heaved a sigh. "By writing the dream down, I will then be able to recall the details better when I wake up in the morning. Have you already forgotten that I keep a journal for my lucid dreams?"

"No, of course not. I'll go get them for you." Moments later, I handed him a pencil and a clipboard with a stack of paper. Thus prepared, we commenced our tour of Paradise.

The first place my father and I showed him was the building site area on the southern outskirts of our village. A group of our brethren were currently constructing a dozen or so new homes. However, upon seeing us, they stopped and tentatively came over to us. From the way Harry had responded last night, it was only natural that many felt reticent. But not Carlos. He immediately asked, "So, Harry, how are you feeling this morning?"

"Like being in a dream!" came the terse reply.

Our unflappable village spiritual mentor only laughed. "Ah, I see. But, my friend, I also see you're now fully awake!"

Harry's face hardened, unsure what to make of that statement. I then explained to him that when he had met our community last night, he had been asleep.

"What do you mean asleep? I am still asleep!" he snapped.

"Not like last night, when all these people saw you fast asleep on your feet," I replied.

Harry appeared genuinely puzzled. "What do you mean? That I was sleepwalking? That's absurd!" he protested. "I may be suffering from lucid dreams, but I've never suffered from somnambulism of any kind!" Then, after a moment's reflection, he dryly added, "Unless, of course, I was sleepwalking in my dream!" He then vigorously shook his head. "No! What am I talking about? I'm still in my dream!"

Carlos chuckled. "All right, my friend, never mind." Still smiling, he pointed to the unfinished houses. "Would you like to help us?"

"I'm an historian, not a manual laborer," he said with contempt. "I only want to be an objective observer, not a participant in this dream. Besides, why are you building all those houses?"

"Because of the Great Resurrection!" Carlos replied with pride. Then, looking up towards our sacred mount, he added, "Like you, a lot more people will soon be resurrected here on Mount Anastasis."

Harry frowned, then sniggered. "Of course, another symbolism. In the New Testament, the Greek word _anastasis_ literally means to 'stand up,' and hence is translated as 'resurrection.'" Then, to the amazement of those around us, he started scribbling. I explained that Harry was taking down notes in order to remember the details of his dream when he woke up the next morning. Carlos laughed good-naturedly and gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder. "It's good to see you showing such an interest," he said, without the slightest trace of sarcasm. "So, my friend, would you like to just walk around and observe how houses are constructed here in Paradise?"

He nodded and thus Harry and I inspected the various jobs. At several points he would stop to ask questions, or add to his notes. Although he probably knew very little about construction work, I could nonetheless see by his often surprised look that he was impressed by the way and the ease in which work was undertaken. However, after a little while, he lost interest. I then suggested that I could show him other places in and around our community. He readily agreed, and so the two of us ambled towards our Fellowship Hall at the center of the village.

Along the way, we met a number of other people who greeted me in the paradise way of smiles and hugs. Harry, to his relief, had to settle only for the smiles. He nodded in return, and tersely answered their questions. To Harry, the people were nothing more than mere figments of his imagination, and this was exactly how he treated them.

When we arrived at our Fellowship Hall, Harry scrutinized its exterior walls and steep roof. "I'm impressed, but tell me, are all your houses made from wood?"

"Yes, at least in this part of the world where there are so many trees. The ones we use have a very rapid growth rate, and the buildings blend in well with our surroundings and thus..."

"And thus making them environmentally friendly," he finished the sentence. "Obviously another dream symbolism in my subconscious. It probably pertains to the necessity for the real world to drastically alter the way modern society is ravaging our global environment."

To humor him, I nodded and then invited him inside. The hall was empty, but I told him there was a scheduled Love Feast for tonight.

"Love Feast! What on earth do you mean? Sex orgies?"

The words shocked me. "No! Of course not! Not in a moral world as ours. Besides, well... I don't know how to explain this. Well,

there's -"

"Well, out with it, man! Don't just stammer like an imbecile!"

"Well, there's no lovemaking anymore."

Harry's eyes widened, and then for the first time since his resurrection, he laughed, a genuine and hearty belly laugh, right into my face. "And you call this place Paradise!" he exclaimed amidst more fits of laughter. Finally, after several seconds of mirth, he added soberly, "Not that it would matter to me anyway, even if there was such a world. I'm old and my wife is frigid!" Then shaking his head, he added, "You know, I've read a number of utopias, from Plato to HG Wells, but none that I could remember ever espoused total celibacy. Not even the pious Thomas More. However, tell me, just out of curiosity, how in the world do you expect the average person to be happy in a place supposedly like this?"

I perfectly understood what he meant. In the old world, I would have reasoned likewise, but not any longer. "You see, Harry, it's like this. People who have been resurrected, or even lived through Armageddon, have been so biologically, chemically and emotionally modified that there simply is no libido in people anymore. Therefore, there is no procreation or even coition." I paused to reflect. "Yes, I think that's the right word. Anyway, only feelings of genuine and deep love remains, both between the opposite and same gender. So nobody misses it, and nobody is lonely either, because people that used to be married can still live together, or with others, or alone if they wish."

Harry gravely shook his head. "I'm afraid that would only exist in your dreams."

I laughed. "And in yours!"

His lips twisted into a half smile. "Touché! Now tell me, what's this love feast we're supposed to be having tonight?"

"It's a custom we have once a week in which our whole community has a meal and fellowship together. It apparently used to be an old Christian custom."

"Oh, yes," Harry sighed, "I should have remembered. Tertullian wrote about it, didn't he?"

"Tertullian? Oh, yes, I guess so. But it's also mentioned in the Bible in -"

"Yes, I know, in the Epistle of Jude."

I nodded, surprised that he knew the Bible so well. "You know, tonight we'll be officially welcoming you into our community."

He rolled his eyes. "Not if I wake up first!"

I chuckled, then asked, "So what do you think of our Fellowship Hall?"

He gazed around, noticing the polished parquet floor, large windows, and cathedral ceiling decorated with frescos of people, animals, birds, trees, and the Divine Light. Then slowly, he nodded his head in approval. "Well, it's not exactly the Sistine Chapel, but nonetheless, quite impressive, I must admit, at least in a sort of rustic way." He then smiled as he added, "Of course, the dream symbolisms, with all these frescoes of nature, are again all too obvious."

"If you like it now, just wait for tonight when this whole place becomes alive. There's even going to be music performed there on the stage," I said, hoping to create an air of excitement and anticipation.

Noticing the piano on the platform, he asked, "And I suppose the music will be played by you on that rather odd looking piano?"

"No, probably by somebody else. There are two ladies that play reasonably well, as well as somebody who can play the violin not too badly, and another the flute. Carlos, who you just met, can also strum the guitar."

"What do they play? Your church music?"

"Yes, that's what basically they mostly play, I suppose."

"What about you? You're classically trained? And you said you can also play the piano."

"Yes, but certainly not up to concert standard. Also, the only classical piano music pieces I had a chance to play since my resurrection were Schumann's _The Happy Farmer_ , a couple of Schubert waltzes, and Beethoven's _Fur Elise_."

He flashed a smiled. "Then please be so good as to perform."

I nodded somewhat reluctantly and played a less than perfect rendition of Beethoven's famous piano piece.

By the look on his face, he clearly saw the mistakes I had made, particularly on the demisemiquavers. Yet, I simply laughed it off. "I tried to tell you, Harry, that I'm very rusty, as you can see."

However, he simply nodded and then commenced scribbling. At first, I thought he was writing about my performance, as if he was some music examiner at the conservatorium. However, upon getting up from the stool, I realized he was writing about the Fellowship Hall. He then started writing about Deer Park Village and its inhabitants, including the conversations we had so far, much of it verbatim. He filled the entire first page, then a second, then even a third, amazing me with his prodigious memory. Finally, he looked up and asked, "So what other wonders am I going to be shown?"

"What about our Hall of Worship?" I asked.

A wry smile appeared. "Ah, the Hall of Worship. Of course. Yes, why not?"

Again, he only seemed to be moderately impressed, although it was by far our most impressive building in Deer Park. To get there, we had to walk to the south-eastern edge of our village, and there on a hill, nestled amongst the pines, near the foot of Anastasis, our place of worship sparkled like a jewel.

"Certainly this isn't of timber construction. Is it made from some sort of glass?"

"No, actually from highly polished wood."

"That's impossible!" he declared. "No wood could be that reflective." He sniggered and then shook his head. "Ah, I keep forgetting that this is only just a dream." Upon entering, he gazed up at the cathedral-type ceiling and studied the frescoes. "Yes, quite impressive, but, of course, they don't compare to the frescoes of Michelangelo." Noticing then the glassless windows, crisscrossed with delicate carved wooden lace, he added, "How quaint. However, why not use real stained-glass windows. It would have been more effective." He then pitifully shook his head. "However, even then, it still would not even compare to New York's Cathedral of Saint John the Divine."

Oh, brother, what a snob! I thought. I seemingly liked him better as a neurotic. However, I only politely smiled at his condescension. "It's of course empty now, but on our seventh day, we pack our hall with more than three hundred people from our village and surrounding areas."

He then noticed the piano, again very similar to the other one in the Fellowship Hall. "And I suppose during these occasions somebody will be playing hymns? But why on a piano? Why not on a pipe organ? It would sound so much grander."

We walked towards it and he lifted up its cover and tapped a few keys. "So, could you at least provide me with an example of a hymn? I presume they are not the standard hymns one hears, but are compositions from your religion."

"Yes, that's right. Would you like me to play one for you?"

He nodded and thus I again sat myself on a piano stool and played 'We Thank You Our God.' It was a simple piece that I had easily learnt over the last two weeks or so. Upon completion I chuckled and added, "It sounds better when the congregation sings along."

He sniggered. "Yes, of course." He then stared around our worship hall before walking up towards the platform. On the lectern he saw a closed book. He opened it and was surprised to see that it was not the Bible.

"What is this?" he asked.

"It's what we call the 'Paradise Text.'"

"The paradise what?"

"It's now our main sacred text, written under inspiration here in Paradise."

He rolled his eyes but remained silent as he began scrutinizing the text. Occasionally he gave a sardonic laugh whilst steadily adding to his notes. Finally, he lifted up his head and asked, "So, has this book replaced your beloved Bible?"

"No, we still use it. However, we use the version that has been rewritten under inspiration here in Paradise."

"Oh dear, another version. Just what the world needed! All right then, is there a copy somewhere?"

"Yes, in the cupboard behind you, where you'll also find copies of our hymnbooks."

He opened the cupboard and firstly skimmed through our hymns before he picked up one of the Bibles. He moved back to the lectern, handed me the Paradise Text and placed the Bible onto the lectern. He opened to Genesis chapter one and read the first verse aloud: "'In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth.' Or as it says in Jerome's Latin Vulgate, _'In principio creavit Deus caelum et terram._ '" He paused and repeated the Latin words, _'caelum et terram_ ,' literally meaning 'heaven and earth.' Yet, in the ancient Hebrew, heaven is _shamayim_ , literally the plural form for heights, but can also mean heavens, and also always in the plural form. It is believed by many authorities that the ancient Jews conceptualized the heavens as consisting of firstly the ordinary sky which the birds flew, secondly the starry heavens, and thirdly the heavens of the heavens of supposedly God and the angels. Besides, the Hebrew word for God as used in this verse is Elohim, and it's in the plural form, not the singular, suggesting more than one God, this Yahweh of the Old Testament, or Jehovah, if you like." He paused and stared at me as if I was a student in one of his lectures. He then slowly and solemnly repeated the famous opening words of Genesis, then added, "Yes, those words in Genesis sound majestic. Too bad science proves them to be false."

"Only if you believe in the theory of evolution!" I countered.

"Darwinian evolution through natural selection is confirmed by paleontology, genetics, biochemistry, physiology, ecology, molecular biology, and perhaps even quantum physics. However, you creationists will never accept that fact."

I knew it would be futile, even senseless to argue, but I did. "Then if blind evolution accounts for everything, then why does creation show such intricate design, from galaxies to the human brain, from the electromagnetic spectrum to the periodic table, from the biosphere to cells, DNA, molecules and atoms? And who or what started the initial spark of all this design, and who created all the scientific laws which controls the universe, the Earth and all its life? Also, why are there distinct species that cannot interbreed? Or why are there such gaps in the fossil records?"

He laughed and mocked, "You forgot to add the ontological proof arguments of Anselm, Descartes, Spinoza and Leibniz. You also forgot Thomas Aquinas's prime mover argument, as well as Kant's famous but specious reasoning regarding universal moral laws!"

I could not believe it. Here was a man who had just been resurrected from the dead, and here I was arguing with him over the existence of God. "Then how do you explain what has happened to you?"

He sighed. "Because this is only a dream! How many more times do I need to repeat myself?"

"All right, then how does evolution explain dreams, or consciousness, ideas, feelings of love and compassion, beauty, music, mathematics, spiritual phenomena, as well as the unconscious mind you kept referring to last night?"

For a moment he had that wild-eyed look about him that he had yesterday, but then he shrugged. "I don't know."

Then we just stood in silence, both of us unsure what to say next. Finally, after a long pause, he added, "Anyway, these arguments are outside my field of expertise, and I need to do more research, but not so with history and basic commonsense."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"I'm sure you know what I mean by history. However, by common sense I mean basic contradictions in here," he replied as he held up the Bible.

"Sorry, Harry, that's not how we see it, especially now in Paradise. We again have the perfect text, exactly the way the original authors had penned them under God's inspiration, now perfectly harmonizing with itself."

He laughed. "Then what about all those historical inaccuracies, the conflicts in biblical chronology? Have they also been harmonized?"

I confidently nodded.

He then flipped through the Bible until a text caught his eye. "Ah, here is a good example. He cleared his throat and read: "'Solomon your son is the one that will become king after me, and he is the one that will sit upon my throne in place of me!' So it says here in your opening chapter of the First Book of Kings." He frowned. "You know, my dear boy, there is not even the slightest historical or archaeological evidence that King Solomon even existed!"

Momentarily I was unsure what to say. I certainly had not expected to be challenged on teachings we always took for granted, especially here in Paradise. Finally, after getting my wits together, I replied, "But Josephus, the ancient Jewish historian, wrote about him."

He laughed mockingly. "Josephus! He lived in the first century, and thus centuries after this supposed king. Also Josephus's _Antiquities of the Jews_ , at least in its earlier sections, is nothing but a glorification of the Jewish nation and its sacred books. He just rewrites supposed history from these books. Of course, he mentions, even glorifies this majestic and wise king of theirs that had supposedly built this magnificent temple, which likewise never existed."

"Then what about the Wailing Wall in Jerusalem," I countered, suddenly realizing my mistake.

He sighed. "The Wailing Wall, for your information, is the remains of the temple built during the time of Herod the Great." He then flipped the Bible back to Exodus. "Ah, I see. This myth is also still retained!"

"What do you mean?"

"This Moses character! Again, there is not a solitary shred of historical evidence of him in all the inscriptions and papyrus manuscripts discovered in Egypt. In fact, nowhere is there even any evidence that the Jews were even in Egypt during the biblical time period mentioned. As regards to he being the writer of Exodus, that is likewise a joke. The supposed books of Moses consist of three distinct literary traditions, the J, E, and P strands, each with their own writer living in different time periods. Now, regarding Moses supposedly floating down the Nile in a reed basket, and then being rescued by Pharaoh's daughter, well, that myth seems to be taken directly from the account of Sargon the Elder, the founder of the Akkadian Empire, and who reigned somewhere around 2300 BC. Folklore has it, according to an inscription found in the ruins of the royal library at Nineveh, that he was also secretly placed in a basket and cast into the river by his mother, only this time it was the Euphrates River, and the baby was rescued by Akki, the irrigator, and that the goddess Ishtar took care of him."

"Harry, please, that's enough," I pleaded. However, there was no stopping him.

"Ah, now we come to the heart of the matter!" he declared as he opened to the Gospel of Matthew. "I see you still have the Nativity scene, as well as the mass slaying of the infants in Bethlehem by Herod." He then looked up at me with a smirk on his face. "There are absolutely no historical references to these events, not even in Josephus, a Jew who lived just after the supposed life of Christ."

"But Josephus does write about Jesus!" I snapped.

"That reference to which you are referring to is also in his _Antiquities of the Jews_ , where he speaks of Jesus as supposedly being the Christ, and according to the text, and I quote, 'condemned him to the cross' and that he 'appeared to them alive again the third day.' This is certainly a fraudulent Christian interpolation, although I admit that in another passage, where Josephus writes about James, who was the 'brother of Jesus, who was _called_ Christ,' may be authentic."

"Then there is also the Roman historian, Tacitus," I added. "I know he also wrote about Jesus."

"That was in his _Annals_ , which was written well over half a century after Christ's supposed life. However, Tacitus mentions almost nothing of Christ, or 'Christus' as he calls him, except that he, and I again quote, 'Suffered the extreme penalty during the reign of Tiberius at the hands of one of our procurators, Pontius Pilatus.'"

"But Tacitus also mentioned that the Christians were used as a scapegoat by Nero for a great fire in Rome, and thus were savagely persecuted for it. I think that was about the year 50 AD, which was only twenty years or so after Christ's death. A religion that was so savagely persecuted could never have arisen and survived unless there really was a Jesus Christ, who not only performed great miracles, but was also resurrected from the dead, as the Bible states."

He scoffed. "You have your dates muddled. The generally accepted date for the great fire that ravaged Rome was 64 AD. Also, the commonly four accepted Gospels were written long after Christ supposedly lived. It appears that much of his supposed life and teachings were actually taken from the mystical religion of Mithraism, which included such concepts as needing a mediator between God and humans, the teaching of baptisms, and the resurrection of the dead. Why, your Gospels are no more real than those Gnostic Gospels, or, for that matter, even those Christian novels like _Quo Vadis_ and _Ben-Hur_! You know, I'd advise you to research some of the non-biblical texts of the Dead Sea Scrolls and those of Nag Hammadi, as well as -"

"Stop! Enough!" I yelled in exasperation. For the first time since my resurrection, I had become angry, something I thought would have been impossible, until now. "Look, Harry, I know this must all seem impossible to you, but who do you think you are? You've died and were again brought back to life in an absolute paradise. Just because you think you're an expert in ancient and religious history, you lecture me about it, and try to deny everything you've seen and experienced." I huffed. "How about showing some gratitude!"

"Gratitude to be in a dream?" he scoffed.

I shook my head in dismay. "All right, Harry, have it your way. I give up! At least I can accept reality when I see it, which is more than what I can say about you. I thought I'd play ball with you by letting you believe that you were just dreaming, thinking by being patient you'd eventually realize that you weren't dreaming after all. But go ahead, try to wake up if you can. Try to prove to yourself that this is only a dream!" I paused and eyed him coldly. "But you'll soon discover that each time when you go back to bed, expecting to wake up in New York, you'll find that your right back here in Paradise. And you know what?"

"What?" he asked defiantly.

"If you keep wanting to escape, or even rebel against God's Paradise you've been blessed enough to be in, you might just get your wish. Only you won't be going back to New York, I assure you. You'll be going back to sleep all right. Permanently!"

He glared at me. "Is that a threat? 'Big Brother Is Watching You!'"

I sighed and shook my head. "No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. However, if I were you, I would be careful."

After a few more heated exchanges, we both calmed down. To ease the tension, and hopefully convince him that he had indeed been resurrected, I suggested a walk up to Mount Anastasis.

He nodded his approval. "Why not? If that's the place I first recalled entering into this crazy dream, it may be the stimulus to wake me up and take me back home again."

Chapter 15 - Reconciliation

We remained silent as we walked along the river trail. I admired the scenery, the crystal blue meandering river with its sandy shore shaded here and there by leafy trees in full bloom. By contrast, Harry totally ignored the beauty around him; his only focus was on waking up and going home.

Finally, to break the icy silence, I asked amiably, "Is there anything in New York that can compare to this?"

"The Hudson River is wider!"

I laughed but remained silent.

Soon we reached the grassy plains and walked up the trail of Mount Anastasis. A herd of deer were once more grazing, but none came towards us.

"Do you remember coming down this way last night?" I asked, still trying to thaw the ice.

However, he remained silent and simply shook his head. Considering his dazed and dreamlike state he had been in, I was not at all surprised.

Upon reaching Anastasis's grassy plateau, I again recalled the angel I had encountered. For a second, I thought of mentioning it to him, but then changed my mind. No, considering his current attitude and state of mind, it surely was not a good idea. So, we continued on in silence, past the grassy plateau and up into the forested trail towards the Resurrection Sanctuary. Finally, we arrived at its enchanted garden. I thought he might make some sarcastic comment, like this place could never compare to New York's Central Park. However, he remained silent and suddenly stopped to stare, seemingly enraptured by its sublime beauty. I was now sure that he recalled being here before.

We soon walked on and I discovered I was right. "Where is that Doric temple and that mysterious light?" he asked.

"It's gone. I presume God simply temporarily constructed it here for your sake. It probably had something to do with you being an historian, to make you feel more at home, I guess. When I was resurrected, I found myself awake in what appeared to be my bedroom." I momentarily hesitated, unsure if I should continue. However, I decided that I would. "When I first woke up, I thought I had only dreamt my murder. I even thought I was still in my dream. However, I soon had to accept that this world was no mere dream."

"But it is, and I shall prove it!" He then confidently strode towards the Resurrection Sanctuary. As he was approaching, miraculously a small temple appeared, exactly the one that I had seen yesterday at the time of Harry's resurrection. He swung around and jubilantly declared: "See, I told you! It's a mirage, just like this dream. And now I'm going home!"

"No, Harry, come back! Don't fool around with God!" I yelled, horrified that he was going to do something not only stupid, but something blasphemous, something that would end his life not just here, but for all eternity. Then suddenly and miraculously steps appeared, which he unhesitatingly walked up. He entered into the courtyard of the temple, and again I pleaded, "Harry, no! Come back!"

To my horror, I heard Harry curse at God, then demand: "Take me out of this wretched dream and let me wake up!"

Out of nowhere, a huge shaft of light came down from the heavens, then engulfed him. He was gone. I was sure God had destroyed him. For several seconds I just stood there, frozen on the spot, too terrified to move. Then, just as suddenly as the Light had appeared, it disappeared. Yet, to my amazement, Harry had not vanished; he had not been destroyed. There he now stood as alive as before, having even that faint aura around him that was common to all of us when we were under, or just out of the Divine Light of God.

I raced towards him and instinctively held his arm, feeling the warmth of his flesh. "Harry, you're still alive!" I jubilantly exclaimed.

He slowly turned his head towards me. "Amazing! Absolutely amazing!" he muttered as if in a trance.

"What happened?" I asked.

He seemed too overawed to answer at first. Finally, he muttered, "I have never felt so alive or happy in my entire life! Now I know how Angelus Silesius or Johannes Eckhart must have felt."

I had no idea who these people were. However, the transformation in him was all too obvious. Just minutes ago, Harry seemed to me to have been an ungrateful, egotistical atheist that could not accept the fact that he had died and been raised back to life. Now he looked humble and serene. It truly had been an astonishing miracle. I felt certain that Harry was now mentally cured and would accept the reality of his new life. For several moments we just stood there, embracing one another. Amazingly, I felt the energy and currents of love still lingering on from the Light. However, in due time, the energy dissipated and the trance was broken, and silently and reverentially we walked away from the Resurrection Sanctuary. I turned around and the temple was gone, yet still, through some perception within me, I realized that the latent force of God was still there. We did not speak until we had reached the grassy plateau that overlooked the Deer River Valley. Here we now sat and gazed upon the majestic view.

"How beautiful it now suddenly looks to me," he softly said. His faint glow had now vanished, yet the signs of a divine miracle were still all too apparent.

I gently tapped his knee, still amazed by his miraculous transformation. "It does look beautiful, doesn't it? But so does everything here in Paradise." I thought of Jenny, wishing now more than ever that she would be here with me. After a little while, I asked, "Can you tell me something about your family, Harry?"

He smiled and combed his fingers through his hair. "There's not too much to tell. I'm Harry Marston, the historian, and I have a wife, that's all." He frowned. "However, regarding my wife, we don't see too much of each other now. We both lead such busy lives. My wife is a librarian, but in administration, and very heavily involved in the bureaucracy of a large academic library, with so many committee meetings dealing with personnel, acquisitions and budget considerations." His face suddenly saddened. "Also, she's got her own friends, her female colleagues, whilst I have my academic work and my books. I suppose that's why we never had any children. Both of us were just too busy and occupied with our careers, although from time to time we do invite guests for dinner, such as Roger and his wife."

He then paused for a moment, then added more cheerily that he had been an only child of an Australian mother and an American father. "They first met in Brisbane, after the Battle of the Coral Sea," he said. "My father had been in the navy, and had been wounded from a Japanese bomb that had struck the aircraft carrier, _Yorktown_. My father was then given shore duties for a while, working in a U.S. naval warehouse in Brisbane. Then, one day, my parents met at a nearby local restaurant. My mother was working there, and you can imagine the rest."

"They married and then you came along!"

He grinned sheepishly. "No, at least not in that order. However, my father eventually married my mother, and we then lived in the States, in San Diego, due to the naval base there. Unlike most, my father remained with the navy after the war, having been an officer even before the attack on Pearl Harbor. However, one day in 1950, just before the outbreak of the Korean War, he suddenly died through some freak accident at sea. I was then only five, and I hardly knew him. So after his death, my mother and I went back to Australia." He gave an ironic laugh. "Here's something that'll surprise you."

"What?"

"Before her death, my mother had joined your religion."

"Really!" I was stunned. Suddenly it dawned upon me why Harry had been resurrected so early. "So why didn't you tell me this before?"

"Because I thought that this was all just a dream, and that you were a figment of my imagination."

"And now?"

He did not answer immediately, but after a little while he replied, "I don't know. However, even if I should wake up now, I would believe that this had been much more than just a mere dream, even a lucid dream, although I would be more than ever confused." He shook his head. "When I was under that light, I felt small, realizing that I knew very little indeed." He paused for a few seconds, then, looking deeply into my eyes, he added, "And something tells me that you don't really understand either, at least anything beyond your life here, or at least what seems to be here."

I shrugged my shoulders and smiled. "True, but I believe we have an eternity to learn. However, tell me more about your mother, and her having belonged to our international brotherhood."

He smiled self-consciously. "That is a rather regrettable subject for me."

"Why? What happened?"

"She joined your religion long after my father had died. We were, of course, living in Australia, and I was already undertaking my undergraduate arts degree, majoring in history, as you could imagine. Anyway, by that time, she already had cancer. Then some of your preachers converted her to your religion. I didn't know much about the religion, but I thought she was being brainwashed, and all that. Therefore, I tried to talk her out of it. In fact, I did a lot more than that. We had some vehement arguments about it. A few months later, she died of the cancer." There was a sudden pause, his face grimaced. "It had affected me quite hard, you know. We were very close. I never agreed with her beliefs, and I blamed the religion in creating a wedge between us."

I placed my arm around his shoulder. "But that will all change now. I'm sure you'll soon see her again!"

He smiled faintly and nodded. "It would be nice to see her again."

"Did you get any news of her whilst being within the Light?"

"No. I felt and knew nothing except the feeling of love by a power well beyond my comprehension."

"Perhaps we'll receive news about her when the Divine Light comes again," I said eagerly. "You see, once a month, the Divine Light appears in all communities all over the world. Here we get most of our new revelations from heaven. Inside the Divine Light, an angel actually told me about your resurrection. It was the same angel that came to us last night into your bedroom."

He shook his head. "No, I can't remember, although I recall you telling me that. So, who or what was that angel you supposedly saw?"

"I don't know who he is, only that I first encountered him on my first day at almost the same spot we're now sitting." I paused, then added, "I've been told that this is unusual because angels normally only appear to our spiritual mentors, not to people like me, especially outside of the Divine Light."

"Why not?"

"I don't know."

He shook his head in dismay. "Looks like there's a lot of things we don't understand, and for me it started with 9/11 and those strange, crazy dreams I then continued to have."

I could see Harry's ecstasy, peace and even his faith in the reality of our world starting to fade. I thus quickly changed the subject. "So, how did you find out about my death?"

He looked at me and shrugged. "I think I heard it first on the morning radio news. They mentioned your name, and that you were a guitarist. Later that morning I was discussing your murder with my colleagues. I later read the full report in _The New York Times_." He paused. "I think from memory, you had been shot by a young cocaine addict, someone called Ron, or something like that. I forget. Anyway, it seems shortly after your death that he himself had been fatally shot by the police."

The fate of my murderer was, of course, news to me. However, I felt neither glee nor sorrow for him. At the moment, I simply did not care. "Did you find out anything about my wife?"

"They mentioned that she was there at the scene of the crime, and also that she was being treated for shock. I don't know anything else."

"So, you haven't seen or heard anything else about her?"

"No."

I was again reliving those horrendous last moments together, again hearing her screams and frantic petitions to God. I then realized Harry was still talking to me. "Sorry, what did you say?" I asked.

"I just asked you what year is this meant to be?"

"We don't use the same dates as we used to," I answered. "However, we simply call them by the years since the start of Paradise. This is the year 30, and Armageddon occurred in 2055, so in the old way of reckoning, this is the year 2085." Harry picked up his lecture pad and wrote down the date. I then remembered Harry telling me about his Armageddon dream, and how uncannily it matched the events and date of what actually had happened. "So, what year did you...well, what was the last date you can remember?"

This time he did not ignore the question. "The last date I recall is yesterday, May 2, 2009. I keep a diary in which I write up the day's events just before I go to bed. However, it's a separate journal to the one I keep for my dreams." He rubbed his eyes and sighed. "If I wake up at home tomorrow, I'll certainly have a lot of writing to do!"

"But you'll wake up here!" I reminded him, surprised that he still needed reminding.

He shrugged. "Even assuming you're right, and this is 2085, where are we meant to be geographically?"

"By the terrain, it seems that we're somewhere near the Cascade Range in Oregon, but we're not totally sure. My father, who used to be a lumberjack, says he somehow recognizes the area. However, everything has changed so much."

He gave a dubious shake of the head. There was another long pause before he asked, "So, do you think this is really Christ's Millennium, the Paradise as you call it?"

"Yes, of course. What else can it be?"

He sighed. "It all still seems so strange, even after that mystical experience in what you call the Divine Light. You know, I've never been convinced of the existence of God, in anything supernatural, nor in an afterlife of any kind. I've always been a skeptic to things pertaining outside the paradigms of materialism and mainstream science and history. That's why I also scoffed at Roger's paranormal research, nor ever read any of the literature he recommended, except that one article on lucid dreaming. And I scoffed at many parts of that as well, although not actually the content of his dreams, but rather at his interpretations. He believed too much in the supernatural. I even felt Jung had too many crackpot ideas, although his therapy may have some benefits. When I was a student, even as a faculty member, I read a great deal about ancient and medieval myths and religions, including, of course, early Christianity, with their vain expectation of Christ's Second Coming." He paused, then soberly added, "However, my mother certainly believed in it, although I thought it was just another utopian dream." He forced a smile, then resumed his mantle as lecturer, although now no longer aggressive or cynical, as he had been before he had been immersed under God's healing power of the Light. "Perhaps my mother, with her beliefs, influenced me more than I had realized. As I had stated, I read many books on religion. It's necessary in order to understand ancient, medieval, or even to some extent, Renaissance cultures. However, I have also read a good deal on the topic of paradise myths and utopias. Even my PhD thesis, which I did at Cambridge, after winning a scholarship, was about Thomas More's _Utopia_ , and how his seemingly liberal and open minded views, as portrayed in his ideal world, contrasted so strikingly with his later religious works." He then stopped and asked, "Have you even heard of him?"

I nodded and laughed. "I did do at least some history as a college freshman. He had something to do with Henry VIII of England, didn't he?"

"More was his lord chancellor," he said, pleased that I knew at least something about him. "He was not at all against the persecution of what he deemed to be heretics during the time of the Protestant Reformation. In the end, he himself was imprisoned and beheaded for his Catholic beliefs. He could not accept that a king could be head of the Christian church, nor could he agree with Henry's wish to divorce his wife, Catherine of Aragon."

"And you say that this Thomas More wrote the book called _Utopia_?"

"Yes. Many scholars believed that his _Utopia_ was really a satire about the world of his time. However, in my thesis, I had taken the opposite position, that despite his obvious use of puns and satire, as a whole, the ideas presented in his work were, in fact, to be taken literally."

"Like what?"

"Like his religious liberalism, things that normally devout Catholics of his day could not accept. For instance, religious toleration, euthanasia, the marriage of priests, as well as divorce by mutual consent on the grounds of incompatibility. More also espoused a welfare state that provided every member of the community with housing, education, medical treatment, food and clothing. There were to be only six hours of work a day, and education was encouraged for all." Harry then shook his head and chuckled. "No, this younger More, despite wearing a hair shirt underneath his fine outer garb, was not a religious bigot, but a man of learning and toleration, obviously influenced by the humanist movement of his day."

Harry then spoke at length about his own academic studies and interests, which, of course, seemed to encompass mainly ancient, medieval, Italian Renaissance and English Tudor history, but also Latin and Greek. "After being awarded my PhD at Cambridge," he continued, "I received a position back at my old university in Melbourne." He paused. "I met my wife, Elizabeth, long after my mother died. It was in the Vatican City, of all places, whilst on holiday. Because I knew a lot about Renaissance art and Catholic history, I became a sort of tour guide for her and her female friend, a colleague from the same library. It was a three-week vacation in Rome, which was followed by Florence, Venice, and finally Athens. Afterwards, we continued to correspond for the next couple of years. I then visited her in New York and subsequently proposed. A year later, we married, and with her father holding an important administrative position at Columbia, he was able to -"

I started to laugh.

"What are you laughing about?"

"Give you a job at Columbia."

"Well, yes, I was eventually endowed with a chair within the history department." He stared at me. "Are you making fun of me? You know, I got this position through my qualifications and ability."

"Of course, Professor, of course!" I said, still laughing.

"All right, I suppose being married to his daughter didn't hurt," he replied with a wry smile. He stood up. "Anyway, you are meant to be my guide, so what else is there to see around this utopian place?"

"A whole new world, and I promise you, it's even better than Thomas More's _Utopia_!" I likewise stood up and placed a friendly arm around his shoulder, and together we walked down the trail towards the big, green, beautiful valley below.

Chapter 16 - Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring

Harry and I had then spent the entire day together, exploring and sightseeing around the village's vast hinterland. He was now the tourist and I his guide, and many beautiful sites did we see. There were the delightful waterfalls that lay just north to our village, then just beyond, the impressive mountainous terrain. Animals we saw by the score, including white-tailed deer, red deer, a huge bull moose, and wolves. Then, in the mountainous streams, we saw salmon, otters, beavers, and even a bear. Yet, to Harry's constant amazement, all could live in perfect harmony. It was incredible to him that there were no longer any predators or prey. He saw firsthand that all of God's creatures were now vegetarians, with food in the water, on the land, on the bushes and on the trees, having far more food than they would ever need. As the day had progressed, I beheld Harry's entire attitude changing from belligerence to fascination. It was thus a totally different Harry Marston when we returned to the village at sundown. Although still formal and reserved, he was now at least civil to the people we had met, treating them like human beings rather than mere figments of his imagination. When I explained what had happened up at Mount Anastasis, all were convinced that it was a miracle, and none more than I.

That night, at the Love Feast, Harry and I were ushered to a small table just for two, which I knew Harry preferred. Just before dinner, during prayer, I noticed Harry gazing curiously around the room, observing others with their eyes shut and their heads bowed in the customary sign of respect that was the norm of this world. Yet, Harry neither sneered nor showed any other sign of disrespect, merely curiosity. He was, after all, a man not accustomed to prayer. After the chorus of 'amens' that echoed throughout the hall, we all stood up and made our way to the long table loaded with delectable food. Harry was not at all shy in filling his plate, getting as many tidbits as he possibly could. "When I travel anywhere, I like to explore," he stated in his matter-of-fact way. Back at our table, I could see that Harry was indeed enjoying the local delicacies, food which I knew he could never have tasted before. Music then also filled the air, local hymns of praise on the piano, violin and flute, not played absolutely perfectly, but well enough for even someone as critical as Harry to enjoy.

"See, I told you that life here was wonderful!" I said, happy to see Harry enjoying himself.

"If this really turns out to be just another dream," he said with a mere smudge of a smile, "at least it's turning out to be a rather pleasant one." The smile then broadened. "The only thing that is now missing is a nice bottle of Chablis, although the way I now feel, I could even settle for your Californian Chardonnay."

I laughed. "I'm afraid we don't have any, but could I interest you in a nice bottle of our 'Paradise White?' It's a very special white grape juice."

His smile vanished. "White grape juice!" he declared in disgust.

"No! No!" I laughed. "We have a type of white grape from which we can make a white wine of sorts that I'm sure would even suit your fine palate. I'll get you some now." Before he could say no, I was on my feet and on my way to the serving table.

When I returned, I saw my father sitting next to him. "And that's not all!" my father blustered. "Before I became religious in my old life, whiskey used to be my choice of drink. I used to drink straight from the bottle. All those fancy wines, with those fancy European names, meant nothing to me. I couldn't tell the difference between a port and a bottle of vinegar!" Dad roared with laughter; Harry forced a polite smile. "Ah, here's my son now with that Paradise White. It tastes great, makes you feel great, but doesn't give you a hangover!"

I sat the glasses on the table and poured us all a generous supply of Paradise White. "My father, is right, Harry. As he told me, one drink makes you feel good, two even better, but any more you remain the same. You see, you really can't get drunk on any of our beverages here."

Harry gingerly took a sip and smiled. "Not bad. It may not be a Chablis, but I admit, it does taste rather good."

We had already finished our meal, and I was just finishing my third glass of Paradise White when Harry asked me if I was still going to perform tonight.

"Yeah, sure. I didn't bring my guitar for nothing!" I answered, laughing. Then, looking at the trio, I added, "In fact, I'm scheduled right after this next song."

Harry flashed an ironic grin. "Are you quite sure you can still provide us with a polished performance after imbibing on your Paradise White?"

I chuckled. "Well, let's find out!"

The hymn finished and Carlos went up onto the platform and thanked them for their performance. A warm round of applause followed as the trio walked off and I on. Carlos smiled. "Well! Well! Here comes David with his guitar!" More applause. I smiled appreciatively and sat myself on the provided chair. "However, before we will listen to him," Carlos continued, "I want to now officially welcome Harry to our brotherhood." More applause followed, louder than before, one that echoed throughout the entire hall. I looked at Harry and was pleased to see a smile upon his face. Finally, the ovation subsided and Carlos returned to his seat.

I likewise welcomed Harry to our community, then added, "Harry is an aficionado of classical music, and so I will perform for him Beethoven's _Moonlight Sonata_ , then a couple of pieces by a Paraguayan guitar virtuoso, Augustin Barrios, then end with a guitar arrangement of Johann Sebastian Bach's _Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring_." Once more there was applause. I waited for it to end, then took a deep breath and commenced to play. Once again I rippled out the slow and sonorous arpeggio introduction to Beethoven's great and introspective musical masterpiece. I saw from the looks and nods that many had recognized this music, and many clapped with sincere appreciation at its conclusion. I then performed the equally reflective but more cheerful, and technically far more challenging _Sueno en la Floresta_ , followed by the sprightly _Danza Paraguaya_. Both were likewise warmly applauded by all, Harry not excluded. However, greater was the applause following Bach's _Jesu,_ _Joy of Man's Desiring_. Lighthearted and piously joyous, this music perfectly reflected the mood of not only the audience, but of this entire new world.

Soon after my performance, Harry asked me if we could go home. I readily agreed, and thus minutes later, Harry and I, along with my parents, were strolling home under the canopy of another brilliantly starlit sky.

"It's incredible!" Harry gasped. "Is it like this all the time?"

"It sure is. I bet you've never seen so many stars before!" Dad boasted. "Makes a man feel rather romantic." He chuckled and placed his arm around Mum.

Harry continued staring into the starry heavens. "No, I've never seen so many stars before, not even in the outback of Australia." He paused and then added pensively, "If it wasn't for those familiar stars and constellations, I would swear we were not on Earth." He then pointed heavenwards. "See, there is Polaris, the Pole Star, so obviously this is the Northern Hemisphere. Now look over there!" He pointed to a clearly defined constellation that to me looked like a saucepan. "There is the constellation Orion, the Greek mythological hunter. In the center is Orion's sword, the Orion Nebula along Orion's belt." Pointing then towards a cluster of stars, he added, "Over there are the familiar Seven Sisters, also known as the Pleiades. That bright star over there is Sirius, known as Sothis to the ancient Egyptians, the star they believed caused the annual Nile River floods." He then pointed to an even brighter star. "That's not a star but the planet Jupiter." He suddenly paused and gasped. "My God! I can even clearly and distinctly see the four separate disks of light around it. That's utterly impossible! Those moons weren't even visible to humans until Galileo first set his telescope onto Jupiter in the early seventeenth century, and certainly not like this!"

My father chuckled. "Yeah, it's incredible, ain't it? Not only do we have perfect 20/20 eyesight, but even telescopic vision!"

Suddenly, Harry became deadly silent. For several seconds he stared towards the southern horizon, then bellowed: "That's also utterly impossible!" He pointed towards a constellation shaped like a kite. "Over there, can't you see it?"

"Yes, but what about it?" I asked.

"It's the Southern Cross, or as you might know it, the Crux Constellation. From the latitude of Oregon, this constellation would not be visible. Even at the latitude of Alexandria in Egypt, where the ancient astronomer Ptolemy drew his star chart, the Southern Cross could not be seen."

Harry again paused, then soberly added, "However, Ptolemy did tabulate the star system on his chart. That's a mystery that has puzzled astronomers."

"Yeah, life is full of mysteries, even here," my father replied. "No, make that especially here!"

Harry was the only one not to laugh.

Whilst still staring into the starry sky, he then muttered almost inaudibly, "No, something is definitely wrong."

Chapter 17 - Lost!

When I woke up early next morning, Harry was gone. Neither my parents nor anyone else had seen him since last night. We had all been too full of good cheer after the Love Feast to have noticed, but now I knew something was wrong. I had to find him. The first place that came to mind was the Resurrection Sanctuary. However, upon my arrival, I discovered that he was not there. I searched the surrounding area, calling out to him several times, but to no avail. I prayed for help and then thought of Cory. Perhaps he could track him down. I hurried back home and fortunately found my canine friend nearby.

"Find Harry!" I ordered. Cory nudged his nose into my hand. I sighed. I realized that he was never trained to track. Yet, deep within me, the thought of using him remained. I decided to find something belonging to Harry, then came back with his sleeping robe, which I then held under his snout. "Smell, Cory, smell! This is Harry. Go find Harry!" I commanded. Cory wagged his tail and jumped upon me, almost knocking me to the ground. "No, Cory, this is not a game! Find Harry!" I said, as I again placed the garment near his snout.

Cory gave a solitary bark, then sniffed around various places outside our house. He barked once more and, with his snout still near the ground, ran up the southbound trail. I hastily followed, and soon we were past the construction area and into the forest and hills beyond our village. Cory then left the main trail and headed up a nearby mountain. I knew Harry was in no physical danger, yet I was again worried about his mental state. I thus gave a silent prayer of thanks when I saw him sitting on a large, flat boulder, about a hundred feet away.

"Harry!" I yelled.

Startled, his face shot towards me. Even at this distance, I could see he was annoyed. However, I forced a smile and walked up to him, with Cory by my side.

"So, what do you want now?" he snapped.

I hesitated for a moment, then answered softly, "I don't want anything. I'm only here because I'm concerned about you." I ignored his sarcastic snigger, then added, "Last night, we all thought that everything was finally okay with you, but this morning, well...you just disappeared. Why?"

He pathetically shook his head. "I had another one of those lucid dreams, or more likely, I returned back to reality."

"What do you mean? Do you still think that you're -"

"Dreaming!" he finished my sentence. He forced a hollow laugh, then cradled his face into his hands.

I sat next to him and placed a sympathetic arm around his shoulder. "Harry, it's your third day here. Why can't you accept the way things are? Don't you like it here?" I asked, dumbfounded that he should still think he was dreaming.

He expressed a sullen look and sighed. "Yes! Yes! This is probably one of the most beautiful, tranquil and felicitous places imaginable. It really seems to be like some tropical island resort one goes to for a holiday, where one lies in one's hammock, with a martini in one's hand and watching the waves roll in."

"So what's wrong with that? What's wrong with everyone being relaxed and happy?"

He sighed once more. "That's just it. It seems everybody around here is drunk, even stupefied with happiness. It's as if they were all taking some kind of happiness pill, or cocaine, or whatever, but without the unpleasant side effects. That's a fool's paradise, a silly dream, nothing else! That's certainly not reality." He paused, shook his head, then added, "The Incas used to chew upon the coca leaves for pleasure and supposedly spiritual insight. That's also how life here appears to me, only worse."

"But nobody is feeding you on drugs."

"No, then what about yesterday, up on that mountain?"

"On Mount Anastasis, when the Divine Light came upon you? But Harry, that was not -"

"Yes, yes!" he said irritably. "It seemed great at the time, although I now think it must have been some kind of brainwashing."

"Brainwashing! You call that brainwashing when you're shown divine kindness and love?" I asked indignantly, thinking he was lucky to have come out of it alive.

He shrugged his shoulders, then pushed my arm aside. "I don't know. I just don't know! Perhaps, for a while, after that strange experience in that light, I was beginning to accept this world as something real, that was until last night, when we walked back home."

"From the Love Feast, you mean?"

"Yes, after seeing the Southern Cross. As I had explained, it's not visible from the latitude of Oregon."

I shook my head in dismay and laughed. "Oh, Harry, and it's only because of seeing the Southern Cross that you can't believe this world to be real! Besides, I told you that we're only presuming to be in Oregon, or somewhere in that region, because that's what it seems. But the world has changed so much that we can't be sure."

Cory nudged his nose into Harry's arm. To my surprise, he did not push him away. "No! No! You don't understand. There's much more to it than that. It has to do with lucid dreams."

"What about them?" I asked, fearing yet another lecture on a subject I did not want to hear.

"What I'm trying to say is that last night in bed, I focused on the Southern Cross. I remembered from past occasions that sometimes in dreams, when I became aware of something incongruous, like the Southern Cross appearing in full view in the Northern Hemisphere, I would suddenly become totally conscious within the dream, giving the dream a sense of reality, although, of course, the reality was only illusionary."

"Harry, you can see and feel that everything around you is real. Besides, as I already told you, this is your third day here. How much more evidence do you need?"

"Yes, yes, I know all that! My apocalyptic dream also seemed to have lasted that long within my dream, although, of course, in reality it was only for one night. However, let me continue. I was in bed, thinking about the appearance of the Southern Cross, when I fell asleep and began to dream, or what seemed to be a dream from this current perspective. Do you know what it was about?"

"I have no idea, but I'm sure you'll tell me."

"I dreamt I woke up in my old bedroom in New York, thinking what an incredible dream I just had, meaning, naturally enough, this place here."

"But Harry, we've been through all this before. Of course, we still have dreams, especially if we've just arrived. I mean, I still dream of Jen -"

"No! No! Let me continue. I woke up and told my wife about this paradise I had dreamt about, and how real it had all seemed. Of course, she only laughed it off. However, it really appeared as if I was back home again with my wife. For the first time in a long time, we even had breakfast together. We even decided to go to the campus together in the same car! However, as soon as we went, I suddenly felt strangely sick and disorientated. The last thing I then wanted to do was face thirty students and lecture them on Francis Bacon's _Novum Organum_ , ironically a philosophical book that deals with methods of acquiring knowledge. Then, for some reason, I thought of Bacon's utopian book, _New Atlantis_ , which then reminded me of my lucid paradisiacal dream." Then, staring directly into my eyes, he said, "Now visualize this! I then became simultaneously conscious of both sitting in the car with my wife, and lying in bed in your house, as if I were at two places at once! However, that only lasted for a second or so before I woke up and realized that I was back here again."

"And so nice to have you back!" I added, attempting to ease the tension with some humor.

He glared at me. "Hah! For you it may seem funny, but I don't seem to know what's real anymore, and what's not!" He heaved a sigh. "However, do you see the conundrum? Was I dreaming that I was dreaming? A dream within a dream! Right now, I feel like the Chinese Taoist sage, Chuang Tse, who supposedly said something like, 'I do not know whether I was then a man dreaming I was a butterfly, or whether I am now a butterfly dreaming I am a man.'"

"But you're not a butterfly. You're still the same person, only now living in Paradise."

He shook his head in disgust. "You just don't seem to understand, do you? I've always been a realist and a philosophical materialist, however, I know from personal experiences that there are different perceptions, whether through hypnosis, hallucinogenic drugs or, as in my case, lucid dreams. Have you ever read Aldous Huxley's _The Doors of Perception_?"

"No, I haven't."

He sniggered. "I didn't expect that you did. Actually, neither did I, only Roger discussed it with me a couple of times. It's by the same author who wrote the famous dystopian novel, _Brave New World_. But supposedly this Huxley, as an experiment, took the hallucinogenic drug called mescaline, then carefully observed what he saw, and later wrote it down in his book called _The Doors of Perception_. In it he wrote that everyday things, even chairs, suddenly took on totally new perspectives. For instance, when Huxley was shown a reproduction of a self-portrait by Cezanne, the painting supposedly developed a third dimension that actually came to life." Sighing, he asked, "So, is that what's happened to me? Have I been induced with some kind of drug? Am I hallucinating? Or am I still only dreaming? Or have I entered into another dimension or parallel universe, as some theoretical physicists believe may exist? Or perhaps, as Roger and other paranormal researchers, as well as Spiritualists might tell me, I might even have entered into some spirit realm like 'Summerland,' supposedly some kind of heaven or something which is closest and most resembling the Earth, with its beautiful scenery, animals and people, where things seem real and solid as the Earth, but without the pain and suffering involved." He ran his fingers through his hair. "According to Roger, there even might be different paradises for each religion based on their teachings, as strong belief systems supposedly control the afterlife." He then laughed sarcastically. "I told Roger he was mad!" Harry sighed, then laughed once again, not sarcastically, but pitifully. "No, I suppose I'm the one that has gone mad since I'm having these crazy dreams and hallucinations myself."

"No, Harry, none of these things are happening to you. However, try to understand that -"

"What would you know!" he snapped. "Despite your music and education, you have just led your simple life of religious fantasy, and now it has seemingly come true for you. However, my experiences are different to yours, don't you understand? Even last night, my lucid dream, or other life, or God knows what, took me back to the academic life that I loved. Now, here I am back again, and this life seems like reality. But what is reality? What is reality?" he bellowed, working himself up into an ever increasing frenzy.

To calm him down, I stretched out my hand towards him. "Here, touch it!" I implored.

"What for?"

"Touch it!" I now demanded.

Reluctantly, he touched the tip of my middle finger.

"There, does it seem real to you?" I asked.

He gave an ironic laugh. "In my type of lucid dreams, everything seems real." He suddenly became silent, drooping his shoulders even further. Finally, he moaned, "I just want to go on with my normal life, to study and teach history, and odd as it sounds, to see my wife again and somehow rebuild the love that was lost."

Seeing him now as he was, I wondered why the Light and the power of God on Mount Anastasis had not provided a permanent psychological cure; even a miraculous conversion, something akin to Paul on the road to Damascus. However, I continued reasoning with him. "As I already said, you just have to let go and enjoy this world. And I'm quite sure that you'll soon be with your family again, including your mother. Just imagine how nice it will be for you to see her again. Also, I'm sure you'll soon love this place as much as everybody else."

He spluttered another sarcastic laugh, and suddenly his whole demeanor changed once more. It seemed incredible how quickly his personality could change. Gone were his feelings of confusion; he was now the arrogant and bombastic lecturer once again.

"What? This backwoods, culturally deficient society! By God, apart from your music, this world has even less culture than William Morris's _News From Nowhere_. Although being fanatical artisans, at least they were not fanatical Christians. This is more like Andreae's utopian world, _Christianopolis_ , who believed, like you people, in the resurrection of the flesh, and also that education should only be studied under the 'direction of the Holy Spirit.' However, even this screwball religious fantasy world had at least a library, and not just two nonsensical sacred texts. By God, man, books, and by that I mean good books, the great works of literature, as well as the rest of the arts, raise the whole soul and consciousness of not just the individual, but the entire society. This is not just true of the arts, but also of history, science, philosophy, and all the other academic disciplines I can think of."

"Our sacred texts are not nonsense!" I countered. "Besides, we do have culture. We may not have operas, ballet, theatres, cinemas, libraries, scientific laboratories or the Internet, but we do lots of other enjoyable and wholesome activities here, including music, painting -"

"Painting!" he hollered. "That's just it! Where are the great masterpieces of Michelangelo, Durer or Rembrandt? In comparison to their works, the paintings here are just amateurish rubbish!"

"All right, even if that's true, so what! Life here sure beats rushing around everywhere, trying to race against the clock, trying to get promotions, more money, and more luxury material things we don't need. We have love, happiness and perfect health, which we can enjoy forever."

He snorted. "Even if this world were to be real and not a dream or hallucination, I'm a scholar, not some carefree hippy or beachcomber! Can't you understand? I need challenging and interesting mental work, and since history is my passion, I need to do historical research, and write and publish my results, and achieve the scholarly recognition I feel I deserve."

"But at what cost? In your former life, were you truly happy? You told me about your unhappy marriage, the World Trade Center disaster you saw, the trauma you suffered, the nightmares you had, the tranquillizers you needed." I gently touched his arm. "Do you really think that your life was happier then than it is now?"

He hesitated before replying somewhat unconvincingly, "I was."

I watched as Cory ambled to some nearby rocks, wondering what else I could do or say to help. I knew I had to not only convince him of his death and the reality of this world, but also that he could find happiness and fulfillment in it as well. Yet how? I did not know. Therefore, I resorted to another silent prayer. As I did, ever so faintly, a ray of light came down upon us; a light so subtle that I knew Harry could not see it, although I was sure that its effect would certainly manifest itself somehow. I was right. The light vanished, but I had received a sudden flash of inspiration. And by the sudden tranquil expression on Harry's face, I could see that its miraculous healing process had also been at work.

"Yes, you're right, we are short on books!" I exclaimed. "So what's stopping you from writing your own books here in Paradise? For instance, why not write a book on world history, from paradise lost to paradise regained?"

He sniggered. "Sounds a bit like John Milton to me. Besides, his _Paradise Lost_ and his sequel, _Paradise Regained_ , were works of religious poetry, not history."

"Well, you could write such a history. You could even find and interview people who had been alive after you had died. People who had lived during the disastrous 2040's and 50's, those that had survived even Armageddon, surely a much greater and tumultuous story than you've ever written before. Surely, the most momentous event in history needs to be written, and you being a historian, would be the ideal man for the job. Just think, it would be the first history book in this world. What is this Tacitus, or Herodotus, or Edward Gibbon, or whatever he's called, by comparison with what you can write?" I saw his eyes brightening, so I continued lavishing him with new ideas. "As regards cultural things, don't forget that many millions, even billions of people throughout the ages will be resurrected within the next few hundred years. Just imagine meeting some of the most famous and interesting people throughout history, not just reading about them, but actually meeting them. People like Plato, Aristotle, Alexander the Great, Julius Caesar, Napoleon, Washington, Newton, Einstein, Beethoven, Mozart, Michelangelo, Rembrandt, and yes, even the man you wrote your PhD thesis about, Thomas More." Yes, I had him now, I thought to myself. His eyes not only brightened, they now positively sparkled. "And just imagine, you could write their definitive history because now you have actually met all these people yourself, just as if you had gone back in time and -"

"All right, all right, it sounds terrific!" he said, now smiling. "If this world was real, and what you said was really true. And yet, even if this turns out to be another lucid dream, the idea of meeting up with the greats of history would still intrigue me."

"Of course, it does!" I eagerly exclaimed. "Only this is not imaginary. I assure you, it's all real and true!"

He shook his head. "After the experiences of last night, no, it's only a hypothesis that I will still need to test."

"Sure, go ahead and test it in whatever way you like. However, speaking of culture, just imagine the cultural renaissance that would happen when we have the great painters, musicians, writers, historians, scientists and the like, all alive again, living forever in this wonderful world. Just imagine it all! And you'll be a part of it, perhaps even being a dominant influence in this cultural renaissance!"

I finally made him laugh. "As I said, all right. There's no need to go on and on about it. I get the point." He paused to reflect, then gave another one of his condescending looks. "However, if what you say is really true, don't you think the majority will influence your little minority sect? Just imagine the great social upheaval it would create!"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, what happens if all these people would truly come back to life? You will have people coming back from all different ages, different religious beliefs, cultural backgrounds and languages. People may not want to change to your ways. They may prefer to go their own. Then what about the Hitlers, the Napoleons, the Stalins, the Neros and Al Capones? By God! There would be millions of them! Do you think they all will become meek little Christians?" He gave a sarcastic laugh. "There would be power struggles again, the strong preying on the weak. I heard that there would be supposedly thirty-two billion people eventually here on the earth. My God, it would be a Malthusian nightmare! You would have chaos and killings on an unimaginable scale!"

"Oh, Harry! Harry!" I said, shaking my head. "Aren't you forgetting that this world is now ruled directly by God?" I again sympathetically placed my hand on his shoulder. "Don't you understand? God knows everything. God is all-powerful. I mean, you've already seen it for yourself."

He looked at me but remained silent. We then started walking back home together, and just as we took our first few steps, out of the corner of my eye, I saw the same angel again, once more smiling his saintly smile. Then again, he vanished. I was about to tell Harry but quickly decided against it. All in good time, all in good time, I heard an inner voice say.

******************

Late that night in bed, I thought back to what Harry had said. I knew he still was not convinced about his death and resurrection, and most likely would still take several more days, perhaps even weeks, before he finally would adjust. And adjust he would. I was sure the miraculous healing of this world, of God and the Divine Light would not fail. However, I realized Harry had raised a valid demographic point. Thirty-two billion were a lot of people to live harmoniously on the one planet. I thought about the logistics and infrastructure required, an absolute impossibility in the ordinary old world I had known. However, this new world was not ordinary, indeed, it was most extraordinary. I had already witnessed the ease in which an endless supply of seemingly endless varieties of food was made available. I had also seen the ease and speed in which houses were constructed, and the staggering speed in which trees grew to maturity, providing a never ending supply of lumber.

However, would not the Earth be overcrowded, like living in one vast global city? Also, what about the social impact itself? Also, as Harry had stated, what would happen to the cohesiveness, peace and harmony of our paradise society when so many billions of people were brought back to life? From what I had been told, only people who had shared our religious beliefs and ethics had so far been resurrected. Harry was the lone exception, and I already saw the difficulties one person could create. Then how much more so if there were millions, even billions of others, many of whom would be far worse than he. What infrastructure could possibly cope with such a cataclysmic deluge of people from all past ages of history, with totally different languages, customs, religious beliefs, values and morals? How could they all be organized into one united, harmonious spiritual brotherhood?

Although I firmly believed that with God all things were possible, I nonetheless still pondered over these things, thinking that perhaps the answer could be found in the Paradise Text.

I got out of bed, vigorously rubbed my crystal light, then studied our sacred text. I soon discovered that people were to be resurrected according to the order of moral merit, religious beliefs, family ties, and time periods they had lived. Thus, first to be resurrected were close family members who were currently living in Paradise, and that God had chosen due to their righteousness, and the ease in which they could settle into this theocratic world of ours. Following this principle, there then would follow successive waves of resurrections in reverse chronological order; those having lived meritorious lives closest to our time period being resurrected first, and in turn their family members and friends down through the ages. After a period of adjustment, these would then be followed by successive generations of people slightly less virtuous, yet still easily taught and assimilated into Paradise. Then, the next successive generation, slightly less virtuous, but still being given enough time and attention to adjust, and so forth, so that always the Earth would have virtuous and good people in the majority, who would serve as the mentors for those that were newly resurrected.

I then read another scripture in the text that stated: 'I will no longer let evil dominate the world; for all will learn the ways of goodness and justice, and all will learn the one pure language, the language of truth and love, even through the power of My Spirit, which can never fail.'

I mused over this and saw how this principle was already working on Harry. He was not changing instantly, but I felt certain he was starting to adjust to his new life. My thoughts then drifted towards some of the famous and interesting people I myself would like to meet: Bach, Beethoven, Fernando Sor, Francisco Tarrega, Agustin Barrios and Andres Segovia, to name just a few. What pleasure I would have in listening and seeing them play, perhaps even being taught by them. I then wondered what music they would then compose in a beautiful world such as ours.

Whilst musing over these musical fantasies, I turned over to another page and noticed a very strange text, a text containing a concept that I had never thought about: 'God can perform any miracle, even dry the oceans, and even expand the dimensions of the Earth!'

The words had hit me like a hammer. It seemed too incredible! Yet, why not? If God had made the 'heavens and the earth,' could he not also modify them if required? In my former life, I may have scoffed at the idea, yet seeing what I had already seen, I felt confident that this absolutely amazing concept could become true. I returned the volume back onto the shelf, all reservations that I may have had now buried under a solid rock of faith. I deadened the light, went back to bed and instantly fell into a sound and blissful sleep.

Chapter 18 - On Music and the Stars

Apart from major psychiatric problems, Harry's transformation of his actual character was always temporary. I knew change would not be forced upon him; change had to come willingly. So he still grumbled, even argued. However, each day he seemingly improved. To me at least, he was like a marble sculpture, or a beautiful piece of music that slowly took on the desired shape and form. Although I believed he was no longer having vivid dreams of his former life, he still needed to test the reality of this world. He also took up my suggestion about writing about it, particularly the history leading up to Armageddon. Thus, for the next few days, I found him writing and interviewing people who had lived through this earth-shattering time. In our village, he found five, three that were actual Armageddon survivors, the other two dying just previously during the global Ebola pandemic. However, this did not satisfy him.

"Where can I find more eyewitnesses?" he moaned on the sixth day since his resurrection.

"What's wrong with the ones here in Deer Park?"

He ignored my question and again asked for more witnesses.

I gave him a cheeky grin. "I've heard that there are many survivors about five hundred miles to the south."

He sneered. "What! How in the world do you expect me to get there? By car? You people don't even ride horses because you think it's not nice to the horse, or some such nonsense."

"No, it's not nonsense," I countered. "We don't want animals to be beasts of burden. All animals in Paradise live in perfect peace and freedom, and we don't interfere with that law. However, we do have our legs which carry us anywhere we need to go."

"But you keep a dog as a pet, as do others in and around the village. Yesterday, I even met someone who kept a skunk!"

I chuckled. "They don't stink anymore! Besides," I added more soberly, "all these animals are free to come and go as they please."

"Great! Animals have won their rights at last! However, that still doesn't help me with my research."

"Why? Aren't the witnesses you already have enough? I mean, five witnesses should be enough."

He scowled. "No, they're not! One of them told me that she was too young to remember. Then one told me he doesn't want to remember because it was too shocking. Another one wants to, but can't remember any more than what's already written in your so-called Paradise Text. Finally, the other two have conflicting reports because they were in different parts of the world, and neither one of them were supposed survivors of Armageddon because they both died of Ebola. So how in the world can I write a proper history with that?" He shook his head in despair. "History! My God, no wonder I still can't accept this world as being real!"

I ignored his last statement and simply replied, "Well, I suppose you just have to find more witnesses." I paused to reflect. "Wait a moment, I do remember hearing that another couple survived Armageddon, and live somewhere east of here, and not too far away."

"Where?"

I smiled and shrugged. "I don't know exactly. I think they live somewhere outside the village of Tranquil, just a day's journey from here. I'm sure someone in the village would know. But anyway, I'm going to help with the housing construction today. Do you want to come?"

"No!" he barked. "I still have too much work to do."

"Okay, so I'll see you this afternoon for your next lesson," I said as we departed our separate ways.

"Yes, sure. I can hardly wait!" he sarcastically replied - right now, learning to play the guitar was not high on his agenda.

******************

However, already by the sixth day of his new life in Paradise, Harry had started a number of other projects besides his history book, projects that were supposedly to determine the reality of this world. One involved astronomy. My father, under Harry's supervision, had constructed a simple sundial, consisting of a straight piece of wood, etched at six regular intervals, and with a raised crosspiece on its top. Also, on top of this 'T' stake, my father had constructed for him a removable wooden protractor. Harry himself had also drawn up a near perfect twenty-foot diameter circle around this stake, then placed rocks at exactly fifteen degree intervals. He explained that this was his own crude way of constructing an observatory to measure the position and movement of the sun during the day, and the moon and stars at night. His observations were then meticulously recorded in a special journal.

Another project of his was simply observing our daily village life. With his field notebook in his hand, Harry seemed more like an anthropologist than our latest village resident. Yet still, another undertaking of his, which seemed even more eccentric to our community, was his random probes into the ground. He dug several holes along the riverbank, around my mother's garden, in the forest and hills, and even within the village itself. To his annoyance, he could never understand why no bones, worms, insects, nor any remains of our previous world could ever be found. "This is absolutely impossible!" were mutterings frequently heard.

Also, in the hope of adding interest to his new life, I was teaching Harry the guitar in the afternoons. So far, I had only showed him the very rudiments: correct posture, correct depression of strings onto the fretboard, and simple strumming techniques using one-finger chords. However, on that sixth day, I introduced him to basic fingerpicking.

"All right, Harry, now that I've shown you what to do, it's your turn," I said enthusiastically. Unenthusiastically, he took the guitar from me and held it in an awkward position. "No! No! Hold it like this," I said, manipulating his hands. "Now, for this exercise, you will simply play the open strings, and thus not need your left fingers to press down onto the frets. You're right-handed like me, so with your right index finger, pluck the third string from the bottom using just your fingernail." He did as instructed and played a clear G note. "Good! Now with your middle finger, pluck the second open string."

Again a clear note sounded.

"That's great, Harry! Now try your ring finger on the first string on the bottom." This was more difficult for him, but after the third attempt, he also succeeded. "See, you did it! You were just playing three notes in what is termed the freestyle fingerpicking technique, or in classical guitar terminology, _tirando_."

"Oh, how exciting!" he exclaimed sarcastically.

I laughed and joked about his lack of interest. "Never mind, it soon gets more interesting, especially when the notes form into music."

"When? In ten years?"

I again laughed to ease the tension. "No, today! However, first we're going to play a very simple arpeggio on the open strings. So, starting with the third string, pluck each note with the correct finger, then follow my count of one, two, three. Okay, let's try."

He did, but very unevenly. "No! No! Play each note as I count them." He tried unenthusiastically several more times until eventually a very slow but even arpeggio was executed. Harry flashed a faint smile of satisfaction. "Now we'll play these same strings whilst holding down the simplified C chord." I then manipulated his left index finger onto the first fret of the second string. "Now pluck the three strings one-by-one, but keep in time to my count." He tried, but the notes were muffled. "No, straighten your left index finger, and just use your fingertip." He did, and a pleasing arpeggio sounded forth. "See, I told you! You're now beginning to play the classical guitar," I said, patting him on the shoulder.

"Don't patronize me," he complained. "I'm not a young child!"

"Sorry, Harry, I forgot that you're already a mature man!" I said, trying to be humorous, but failing miserably. I cleared my throat and apologized sincerely. His scowl softened. "Anyway, now try the other chord I showed you, the simplified G7 chord. Remember, just place your left finger onto the first string of the first fret, then with your right hand, pluck the strings the same way. He did, and after a couple of attempts, the notes sung out. "Great! Now hold down the second string again and pluck the same way." He did, with similar success. "Now we'll try changing chords without loosing time. Just play one chord for one bar, then alternate to the other chord. However, remember to keep in time to my count of one, two, three."

He tried, but found the simultaneous changing of chords and fingerpicking difficult at first. However, apart from the expected muffled notes and irregular timing, Harry was performing his first simple chord progression. With further encouragement and practice, the timing and execution of the notes improved.

Again a faint smile appeared. "At least it's beginning to sound like music."

"See! I told you that you could do it!" I said, glad he was finally showing some interest. "Now, we're going to reverse the order of the notes by playing the first string first, then the second string, then the third, but still using the same fingers for each string." He tried, and after several attempts, also succeeded. "That's great, Harry! Now, to make it sound even better, we're going to add bass notes to this arpeggio by using our thumb on the open sixth string." I took the guitar off him and demonstrated this technique. "Okay. Now it's your turn." I handed the guitar back to him. "However, only play the bass note, together with the first string, on the first beat of each bar. It's not so hard because we're now going to play all the notes on the open strings, and thus you will only need to concentrate on your right hand." At first he had trouble coordinating simultaneously his thumb and ring finger, but eventually he managed to execute the simple arpeggio with the bass. He smiled once more, a little wider than before.

"That's great, Harry! Now let me have the guitar again and I'll demonstrate how, by using this same pattern, you can play the first few bars of a very beautiful guitar piece."

Once holding the guitar, I demonstrated by playing the first four bars of the music, very slowly, using the same right hand finger pattern, and changing the notes only on the first string as the melody changed, whilst all the other notes were played on the open strings.

Now a genuine smile of approval flashed across his face. "Yes. Very pleasant! I think I've heard that tune somewhere before."

"You probably have," I replied. "It's one of the best-known and popular music pieces for the classical guitar."

"What's the music called, and who's it by?"

"Oh, it's been given different names. _Spanish Ballad, Amours Interdits, Jeux Interdits, Romance, Romance de Amour_ , and probably others as well. Also, we actually don't know who composed it either."

Harry then asked me to play the entire music for him, which I did, fast, letting the haunting melody ride above the constant ripple of harmonic triplets.

"It's beautiful!" Harry declared after I had finished.

"Yes, I still think so, although I've been playing it since my teens. Many beginners learn only the first few bars, since it's so easy. However, as you can see, it gets much harder as the music progresses, especially in the second part when it changes key."

"It doesn't look as hard as the music that was composed by that Paraguayan. I particularly liked that first one you played that other night. What was it called?"

" _Sueno en la Floresta_ ," I answered. "It's, of course, Spanish. It means, 'Dream in the Forest.'"

"Can you play it again?"

"Yeah, sure, I'd love to!"

So, I played the music again, all seven minutes of it. I noted particularly his fascination when I started playing the tremolo parts to this music."

"It's absolutely magnificent!" he declared after I had finished. "It's almost a story without words, a dream of...." He let the words trail off. Then he paused, as if deep in contemplation. He shook his head, then said, "Strange, but I suddenly recall the first night I came to your house, or that I dreamt that I did. I don't remember much, but I remember that I related to you one of my lucid dreams." He paused again. "Yes, I remember clearly now, that bizarre apocalyptic dream I had."

I did not know whether this was a good sign or not, but I asked, "Do you also now remember the angel and the -"

"No, but I remember we talked about Mozart and his opera, _The Magic Flute_." He paused again, as if he had some sort of plan in his mind. "Yes, I also recall that you said you could play it on the guitar."

"No, I said that I used to play Fernando Sor's _Introduction and Variations on a Theme by Mozart_. It's only a theme, one small piece of music that was taken from the opera."

"Please play it for me."

I was silent for a moment, unsure whether I should, or even still could. More importantly, I feared another psychological relapse of some kind or another. I vividly recalled that, according to him, the music had seemed to serve as a catalyst into his strange apocalyptic nightmare or hallucination, or whatever it had been. I shook my head. "No, it's been too long since I played it. I don't think -"

"Please try. It's important to me that you do."

"But why?"

"I will know when you've played it." He forced a pleading smile.

I saw that it was indeed important to him, although I could not imagine why. After a slight hesitation, I reluctantly agreed.

I had not played this music for at least two years before my death. I had first learnt it as an examination piece during the final stages of my music studies at the conservatory. I had then played it well. Could I do it again? The Introduction, played _andante largo_ , was relatively easy to play, and I clearly could visualize the initial chords and the first few notes that followed. However, the music would get harder, considerably harder, particular near the flurry of notes near the end. Even so, I had an inner confidence that if I just started the music, the subconscious could take over. At least, I hoped so. Yet, what did it matter if I failed? There was, after all, nothing at stake - only Harry's approval.

Nevertheless, I had a quick silent prayer, then commenced the slow and somber introduction. After having played the first few bars that I consciously remembered, my mind switched on to autopilot. I no longer consciously thought what notes or chords would follow, they just did. One of my teachers had flippantly called it 'finger memory,' but as the notes continued to flow out of the guitar, I knew that this was a gross oversimplification. More was involved, a lot more, but I had to focus on the music, not on past memories. I was now only vaguely aware that Harry was watching. I was no longer playing for him; I was now playing for something much deeper, the joining of the inner recesses of myself and the music. For the next eight minutes, Mozart, Sor and I became as one through the medium of the guitar. The musical masterpiece that had never been heard before in Paradise had suddenly sprung to life. The tempo increased; the somberness decreased. Joy then followed as the introduction prepared itself for Mozart's theme. There came a poignant pause, building up anticipation towards the most beautiful part of the entire music. Then it started, happy, vivacious, beautiful, oh it _Klinget so Herrlich_! I glanced at Harry for the first time since I started playing, seeing the look of delight on his face. However, I forced my attention back onto the music, back onto Mozart's theme. All too soon, the theme had ended, and the first variation commenced.

It had been common for composers to build music around a well-known piece, changing the way it was played, elaborating on it, improving upon it, sometimes merely to show off their virtuosity. Mozart was a master of it himself; he could do it on the spot, on the piano, on the harpsichord, or simply in his head. However, this was now Fernando Sor's music, although with the first variation, the Mozart theme still clearly rang out, albeit in a more elaborate way. There then followed the second variation, slow in tempo, different in mood, somber and reflective, although not for long. The spirit of joy and optimism once more sprang forth during the third variation; Mozart's buoyancy was revived. Then came variations four and five, with Sor taking total control. The music was now short and abrupt, the notes played staccato. Then came the grand finale, with a great blaze of notes that exhibited the great virtuosity of Fernando Sor.

I had finished and knew I had given a near perfect performance, bringing a great masterpiece to life. For a second or two, I basked in that rare accomplishment in art. Then, once more, I noticed Harry, mouth wide-open, eyes lit up - he had been clearly moved, but not in the way I had wished.

"It was incredible!" he gasped. "For a little while at least, the music took me home again, to my living room on that night before that apocalyptic dream." Then he stared at me, as if trying to focus on something nebulous and difficult to comprehend. Finally, after a long hesitation, he sighed, "But, my God, here I am again!"

His words took me by surprise. "What do you mean? Of course, you're still here!" I laughed. "Oh, I see what you mean. The music reminded you of that night when you had your fantastic dream."

He audibly groaned, then almost whispered, "Perhaps everything is just a dream, perhaps all is 'Maya,' an illusion, as the Hindus would claim." Then trance-like, almost mystically, he closed his eyes and uttered: '"Just as the embodied self passes through childhood, youth and old age in this body, in the same manner, it will obtain another body. A wise man is not confused about this.'"

I was now confused about him. I truly feared another psychological relapse. "Harry, this world is real, you're not in a dream. Forget that nonsense dream you had that night, and those other strange dreams you seemingly had. However, you are in another body, a resurrected perfect body, in a perfect world, although you're still Harry Marston."

Suddenly, Harry snapped out of his apparent trance. "No, I was just quoting from the _Bhagavad-Gita_."

"The what?" I asked.

He smiled. "No, never mind. Perhaps it's only the power of the subconscious mind. Or else, perhaps there is a sign, a message that there is more than one way. Anyway, the music you played was magnificent. You have a gift, a rare talent, a way to understand things and communicate emotions and concepts that may only be expressed in the higher levels of art. You also have the technical skills to make that possible, a skill I can clearly see that takes great talent and years of dedicated practice to develop. In its own unique way, without resorting to words, scenery or singers in costume, the music you just performed expressed almost as much meaning as Mozart's opera itself."

"Only it expressed a different message. Fernando Sor only used a small section of the music that came from _The Magic Flute_ , music that was happy and beautiful, and then built his music around it. It's like life, I suppose, where you should take the good and happy moments from the previous life, and cherish those, but ignore all the rest. That's what we do here."

"And that's the secret of happiness? Forget all that is inconvenient?"

"No. Well, partly, yes! But you have to remember that happiness comes naturally to everyone here in Paradise."

"Everyone, except me!"

"Well, it seems so. However, it would also come to you if you would just allow it to. It's like fine art of any kind. It can be like a beautiful piece of music, or a wonderful landscape painting, or a sculpture, or a great piece of literature. Many people are unmoved by it, even bored by it."

"Only the ignoramus."

"But you're not one of those, are you?"

"Certainly not!" he declared indignantly, then smiled. "Ah, I see. So, it's that easy, is it? Anyway, who is this Fernando Sor? I do not believe I've heard of him."

"He was a guitarist, of course, and he was quite famous in the early part of the nineteenth century. During his time, it was really he who brought the guitar out of the taverns and onto the stage of serious music, so to speak. He even composed opera and ballet music, and was apparently also a fine singer. He's, of course, Spanish, but had to flee from Spain after Napoleon's army was expelled from there."

"In 1813," the historian added.

"Something like that. I think he needed to flee because he had been too friendly with the French during the occupation. I think he accepted an administrative post of some kind. He thus went to live in Paris, although he also toured to several parts of Europe."

"Did he ever get back home to Spain?"

"No."

For a few seconds Harry sat in silence, seemingly brooding over Sor's, and by extension, his own fate.

I placed my hand on his shoulder. "Harry, you're not in exile here, you're set free!"

"Free from what?"

"From evil, from pain, from suffering, and from death."

"That's a lot of 'froms.'"

"And from unhappiness," I added. "If you only would give yourself a chance. Just take part in this life, and show some kindness to others because they're real people like yourself."

He gave me a wry smile. "I thought you were giving me guitar lessons, not sermons. So how about teaching me that variations on Mozart you just played?"

We both laughed. "Maybe in a few years. It takes time, as with everything. But what about learning the first few easy bars of _Spanish Ballad_ , you know, the one that goes like this?" I then again played the first few bars.

He readily agreed and a little while later, to both our delight, he managed to stumble through the first few easy bars.

****************

That night, it was Harry's turn to be the instructor. The subject: Astronomy.

"Oh, how I wish I had my eight inch Newtonian reflector here," he lamented under the brilliant starlit sky. "However, for thousands of years before Galileo, people had to make do without telescopes, so I suppose we can as well."

Harry pointed southwards. "That star that seems to be part of the tail of the constellation that looks like a kite, the Southern Cross, that is Alpha Centauri."

"That's the closest star to us. It's about 4.3 light years away. That's right, isn't it?" I asked, confident that I was.

He smiled and shook his head. "As you should realize, things aren't always the way they seem to be. Alpha Centauri is really a triple star, with Proxima Centauri circling the other two stars. However, with the naked eye you can only see...." He suddenly stopped and shook his head in dismay. "I don't believe it. That's also impossible! However, I can now actually see Proxima Centauri, along with the other two stars in the Alpha Centauri system."

I also looked where he pointed, then peered closely at the star, now also seeing three pins of light, two bright, and one very faint. "Yes, I can also see them. We've got better eyes now, don't forget. But how do we know how far these stars really are?" I chuckled. "After all, it's not like we've actually traveled there and measured the distance."

Harry shook his head pitifully. "It's a matter of understanding trigonometric parallax. By knowing the distance from the sun, and measuring the star against the background of other stars, and then measuring the same star six months later when the earth is on the other side of its orbit around the sun, the star will seem to have been displaced in its position. This is called the annual parallax. By then knowing the angle of parallax, and the distance the earth is from the sun, we thus have a theoretical triangle by which the one side of the triangle, that is the actual distance of the star, may be calculated. Do you understand?"

I laughed. "No, not really. But how do you know all of these things?" I retorted. "I mean, you're a historian, not an astronomer."

"Yes, but both astronomy and archeoastronomy fascinate me. It's also important in the study of chronology, a subject which likewise intrigues me."

"You mean dating methods, like when they recorded an eclipse, or that sort of thing?"

He nodded. "That's right, chiefly eclipses of the moon. Several ancient civilizations kept accurate records of their astronomical observations."

"So what about these rocks around us? Do they mark the angles of the stars, or something like that?"

"Yes. However, with your mind's eye, you have to imagine a celestial sphere. You can see that Alpha Centauri is just by that third rock, in line with that distant hill, which to my reckoning is 30 degrees from due South. This is the star's azimuth." He shook his head. "I'm not too sure if that position...er...no, never mind!" He then pointed down towards the quadrant, which he had fastened to the wooden upright stake, which during the day served as his sundial. "Here are the angles going from 0 degrees at the horizon, to 90 degrees, which points directly above us. As you can see, Alpha Centauri is approximately 45 degrees above the horizon, which is its altitude. Thus, we have the star's position. Of course, it changes as the night progresses. You have to also realize that the star's position is only relative to where you are in the world, that is your longitude and latitude, as well as the time of year, and the actual time itself in hours and minutes. Not knowing these things, nor, of course, having any clocks, makes precise astronomy impossible. Yet, these were the only tools the ancients like the Mesopotamians had. They supposedly were the ones that invented the concept of 360 degrees of a circle, equal to their belief of 360 days in a year. They came to that conclusion because they noticed that the stars moved one degree each day at the observatory they, in my opinion, would have used on top of their ziggurats. Of course, it's rather crude, but it adequately served their calendric and astrological needs. The ancient Greeks, on the other hand, were more scientific and sophisticated with their use of mathematics. Thus Ptolemy, a Greek scholar living in Alexandria, for instance, was able to create his great _Almagest_ , which proved useful even until the era of Galileo and Copernicus."

"And that's what you're trying to do? I mean, map the stars?"

"Partly, but mostly I'm trying to calculate how many days there are in your year."

I stifled a laugh. "That's easy. It's now 336. Everything is now in perfect harmony. You see, each week has seven days, and there are four weeks in a month, and twelve months in a year, thus adding up to 336 days in a year. Therefore, we don't have to worry about leap years, solar years, lunar years, or any of that sort of thing. The heavenly bodies are all perfectly synchronized."

"Your father had made the same claim. But that's ridiculous! No, more than that, it's impossible! And I'll prove it with astronomy. With the movement of the stars, after a specified period of perhaps a week or two, I should be able to calculate the days in a solar year."

I nodded. "I think I understand, but it won't make any difference. It will still come to 336 days."

"If that is the case, I shall then know that I'm still in a dream."

I laughed, then patted him on the shoulder. "Oh, Harry, you just don't give up! Anyway, what about your sundial? How does that work?"

"I copied an ancient Egyptian method which was used at the time of Thutmose III, about 1500 BC. He then pointed to his sundial. "Of course, without the sun it doesn't work. However, during the day, the sun's shadow would be cast from that -"

"From that 'T' piece at the top."

"Yes, precisely, and a shadow would be cast onto this horizontal bar, where I have attempted to calibrate the hours. But it's rather imprecise. Better sundials were later invented by the Greeks and Romans."

He looked upwards and pointed straight above us. "That star, as you know, is the Pole Star, which is also called Polaris, as well as the North Star."

"And that always stays in the one position."

"Yes, true. However, you have to remember that the Earth's axis wobbles in somewhat the same manner as the axis of a spinning top. This is called processional movement, caused by the gravitational pull of the sun and the moon. It takes roughly 26,000 years to complete one cycle. At the moment, the Pole Star is, as you said, Polaris, but five thousand or so years ago, it used to be Alpha Draconis, in the Draco constellation. Supposedly, in about 12,000 years from now, the Pole Star would be Vega. You can see, therefore, that star systems and their relative positions can vary over time. That's why the ecliptic coordinates in Ptolemy's Almagest for the fixed stars are now no longer correct, but were correct in the second century."

I started to laugh. "Come on, Harry, must you always be the lecturer?"

Indignation suddenly flashed across his face. "I don't interrupt you when you're teaching me the guitar."

"No, I'm sorry, Harry, but here we are, under the greatest starry sky imaginable, and with eyesight like eagles. Why don't we just lie in the grass and just look up into the starry heavens and enjoy it like a miraculous piece of art that it is? It's like listening to a great piece of music by Bach or Mozart. Sure, we can analyze it, study its harmony, its counterpoint, its cadences, its modulation and so forth. But isn't it also nice to just listen to it for the sheer pleasure of it, to feel its greatness, to even be moved by its beauty and grandeur? I know that's how you view music, or any piece of great art. The starry night above us is the same. In fact, everything in this world now is a great piece of art that is now perfect again, and existing for our enjoyment."

He stared at me. "But that's just it! Everything in nature now seems too perfect, and nothing like what the real world should be like."

"Come on, Harry, like I keep on telling you, you've got to learn to relax and enjoy. Let's step out from this Stonehenge and just lie down and stare into this brilliant starlit sky. Then let's discover what emotions we feel."

Reluctantly, he agreed. For a long time we were both silent, deep in thought, letting the sheer beauty that was above us soak into our very beings. A shooting star suddenly streaked above us, and then another. I pointed it out to Harry.

"They're not shooting stars, they're meteors, pieces of rocks that are being burnt up in our atmosphere," he corrected me. "Paradoxically, science did not know that until the early part of the nineteenth century." He paused for a moment, then added, "If there are pieces of space junk out there in space, then perhaps the universe is not as perfect now as you may think."

I shrugged. "I don't know what's outside the Earth in space, but I do know that everything on the Earth is perfect, even the shooting stars, which I've been told, never now reach the ground."

"They're not shooting stars, they're called meteors," he emphasized again.

I forced a laugh. "Yes, Professor Marston. But isn't calling them shooting stars more poetical?"

"Perhaps, but less accurate."

"Come on, Harry, loosen up," I reminded him yet again. "Just let your imagination run away with you for a little bit. Take in the beauty."

He agreed, and we became totally silent, hearing now only the occasional hoot of an owl, or the rustling of the leaves on the nearby trees. Finally, I asked, "So, how do you feel now? What are you thinking about?"

"I'm thinking how vast and mysterious our universe is. Lying here, I could even start to believe that out there in this vast universe, even just in our Milky Way Galaxy, with its estimated 100 billion or more stars revolving around a supposed black hole every 200 million years, that some of them at least would have orbiting planets that could support life, perhaps even intelligent life. However, our galaxy is supposed to be just a part of a cluster of galaxies, within a supercluster galaxy, and that there are, God knows, how many other of these supercluster galaxies in the universe, and you can see what I mean. Perhaps we're not alone down here."

Harry shook his head and grinned mockingly. "Roger would even have me believe that there's already sufficient evidence by the number of credible and inexplicable UFO reports, including those that have been recorded by the U.S. Air Force over many years, such as in the so-called 'Project Blue Book,' which he believes was mostly just a cover-up. He even accepts that one of these UFOs may have even crashed not too far away from the town of Roswell, New Mexico." He gave another sarcastic grin. "Yet another crackpot conspiracy theory! Then he tells me about mysterious crop circles, and of the thousands who claimed to have been abducted by aliens. However, these must surely be just hallucinations and lucid dreams of people, just they don't know it, unlike...." He suddenly became deadly silent.

"No, not like you," I finished his sentence.

"No, maybe not."

"But what about God?" I asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Doesn't lying here somehow draw you close to God, or perhaps in your case, something at least divine and majestic?"

Harry suddenly laughed.

"Why, what's so funny?"

"Nothing. I just felt like laughing. It must be sitting under this blanket of stars in this paradise of yours."

"What? Lying in your hammock with a martini in your hand?"

"Yes, it really seems that way, although I must admit, it now feels good, like suddenly being immersed by that mystical light up on that mountain."

"Yes, you're right. It sure does feel good!" I said, likewise laughing.

After the laughter finally settled, Harry then said the most incredible thing I've heard him yet say. "Dream or not, lying here with you under this incredible night sky, and all that I've now seen and experienced, I really believe that there may well be a God after all!"

Chapter 19 - A Time For Every Purpose Under Heaven

The next day was our seventh day of the week, the day we reserved for rest and worship. However, to my disappointment, Harry showed no interest.

"But last night you told me you believed in God!"

"I said, I may believe in one, and that was when I was under the starry sky, when I was under the influence of the martini, or happiness pill, or whatever creeps into this strange place. I want to be left alone today, and not have my thoughts manipulated by others. Also, I've got too much work to do!"

"Work! This is our day of rest. Come on, Harry, get back into your hammock and relax."

"No! I must again record the position of the sun."

"Record the position of the sun!" I playfully slapped his back and laughed. "Come on, Harry, you must be kidding! It's in the sky, where it always is during the day. Surely you can stop just for the one day. I promise it will still be there for you tomorrow!"

However, there was no stopping him. Just as I thought the wonders and miracles of this world had finally done its work on him, he resorted once more to his old and stuffy ways. Armed with his pencil and notebook, he haughtily marched outside to his sundial and makeshift observatory. I thus left him alone for that day and went with my parents to visit some friends. Then, later that afternoon, as we went home to prepare for our worship session, Harry was gone. For just a brief moment, I again feared about his mental state. However, something told me that he was all right. I therefore changed into my formal robes and went with my parents to our Hall of Worship.

My parents and I were sitting in the front, listening to Carlos's sermon on the Prodigal Son, followed by the Parable of the Lost Sheep, where the shepherd left his ninety-nine sheep to look for the one that was lost. I knew Carlos was giving a hint to all of us. Then, at the closing hymn, I turned my head around and saw Harry, standing in the back with his pencil and notebook in his hand. When he noticed me, he gave me an ironic grin, then quietly disappeared once more, back into his solitude.

**************

I did not see Harry again until the dawning of the next day, his eighth. When he came out from his bedroom, I mentioned that a picnic was planned near the local waterfall. However, he again stressed that he had too much work to do.

"Anyway, I don't enjoy picnics, nor mixing with a lot of ignorant people."

"They're not ignorant people!" I countered. "They're good people if you would just give them a chance. Yesterday, after our worship, these people planned a picnic in your honor, hoping that they could get to know you better. Besides, it'll be fun."

"Fun!" he protested.

"Yes, fun! The only way you can accept this world as being real is to enjoy it, and the only way you can enjoy it is to take part in it, and that includes all the people that are all too willing to be your friend, if only you would let them."

He heaved a sigh. "Ah, all right. I'll come, if you insist."

"That's great, Harry!" I flashed a smile. "But just for once, please leave your notebook at home!"

****************

"Well, what do you think now? Aren't you glad you came after all?"

We were reclining on the soft tufts of grass, admiring the beauty and serenity of the glistening waters cascading down the beautiful Paradise Falls, which were less than a mile from our village. The main waterfall, located on one of the tributaries of the Deer River, was not particularly high, perhaps only thirty feet or so. However, the swiftness and sheer volume of water that thundered down into the rocky pool below, made it spectacular to both see and hear.

Harry admitted that it was beautiful, then became silent as he continued to stare at the falls. Finally, I asked, "What are you now thinking about?"

He grimaced. "Must you always ask me that question? Anyway, I was only thinking how strange it all seems. Each night I expect to wake up in the morning and find myself back in my old life. Yet, I never do. I always end up waking here." He shook his head in dismay. "And what is more, and to me most disturbing, is that although being only a week or so here, my old life is beginning to feel like a distant memory, even like a dream!"

"I think that's with all of us," I replied, "but especially with those that have been here for a long time. I suppose, that's why they're the ones who are less likely to think back to their old life."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "And they are the ones who have been least helpful in giving me details of their life."

"With Armageddon and the days leading up to it, you mean?" He nodded. "Perhaps they really can't. I suppose, like you said, for them it's like a dream that fades with time."

"However, it shouldn't. Lapses in memory, multiplied by the gross mistake of not recording things in writing, is knowledge that has gone to waste!" he declared in disgust. "I've always made it a point to write notes on pertinent facts I've read, and to write up detailed journal entries on each day's events. That's what I also do here, even though I still think that this may still be some incredible dream, or some other altered state of consciousness."

"It's not a dream, or whatever else you think. This world is real!"

"You sound like a stuck needle!" He huffed. "Anyway, keeping a detailed record of my life, as well as the things I have learnt, helps with memory recall, especially if you regularly review the things you've written down." He eyed me condescendingly. "You're an educated man, don't you ever write anything down in order not to forget what you've already learnt?"

I shook my head. "No. However, there are times when I have thought about it."

"Then don't just think about it, do it! If I'm to write a history book, I need at least some detailed information from somebody other than just myself. This is especially important concerning your career as a classical performer. Also, the music you know, write it down. Don't let it slip into oblivion. If this world is really true, then my God, as I have already said, it could certainly do with more culture!"

There then came the sound of raucous but familiar laughter from behind. We both turned around. It was my father, with a wide grin on his face. "I should have known it!" he bellowed. "Here we're about to have a game of baseball, and you two are again on your own, no doubt yapping away at some high highfalutin stuff that nobody around here understands."

"Do you see what I mean?" Harry muttered under his breath.

"Come on, you guys, we're waiting for you!"

Harry immediately declared that he did not like playing sports, and neither my father nor I could persuade him otherwise. However, minutes later, my mother arrived with a vivacious and beautiful blond. She was Nicole, daughter of Sam and Jane Murray, the once old lady that had given me Cory when I had been a boy. "Come on, Professor, get up and have a little fun," she said, holding his arm. My mother then held Harry's other arm, and together they dragged him to his feet and led him down the path.

Dad nudged me with his elbow and grinned. "See, son, it just takes a couple of determined and pretty girls to do the job!"

"But I've never played baseball in my life!" Harry protested when we reached the playing field. "I've only played a little cricket when I was in primary school."

Carlos chuckled. "That's okay. It makes no difference. I also used to play with crickets as a child. Our family in our _barrio_ were too poor to have many toys."

I laughed and had to explain to Carlos that cricket was a game similar to baseball, except it had been played in England and Australia.

"And in several other countries in the British Commonwealth," Harry added. "Besides, the rules and mode of play are quite dissimilar."

Carlos only shook his head and laughed. "Ah, I was only joking, my friend. But whether you played this game called cricket or baseball, it makes no difference. We'll teach you anyway."

Harry reluctantly agreed, and so the game commenced.

On my father's team were, amongst others: Mum, Harry, Nicole, Sam, Jane and I. Carlos's team consisted mainly of his family: his wife Maria, their daughter Isabella, Carlos's two sisters with their husbands, and their grown-up children. I was the catcher, Dad was our pitcher, Harry was on first base, Nicole on second, and her father, Sam, on third.

Carlos was the first to bat. Dad drew back his arm and threw a beautiful curve ball. Carlos heaved, swung and missed.

"Strike one!" I yelled, acting also as umpire.

Dad pitched again, a fastball right dead center over home plate. Carlos only stood there, stunned.

"Strike two!" I yelled.

Dad laughed and apologized. He then pitched again, this time much slower. Carlos heaved another swing and struck the ball firmly towards a hapless looking Harry. He did not have a baseball mitt; none of us did. Not that it really mattered. Our bones, muscles and skin of our new bodies could easily withstand the blow of a regular baseball - or anything for that matter. However, Harry instinctively ducked as the ball headed directly towards his head. We all laughed as Carlos ran to first base.

Next came Carlos's wife, Maria. Dad pitched a slower ball, which Maria hit to the right of our third baseman. She ran safely to first base, and Carlos to second. Then Carlos's burly brother-in-law came out to bat. Dad pitched another curve ball, but Jerry hit the perfect line drive, low and straight into the outfield. Jerry was off in a flash. Carlos ran home, followed by Maria and Jerry. The score was 3-0. Finally, we managed to get three of them out, the score now reading 6-0. However, it did not matter; we were just having fun.

Now it was our turn. Jerry was their pitcher, and I came out to bat. Three strikes and I was out. Then it was my father's turn. One pitch and Dad hit a tremendous home run. The score was 6-1. Then Mum came out to bat, and three strikes and she also was out. Now it was Harry's turn. Reluctantly, he picked up his bat and shuffled up to try his luck. Jerry pitched him a slider. Harry swung an almighty swing, which somehow, through some miracle, struck its mark, propelling the ball high into the sky and deep into the outfield - a tremendous home run!

The score was now 6-2.

Nicole now came out to bat. Jerry pitched a change-up, a slower ball. She swung and hit, straight to the man at first base, who caught the ball as cleanly as any pro. The innings ended, and so did our game. We lost, although this was quickly forgotten as we all cheerily made our way to our picnic mats for lunch.

Grace was given and the lunch feast began. Carlos was the first to finish, so he brought out his other guitar, a much inferior one to the fine instrument he had given me. Yet still, the sound was pleasant as he strummed and sang some famous Mexican folksongs. Finally, a hymn was sung, and we all joined in, another hymn of praise to the one who made this wonderful life possible, in this wonderful world of Paradise.

After lunch, we all went to the sheltered pool near the waterfall, a pool of crystal clear water, cool and refreshing, a delight to wade or swim.

Finally, the picnic came to an end. We were all merry from our outing, including Harry, seemingly everybody's new friend.

***************

During that night, Harry had told me that Nicole and her family were taking him to visit the couple near Tranquil.

"The couple that survived Armageddon?" I asked.

"So it is claimed."

"Why, that's great, Harry!" I exclaimed with genuine delight. "That'll give you more information for your book."

Harry beamed a smile of approval.

Chapter 20 - Always the Scholar

Early next morning, Harry had left with Sam, Jane and Nicole. I was pleased that Harry had at last been drawn to others besides me, no matter how short a time it was. Before he would return the next day, I had decided to write out some rough notes for him about my former life and death, as well my new life here in Paradise. When contemplating back to my old life, it still surprised me just how much effort it took, particularly when it came to unpleasant memories. Even memories of my death, which were so vivid immediately after my resurrection, were now surprisingly dim. Sure, I could easily remember a lot of the pleasant memories, Jenny, my childhood, my music, my friends and religion. However, it was the details of the unpleasant ones that took the effort, yet, when they were recalled, no sorrows were attached to them. I did not even have any bitterness towards the individual that had shot me - at least that was how I now felt. Bad memories were like bad dreams or nightmares that were quickly forgotten in the routines of normal waking life.

As I had already mentioned to Harry, if that was the case with me after only a few weeks in Paradise, how much more so must it have been for others that had been here for many years. My parents, for instance, hardly ever mentioned anything about their previous lives. Yet, why would they? For all of us, the previous life, when compared to Paradise, was shabby and filled with pain and sorrow. I smiled to myself as I recalled the scripture from Isaiah: 'For here I am creating new heavens and a new earth; and the former things will not be called to mind, neither will they come up into the heart.'

However, for Harry's sake, I forced myself to recall, and these recollections, the ones I thought most relevant, I wrote down. Yet, when it came to recalling my life since my resurrection, it was the exact opposite. I could recall the minutest details, no matter how inconsequential they seemed. Finally, late into the night, I finished. I turned off my crystal light, went to bed and instantly fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

The next evening, during dinnertime, we heard a knock and Harry's now familiar voice. I hurried to the door and swung it open. "Come in and sit down, you're just in time for dinner. We've already said grace, but tell me, how did things turn out?"

He shrugged and stepped inside. "It went well enough, I suppose. The couple, Jeff and Alice Jones, claimed to have lived through Armageddon, and both provided me with additional information. He frowned. "However, some of their details clashed with what others had told me. Therefore, I will still need to interview more people. However, for the time being, as I'm only in the process of gathering information, it will have to do." He sat on the chair, then lamented, "Oh, how I miss all the conveniences I've been used to! At least we had fast transportation and communication, libraries, books, scholarly journals, newspapers, archives, bibliographies, diaries, memoirs, cell phones, PCs, emails and the World Wide Web. Even though there was so much misinformation and nonsense out there on the Internet, I nevertheless had, from the comforts of my own home, the ability to download and store books and academic journal articles by the thousands, adding to my already good stock of books and other scholarly materials in my study. Oh, how true that old cliche is, that 'knowledge is power!'"

Dad and I chuckled at Harry's mournful tirade.

"Of course, you two may find it funny! However, I certainly don't. Here you don't seem to care about knowledge, knowledge that has been gained through centuries of toil and research. You don't even care that you don't have even any traces of the supposed past, no remnants of buildings, roads, machinery, not even any trash, nothing at all that could remotely be considered as historical artifacts of any kind! This is impossible!" he groaned. "If this world is truly real, then it seems that the world I had known never existed, as if it had been some lost world like Atlantis. Now, all I have left are people's partial and faulty memories!" He gave a hollow laugh. "I ask you, can a historian work under these conditions?"

To console him, I placed my arm around his shoulder. "Here's something that will cheer you up. I've started some writing of my own. You know, what you suggested, a few details about my former life and death, as well as life here in Paradise."

"Thanks. That'll solve everything!" he replied sarcastically.

****************

For the next three weeks, Harry then settled into his own routine of paradise life as best as he could. Each night he still conducted his astronomical observations, plotting the position and movements of the planet and stars, along with the phases of the moon. Then, most mornings, he measured the position and movement of the sun. However, I sensed his interest was waning. He often complained about the inadequacies of his primitive equipment, as well as his lack of astronomical and mathematical knowledge to be sure of his results. However, although never admitting it, I think deep down, he realized that the Earth had indeed changed. Some days he would still complain that this was all just a dream, but here again his complaints became less frequent, and his assertions less certain. He had also stopped his ground probes, abandoning all hope to ever find any signs of the old world he had known. However, often long into the nights, he continued with his writing, his daily journal entries, his astronomical calculations, as well as his notes for his planned history book, which he often complained would be impossible to write with what he claimed to be a lack of credible sources available to him. Yet, little by little, he seemed to have resigned himself to his new life. He simply had no choice. However, I think secretly, he relished in his newfound youth. He had not been a young man when he had died, and he had mentioned on more than one occasion that he had a number of aches and pains in his former life, which now, of course, were no longer there.

I also helped all I could with his adjustment. Every morning, after his solar recordings, we went hiking through the forests and mountains. In the afternoons, I would teach and play the guitar for him. From memory, I had copied several simple exercises from the method books I had once used in teaching beginners. He quickly learnt how to read the music, and each day his playing improved. He also went to our Love Feasts, participated in some of our community games, and even attended our Worship Hall for actual worship, and not merely as a critic. Or so it seemed to me at least. He also became increasingly more civil towards others, and seldom said anything that would shock or offend. It was only when we were alone that he resorted to the role of the great lecturer, debater and doubting Thomas, only now far less aggressively than before. They were now discussions rather than arguments, sprinkled often with a touch of humor that always diffused any volatility that may have threatened to erupt.

However, for the first two days, they were on subjects I did not really care to listen to, and I'm sure would have shocked many in the community, and Christians as a whole. Yet, for the sake of Harry, I listened. I had, after all, agreed that I would take an interest in his history and other scholarly matters if he would take an interest in Paradise and its people. Therefore, each morning during our hike, he chose a different subject to lecture me on. Initially, the topics had centered around religion, his favorite targets seemingly Christianity and the Bible. He called it higher criticism, which he emphasized was not to be confused with textual criticism, bombarding me with numerous details of the two. Nor did he neglect the 'secular approach' to the development of the biblical canon, as well as the books that were considered as apocryphal: the Books of Enoch, the Books of the Maccabees, the Wisdom of Solomon, the Shepherd of Hermas and the Gospel of Thomas. The lectures also turned to other religions, mainly afterlife beliefs, as for instance, ancient Egyptian afterlife beliefs based on the Egyptian Book of the Dead, or Tibetan Buddhism based on the Tibetan Book of the Dead. Nor did he fail to quote from the Koran, the Avestas, Buddha: the Word, the Upanishads, the Book of Mormon, the ancient Mayan sacred text of the Popol Vuh, the Epic of Gilgamesh of Mesopotamia, the ancient Chinese prophetic text of the I Ching, the Sibylline Oracles, and even more surprisingly the

Centuries of Nostradamus, as well as various books of the Kabala such as the Zohar and the Bahir.

Finally, sensing my disinterest in these topics, he focused his lectures and discussions on secular history, an area where we had few disagreements. He then spoke at great length about Tudor England, the historical period he had specialized in for his doctorate. He spoke about the life and intrigues that occurred at the court of Henry VIII: the king's icy relationship with his first wife, Catherine of Aragon; his efforts to get his marriage annulled through a vain dispensation from Rome; his breaking away from the old church; his savage persecutions of those that had opposed him; and his affairs with Anne Boleyn and Catherine Howard, later wives but also victims of the chopping block. He also spoke about Henry's lord chancellor, the corrupt Cardinal Thomas Wolsey, and his successor, the pious Thomas More, who had also lost the favor of the king, and subsequently his head. During those days, I also learnt a great deal about Thomas More himself, as well as the literature he had produced, including his _Utopia_.

Then, almost a week later, he chose other subjects to lecture me on: the rise and fall of the Roman Empire, ancient chronology and astronomy, archaeology, epistemology, medieval Europe, the Crusades, the Knights Templar, the Protestant Reformation, Queen Elizabeth I and her astrologer and advisor John Dee, the Illuminati, the French Revolution, the Freemasons, the American Revolution, the Rothschilds, Rasputin, the Russian Revolution, the attempted Australian revolution at the Eureka Stockade, the Manhattan Project, Project MKULTRA, terrorism, modern and ancient holocausts, Shakespearean literature, utopian literature, dystopian literature, early European voyages to Tahiti, early European explorations across Africa, America and Australia, even of Mark Twain's journey to Australia, as well as to Palestine. He also spoke of the largely forgotten Philippine-American War. On another occasion he discussed famous and infamous scientists and inventors: Pythagoras, Archimedes, Hero, Ptolemy, da Vinci, Paracelsus, Galileo, Copernicus, Descartes, Newton, Leibniz, Swedenborg, Darwin, Wallace, Edison, Tesla, Bohr, von Neumann and, of course, Einstein. He also spoke of the great plagues and pandemics of history, as well as the great wars and famines of the past.

Although I often thought that history was just a study of former human toil and misery, nevertheless, I often still enjoyed these sessions, and was truly impressed by his obvious intelligence and phenomenal memory. During the end of that week, I asked him just how he could possibly have remembered so much.

"Perhaps I was privileged to have been born with a good memory," he replied. "Even as a child, I could remember long passages of poetry, or the plays of Shakespeare, or lists of kings, dates of battles, or even cricket scores." He paused then looked at me. "You also have a very good memory for music, however, as you are well aware, natural talent is not enough. It also takes cultivation and training, and in my case, I have been greatly influenced by John Comenius. He was a seventeenth century Czech educational reformer. He was also an ordained priest of the Unity of Brethren, a small local Protestant movement that had existed back then. He believed that the Millennium could be attained with the aid of science, and that by acquiring knowledge, mankind is ultimately directed towards God." He chuckled, then cleared his throat. "Anyway, he wrote that education should be practical and pleasurable, with knowledge learnt in incremental steps. So, you should start with the very basics and understand them very well before proceeding to the next level. Of course, you being a tutor, would be familiar with these concepts."

I nodded. "But isn't a lot of it just applying basic common sense?"

"Perhaps. However, you have asked me how my memory was developed. The Greeks and the Romans, even medieval Scholasticism, valued the importance of memory and its development. Apart from writing things down, of course, a common method that was used, which I personally have also used, was forming mental images of things, and then storing them mentally into places, as for instance different parts of an imaginative building. Cicero stated that the Greek poet, Simonides, used the method of...." And so on his lecture would go.

However, there were other times when Harry was silent and introspective, quite often when we were on the mountains overlooking some spectacular scenery. Of course, he still carried his notebook with him, and at times, he would act the part of a botanist as he analyzed a strange species of plant that he did not recognize. He could not draw well, and being a fair artist myself, I usually did the sketches for him. During these times, he would tell me of the strange species of plants the naturalist, Joseph Banks, had discovered in Australia whilst on the voyage with Captain James Cook. Or he would relate how the eighteenth century Swedish naturalist, Carolus Linnaeus, had trouble classifying certain plants in his taxonomy he was pioneering.

However, the most enjoyable times with him were when we went up Mount Anastasis and the Resurrection Sanctuary. Here, with its sublime beauty and tranquility, we often sat for long stretches of time, letting its mystical powers wash over us as if the very presence of God was there. After a while, he would often talk about the vast store of knowledge that must exist throughout the vast universe, knowledge that still awaited discovery. During other times, he talked about his wife and how he missed her, even though there seemed little love between the two. Yet, other times, he spoke of his mother, and less frequently, his father. When I assured him that he would meet them all again, no word of objection would now ever come forth from Harry's lips. A slight nod and a serene smile were to be his only reply here on God's holy mount.

Chapter 21 - Revelation And The Light Upon Us

Finally, the great day of the Divine Light had arrived. By late afternoon, almost everybody from our village and surrounding area were gathered at the central oval just outside our village. However, Harry and I stood and watched from the heights of Mount Anastasis. I again whooped with delight as soon as I saw the Divine Light coming down amidst the usual blaze of sunset colors. By contrast, Harry's reaction was far more subdued, yet I was sure in his own reserved way, he was as excited as I, only for different reasons - I longed for news of Jenny's resurrection; he sought enlightenment.

We immediately scurried down. However, by the time we reached the village, the Light had already descended, shining as always with unspeakable brilliance and beauty, as high as the eye could see. Shortly thereafter, our community made their way into the brilliance of the Light. Harry stood close by me, and I heard his heavy breath and watched his trembling hands. I placed a consoling arm around him, and for once, he did not flinch. "It's okay, Harry, it's okay!" I reassured him as we too then vanished into the Light.

As before, all bodily sensations ceased as I felt myself being once more immersed into that boundless power of love. I was no longer conscious of Harry beside me, nor of anything else except of the Divine. However, moments later, I regained my bodily senses and realized that I still had my arm around Harry, who like everybody else, was staring trance-like towards Carlos, hovering on the platform of light in front of us.

"Greetings one and all!" our spiritual mentor declared with outstretched arms. "Welcome back into the Divine Light of God. Tonight is the night we have all been waiting for, the night of the start of the Great Resurrection!" He paused, and had we not been in a trance, we surely would have shouted for joy. Yet, we did not, indeed, we could not; we could only listen in sheer rhapsodic delight. "Come, dear brethren, let us all first sing the hymn of 'The Resurrection is at Hand!'" Then, with his magnificent baritone voice, he began to sing: "Although sleeping in a cold and dismal grave...." With the exception of Harry, we all then joined in the hymn: "All will come to life again, our loved ones and those we did not even know, all of them in...." The words simply flowed out from us, full of hope that now the great time had finally come.

Suddenly, the Light within had darkened, and another light appeared above. We all stared up as this light formed itself into a two-dimensional image, an image most of us had seen in our religious books of our previous life. However, it quickly transformed itself into a three-dimensional vision, a vision straight out of the Book of Revelation. Like a door that opened into heaven, we heard a great voice boom: "Come!" Then we saw a man that 'came to be in spirit.' He looked old and venerable, with silver hair and a long beard. And what was more, he looked familiar. He was the angel that I had first seen on Anastasis. At last I knew who he was. He was the beloved disciple of Christ, the one we knew as the Apostle John, who later was said to have penned the famous Book of Revelation. However, just as I became cognizant of this, another even greater miracle happened. Suddenly, like that apostle, we were all seemingly 'in the spirit,' and we beheld those very same visions he had seen two thousand years ago. Now our whole consciousness changed, expanding in ways we all thought was utterly impossible. We now saw a magnificent throne, and there sitting on this throne was the greatest scene of all: the very image of God! Around Him were also twenty-four other spiritual beings, all wearing golden crowns and likewise sitting on thrones.

This was all too incredible. I'm sure we would have died had we not been resting in God's own protective cocoon of the Light. However, still more was to be beheld. Around this heavenly scene were lamps of burning fire, and a tremendous glassy sea. Then bizarre creatures were beheld, spirit beings with wings, yet faces of wild beasts, all proclaiming the words: "'Holy! Holy! Holy! is the Lord God, the Almighty, who was and who is and who is to come.'" Other words were yet spoken, and we saw crowns placed before God's throne. A scroll then appeared from God's right hand, yet nobody seemed worthy to open it. There was weeping and then a spirit declared: "'Weep not; behold, the Lion that is of the tribe of Judah, the Root of David, hath overcome to open the book and the seven seals thereof.'" There then appeared a lamb as if it had been slaughtered. In a flash, the lamb then turned into a brilliant image of a man, the man we all knew as Jesus Christ.

The vision then vanished and another one appeared, a vision in which the whole vast white infinitude of the Light opened to display seemingly the entire expanse of heaven itself. Now an immense golden city of light, with huge walls, palaces and buildings of every kind was descending towards us. We all instantly recognized it as New Jerusalem coming down from the sky.

We all stared in awe as it came down ever closer towards us, exactly as the Divine Light had done on so many occasions before. Only this sight was even grander, more majestic still.

However, unlike the Light, this vision of New Jerusalem never quite reached us so that we could be within the confines of this sublime, celestial city.

Nonetheless, we were still blessed by its radiant light that engulfed us all, and reached to the very core of our being. However, I was bitterly disappointed. I desperately wanted to enter into this city of light, but failed. By now we were all in a total trance, a trance far deeper than we had ever encountered before. None of us were aware of anybody else, nor of anything else except for the vision that was above. We all saw the pearly gates, the massive walls of sparkling jewels of sapphires, emeralds and amethysts, exactly as detailed in the Book of Revelation.

Then this vision also vanished, leaving only the immensity of the Divine Light all around. Our trance was broken, although Carlos and Harry remained in theirs just a little while longer. However, nobody had said a word; we were still too enraptured to have tried. Even when the Light slowly lifted up above us, we still did not move nor talk. We just watched with reverential awe as the Light rose ever higher, back into the seemingly endless starry sky. Only when it finally disappeared, did we finally stir. Then, a sudden jubilant cry emanated from the front, followed by others, until finally, all of us were crying out with sheer ecstatic joy - all that is except for one solitary man.

Chapter 22 - Jubilation, Although Not For All

"Please, my good brethren," Carlos exclaimed above the jubilant cries. "I want to make a most wondrous announcement!" With only little or no response, Carlos again clamored for our attention, this time more vehemently, and adding the magic word of 'resurrection!'

The effect was almost instantaneous, and now a great hush befell us all as we awaited the calling of the names.

Carlos pushed back his tears. "Oh, what a night it has been! First the visions, and then the news of many more resurrections, with five here in Deer Park!" A cheer erupted that could have figuratively woken up the dead. Then, once more, there was silence, a silence pregnant with suspense. Then, one by one, Carlos announced the names, and each time a tremendous cheer arose. Then, one by one, Carlos announced five other names, those that were to go up to Anastasis to meet those who had arisen from the grave.

Then the list of names had seemingly ended, and my spirit sank.

"However, there's one extra name!" Carlos suddenly announced.

I instantly prayed to God that it would be Jenny.

"She is the mother of...."

Mother! For a second or two I tuned out. It was not the word I wanted to hear. However, I forced myself to listen again.

"This dear sister is not resurrected here on our Resurrection Sanctuary, but in a place that was once called Australia."

I again became excited, no longer thinking of myself.

"Her name is Mary Marston!"

Another cheer erupted, genuine and sincere.

I looked at Harry. He looked unmoved. "Harry, that's your mother, that's your mother!" I excitedly exclaimed.

"I know," he muttered.

"Now, you blessed five," Carlos announced, "go and meet your loved ones on Anastasis. As for the rest of us, let us all go tonight to our hall and there await and welcome those new dear friends who have been resurrected from the dead.

Then, en masse, the still euphoric crowd did as Carlos said. Only Harry and I remained, momentarily silent, deep within our thoughts. Although I was disappointed that Jenny had not been resurrected tonight, I knew it was only a matter of time that she would. Meanwhile, the vision we had experienced tonight filled us with an ecstasy that would surely remain with us for a long, long time. However, looking at Harry, I was again surprised by his seeming lack of interest.

"Harry, this is a joyous time!" I reminded him. "Even your own mother has been brought back to life!" I placed an arm around his shoulder. "Come on, friend, let's join the others and celebrate."

He just looked at me in that unique, strange way of his.

"What's wrong? I don't understand. I repeat, your mother has been brought back to life! And what about those visions? It was awesome! Nothing like this has ever happened before here in Paradise!" I now added with even more alacrity, "I mean, it was like we were the Apostle John that had gone up to heaven, and even had seen God Himself, along with Jesus and the angels!" Seeing that he was still unmoved, dumbfounded, I asked, "You did see the visions, didn't you?"

There was a pronounced silence before he gravely replied, "I did. But they're only symbols. Don't you know that?"

"Of course, I know that, but still they have great meaning to -"

"But I saw other things!" Harry interrupted. "I was also told to meet someone that I knew, but had never actually met."

"I don't understand." Then recalling that both he and Carlos were still deep within a trance after ours had already finished, I asked, "Harry, what else did you see?"

He again shook his head and bluntly replied, "Go and join the others. I'll see you in the morning." He then turned his back and walked away.

I was flabbergasted. Here was a man who had just witnessed the most wondrous of visions, then been told that his mother had been resurrected back to life. Yet, he had not shown the slightest interest. I thought of Jenny and how differently I would have reacted. However, her time would soon come. With this encouraging thought, I walked towards the Fellowship Hall.

Upon arrival, a Love Feast celebration was already well underway. Normally our community did not hold Love Feasts on the same evenings as the Divine Light manifestation. However, due to the incredible visions, and the resurrection of five people, all fellow believers, and relatives from at least someone here in the community, this certainly was a night to celebrate.

Then, there they were: five new faces, all beaming and radiating with joy. Cheers, hugs, kisses, laughter and music then filled our congregated throng.

The festivities went well into the night, and it was only on our way home, gazing into the starry sky, that I again thought of Harry. Concern and dismay once more flooded over me. I simply could not understand.

We stepped onto our front porch and Cory came to greet us. I patted him, then opened the front door and called out, "Hey, Harry!" However, he was not there. I was about to stride towards his bedroom, when suddenly my father stopped me.

"We'd better not disturb him, son."

I was momentarily disappointed, but the fire of tonight's excitement still kindled brightly within us all, and so we sat within our living room, talking softly yet excitedly into the small hours of the night.

Chapter 23 - Farewell To Thee My Noble and Learned Friend

I slept in late, the first time since my resurrection. When I finally did get up, I saw that the sun was already high in the sky. I slipped into my day robe and hurried over to Harry's bedroom. The door was closed, so I knocked gently on the door. No reply. I knocked once more. Still no reply. I gingerly opened the door but found only an empty room. Considering the lateness of the morning, this came as no surprise. Yet, something seemed amiss. There was always a stack of notes lying on his table. Now there was only one. I picked it up and commenced to read:

Dear David,

We must now go our separate ways. However, before I depart, I wish to see you one more time. Last night, after you and your family had gone to bed, I surreptitiously took what little belongings I had and made my way up to Mount Anastasis. There I will be waiting for you, and will explain what I can, although not everything. I cannot. I do not fully understand myself, and I have absolutely no idea what other mysteries life will yet reveal to me. Already so many strange and incredible events have transpired during these last four weeks that, as you are well aware, I had great difficulties in accepting them as being true. To some extent, I still do, as cherished and lifelong paradigms are not easily swayed. However, I have been forced to accept that life and our universe are far grander and more mysterious than I would have ever imagined.

PS Come as quickly as you can, and please come alone.

Harry

I stared at the note and again wondered why he was being so mysterious. Thus, still clutching the note, I walked back to the living room and showed the message to my parents.

"I think he's trying to go to Australia, although he doesn't say that in his note," my father said, only confirming what I already had suspected.

"Oh, he's such a strange man!" my mother added.

I shrugged. "He's different to us, that's all. He's a real Jekyll and Hyde. But I'll still miss him. Anyway, maybe upon Anastasis we'll again get some sort of direction, maybe even how he'll get to Australia, especially that part where his mother had been resurrected. Although there doesn't seem to be anymore oceans to cross, even so, Australia used to be a big country, almost as big as America." I patted Cory, then told him to remain as I walked off towards Mount Anastasis.

****************

I found Harry sitting on the ground, staring introspectively at the fountains at the Resurrection Sanctuary, seemingly at peace once more. A cloth bag, presumably filled with his notes, was by his side. I walked up to him. "I read your message," I said as I sat next to him. "It seems you're planning to leave."

He gave a faint smile. "I'm not just planning, I am leaving."

"To Australia, to meet your mother? That's great, but how?"

"By a person I knew but had never actually met."

"Sorry, I don't understand."

"Neither did I until early this morning. I was told in my dream to meet my guide in a village called Eu Topis."

"You were told in a dream last night?"

"Yes."

I shook my head and frowned. "Oh, Harry, you're talking in riddles again. I wish you would stop that. It was, after all, only a dream."

"Yes, another lucid dream. However, even stranger things happen around here. For instance, giant shafts of light coming down from the sky, people seeing visions, people meeting angels, people being brought back to life. Do I need to go on?"

"No, but only spiritual mentors have those special type of divinely communicative dreams -"

"Or see angels or have visions," he finished my sentence, smiling ironically.

I nodded comprehendingly. "All right. But still, I don't understand what you're driving at."

" _Ou Topos_ are two Greek words, ou meaning 'not,' and topos meaning 'place,' and thus literally meaning 'no place' or 'nowhere.' Thomas More used the two words as a kind of pun for his book _Libellus de optimo reipublicae statu, deque nova insula Utopia_."

"You're still not making any sense."

"It's Latin, and roughly translated means, 'Concerning the highest state of the republic and the new island Utopia.' More first used those words as a title for his book, which later simply began to be called 'Utopia.' The whole book was written in Latin. In his preface, More included a poem. I had memorized this poem in my former life. A poet called Mr.Windbag supposedly wrote it. This exact poem appeared in my dream last night. In English it reads like this:

'Noplacia was once my name,

That is, a place where no one goes.

Plato's Republic now I claim

To match, or beat at its own game;

For that was just a myth in prose,

But what he wrote of, I became,

Of men, wealth, laws a solid frame,

A place where every wise man goes:

Goplacia is now my name.'"

"I still don't follow. What's that poem got to do with you?"

Harry smiled. "A lot! Let me explain. The word 'Goplacia' in the last line in the poem is another pun on the word 'Utopia,' here using the term 'Eutopia' instead. _Eu_ stands for 'well,' and _topis_ , of course, means 'place.' Therefore, Eutopia can be interpreted as meaning a 'good place,' but the translator used poetic license and translated it into 'Goplacia.' However, it seems there is more to it than that, as the message has a direct application, at least as far as I am concerned. I indeed need to go to that place. Plato wrote his own version of a perfect world, _The Republic_. There the rulers were to be wise philosophers. However, Mr. Windbag's poem called it only a myth. Thomas More felt he could create a better world, a world where people would want to live, unlike the harsher and more Spartan utopian world by Plato. However, at least some of More's _Utopia_ is written satirically, with names, when translated from the Latin, being like Raphael Nonsenso, or Mr. Winbag, and the capital city on the island of Utopia being Aircastle, which is by the river Nowater." He chuckled to himself. "Despite More's great piety, he was still quite a wag. A letter by Erasmus, his friend and a great scholar who wrote _The Praise of Folly_ , even informs us of that."

"Oh, Harry, I'm afraid you're again sounding a lot like these people called Nonsenso and Mr. Windbag."

Harry stared at me and grinned. "Maybe it sounds that way. However, please let me continue. There is a point to all of this. I still maintain that what More had written in his Utopia was to be taken seriously. At least he took it seriously, although he obviously did use satire, which the intelligent reader in his day could understand. However, it's not like Swift's _Gulliver's Travels_ , which is full of satire. John Bunyan's _The Pilgrim's Progress_ , on the other hand, is a religious allegory, and makes use of many symbolisms, as does the Book of Revelation. But, of course, you are well aware of that. However, I may be wrong, but it seems to me that this life here also utilizes these same types of literary devices. Perhaps, to some extent, even my other life did as well. Perhaps we are even all just characters in some cosmic story, just a small part of a greater consciousness. I don't know."

Despite Harry's seeming calmness, I felt something was wrong. He again just did not make any sense to me. Therefore, especially sitting up here in the exquisite gardens of the Resurrection Sanctuary, I felt the compulsion for prayer, thus gaining God's guidance on the matter. My suggestion was responded with a grin.

"Yes, if you like. However, I already have."

"You have! You mean, you have prayed already, by yourself?" I asked, truly astonished.

He nodded. "There is no need to tell you that I was never a praying sort of man. However, here in this world, it seems to be the right thing to do, and it brings results. Even spectacular results like this morning."

"Why? What happened?" I asked.

"Last night, the vision and the dream disturbed me because it had left me all confused. So, after waking up, I decided to go up to Anastasis, and then I began to pray for help. I again could feel a great calmness, which still remains with me until now. And after the prayer, I heard a voice that relayed to me an important message that would unravel my confusion." He abruptly stopped.

"A voice?" I asked, confused. "So, what did this voice say?"

"A telepathic voice told me to go to the place called Eu Topis. Of course, I immediately recalled the poem, particular its last line, which was 'Goplacia is now my name.' However, I was now told by this voice that this was indeed a real village about five days west of here. I was then told to simply follow the Deer River until it became very broad. There I would find an island, and a village called Eu Topis. Here I would also meet my guide, none other than Thomas More himself! You can understand my thrill at that message, and, of course, that I was to be guided by him to the place where my mother now resides." His smile even broadened. "It'll be wonderful to see her again!"

I was likewise thrilled for Harry, although surprised that all of this was not made clear in the Divine Light last night. It had not really surprised me that his mother, nor even Thomas More, had been resurrected. I knew from Harry that Thomas More had been a good man, and that he had even authored such a book as _Utopia_ showed to me that he was searching for a better world, a world that I knew Paradise could offer to him. However, I was surprised that Thomas More was the one that would be Harry's guide to the place once called Australia. After all, I asked myself, how would he know? It was a question that would still be left unanswered. However, right now, it was far more important for me to see Harry happy, in stark contrast to last night.

"So, Harry, why were you so miserable last night? You had the visions, like everybody else, and then you were even told of your mother's resurrection. I can understand your concern about getting to her, being so far away. But surely you should have realized that things would be clarified for you somehow."

He nodded, then smiled coyly. "Perhaps, but you have to remember that last night, after the vision, I was in a state of shock. I not only saw the Revelation visions, but many other things. And they were not just symbols."

"Like what?"

"Such as seeing myself dying, although not actually seeing myself as being dead!"

The statement stunned me. "What do you mean by that?"

"Exactly that, as you will also find out for yourself. Anyway, it was like watching a three-dimensional film. It had been Friday, and Roger and his wife had come to our home late that afternoon, then stayed for an early dinner. He again had mentioned his paranormal research, and now wanted to know more about my lucid dreams. I wasn't in the mood and told him so. Therefore, we talked about the weather, our family, our classes, the economy, and the continuing trouble in the Middle East. It was pleasant enough, although they left early, knowing that neither one of us were feeling up to par. I had pains in my chest, and my wife had another one of her migraines. We both had an early night. I saw myself saying good night and giving her my usual formal peck on the cheek. We then went to our separate beds. In the darkness, I could still see myself mulling over the day's affairs, and the lectures I would prepare over the weekend. However, finally I saw myself going to sleep." He suddenly paused. "Then I saw myself seemingly dying of a heart attack. Other things also happened, which I will not tell you, but in the end I found myself standing where you saw me on Mount Anastasis."

I reached out towards him, trying to comfort him. "Oh, Harry, so that's why you don't remember...." I let the sentence fade.

"Dying," he whispered. "According to the vision, I had a heart attack whilst dreaming. Or did I dream I only had the heart attack?" He gave me an ironic grin, as if playfully teasing me, I think. There was then a long, poignant pause before he added, "I also saw a lot of other things, the Light, then things which I don't understand."

"Like what?"

"I don't know. Perhaps let Dante speak:

'While sight was unconsumed; and, in that depth,

Saw in one volume clasp'd of love, whate'er

The universe unfolds; all properties

Of substance and of accident, beheld,

Compounded, yet one individual light

The whole.'"

He gave a faint smile. "Perhaps Dante did not really understand either, but his words capture something of the infinite, don't they?" He shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know, but to me it seems there is another world beyond the Light, perhaps a whole new universe, or universes, much of it exceedingly beautiful, more beautiful than even this world, which I now also believe to be real."

"That more beautiful world is heaven," I said.

He smiled gently at me, then added softly, "Ah, yes, heaven. However, 'there are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.'" He then shook his head in confusion. "And that quote is even more applicable to me!" There was a long pause, with neither one of us saying anything. We were both too immersed in our own thoughts. Finally, Harry broke the silence. "That time when we were also alone on this mountain, when you thought I was going to be destroyed, but instead I was immersed in the Light, I then felt a great power of love, but only a glimmer of my ignorance. However, last night, the full sensation of my ignorance became truly manifest. Now I truly realize that I know nothing! I now feel like the character Job after he too was seemingly shown his ignorance and puny power when contrasted to God."

He then recited the following words from the Book of Job:

"'I know that thou canst do every thing,

and that no thought can be withholden from thee.

Who is he that hideth counsel without knowledge?

therefore have I uttered that I understood not;

things too wonderful for me, which I knew not.'"

I placed my arm around him, and with it, my fondness and love. We were no longer mere acquaintances; we were brothers now. "Let me come with you, Harry, at least as far as Eu Topis."

He remained silent, letting the request hang in the air for a seeming eternity. Finally, he smiled. "No, David, it's something I must do myself. You have fulfilled your mission already."

"But will you be all right?"

He now also entwined his arm around me. He again did not answer, but instead we both sat next to one another, letting the mystical, sublime and even subliminal beauty that surrounded us soak into the innermost recesses of our souls. Finally, he reverentially said, "In a world such as this, how can I not be all right?" He then stood up. I likewise got up and there we embraced each other once again. "Farewell to thee, my noble friend. Till we meet again," he said. Although the words may have seemed theatrical, they were nonetheless filled with warmth and sincerity.

For a second, I wanted to cry. Then another miracle happened, one both of us saw and felt. A soft radiant light came down upon us, entwining us even further, filling us with the peace and love of God. Then, above us, I saw the angel, John. Another smile, and John was gone. The Light then lifted and we finally loosened our embrace.

He gave me a final, gentle smile. "Once more, I say farewell. Till we meet again."

This time tears did well into my eyes. "Farewell, 'Thou art a scholar.'"

His eyes displayed a look of pleasant surprise. "Ah, perhaps you do know _Hamlet_ after all." Then grinning, he continued with another quote, "'How now, Horatio? You tremble and look pale. Is not this something more than fantasy? What think you on't?'" His grin then turned into the softest of smiles. "You are 'like softest music to attending ears.' From _Romeo and Juliet_ , my friend. I shall truly miss you and your beautiful music, but do not despair, thy true love will soon be here." His grin even widened. "And that message came not from Shakespeare, but from the angel that is still standing here!"

He then picked up his bag and departed, and all I could do was watch.

Chapter 24 - The Light and a Vision Beyond Space and Time

Over the next ensuing days, the ecstasy that had so swept over all us was now beginning to wane. Life was returning back to normal, or as normal as life in Paradise could be. Also the newly resurrected people had quickly settled into their new idyllic life, in stark contrast to the resurrected man before them. Yet, I missed Harry. Although I had supposedly been his official mentor to this world, the role of teacher and pupil had often been reversed. He truly had been an exceptional character, probably the most intelligent person I had ever known. However, more importantly, he had become my friend. It was therefore with a heavy heart that on the fourth day since his departure, I dismantled his makeshift observatory behind our house. I instinctively thought back to the night when we had been lying beneath the starry sky. Apart from the immediate aftereffects of the Light, it had been the first time I had seen him truly happy. From then on - with few exceptions - I began to enjoy his company, my guitar tuitions with him, our walks through the mountains and forests, our observations of nature, and even his pedantic lectures on history, life and the universe. Now it was all over. He was gone.

After casting away the last rock of his observatory, I needed cheering up, and so decided to visit the ever-cheerful Carlos. It was afternoon, and he was at home and alone with his guitar, strumming and humming out a new tune.

"Ah, David, my friend, just the person I wanted to see!" he said, beaming as I stepped onto his front porch. "I need your help. I'm working on a hymn to commemorate that wonderful vision we had." He started humming and strumming again until he came to an abrupt end. "I've gone this far, but I'm not quite sure how to end."

I thought for a couple of seconds, then replied, "Why not do it the easy way? Just end it with a perfect cadence, from the dominant back to the tonic chord."

He gave a hearty laugh. "I'm afraid you'll have to translate that for me."

"I'm sorry," I said, now also laughing.

He handed me the guitar. "Why not show me?"

I did.

"What! Just end it as simply as that?" he asked dubiously.

"Or we can make it more complex by doing it this way." I then showed him an alternative ending. He beamed his approval. "Ah, yes, I like that!"

I returned his guitar and watched him practice. A couple of minutes later, I asked, "Carlos, can I interrupt you? I need to ask you some questions."

He immediately stopped and rested the guitar against the wall. He flashed another smile.

"Why, of course. What is it, my friend?"

"It concerns the visions we just had, as well as Harry?"

Carlos's eyes widened with interest. "Yes, those visions. How wonderful they had been!"

"Yes, but it has to do mainly with Harry." I then described what he had claimed he had seen in his visions, and the revelatory nature of the dream he had that night, as well as the telepathic message on Anastasis. "So, what do you think?"

He shrugged. "We know his mother has been resurrected, but regarding what he saw, I don't know." He thought for a moment and then added, "With his vision within the Divine Light, perhaps he really did see himself die. Perhaps it was like going to see a movie that was made many years before. Also the message he received about his new guide being Thomas, er...what was his other name?"

"More."

"Yes, Thomas More. Again, I can't be sure. Perhaps so, but I was not told about it within the Divine Light."

"However, there is a village called Eu Topis, about five days west of here, along the Deer River, isn't there?" I asked.

"Yes, I've been there. But was he told to go there and meet this Thomas More within the Divine Light?" asked Carlos. He clearly looked puzzled.

"No, in his dream, and then he was only told to meet his guide in the village of Eu Topis. However, it was only when he went up to Mount Anastasis, and after praying there, that he was told that his guide would actually be Thomas More, and that he would meet him at Eu Topis."

Carlos's eyes widened with astonishment. "Ah, there's so much mystery behind all of this, as well as this man, Harry. But there have been so many strange things happening recently." He then leant closer to me. "For instance, I also have a mystery, a happening within the Divine Light of which I'm not completely sure. That's why I haven't announced it officially. However, I think our regional spiritual mentor, Hezekiah Ruther, has been taken to heaven, and thus has joined the Heavenly Council to help direct our world. You see, this vision was like a flash. It was so quick that I hardly could be sure what happened. However, for an instant, I thought I saw him entering through those symbolic pearly gates. But I received no direct message of that within the Divine Light, and so I must wait for some confirmation of this before I can make an official announcement to our community."

Three days later, we did receive confirmation that Hezekiah Ruther had indeed vanished from the face of this earth, via the Divine Light in the village of Philos, which was a four day journey north of us. However, nothing was heard regarding Harry until two weeks later, when some visitors from the village of Eu Topis told us of the arrival of a traveler called Harry. They also mentioned another visitor called Thomas, and that they together had traveled off somewhere towards the west. I was, of course, delighted by the news.

Therefore, the next few days passed, each day getting closer to the next coming of the Light. We were all eager and filled with expectation, and none more so than I. Surely, this was going to be Jenny's time. Meanwhile, I kept myself busy, doing my normal routine of working on the housing project in the mornings, playing my guitar in the afternoons, then socializing in the evenings. Finally, the first day of the next month arrived, and with it the much awaited Divine Light. Because of the incredible visions we all previously had, there was an air of excitement that was nothing short of ecstatic. Resurrections and visions were on everybody's mind as we stared wild-eyed as the Light came ever closer, looming ever larger, with every beat of our heart. Finally, the Light was down, and once more we entered into that great unknown.

"Greetings one and all!" Carlos declared as he lifted both arms almost horizontally above his head. "Welcome back into the Divine Light of God!"

He began to pray, and afterwards we sang a hymn of praise. The words again simply flowed out from us; full of hope that many more of our dear loved ones would again arise from the dead. "Come, you dear ones, the resurrection is at hand!" we sang over and over again, and each time we sang those words, our emotions rose ever higher. Then, once again, something truly astonishing happened. Swirling light from within formed itself into yet another vision from the Book of Revelation. We again saw a vision of God on His throne, and there again was the Lamb, the glorified Jesus Christ, and multitudes of angels all around. Suddenly, another vision opened up, where an even greater multitude appeared, seemingly millions, perhaps billions, not of angelic beings with wings, but humans wearing white robes and holding palm branches in their hands. I instantly recognized the vision. A booming voice then asked who these people were, and the reply instantly came back, exactly as recorded in that mystical book: '"These are they that come out of the great tribulation, and they washed their robes, and made them white in the blood of the Lamb."'

I then willed myself closer into the vision, then recognized my parents and many others from our community, plus multitudes upon multitudes of others that I had not known, nor had seen before. Then I saw myself within their midst, and suddenly I was not just seeing myself amongst that 'great multitude,' I was actually there amongst them. I knew that such a scene was only symbolic, yet the sheer joy of seemingly being there before God's throne in the heavens took me to the inner core of ecstasy. However, just as the vision reached its climax, another vision began to open up: a vision not of light, but of darkness; a vision not of life, but of death.

I was now in some dark and dingy bedroom. Strips of faded green wallpaper hung limply at several places near the ceiling, where the paint was flaking off as if on a rusty, iron hulk stranded on a barren reef. The only furniture and decorations in this tiny bedroom was an old brass bed, a rickety wooden wardrobe, and a small dresser on top of which stood an empty bottle of whiskey. I had never been in this room before, and I certainly could not see any connection with it and my life here in Paradise. However, the bedroom door opened and a large black youth appeared. The sight of him hit me like a thunderbolt. Oh, my God, it was him!

He slammed the door behind him, then strode towards the bed. He started smoking a very short, strange looking kind of pipe. I knew somehow that it was not filled with tobacco, but with the narcotic commonly known as 'crack.' Within seconds, I saw him ecstatic, as if caught up by the Divine Light. However, the high was comparatively short-lived, perhaps only five to ten minutes. He then smoked another dose, and then another, each time going on a roller coaster ride of extreme highs then lows. Finally, he consumed all that he had. He then began frantically looking for more of the substance, but none was found. He became aggressive, yelling profanities until finally he slumped onto the bed. There must have been a time shift of some kind because suddenly I saw him again, looking normal, although menacingly mean, like some wounded, wild animal, ready to pounce onto some helpless prey. He opened the bottom draw of his dresser, then rummaged through some underwear to expose a gleaming, black gun. The scene faded before me, and I was now in a black void. A sudden fear came over me as I was reminded once more of my journey through the black tunnel, and of death.

Fortunately, the feeling lasted only for a brief moment before another vision appeared.

It was nighttime, and I saw the top of a lone car driving through the city streets. I recognized the car as being my white Ford. My view suddenly changed. I was now inside the car, seeing Jenny sitting beside me. It was incredible. It all seemed so real, as if I had traveled back in time. I then looked through the windshield, as if I was again driving the car. I saw that we were in Harlem, next to Morningside Park. Instantly, I recalled the scene, and cringed with horror that I was now going to witness my own murder once again.

The engine again began to splutter. Seconds later we came to a final stop. I again glanced down at the instrument panel, then stated that we were out of gas. I again felt the cold night air as I stepped out of the car, then searched for the gasoline, then realized I was being observed. And there he was again, looking as menacing as ever. Fortunately, I was again viewing myself from outside my body. Although now fully aware that he could no longer hurt me, it nonetheless horrified me to watch the final seconds of that fateful night, to see him manhandle me, to feel once more the fear in me, to hear Jenny's frantic scream, to hear the gun go off, then see myself slumping to the ground.

The scene mercifully ended, but as it did, I heard these incredible words resounding clearly in my mind: "Forgive Ron Bristol. Help him!"

I was totally shocked. It seemed an absurd statement to make after virtually reliving my own murder. Rather than feeling merciful, I suddenly resented the man for all the pain he had caused; the man who had so abruptly and viciously taken from me my life, my wife, my work, and all the things I had loved in the world.

"But you are alive!" the same voice reminded me.

Alive? True. I realized that all this person did was to simply transfer me into another, much better world. I then recalled hearing the name of Ron Bristol being called out in our Hall of Worship, the name that nobody knew, the name that meant nothing to nobody, except now to me. So, that was it. He was going to be resurrected. It seemed incredible that such a man as this should be rewarded thus. I suddenly felt indignant at such a travesty of justice.

Another vision appeared. It was Jenny kneeling beside my mortally wounded body, her hands cradling my head, her sobs now uncontrollable. I then saw my assailant running off into Morningside Park. Moments later I heard the wail of an approaching patrol car. It stopped directly behind our car, and I saw two police officers running towards us. I then saw blood flowing freely from my chest, staining my jacket crimson red, and creating a pool of blood beside me. I then witnessed how the police officer felt for my pulse, telling his partner to call an ambulance, questioning Jenny about who had shot me, hearing her agonized response.

The vision continued. I saw the ambulance arrive, the gallant attempts of the paramedics trying to save my life, but all to no avail. I heard my death pronounced, then Jenny's hysterical wail. It was all too much, and I was grateful when this scene had finally ended. Now the scene shifted towards my murderer scurrying through Morningside Park, constantly looking back and forth like a hunted animal. It was pitch-black, but I clearly saw him stumble several times, yet managing to scamper up the steps and onto the street up above. However, his desperate bid to escape proved futile in the end. Almost immediately, the glaring lights of another patrol car had spotted him. The officers scrambled out, their guns out and aimed directly at the youth. "Freeze!" one yelled.

However, my killer, Ron Bristol, took no note. From underneath his jacket, he drew out his gun. However, before he could fire, a bullet ripped into his abdomen. With a groan, he slumped to the ground. However, he was far from dead. He still managed to fire off a shot, although it missed its mark. Then another shot was fired by the police, one bullet hitting Bristol's upper chest, the other, the right shoulder that was holding the gun. The gun dropped, but amazingly, Bristol tried to reach out for it with his other arm. Another shot was fired, and this time the bullet found the heart. And there, right before me, I saw the lifeless body of Ron Bristol lying on the ground.

The scene faded before me and then, mysteriously, I saw this same youth standing forlornly, staring out from a lofty, barren mountain, enshrouded in thick fog. He had a dazed, tormented look about him that was extremely unnerving to see. This place certainly did not look like Paradise to me. Far from it. From his tormented appearance, it seemed he was more in some sort of purgatory, something that could have been dreamt up by Dante himself. What was happening here? What did it mean? In fact, what did all these visions mean? They did not make any sense. Why had I witnessed my death again, and then the death of my murderer? All these visions were painful to watch, but none more so than this last one of Ron Bristol. Feelings of anger and hatred seemed to radiate out of him, as if it was some sort of negative energy that was not only suffocating him, but me as well. I desperately wanted this vision, in fact, all my visions to end. I just could not bear them any longer.

Mercifully, this grotesque vision vanished, and in its place I beheld Harry with another man on top of Mount Anastasis. Was this the resurrected Thomas More that Harry had spoken about? However, this vision also vanished and was replaced by yet another, one that made me totally forget all the nightmarish visions of before. I again beheld Mount Anastasis, but there standing was neither Harry nor Thomas More. In their place, I saw the most wondrous vision I could have wished for: a vision of Jenny's resurrection. Oh, what exquisite delight! Now I had absolute proof that soon we were going to be together again, to enjoy the fruits of Paradise.

Then, all too soon, this vision also faded and I found myself once again amongst the brethren within the Light. They were still all staring trance-like at the vision of the 'Great Multitude' standing in heaven before the celestial throne. Then, this vision also vanished, and slowly and imperceptibly, the Divine Light began to rise, past our ankles, then knees, hips, shoulders, and then our heads. It was only now that our normal state of consciousness returned. However, for a long time nobody spoke nor moved a muscle as we continued watching the Light rise ever higher back into the endless starry sky.

Chapter 25 - Confusion

Even after the Light had gone, people were still gazing up, their bodies still aglow with that faint aura that took at least another minute or so before it too faded away. Yet, the fire of community ecstasy remained aglow. This time, we not only saw a celestial vision, we were actually within it, seemingly standing amidst that heavenly scene. I too would have been as jubilant as the rest, had it not been for those other scenes, scenes that had left me stunned, confused, even horrified. Now, at least, I could understand Harry's reaction - seeing yourself die was not a pleasant thing.

As if in a daze, I watched how Carlos tried in vain to catch the community's attention. Finally, he yelled that magic word of 'resurrection,' and miraculously there was silence. All ears listened; all hearts yearned.

"Joseph Murray!"

A cheer erupted, but none as loud as Sam's. It was the name of his father, a faithful brethren from of old. Amidst the cheers, Sam then ventured towards Anastasis.

Once more there was silence, the whole community eagerly awaiting the announcement of the next name, all that is except me - I knew already who it would be.

"Ron Bristol!"

Another cheer erupted; I groaned from within. Then again there was silence.

"However," Carlos continued, "for some reason, this man will not be resurrected here on Anastasis, but on Mount Eleos, in the place called the 'Wilderness.' Also, I've been told to meet him with someone here in this community, but I don't know who that person is."

"It's certainly not going to be me!" I uttered under my breath.

"However, I was also told that I would meet up with others at Peace Village, which is near the entrance of the Wilderness." Carlos suddenly frowned and shook his head in dismay. "But again, I must admit, I don't know why." Then, just as quickly as his frown appeared, it disappeared. "Oh well, my friends, we all trust in God's direction, and know everything will be revealed to us in good time." Carlos then read out four more names, and four more people were summoned up to Anastasis, all amidst a resumption of cheers, praises and applause.

Finally, Carlos announced: "Oh, what a night it has been! So, let us rejoice, and wait for our new brethren at the Fellowship Hall!"

There was another great cheer, then all went off with Carlos. Only my parents and I remained.

My father placed his arm around me. "Come on, son, let's go and join the others!"

I shook my head. "I'd rather go home."

"Home!" my father exclaimed, genuinely confused.

My mother, however, noticing my disturbed condition, gently stroked my cheek. "Oh, I understand. But don't be too disappointed. I'm sure she'll be announced next time."

I nodded. "But I have something else to tell you, something that will not make much sense to either of you."

"What is it, son?" my father asked.

However, I could see that they were still on a high. "No! I'll tell you later, when you come back from the Fellowship Hall. I'll go home instead."

And home I went, and waited, and brooded, knowing full well what their response would be. Finally, they came, and so I told them, and their response was exactly as I had predicted. They were dumfounded, particularly Mum. All her previous euphoria now melted away like fallen snow.

"But David!" she almost shrieked. "It seems so strange that you saw all those horrible things whilst we all had such a wonderful vision!" Her frown deepened. "And now you're even telling us that this man that had killed you, has also been resurrected, and that you're somehow to meet him in this place called the Wilderness!"

Dad, although certainly no longer ecstatic, still kept his sense of humor. "Don't worry, honey, at least this man can't kill him again!" He gave a stifled laugh, then, noticing that neither one of us were amused, apologized.

"Oh, never mind, Paul! But, please, go and see Carlos, and bring him here. It seems he's also somehow involved."

Dad gave a sharp nod and left the house.

Cory, who had been lying close by me, now rested his head on my knee. I instinctively patted him. "You know, Mum, I just remembered that Harry had tried to tell me that I would meet up with my murderer."

"But how could he have possibly known?" she asked.

"I think he may also have seen me in a vision, when the Divine Light was here last month. He also said that he had seen himself die, just like I had tonight."

My mother now looked more worried and confused than ever. "Oh, this is all just too much!" Mum then stared at me, not knowing what else to say. The roles had now been reversed, and I had now tried to be the comforter. I held her hand and tried to give her a reassuring smile, but failed miserably. Also, not knowing what else to say, I simply asked for some herbal tea, although the way I now felt, I would have preferred a large glass of whiskey on the rocks.

A little while later, Dad returned with the ever unflappable, ever smiling Carlos. "Ah, what a night it has been!" he exclaimed. "Another wonderful vision, and six resurrections, although one appears to be quite a mystery." Then, still smiling, he looked squarely at me. "And from what your father is telling me, it seems to involve the two of us. So, my friend, please tell me what happened tonight."

I nodded, took a deep breath, then related the entire story once more. Carlos listened carefully, however, never once did he seem shocked in any way. To the contrary, to my surprise, he was constantly smiling and nodding. Finally, when I finished, he exclaimed, "Ah, your visions seem to tie in with mine and, from what you have already told me that other day, with our friend, Harry." He then clapped his hands together and smiled. "Yes, it now all makes sense to me!"

"Then, please, tell us, Carlos, because it doesn't make any sense to me!" my mother pleaded in frustration. She sighed. "Oh, if I didn't know Satan and his demons were now all in the Abyss, I would think they were somehow behind these visions of David, and that strange man, Harry."

Carlos combed back his jet-black hair with his fingers, then chuckled. "Ah, my dear Margaret, don't upset yourself. Until recently, nobody in Paradise had visions of heaven before. However, now within the Divine Light, we all have them!" He gave another chuckle, then added, "As the Book of Proverbs says: 'The path of the just is as a shining light, that shineth more and more unto the perfect day.'" He shrugged, then smiled. "I think that maybe this light is now shining more brightly on all of us." There was a long pause before Carlos continued. "You see, my friends, I also had some strange visions. I also saw this person who you, David, had also seen."

"Ron Bristol, you mean? The man that killed me!" I exclaimed in a tone that betrayed both my anger, and my apprehension in meeting up with him again.

Carlos, for once, did not smile. "Yes, I know. Like you, I saw him also standing on a barren mountain, but that I recognized as Mount Eleos."

"So, where is this Mount Eleos?" I asked.

"It's in a place called the Wilderness," Carlos replied.

I sighed. "Yes, I know that. But what is this place called the Wilderness?"

My father laughed. "Yeah, it sounds kinda wild, but I've heard that it's a place east of here, son, many miles away. Nobody really lives there. It's kinda like a national park, isn't it, Carlos?"

Carlos smiled. "Yes, very true."

"I heard it said," my father continued, his eyes burning with excitement, "that it's real wild country, full of rugged mountains and wild animals, but all living in peace, like the rest of Paradise. I'd love to go and see that place. I think it really might be one of the wilderness areas of the Cascades. As my folks already know, I was working as a lumberjack in the Cascades, where I had my fatal accident, when I was crushed by a fallen tree." Dad paused, then grinned. "It kinda left me feeling flat!" He laughed raucously at his own joke, but seeing Mum's sullen look, Dad abruptly stopped. "I'm sorry, folks, I guess this is no laughing matter, is it?" Then, looking rather self-consciously towards Carlos, he added, "Please go on, and don't mind me."

"No, there's not too much more to tell except that within the Divine Light I was told by the angel that this boy was already here in the Wilderness. But, because of his grave sins, even murder, and because the evil still stays with him, he is, as you would say, as if imprisoned there, and not able to leave this barren place without the help of somebody here in our little village." Carlos chuckled, then looked directly at me. "And it seems that somebody is you!"

"But Carlos, this boy killed me!" I protested. "And that's the part I don't understand. How can I help him? Why should I?"

Carlos ruffled his hair and thought for a moment before answering. "When I saw this boy in the vision, with the help of God's Spirit, I could even feel his great anger and hatred. Yet, somehow, I felt something else, something behind this, how would you say, this, this mask of anger, there was some sense of guilt and regret. I think that's what God's Spirit is trying to tell us."

I frowned. "I find that difficult to accept," I told him bluntly.

"Do not judge people too quickly. If God chooses to raise him from the dead, and give him another chance, who are we to deny it? Yes, you may not believe it, but yes, I do believe." He then paused and looked directly at me. "May I read you something from our new sacred scriptures?"

I nodded.

"Ah, Margaret, could I borrow your Paradise Text?"

My mother then went to the shelf and gave the volume to Carlos.

"Thank you, my dear. Just wait a moment until I find it. Ah, here it is." He cleared his throat and read: "'The greatest journey of all is the journey of kindness and unselfish love. The road may seem rocky, the rivers wide, and the mountains high, but at the journey's end, one finds true happiness, as well as God.'" He paused for reflection, then added, "Beautiful words, aren't they? But also very true. Perhaps by helping this boy, you may also be helping yourself, and thus get even more of God's blessing."

I nodded and then immediately thought of Jenny's resurrection as being that added blessing. "All right, Carlos, I'll go."

"And I shall lead you there, and if your parents are willing, they may join us." He then paused and chuckled. "In fact, I remember seeing them in the vision." He then looked at my parents. "Well, my friends, would you like to join us?"

My father, of course, did not need any further prompting. "Yeah, as I said before, I sure would!" He hesitated, then looked at my mother. "You want to come too, don't you, honey?" My mother smiled shyly, then nodded her head. "If that's what God wants me to do."

Carlos's smile beamed even wider. "Good! Then it's all settled!"

"So, when do we go?" I hesitatingly asked.

Carlos grinned. "Why not tomorrow?"

Chapter 26 - Our Journey Begins

That night I suffered from insomnia, a very rare occurrence in Paradise indeed. However, I was anxious. I just did not want to meet up with this person who had so ruthlessly ended my former life. Thus, to help me relax, I got out of bed and played my guitar. Afterwards, somewhat soothed, I then turned to prayer. In this world of miracles, prayer had never failed me yet, and it was not about to fail me now. All the fear and hostility I had felt then completely vanished, and in its place came the usual calmness and tranquility I had now been so accustomed to. Soon after, I went to bed, and seconds later, I was soundly asleep.

Early the next morning, Carlos rapped on our front door, eager and ready to go. Having been twice to the Wilderness, he had already mapped out our expedition last night. We were to use two canoes, which aside from transporting us, would also contain our supplies consisting, amongst other things, two tents, warm winter clothings, inflatable sleeping mattresses, sleeping bags, and sturdy hiking boots. Although Eleos was the Greek word for mercy or pity, this mountain was far from merciful in that it was very rugged, and according to Carlos, it could get mighty cold.

"Great!" I sighed. "I never thought I'd freeze in Paradise!"

My mother winced at the idea as well. "Oh, dear, neither did I. Also, what are we going to eat there?"

Carlos laughed. "The mountains are full of good food like nuts and wild berries, and don't worry about the cold. Our new bodies can tolerate far more now, and with our special clothing, we'll feel warm enough."

My father placed a consoling arm around my mother. "Come on, hon, where's your sense of adventure? It'll be fun, won't it, Carlos?"

Carlos gave a reassuring smile. "Yes, and there's nothing to worry about. There's absolutely no danger, nor do we suffer any hardships. I promise. Remember, the Wilderness is still part of Paradise. However, if you've changed your mind, Margaret, that's okay."

Mum shook her head and forced a smile. "No, I'll come."

"Good!" Carlos exclaimed, then unrolled a map onto our table.

Pointing on the map, Carlos marked out our route to Mount Eleos. "This a rough map, and not to scale, but I think it gives you the idea. We'll travel east by canoe along the Deer River until reaching Tranquil Village, where we'll spend the night. The next day we'll continue up the river for much of the day until reaching a fork in the river, at Peace Village. This is where we'll meet up with other brethren who'll come with us to the Wilderness."

"But you don't know who they are!" my father exclaimed.

"Ah, but we'll find out when we'll get there! But, as I said, here in Peace Village," he said, still pointing to the map, "we will then go up the Wilderness River until we reach the entrance to a big gorge, where there's a cabin. From there, we go up the mountain trail until we get to Mount Eleos, the highest point in the Wilderness."

"And the place where I'll meet up with my killer!" I lamented.

Carlos tapped me consolingly on the shoulder. "Everything will turn out all right, my friend, you'll see."

We had breakfast together, then prepared for our journey. Carlos had already mentioned to several people that morning about our mission, and soon the message spread throughout the whole community. Most of them were still too overawed by the power of last night's vision, so Carlos had only given the barest outline of his own personal visions, and had not mentioned mine at all. It had already been agreed by the four of us that my visions, along with Harry's, would be kept from the brethren for the time being since it was felt, particularly by Carlos, that they would only create confusion at this stage. "They must be given more time, and I must first be given instructions on what to do in this matter," Carlos further explained. "The only thing, I think, we can say to them is that we are going to the Wilderness on a mission of mercy, to help a newly resurrected person who had led a life of crime, and to help him, well, to help him adjust to his new life."

This was exactly what we told everybody as we gathered our supplies and made our way to the river. Everybody thought we were doing an admirable thing, and many were there by the riverbank to bid us farewell. After embracing his family, Carlos gave a public prayer for the success of our mission. I embraced Cory and told him to stay with Carlos's daughter, Isabella. Then, after our fond farewells, we were in our canoes and paddling eastwards.

It was the first time I had ever been in a canoe, and I found it difficult at first to keep in time with the paddling. However, I soon mastered the technique. In my old body, my untrained muscles would have cried out in pain within a short time, but not now. My muscles were strong and my spirit soared. I glanced over to my parent's canoe. Not surprisingly, I saw the same glee in my father's eyes. He had always been the adventurous type, and loved anything to do with the wild, be it mountains, forests or rivers. Even as a boy, he had often canoed along the Columbia and Snake River in our home state of Oregon. On the other hand, my mother and I had always been city folks, yet looking at her paddling along with Dad's coaching, she too seemed to be enjoying herself. As regards my partner, well, Carlos was always Carlos.

We were now outside the confines of our village. On our left side was the dense pine forest, on our right, following the contours of the river's sandy bank, was the path that we had so often traversed on our regular afternoon strolls. Beyond that was the lofty Mount Anastasis, my birthplace to this fantastic world. Soon we were paddling under the bridge, where the children so often played, although none were to be seen today. Then, up ahead, we turned the river's bend, with dense forest on either side. Here the pine trees gave way to oaks, chestnuts and willows, whose branches often protruded onto the river like huge, shady umbrellas.

Thus, on and on we paddled for most of the day, sometimes in meditative silence, other times in sprightly conversations. There were no obstacles to overcome, nor any hazards, nor sharp bends in the river. It was just pure joy. I delighted in the ease in which the paddle swooshed through the water, lifting it out and directing it back in front of me, a task repeated over and over again with hypnotic regularity. This rhythm broke only occasionally, not through fatigue, but through choice. Once we stopped for lunch, other times to simply gaze and admire the river's scenic wonders and wildlife, such as when our eyes caught sight of a beaver building his dome-shaped home, or when a huge moose maneuvered itself to the river's bank. Then, at the day's end, as the sun sunk low on the horizon, we watched a large school of salmon streaming past in tight formation.

"Hey, Dad, don't you wish you still had your old fishing rod, or better still, your net to scoop them all up?" I asked, our canoes only a few yards apart.

Dad only laughed. "Not any longer, son, not any longer!"

Shortly thereafter, we were paddling towards the friendly shore of Tranquil.

Chapter 27 - Ever Onwards

Already several people of the village of Tranquil were milling towards us as we glided our canoes onto the river's bank. Like anywhere else in this beautiful world, we were literally welcomed with affectionate hugs and kisses. Carlos had been here many times, my parents only once, and I never at all. However, that made no difference in a world where everybody was treated as family.

Tranquil also looked very similar to Deer Park. It too had natural settings of trees, shrubs, flowers, lawns, and vegetable plots. Likewise, the simple yet attractive wooden houses blended perfectly into their environment. As in all villages in Paradise, Tranquil also had its own Anastasis type mountain looming in its background, as well as its own worship and fellowship halls, the latter where we dined that night, amidst much laughter and fine food. As in Deer Park, Tranquil was also still gripped with ecstasy due to last night's incredible celestial vision. Although nobody in Tranquil had been resurrected, they nevertheless rejoiced with us when we had told them of the news that five had been in Deer Park. However, when we had also told them of the resurrection of someone within the Wilderness, and our mission there, they were understandably confused, as they had been in our village. Carlos thus also gave them a somewhat censored version of events, which was likewise readily accepted, even though not completely understood.

Early the next morning we left the shores of Tranquil, with most of the community waving us farewell. A few moments later we were around the river's bend, out of view and once again on our own. We basked in the glorious sunshine and in our own inner glow of content. I paddled now like a well-seasoned canoeist, keeping up with Carlos as we paddled with near perfect synchronization. Yet, even more amazing to me, was the peace I still felt.

Soon the open grasslands on the shore started to give way to woodlands, dabbled here and there in irregular clusters of pine, oak and - seemingly incongruously - eucalyptus trees. They, naturally enough, reminded me of my Australian friend. I smiled at the irony of our missions: he was going with his guide, and actual PhD subject, in search of the person that had given him life; I was going with my parents, who had given me life, in search of the person that had given me death. I then started thinking back to my own childhood, and the tender relationship I had always enjoyed with Mum. I then thought of Jenny, then of my music, then smiled at the fact that neither Carlos nor I had brought our guitars. I suppose there were now more important matters on our minds. Still, for a little while, I allowed myself the luxury of at least listening internally to the beautiful music of Bach. Suddenly, a screech of a parrot brought me out of my reveries; yet not out of my world of tranquility. I again smelt the distinct aroma of eucalyptus, and felt the cool refreshing breeze and the sun's pleasant warmth. Then, again, I replayed within my mind, _Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring_.

Later that day, as the sun dipped into another blaze of sparkling colors, we reached the village of Peace. Here the river forked, with the Deer still meandering gently eastwards, whilst a narrower, swifter tributary veered north towards the Wilderness. The village of Peace was smaller than either Deer Park or Tranquil, and the ten or so homes that constituted the community were scattered irregularly on a wooded hill that nestled between the two rivers. Towards the north, we saw the mountains of the Wilderness, which even from this great distance looked awesome - soaring monuments that clearly bespoke of the grandeur of God's creation.

Peace welcomed us as warmly as Tranquil, and their jubilation of the recent vision was just as vibrant, as was surprisingly our mission to the Wilderness. Although again nobody had been resurrected in Peace's own Holy Mountain, they all knew of Ron Bristol's resurrection, and even exulted in that fact.

"Why is that?" I asked, perplexed by their enthusiasm.

"Because we've heard so much about him," somebody replied, pointing towards a giant figure of a man that was at the back of the crowd. He was at least six foot six inches tall, with a physique of a heavyweight prizefighter, which I soon learnt he had been before becoming a police officer. However, his intimidating stature was completely nullified by his huge smile and his arms stretched wide-open as he made his way towards us. "George Patterson is the name! And I've been expecting you."

Carlos's eyes opened wide. "Ah, you're the person I've been told to meet! So, you know this person called Ron?"

George gave a deep and hearty laugh. "Ron Bristol? I sure do!" Although I was from a different generation, I knew this kid from way back. You know, we came from the same tough neighborhood, and he was living in the same precinct when I was with the NYPD." George spoke with a distinctive Harlem accent, in a manner that indicated that he himself had also been resurrected not so long ago.

"Then obviously you also knew that he murdered me!" I exclaimed, barely hiding my animosity.

George gravely nodded. "Yeah, I knew he'd kill someone, but I didn't know it was you. Hey, brother, I'm sorry!"

I recalled the prayer that had given me so much strength and solace a couple of nights ago, and immediately felt its power once more. "No, it's okay!" I replied.

"So, how did you know Ron was resurrected?" Carlos asked. "Where you told by -"

"No, I actually saw him."

Again, somewhat surprised that the resurrection news was not channeled via the local village mentor, Carlos asked, "You saw him?"

"Yeah, within the Light. I saw him standing alone in this misty mountain, and I just knew that he was somewhere over there," he said, pointing towards the direction of the Wilderness.

Now I was the one surprised. "That's also how I saw him. Did he seem like, well, like morbid?"

"Hey, brother, I could feel his sorrow!" He then waved a giant hand towards the village. "Hey, why don't you four come over to my house? We got so much to talk about."

At his home, we met his wife, Flo. She also was Afro-American, and only a few inches shorter than he. However, unlike George, she did not have that same strong Harlem accent. Rather, her speech and grammar were impeccable. I later discovered that she came from a middle-class family in Hamilton Heights, and had been a psychology graduate from Columbia.

Then, after all the introductions and formalities were over, I beckoned George for more information about Ron Bristol.

From his lively description, I learnt that he had not actually seen me killed, however, he had seen him shot by the police the same way I had seen it in my vision. George then went on to explain that within his vision, he had also received instructions about having to wait for us in order to join our party to the Wilderness. "I was also told," he explained, "that up on Mount Eleos, there would be a home made for us in a cave, and then, man-o-man, I actually saw inside this cave, that it was done up for us like inside a house. From this cave, I then saw a trail leading through the mist and up to the top of the mountain where Ron lives. And, man, it's a real dump! Then I was told to help this guy." He paused and flashed a smile, showing a row of gleaming, white teeth. "You know, I've already been with Flo to the Wilderness a couple of times, including to the foot of that mountain, but we didn't climb it. Looks like we're goin to do it now. Lookin forward to it, even to help this poor mixed up kid I knew. God knows, I owe it to him!" He suddenly paused, then looked at me. "I'm sorry. I seem to be doin all the talkin. I'd like to know what you saw."

I then related my Divine Light visions, with all its gory details.

"Wow, that's sure some experience!" he said. "It even beats mine. It also shows you must have a lot of forgiveness and kindness, as well as a lot of guts!"

I smiled ruefully. "No, not really. It took a miracle for me to come. To tell you the truth, I find it hard to forget that he murdered me."

George placed a consoling hand on my shoulder. "And I've got a confession to make myself. Although he don't know it, I'm one of the cops who shot him!"

Chapter 28 - The Wilderness Begins

Early next morning, Big George and his wife joined our expedition. From here onwards, there were no longer any villages to embrace us with their brotherly love. We were now canoeing up the mighty Wilderness River, in a beautiful valley filled with trees, with a backdrop of majestic mountains growing ever higher as we penetrated ever deeper into this seemingly primordial, yet benign wilderness. Here there were no infestations of mosquitoes, dangerous rapids, scorching sun nor icy cold winds; only nature at its very best: a mild sun, a refreshing breeze, gently rustling leaves, chirping birds, and the tranquil sound of flowing water. We were going upstream, yet amazingly it did not seem to matter. We traveled slower, yet our bodies were such that we could easily endure the added strain of paddling against a strong current. By midday we had reached the mountains, and the Wilderness proper. Massive forested peaks that instilled reverential awe now surrounded us. They were the highest mountains I had seen in Paradise.

By late afternoon, the river valley had narrowed so significantly that it had become a gorge. Here, near the river's bank, was our home for the night. It was a simple log cabin, similar in style to the ones built during the old American pioneering days. The walls were formed of rough logs laid horizontally, jointed at the corners, and chinked with mud and moss. The roof was slanted and made of roughly hewn flat slabs of timber. Inside were just the bare essentials: a large wooden table with a set of six matching chairs, a long box-like cupboard with some metal plates and cups, an old-fashioned cast-iron oven, some small wooden buckets, and six beds.

I asked Carlos who had made the cabin and its furniture. He only shrugged and chuckled. "Perhaps God!" Whether he was joking, I could not tell. However, after unloading our supplies from the canoes, I stood and stared at the majestic scenery that surrounded us. The river here was also narrow and swift, and looked as wild as the country surrounding it. A moment later Dad and George were standing beside me, equally awed by the spectacle.

"Beautiful, isn't it, son?"

"Yes, very, and apart from those deer in that inlet where the water seems so still and calm, it all seems so lonesome too," I added.

"Yeah, right on! But that's what also makes it special!" George said. "Here you can somehow feel close to God, you know, in a different sort of way."

Being always an outdoorsman, my father heartily agreed. However, I had always been a city person. Although I had been a couple of times to the Cascades, and even read Henry David Thoreau's _Walden_ , and a couple of Ralf Waldo Emerson's essays in college, it was only now that I understood how a wilderness could inspire such transcendental emotions.

"I can't understand why you haven't been here before, Dad. Why is that?"

My father shrugged. "I don't exactly know. I suppose it's partly because of your ma. She don't care much for the wilderness. Never did. And me, well, I suppose I was just too happy around Deer Park, going canoeing there, as well hiking through the local hills and forests. That was enough for me." He chuckled. "Even if I couldn't go fishing!"

"So, you like fishing?" George asked.

"Yeah, I used to love it as a kid, and even as a young man!"

"Yeah, is that so?" George gave a hearty laugh. "So how about we do some fishing right now?"

Dad responded with his own laugh, equally as loud. "Yeah, sure. I'll get my fishing gear from the canoe."

"No, seriously, brother. Here you can get all the fish you want. And without killing them either!"

My father looked puzzled. "I don't get it! What do you mean?"

George pointed to some silvery, fish-shaped object floating just under the surface near the shore. "See that? That's a 'fish fruit.' It's only found here in the Wilderness. It tastes like smoked salmon. Wait on, I'll get some for you." George stepped into the water, plucked it out with his massive hands, then handed it to my father.

Dad only stared at it. "So what's this?"

"I told ya, it's like salmon."

My father took a bite and immediately spat it out. "Ah, it tastes more like raw fish!" he bellowed.

George roared with laughter. "Of course, it's not like roast leaf. It needs to be cooked first."

Attracted by all the uproar and laughter, my mother, Flo and Carlos came over to join us. My father, in between fits of laughter, explained to them what happened, and we all laughed along with him.

Finally, as the laughter settled, George rubbed his stomach and guffawed. "But wait till I'm through with cooking it. I guarantee, you've never tasted salmon like this before!"

"Oh boy, then let's get started!" my father exclaimed. "I'll make us a campfire!"

"No need for it, my man. I'll use the oven inside the cabin. And there's some firewood already stacked outside, at the back of the cabin. There always is!" George grinned and shook his head. "Now, I wonder who does all the chopping around here?" George chuckled then went over to the woodpile, grabbed an armful and stacked them into the oven. He then placed a heating stone inside, rubbed it a few times, and a fire was lit, the first true fire I had seen since my resurrection. George then laid the fish fruit on the grill. "There, that ought to do it," he said. "But it will take a while." George then suggested that we forage for some wild berries and nuts that were abundant around this area. Therefore, Carlos, my mother and I did exactly that. Meanwhile, Dad caught some more 'fish.'

Although this paradise wilderness was certainly not the harsh environment of the old world, I could see that to live off this land certainly required more work than the rest of Paradise, where ready-to-eat food was seemingly always within arm's reach. However, here in the Wilderness, apart from the fish fruit in the river, and the roast leaf that was found higher in the hills, I was told that nuts and berries had to be gathered in pretty much the same way as it had been in the mountainous forests of North America. So, we traveled up a steep incline, where about halfway up the gorge, on a broad and spacious ledge, we saw several clusters of blackberry bushes. I casually reached out to pluck a handful of the juiciest looking fruit.

"Ouch!" I yelped, more in surprise than in actual pain.

Mum was quickly by my side and stared down at my finger, then at the bush. "My goodness!" she gasped. "There are thorns on the stems!"

Carlos chuckled. "I'm sorry. I should've warned you. You see, plants in the Wilderness are much the same as they were in the old imperfect world." Then, still smiling, he asked, "May I have a look at your finger, my friend?" I lifted my right hand palm towards him and noticed a droplet of blood, which was also the first blood I had ever seen in Paradise. Carlos wiped it away and then examined my finger. "Ah, just as I thought. The wound has already healed!"

The wound, if you could call it that, had indeed completely healed. There was absolutely no trace of any skin rupture at all, nor the remotest sensation of any pain. I had completely healed in a matter of seconds. I had already known that injuries in Paradise were never painful, and that healing was almost instantaneous.

However, now that I had witnessed it firsthand, I was even more impressed. I looked up at Carlos and told him so, then asked, "Back in Deer Park, you mentioned you've been here a couple of times in the Wilderness, didn't you? Was it also for some mission, or just for fun?"

Grinning, he replied, "A long time ago, I was told to come here when I was in the Divine Light. Twice I came, and each time I spent a whole month here alone. The nights I spent right here in the cabin below, and during the day I would walk around, climb some hills and mountains, look at the scenery, pray, meditate, trying to get closer to God." He chuckled. "Of course, within the Divine Light, we all could get close to God, but not quite the same way it seems. Here, by myself, my friend, I discovered a different kind of closeness to God. That closeness has in some way remained with me ever since."

"And that's the reason why you've become the village's spiritual mentor?" I asked.

"Ah, it's only part of the reason." Then, as if to seemingly change the subject, he reminded us that we were up on this ledge to pick blackberries, which we then proceeded to do. To my surprise, I noticed that not all the berries were ripe enough to pluck. We could only fill half our buckets, and thus we went to another nearby bush. However, to my even greater surprise, even astonishment, most of the berries were rotten. Never before had I seen rotten fruit in Paradise. And my mother was equally surprised. We both stared at Carlos for an explanation.

"Ah yes, plants do decay and die here in the Wilderness, just like they did in the old world."

"And what about animals?" I asked. "Surely they don't -"

"Die? No, no, my friend, only plants, because they're not conscious, at least not the way we humans, or even the animals are."

I smiled my approval and we resumed gathering blackberries. By the time we filled our buckets and returned to the cabin, there were six fish in the oven, cooked and ready to serve.

Chapter 29 - Fear and Mystic In The Wild

After dinner I opted for some of the solitude Carlos had spoken about. Thus, just before sunset, I once again followed the track that led up the gorge, and soon passed the bushes where we had gathered our berries. It was a well-marked track, and although steep, I had no troubles at all in making my way up. Carlos had told me that although surrounded by trees, bushes and other vegetation, the track was the same as those in the rest of Paradise, in that they never eroded, never became overgrown, or slippery, or dangerous in any way. So, I continued hiking ever upwards without the slightest impediment or effort, never looking back until finally I reached the top of the cliff. Here, just as the sun began dipping down over the mountainous horizon, I had a clear view of the entire gorge below. About five hundred feet down, and about a quarter of a mile away, our cabin appeared almost toy-like. Yet, the bright gray river, gurgling and cascading through the contours of rounded granite and occasional patches of yellow sand, appeared as prominent and grand as the surrounding cliffs and mountains.

For several minutes I just stood there and mused over this wild, rugged and beautiful scenery. As Carlos and George had said, this world was different to the world I had known these past several weeks. This was no garden paradise, but a pristine wilderness, although still ruled by the same benign guiding hand of God.

I stared hard for a long time at the scenery surrounding me, letting my imagination soar. After a while, I reflected back to my previous two visits to the Cascades. I knew that the Columbia River passed through these ranges, but could this really be the same mighty river below me that eventually flowed into the Pacific? No. Surely not! Perhaps one of its tributaries? I knew the whole geography of the world had dramatically changed since the Earth had become a paradise, so I could not be at all sure. Yet, it could have been. I closed my eyes and tried to visualize it all, the way I had remembered it, and then the way it might have looked during the time of the Lewis and Clark Expedition back in the early part of the nineteenth century. Then, incredibly, for a second or two, as if in another vision within the Light, I thought I saw the famous pioneer expedition making their way down the river below. However, it was only a fleeting moment, and when I opened my eyes, they were gone.

I then wondered about Harry. I closed my eyes again and saw Harry in my imagination, and there beside him was another man that I somehow knew was Thomas More. In my mind, I saw him staring at me. Then, as if through telepathy, he seemed to have told me that he knew I was thinking of him.

Suddenly, I was jolted out of my fantasy by a thunderous roar. I spun round and nearly collapsed in shock as a huge grizzly stood right behind me on its hind legs.

Instinctively, I yelled in terror, then sprang to a nearby tree, scampering up its lower branches. However, when I saw the bear lazily ambling away in the opposite direction, I realized what a fool I had been. Of course, I was never in any danger, not even in the Wilderness. I laughed at my own stupidity and climbed back down the tree.

Then, just as I reached the ground, I was startled by something even stranger than a grizzly. An angel!

However, the initial shock quickly transformed itself to fascination as he again materialized before my very eyes to that old and venerable man that had been the Apostle John. Then he spoke the following words: "You have finished your first mission, now you are on your way to your second, thereafter, you will find your reward." With these words, he vanished.

"That was incredible!"

I turned to the other side and saw Carlos barely ten feet away.

"Carlos!" I exclaimed in surprise. "Where did you come from?"

"I walked here to see where you were. Then I heard you yelling, so I ran. When I reached here, I saw you climbing down this tree. You need not fear -"

"The bear! Yes! Yes! I know. But did you see him, the angel, I mean?"

Carlos solemnly nodded. "That was John, the disciple of our Lord, Jesus Christ."

I nodded. "And he materialized just the way I had first seen him at Anastasis."

"Yes, I know."

"And then he appeared to me again, this time within the Divine Light, when he had told me about Harry's resurrection."

Carlos again nodded. "He also has appeared to me within the Divine Light." He then paused and shook his head in dismay. "But I also did not know that this was the Apostle John until we had that Revelation vision."

"Did you also hear what he had just said? That this was now my second mission, and that I would then find my reward. That must surely be Jenny, don't you think?"

Carlos smiled. "Yes, I think so."

I again gave a whoop of delight. "Yes, it must be! When I had first arrived, he had told me that she would soon join me. Also, Hezekiah Ruther read out her name on the resurrection roll. Even Harry, when we said our farewells on Mount Anastasis, told me that he heard the angel John say the same thing. Now, it's all coming true!"

Carlos nodded and placed his arm around my shoulder. "Yes, it seems so, my friend, but first we need to help this boy, Ron."

Chapter 30 - Into The Heart Of The Wilderness

Next day we packed our tents and warm clothings we needed for the mountains. To get there, we followed the same track we had used yesterday to gather the berries. Upon reaching the top of the cliff, I was again reminded of the encounter I had with the grizzly, and more significantly, the Apostle John. After a brief look at the river below us, we continued along and up the trail that led to a wooded plateau, which virtually teemed with wildlife of every kind. Never in the one area had I ever heard the sounds of so many birds: nightingales, canaries, the laughing of kookaburras, the chirping of sparrows, the shrieking of crows, and the tap-tapping of woodpeckers. There were other types of sounds and sights, of mammalian life, some distant, some near, from chimpanzees to grizzly bears, all incongruously intertwined in a land that knew no borders.

By midday we passed the plateau and were again venturing upwards until by dusk we neared the foot of Mount Eleos itself. There we camped for the night. The weather by now had become considerably cooler than anything we had ever experienced in Paradise. However, we were well prepared. Amongst our supplies, we had clothing made from special material found only in Paradise, material that was relatively light, yet exceptionally effective against the cold. That, plus the fact that our bodies were now much more resistant against the cold, meant that we could easily cope with any adverse weather conditions we met. Also, our tents were comfortable and warm, being likewise constructed from material far superior to anything we had known in the old world.

That night we all sat around a campfire where George and my father were cooking some fish fruits on a skewer. After dinner, we lingered around the fire, talking, laughing, and later even singing, until finally, one by one, everybody went into the tents, and into their respective sleeping bags. Finally, I was the last one left. By then the campfire was dying, and thus I instinctively huddled next to the glowing embers.

Far off in the distance, I heard a lone cry of a wolf. An eerie feeling swept over me as I realized that the day of reckoning would soon be upon me, the day I was to meet up with the person who had murdered me. I instinctively turned to prayer, and once more I was calm. A final look into the glowing embers and off I went into one of the tents. There I snuggled into a sleeping bag next to my parents. The wolf howled once more but I felt as comfortable and secure as if wrapped in cotton wool. I gave a final yawn and fell soundly asleep.

At dawn the next day, we continued our trek, now going upwards on the slopes of Eleos, the weather getting ever colder by the hour, although so far this caused us little concern. By early afternoon, the first snowflakes fell, just as it had when I had made my feeble attempt up the 11,000 foot peak of Mount Hood, in the Cascade Range. Then it had stopped me, and I had eagerly returned to base. However, now I had all the agility and endurance of a mountain goat. As the day progressed into the late afternoon, we had passed the tree line and the mountain suddenly appeared desolate and forsaken. Snowflakes were now coming down in thick, heavy clumps, covering the surrounding scenery completely in a blanket of white. Every step we made came with a great sloshing sound as we sunk shin deep into the snow.

However, Dad and George loved every moment of it: the rugged wilderness, the jagged surrounding peaks, and the mesmerizing white all around. Carlos, on the other hand, looked far less enthusiastic, his normal bright countenance now replaced with one of stoical resignation. George's wife, Flo, likewise faced the task with similar determination. So did I until later that day, when all sense of adventure had deserted me. Although still managing well under the physical strain, as we all were, I nonetheless began to hate this trek up the mountain. The only thing that comforted me was the thought of reaching our miraculous cave home that George had seen in his vision. However, my poor mother found it even harder. She really was close to breaking point, and I think the only thing that kept her going were her incessant prayers, and my father's constant helping hand.

Still, as with all journeys, no matter how long or tedious, there comes the destination, and so we reached ours just before sundown. We were now on relatively level ground, not too far from the summit. And the view was truly awesome. On the one side was another mountain, almost as high and rugged as ours. The opposite side, only a few yards away from where we stood, was a cliff with a sheer drop of at least three hundred feet. As we stared over this grand, majestic panorama, all my fears and complaints were now forgotten. My spirit soared once more, and I was again filled with a sense of wonder over this incredible place, which I definitely now knew was not the Cascades my father and I had known. Thus we lingered, soaking in the incredible scenery until finally George directed us to our new home. From about a hundred feet away, he pointed straight towards the upper face of the mountain, where there was an opening barely large enough for us to get through. "Hey, look!" George yelled. "That's exactly what I saw in my vision. That's our new home!"

We all stared at him, dumbfounded, little realizing just how incredible this cave will turn out to be.

Chapter 31 - The Mysterious Cave

We entered the cave's entrance and, for just a second or two, saw only a large, dark and empty cavern. Then, before our very eyes, the cave miraculously transformed itself into a fully furnished home, a home that was in every way identical to our home in Deer Park.

This totally unnerved my mother. "I...I ca...can't believe it!" she stammered.

Dad too was shocked, as we all seemingly were. However, my father quickly regained his composure, and even his sense of humor. "And I thought we built houses quickly in Deer Park!"

"But it looks exactly like our living room!" my mother almost shrieked.

"But this is exactly what I saw in the vision," George exclaimed, "right down to its last detail!"

Dad placed his arm around Mum's shoulder. "See, hon, it's all okay," he soothed. He forced a chuckle. "And it's even warm in here."

"But is it real, or is this only a vision we're all having?" I asked. Then, to satisfy my curiosity, I walked over to my mother's landscape. It certainly looked identical to the one at home.

I lifted it off its hook and then showed it to my mother. She hesitated for a moment, then held it before her.

"This is my painting!" she gasped.

I slowly shook my head. "I don't think so. Remember, I told you that when I first woke up in the Resurrection Sanctuary, I thought I was still in the bedroom of our apartment in New York. Everything looked the same, but I was here in Paradise!"

Carlos nodded in agreement. "God performs these miracles to help certain people to adjust." Carlos paused for a moment, then added, "I think that God has performed this miracle here also for our sake, to help us feel comfortable, and maybe to help us to have faith in the work we are supposed to do."

Mum looked up at Carlos and smiled nervously. "Yes, I guess you're right, but...." Her sentence faded. She sighed then shook her head. "Oh, I wish I was back home in Deer Park!"

"But this is our home, at least for now," Flo said. "And you sure have a fine looking place, and that rocking chair certainly looks inviting right now." She strode towards the rocker and eased herself into it. "Ah, that feels so good!"

Dad gave Mum a gentle squeeze. "See, everything is fine. It's just like being at home." He then led her to the kitchen and opened one of the cupboards: "Hey! How about that! It's full of food, and not just nuts and berries either!" He chuckled. "See, Carlos is right. God is looking after us, even here in the Wilderness!" Mum forced a feeble smile. Dad led her then by the hand to their bedroom, where again everything was identical to our home. "Come, honey, you lie down and rest. Meanwhile, I'll make us a nice dinner." Mum readily agreed, and within seconds, she was soundly asleep.

Dad looked at me, smiling faintly. "These last couple of days have been hard for your ma."

"And for me!" I replied.

My father patted me on the shoulder. "Ah, you'll be all right, son. Nothing that a bit of food and rest won't fix!"

Whilst my father prepared the dinner, we made ourselves comfortable in our replica Deer Park home. Our guestroom had two beds for George and Flo, whilst my bedroom now also had an extra bed for Carlos. Being also comfortably warm within the miracle cave, we changed back into our normal robes. Seeing a replica of my guitar, Carlos urged me to play a song. Therefore, I started to play a moderately slow but rich and sonorous etude in D minor by Fernando Sor. It was full of successive sixth chords, which I plucked forcibly to add to the dramatic mood of the music. Both George and Flo came to listen, and were seemingly moved by the melancholic sound that came out of the guitar.

Carlos only grinned after I had finished. "Ah, very nice, but so sad. Perhaps play something a little more cheerful, my friend." I nodded and played Bach's _Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring_.

Shortly after, my father had dinner prepared. Whilst restoring body and soul with paradise white, fried potatoes and roast leaf, we discussed tomorrow's plan regarding Ron Bristol, who according to George's vision, dwelt even further up Mount Eleos. It was agreed that I would accompany George tomorrow, and it was hoped that the sight of seeing me alive, and forgiving him, would be the first step in his repentance and spiritual growth. On the second day, George would take Flo, who would then thereafter, using her professional skills, act as a therapist and counselor in his rehabilitation and assimilation into Paradise. My parents and Carlos would also be introduced to Ron, probably after the first few days. It was then hoped that after a week or so, Carlos, my parents and I could return to our homes, whilst George and Flo would remain until Ron was finally ready and allowed into Paradise.

It all sounded so easy as we sat around the dinner table. However, all the optimism had gone out of me as I laid awake in bed that night. I dreaded tomorrow, and I hated the idea of confronting my killer once again. Several times I relived that fateful night of my death, that cold malicious look, the gun, and the sharp pain in my chest. Over and over the images flashed before me, and with it, all the emotions associated with them. For just those few moments, I viewed him as evil incarnate, and I wondered why such a monster deserved to be brought back to life again. However, after a while, I became ashamed of my thoughts and prayed for forgiveness. The effect was at once both stupendous and instantaneous - I was again immersed in blessed tranquility. I thought of Jenny, and soon thereafter, fell asleep, dreaming of my beloved wife.

Chapter 32 - The Slayer and the Slain

I awoke to the sound of voices. So, this was it, the day when the murderer would meet up with his victim in the afterlife. My earnest supplication to God last night had indeed allowed me to sleep peaceably, but today was another day. I again felt the pangs of distress, and once more resorted to the power of prayer. My nerves steadied; I was ready to face the day. But only just.

After breakfast, George and I dressed into our special thermal garb, then went out into the inhospitable beyond, stomping through the snow up the steep track that led towards the jagged, barren pinnacle of Eleos. It would have been bitterly cold had it not been for our protective clothing, and our incredibly resilient bodies. There was already a strong gust of wind on the mountain, but by midday, the wind was howling, and together with the ever-increasing snow, it felt as if we were in the middle of a blizzard. Together with the rugged, rocky outlines covered in snow, the occasional stunted or dead tree, and the white mist surrounding us, the whole environment seemed to me like a frozen hell. I simply could not believe it. How could such a world exist in Paradise!

I began to loathe Ron Bristol once again, not just for the bullet in my heart, but also for being forced to come to such a miserable world as this. I tried to focus on the good and the beautiful that I had always encountered since my life here in Paradise. Yet, as hard as I tried, I simply could not; this bleak and dismal environment was just too strong. It seemed to reek of evil, as if some diabolical force was behind it all. I had to fight this feeling; I could not let my imagination and anger get the better of me. However, I failed. The emotions were simply too strong. I once again saw his menacing eyes, heard his taunting voice, and felt his vice-like grip around my collar and throat.

"David! Come on, man, what's the matter with you?" George bellowed above the howling wind.

"What...what did you say?" I meekly asked.

"Hey! I've been calling out to you, but you just ignored me, as if you're in some sort of trance or something."

"I'm sorry. I couldn't help it. It's this place. It does something to the mind."

George held me by the hand. "Just take it easy, okay. It seems we're soon going to reach the top. Just hang on. There's nothing to worry about."

Then I saw it, something that made absolutely no sense at all up here in this hellish mountain. In front of us stood a ramshackle shack, the type, I imagined, was seen in the South during the Great Depression. Many of the timber boards along the walls and the floorboards of the porch were loose, the windowpanes cracked and dirty. From the dilapidated chimney, wisps of white smoke could be seen.

"Remember, just stay cool!" George again reminded me.

My heart was racing; I felt anything but cool. I again petitioned God for help. Miraculously, another wave of calmness swept over me. We then sloshed several more yards in the snow when, just as we were about to step onto the front porch, George said, "I think it might be best if you just wait here for a moment."

He then gingerly stepped onto the rickety porch and called out: "Ron! Ron! Are you there? We're here to help!"

No reply.

He gave two quick raps on the door. "Hey, Ron, it's okay. We're only here to help you get away from this place."

Still no reply.

George gingerly turned the handle and opened the door. He stepped inside and turned towards me, waving me to follow. I had another quick prayer and then approached the porch and entered into the house. Instantly, a cold chill ran down the back of my spine. It felt as if I had just entered into a house of horrors, haunted by the vilest ghosts and demons imaginable. Apart from the faint but bizarre reddish hue, it was dark and gloomy inside. Worse still, it absolutely reeked with a queer pungent odor that almost made me vomit. My immediate reaction was to flee; but an inner strength within gave me the courage to stay. It took a moment or two for my eyes to adjust, and then I saw him, wrapped in a blanket, and huddled next to a smoldering fire. His back was towards us, but he made no effort to turn around.

"Ron, it's me, Big George! Remember me? I used to be from your neighborhood." George took a few steps towards him and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Ron, look at me. I'm here to help you," he said softly.

Ever so slowly, he raised his head and turned towards us. My heart thumped like a sledgehammer, yet when I saw his face, he no longer looked like the menacing monster I had remembered, just a scared, pathetic looking kid. All the fear and anger melted away. Incredibly, I felt only compassion now.

George crouched towards him, opening his arms as if awaiting an embrace. However, Ron remained as motionless as a statue. By his glazed look in his eyes, it appeared as if all the life had gone out of him. George touched him gently on the shoulder. "Ron, do you remember me? We came from the same neighborhood. I was kinda older than you, but I knew your momma."

The word 'momma' must have triggered something deep within him. I saw Ron's eyes move, and then slowly his head turned towards us. George drew nearer and started talking to him as if he had been a baby, trying to break through the almost impenetrable barrier of his demented mind. "Listen to me, Ron, and try to understand. You died, but you're alive again. There's a much better world waiting for you, but you got to do your part. Do ya understand?"

Again, there was no response.

"Ron, listen to me." George now raised his voice ever so slightly. "You shot a guy, and just a little later you got shot. You then died, but you're now alive! Do you understand?"

Ron violently shook his head. "No!" he bellowed like a wounded animal, yet George never flinched an inch.

"Yes, it's true. Try to understand."

Silence.

George pointed towards me. "Here, look at this man!"

"No!"

"Look at him!" Then with all the brute force of a lion, George physically turned his head in my direction. "See this guy here, this is the one you shot!"

He violently shook his head. "No!"

"Yes, it's him! You shot him, but like you, he's alive, alive like you! Do you hear me?"

He again violently shook his head and bellowed a string of profanities. The calmness I had so recently felt suddenly deserted me. I was again in a state of shock.

George faced me, then told me to try to reach out to him. However, I just stood there and stared. "Come on, David, try to reach out to him. Show him that you're alive, and that you're willing to forgive him."

I nodded, then stretched out my arm towards him, although not daring to actually touch him. "It's me, Da...David," I stammered. I continued to stretch out my hand, but Ron remained motionless. Then, for a brief moment, he looked up at me, his eyes betraying a sign of recognition.

I heard George's voice, as if in a distance, pleading, "Come on, Ron, take it! Reach out to him."

However, he made no move towards me. In fact, he looked away and then continued to stare lifelessly into the dying embers of the fire. It was only then that I realized how bitterly cold it was in here, and that the kid's only protection being a tiny ramshackle shack, a pitiable little fire, some rags for clothing, and a moth-eaten blanket.

"Ron! Ron!" George vainly pleaded several times. Finally, the giant lost his temper and roared: "Darn it, Bristol! Do you want to spend all eternity in this hellhole?"

It had the desired effect. Ron violently shook his head. "No!" he bellowed so loud that even George recoiled. Ron then convulsed uncontrollably, "No! No! Get away from me! Get away from me!" he shrieked. He sprang to his feet and held his hands in front of him, as if shielding himself from some invisible predator.

"What's happening to him?" I yelled.

"I don't know. He looks like he's hallucinating. Maybe something to do with him being a drug addict, perhaps the crack. But whatever it is, let's pray for help."

We did, and again the effect was instantaneous. Ron's spasms and yells stopped as if he had been injected with massive doses of Valium. Pitifully, he gazed towards us. "Help me!" he pleaded. It was only then that a scene flashed before my eyes, where I saw a young child and a big man standing next to him, a bottle of beer in one hand and a big leather strap in the other. He started swinging it, repeatedly hitting the child across his face. I then saw a frenzied woman trying to hold onto the man's arm, only to be flung to the ground. Suddenly, all my inhibitions left me. I again reached out my hand and lightly touched his shoulder. "It's all right, Ron, it's all right," I soothed.

The next instant, out of the corner of my eye, I saw the ghostly appearance of a man. I turned my head and recognized that it was the one we knew as the Apostle John. He seemed to be smiling.

"Well done, my friend," I heard him telepathically say.

Then, once again, he vanished. Having had his back towards him, I knew George had not seen him. But I did. Intuitively, I also knew that this was not just a victory for Ron, but also for me, a first step along the long spiritual road to perfection, a road whose final destination was still beyond my wildest comprehension.

Chapter 33 - Encounters and Miracles

After this incident, the whole atmosphere within the house literally brightened. The thick, dark reddish hue that had filled the house was suddenly gone, replaced now by natural sunlight. Gone too was the pungent odor, along with the cold and heavy depressive air. George and I immediately felt our spirits rise.

"What in the world happened?" George exclaimed.

"We've just witnessed another miracle!" I uttered with reverential awe.

"Yeah, I can see that. But how?"

"We've been visited by an angel, the Apostle John himself!"

"I didn't see him," George said, shaking his head in confusion. "But I sure can see and feel the effect. But look at Ron!"

I did. He again had his back towards us, staring blankly into the smoldering fire, again seemingly oblivious to everything.

"I don't understand. He doesn't seem to have noticed the change," I said.

"I don't understand it either. But I'm sure gonna try to make him see that something special just happened around here." George then crouched next to him and gently held his arm. "Hey, come on, man, look around. God's given you a blessing! So what do ya say to that?"

Ron's only answer was a blank stare.

"Hey, come on, man, what's the matter with you? Can't you see what's happened?" George then looked at me and heaved a sigh of desperation. "It looks like the miracle wasn't strong enough."

"It was!" came the disembodied voice.

George suddenly froze, knowing that the voice was neither Ron's nor mine. He gazed around the room but saw nobody. He stared at me. "Did you hear that?"

"That was him!" I replied.

"But where, I can't see -"

George did not finish his sentence. The angel once more appeared. George gaped but remained speechless. However, spirits suddenly and mysteriously appearing now no longer shocked me, and I calmly asked him why Ron was not responding, and why he seemed totally oblivious to everything, including the miraculous change within the house.

"Perceptions, whether visual or auditory, are not always what they appear. They may differ amongst individuals," came the mystical reply.

"I don't understand. What do you mean?" I asked.

"He's not seeing this room the way you're seeing it, although he soon will be, if he allows his mind to open. However, at the moment, his exterior perceptions of his surroundings remain the same as before."

I walked towards the window and saw that the white mist outside had disappeared. The sky was now sunny and cloudless. "That's incredible!" I exclaimed, then faced the angel once more. "Did you do this?"

"No," came the reply.

"So, who did? God?"

"It is as I said."

"I'm not sure I understand what you're saying."

The angel only smiled and replied, "You will in a little while."

"All right, but what about Ron? What are we meant to do?" I asked.

"Ron will now make progress, but he will still need more help." The angel, John, then turned towards George and said, "Please, my friend, do not be alarmed."

"No, I'm okay," George replied, forcing a smile. "I recognize you. You're the one I saw within the -"

"Light. Yes. In my human life I also had visions, and these I wrote down in what became known as the Book of Revelation, as you were just thinking."

George looked stunned. "You can read my thoughts? I thought only God could do that."

The angel smiled. "Do not be alarmed. That is the normal way we communicate in the heavens, and how we communicated with you when you had the vision within the Light. Like David, you are also on a special mission to help this tormented and disturbed soul before you."

George nodded. "I understand, and I want to help. After all, I owe it to him! But it seems he's not responding. What do you suggest?"

"Do as you had planned. However, stay with him tonight, and the next few nights. You are the strength he needs, and will trust. Also, your wife's training of the human mind will also be of some help. In a few days he will be ready to go down to the cave below, where you and Florence can care for him until he is ready for his next journey." The angel then faced me and said, "You have done a noble deed by what you have done, and although you still do not understand, you have helped him greatly by your show of kindness. Your service is almost complete, only now please go back to the cave, and tomorrow bring Florence up here." He then paused and gave another one of his angelic smiles. "On your way down, you will see yet another vision. Although only an image, it will be an image of love." With these mysterious words, he vanished.

George was momentarily too stunned to talk. Finally, he shook his head in dismay. "Incredible! Wonders will never cease!" He paused again, then chuckled. "Well, we better do as we're told!"

"What? Are you spending the night with him alone? Will you be all right?" I asked.

He flashed a huge smile and laughed heartily. "All right! Are you kidding? After witnessing another miracle like this, hey, I know everything will be all right! Look! There's even a spare bed for me. So, do as you're told and get back down. I'll see you tomorrow with Flo."

I then stared again at Ron, still sitting zombie-like next to the fire, totally oblivious to the miracle that had just happened.

"Go on!" George exclaimed. "Don't worry about him. Just go!"

So, off I went, down the mountain alone, glad to get away, glad to get back to the company of my family and friends, and the warmth and comfort of our temporary cave home. Now the trek seemed easy. The thick, depressive fog had lifted, the sun was out, and the wind was gone. A feeling of euphoria now swept over me. I had faced my killer successfully, without malice, and after the miracles, without fear. Now I felt as confident as George. I then thought about the angel's mysterious message of seeing another vision, an 'image of love' as he had called it. Naturally enough, my thoughts drifted towards Jenny. Then, halfway down the track, to my utter astonishment, there on a grassy patch of ground next to the path in front of two large trees, I saw a radiant looking woman sitting cross-legged on a blanket, a piece of bread in the one hand, and a bottle of wine in the other.

"Jenny!" I screamed with delight.

It happened. It had actually happened! I could hardly believe my eyes, nor could I contain myself. I had expected her resurrection soon, but not now, and not in this wilderness. But what did it matter? She was alive! She is ALIVE!

I raced towards her, all the while ecstatically crying: "Jenny! Jenny!"

Then, less than ten feet away, to my horror, the whole picnic scene vanished before me, gone without a trace, as if the whole thing had been nothing but a dream.

"No! No!" I cried in utter despair. "Come back! Come back!" I pleaded, yet all in vain. I dropped haplessly to my knees and began to sob, pleading God for her return. Suddenly, I felt a hand on my shoulder. I spun around. "Jenny, your back!" However, the hand that touched me was not Jenny's but that of the angel, John. My sorrow changed to rage. "Where's Jenny? Where is she?" I bellowed at the top of my voice. "What strange and sinister games are you and God playing with me?"

He shook his head and smiled serenely. "You misunderstood. I told you that you would only see a vision, an image of love. She never was here. It was only through the power of your thoughts that seemingly brought her here."

"What! What weird thing are you -"

He raised his hand to silence me. "Shortly after you return back to your village, you will meet a friend, who is with his friend. Then, with the next coming of the Light, your dearly beloved will wake up upon Anastasis."

"You mean, she will be...."

I did not utter the next word. I did not need to. His serene smile said it all. Then, as quickly as he appeared, he disappeared, leaving me both astounded and euphoric.

Chapter 34 - Of Work, Pain and Healing Wounds

Upon returning to the cave, I related all that had happened, including the appearance of the angel, and my incredible vision of Jenny. In the old world, the world of pain and death, the telling of such tales would have been usually met with ridicule. Yet not so in Paradise World, where all things were now seemingly possible. The rising of the truly dead was now treated as no more stranger than the reviving of the clinically dead had been. So too with the appearances of visions and angels. We now also accepted them as readily as people used to accept the reality of disembodied voices coming out of radios and telephones. All of us were now confident in Ron Bristol's eventual rehabilitation into our world, and we thus gladly followed the schedule that had been given to us by our angelic guide, which anyway turned out to be very similar to the way we had originally planned. Therefore, early next morning, I escorted Flo to the top of the mountain. Although still cold, the day was now sunny and clear, and the scenery once more breathtaking.

However, upon arrival, I again felt uneasy, the depression here almost palpable due to my heightened sense of awareness. Flo too could feel it. We therefore hesitatingly stepped onto the rickety porch and called out to George. The door swung open and a relieved George Patterson appeared. He patted my shoulder, then warmly embraced his wife. "Gosh, I'm sure glad to see you!"

"What's happened, honey? Are you okay?" Flo asked.

He gave a wry smile. "Yeah, as good as could be expected. But it sure was no fun staying the night with him! He still won't look at me, and when I force him to talk, he just mumbles something I can't understand." He then exhaled a loud, exasperated sigh. "Angel or no angel, miracle or none, I can tell you, this won't be no picnic!"

Flo gave him another hug. "Hey, hon, that doesn't sound like you. Of course it will work! With all the miracles that have happened, things will turn out okay."

He nodded, then waved us inside. The room was now warmer, the fire burning more brightly. Ron was sitting on his bed, his eyes focusing on us, but otherwise not responding to our attempts at communication.

Flo, now in her mantle as a clinical psychologist, looked perplexed. "Hmm, he's showing acute withdrawal symptoms." She looked up at us, then commenced with her psychobabble. "In the old world, I've seen cases of catatonic schizophrenia in which the patient remained in a fixed stuporous state for hours, even days!" Then, as if addressing a fellow professional colleague, she asked, "Has there been any noticeable behavioral changes since yesterday?"

"No, there hasn't, except once, when he pleaded for a fix! He went suddenly all nuts. Kept screaming that there were ants crawling all over his body."

Flo nodded. "Common symptoms for cocaine addicts. What else, George?"

"Well, nothing. I went to him and tried to calm him down. Didn't work, and then I tried prayer, and again nothing, at least at first. But then slowly he got calmer, and finally he fell asleep. However, when I went back to bed, I couldn't sleep anymore. I tell you, staying with him for the night is like staying in a loony bin!"

"But we were assured by John that he would be all right," I reminded him.

George nodded. "I know, and I believe it, only it ain't easy."

I then suggested prayer again. However, even after prayer, Ron continued to sit motionless, staring blankly ahead of him. Flo then tried some psychotherapy, which reminded me of Harry. I again wondered why all this was necessary. Why were psychologically scarred people only cured partially, and not totally and instantly by the miracle?

"Because it also helps the helper," came the invisible voice once more. "Work and sometimes pain are necessary for spiritual growth."

"What! Who said that?" Flo asked.

"That's the angel, John," I replied.

Again, the angel materialized in front of us.

"Wow! This is incredible!" Flo gasped.

"Try again, but use more kindness and love," the angel advised. "This, together with spiritual help, will bring greater benefits than what you are doing. However, you know this already."

Flo nodded, then dropped her mantle as a detached clinical psychologist. The angel gave once more his serene smile and vanished. By his lack of reaction, I was sure Ron had not noticed our angelic visit. However, Flo certainly was affected. She suddenly became almost motherly as she placed a hand on Ron's cheeks. "It's all right," she soothed. "You're amongst friends who are trying to help you get out of here and down to Paradise." Her voice softened even further. "If you like, you can stay with George and me. You already know George, and he has told me all about your momma, and how good she was."

Ron turned his gaze towards her.

"You love your momma, don't you?"

"What?"

The word was barely above a whisper, more like a gruff mumble, but enough to encourage Flo. "I said, you love your momma, don't you?"

A long pause followed, then a faint nod.

"And you want to see your momma, don't you? Well, honey, you will!"

His eyes opened wide. "Mo...mma?" he stammered.

"Yes, honey, although I can't tell you exactly when. But she'll be here before you'll know it. Meanwhile, you'll enjoy living with us. We live even nicer than those white folks that live along those classy homes around Central Park! Oh, Ron, you won't believe how beautiful it all...."

Thus, step-by-step, with the power of God and love, Ron was brought out of his tormented shell. Other days followed, each day getting slightly better. George again became the tower of strength that he was; Flo remained the caring, motherly counselor; Carlos, with his prayers and instructions, became the spiritual mentor; my mother, the concerned bystander; and my father, with his rustic and jolly personality, the humor that eased the transition and healing pains.

A week later, the angel told Carlos that we could return to Deer Park. Therefore, our divine mission of mercy had ended, and we left Ron in the loving hands of George and Flo in the miracle cave below. Six months later, Ron entered Paradise.

Chapter 35 - Home and the Incredible Dream

Home at last, and what a joy it had been. We had been absent for less than three weeks. However, the whole community of Deer Park had welcomed us as if it had been three years. We were simply showered with hugs and kisses, and licks from my faithful canine friend. That night, a special Love Feast was held in our honor. Here I also gave my first public discourse in the Fellowship Hall, relating our entire mission of mercy - I spoke of the love of the brethren we had met. I described the wonders of the rugged beauty of the Wilderness, its grand forests, majestic snow covered mountains, and of our strange cave home. I then saw them visibly moved as I related our encounter with Ron Bristol, of his misery and anger at first, then the progress he had so far made, and was still to make due to the dedication and sacrifice of George and Flo.

Although I had been delighted to relate our experiences, I was nonetheless glad when we arrived back at our house. I did not, however, immediately go to bed. Instead, I picked up my guitar and started warming up with a few scales, arpeggios and some simple etudes. However, my concentration wavered and I returned the instrument back to its stand. Playing those simple compositions for beginners had reminded me of Harry, and I then wondered how far he would have traveled by now. I gave a silent prayer for him and for Ron, then went to bed. Within seconds, I was fast asleep. However, some time during the night, I dreamt a dream like none other I had ever dreamt. Harry had spoken to me of lucid dreams, of gaining full consciousness, although still within a dream. I never truly understood what he meant, but that night I did.

I dreamt I was walking up the path that led up to Mount Anastasis, fully conscious that I was within a dream, and free to explore any part of that dreamworld I chose. It felt very strange indeed. Upon reaching the plateau, I saw the Divine Light beaming onto Deer Park Village. Although I had already seen it many times, it still held me spellbound, even within this dream. I then sensed a weird feeling of déjà vu as an angel materialized and walked up the trail towards me, exactly as on that first day of my resurrection. "Welcome to Paradise!" he greeted me again. He gave his saintly smile and added, "Go and be amazed!" Then once more he vanished before my eyes.

My heart raced with anticipation; it could mean only one thing. I sprinted past the plateau and into the forest, running faster than I had ever run before. All the while, I kept rejoicing that at last I was to be united with my beloved Jenny. However, upon arrival, I found not Jenny but Harry. He was standing in the midst of the Resurrection Sanctuary's garden. I stopped abruptly, wondering whether all this was truly real. No, I thought to myself. I remembered that this was only a dream. However, Harry had a grin on his face as if to suggest that I finally understood.

Hesitatingly, I walked towards him, expecting him to disappear. However, he didn't. Instead, he reached out towards me. "David, it's Harry!" I touched his hand. It felt solid and real.

"Is it really you?" I asked.

He laughed. "Of course it is!"

We then embraced, and I felt his warm and solid body pressing onto mine.

"But why are you here? I thought you had gone to find your mother. Your guide, Thomas, was supposed to take you there, wasn't he?"

"He is taking me there. However, we still have a long way to go."

"But you're still here on Mount Anastasis," I said, puzzled.

"Yes, but only in a dream."

"That's right. I'm dreaming. But it seems so real!"

Harry smiled "Now you know how it feels." He then asked, "Would you like to meet Thomas?"

"Thomas More? Is he up here also?" I asked, wanting to see him, but reminding myself that I was only dreaming.

Then, coming from behind, a gentle but distinguished looking man appeared. He walked up towards me. "So, we meet again!" he said, with a twinkle in his eye.

"Meet again?" I asked, perplexed.

He embraced me. He also felt solid and real; again not something I expected in a dream. "Yes, we met in what you call the Wilderness, when you were alone and daydreaming up on that cliff by the river."

I recalled the incident. Yet, how was that possible? However, I again reminded myself that I was still in a dream.

Thomas More peered into my eyes, then gently said, "I will give you another message, in addition to that of John's. With the next visitation of the Light, your beloved will be here. However, soon after that, you will meet another relative called Simon."

"Who's Simon?" I asked, certain that there was no such relative.

Like the angel, John, he also now radiated a saintly smile. "When the time comes, you will know." He then suggested to me that I might be interested to see who was inside the Resurrection Sanctuary, which now appeared like an old Tudor home. However, as I walked towards it, I was stunned to see the building suddenly transforming into our apartment at Morningside Heights. Momentarily I froze, then again I reminded myself that all of this was only a mere dream. Nevertheless, curiosity still impelled me onwards. I opened the front door and entered into the living room. And it seemed I had stepped back in time. I then heard the familiar dematerialized voice announce: "Go to her and see her now in your dream, although with the coming of the Light, she will then be with you in your Paradise."

I sprinted up the stairs and flung open our bedroom door. And there she lay, sleeping peacefully on our double bed.

"Jenny!" I screeched with delight.

*******************

My eyes opened and I was once again inside my bedroom, in our home in Deer Park. Incredible. It seemed so real. However, I wondered what credence I could give to a dream? Dreams were, after all, not reality. Not even lucid dreams like this. Or were they? No, they can't be, I forced myself to think. However, as in the Bible, dreams here in Paradise could be prophetic. And I was sure that tonight's dream certainly was, and that with the next arrival of the Divine Light, Jenny would indeed be resurrected back to life. I recalled the angel, John, telling me so, both in the dream and when I was awake. With these reassuring thoughts, I fell asleep - a dreamless sleep this time.

The next morning, I related my astonishing dream to my parents. They had by now become accustomed to visions and visitations of angels. However, they felt that Carlos, as our village spiritual mentor, should again be informed. Thus, later that morning, I also related the dream to him.

Carlos rubbed his jaw meditatively. "Yes, I know of prophetic dreams since I had them myself. However, the type of dream you're relating...er...what did you call them?"

"Lucid dreams," I replied.

"Ah, lucid dreams." Carlos paused for a moment, contemplating what to say next. "Well, these I don't understand, but lately so many strange things have happened to us. But, as regards your dream last night, again, well, it might be wise not to say anything until we receive further instructions from within the Divine Light."

I nodded, then stared through my bedroom window where I could see Mount Anastasis. Never before had the mountain seemed so mysterious, yet so beautiful.

Chapter 36 - Paradise Complete!

The days past, the month ended, and it became the first day of the new month. Late that afternoon, I sat on the edge of our veranda, watching the sun dip past the horizon amidst a blaze of red and purple hues. Seconds later I saw it. I sprang to my feet.

"It's coming! It's coming!" I bellowed, although my parents were already standing by my side. Mesmerized, we stared in awe as it loomed ever larger, ever brighter against the twilight sky.

My father placed his arm around my shoulder. "Well, son, what are you waiting for?"

What indeed!

Therefore, the three of us scurried towards the village's center, where already a crowd had gathered, all waiting eagerly to see if tonight was their night to welcome another dearly departed one risen from the dead. Slowly, the Light continued down, by now already lighting up the entire sky for many miles around. I, like everybody else, was mesmerized by the sight. No matter how many times it was seen, it never lost its fascination. Finally, it was down, a blaze of white that permeated everything around. An opening appeared and one by one, and two by two, they entered into that wonderful Light.

My turn arrived, but I paused for just a brief moment before I also vanished into that mystical veil of the Light. With the expectations I already had, my emotions soared to incredible heights, higher than they had ever done before. I was lost in the realms of infinity, with swirls of color all around me. Then my consciousness turned towards Carlos, suspended upon a platform of light. He stared upwards, his arms outstretched, his entire body radiating a brilliant glow. He started the prayer, extolling the virtues of our Creator, and the blessings we had all been shown. His voice began to fade, and I felt myself being drawn into yet another vision. I stood at the edge of the plateau, the Light glowing down onto the village, and the familiar angel walking up towards me. He smiled at me and once more gently said: "Welcome to Paradise! Go and be amazed!"

The vision changed and I was now standing at the garden of the Resurrection Sanctuary, seeing the house suddenly being transformed from a Tudor house into the apartment we had in New York, exactly as in that strange lucid dream I had. Only this time, I did not see Harry, nor Thomas More. I only saw myself entering through the front door into our living room. Then again, I felt the nebulous presence of John. "Go to her, my friend. She is now here!"

I saw myself running up the stairs and on towards our bedroom. Then, exactly as in the dream, I flung the door open. And there she was on our double bed, fast asleep, but as beautiful as ever.

Then, as in the dream, the vision faded, only this time I found myself fully conscious within the Light. Everybody around me was still in some form of trance, all seemingly looking upwards as if beholding another vision of heaven. However, I had my own celestial message: "Go to her, my friend."

I made my way passed the still entranced crowd and out of the Light. Like a gazelle, I ran out of the village and onto the trail that led directly towards Anastasis. I stopped upon reaching the grassy plateau and glanced backwards. The Divine Light was still visible, exactly as I saw it in the vision within the Divine Light, as well as in my dream. Then, I saw John once more walking up the trail towards me, materializing, with a warm, gentle smile on his face. "Welcome to Paradise! Go and be amazed!" Then, as expected, he disappeared. I only hesitated for a moment, then continued to run. Soon I was passed the grassy plateau and into the forest. On and on I ran until finally I approached the enchanted gardens of the Resurrection Sanctuary. As always, the garden appeared as if manicured and sculptured by the finger of God. And there behind the garden was again that Tudor house, which as expected, transformed itself into our apartment at Morningside Heights.

I ran even faster, then flung open the front door. Then, as before, I felt the presence of John. Again, he declared: "Go to her, my friend. She is now here!"

I raced up the stairs and into our miraculously replicated bedroom that Jenny and I had once shared. My heart raced, my body trembled. And there she was, asleep, but even more beautiful than even in my vision and dream. For a second or two I basked in her glory: her long, golden hair, her rounded lips, her slender body nestled inside her snow-white robe.

"Oh, Jenny! Jenny!" I cried with delight.

She did not stir. I hurried to her bedside and knelt beside her, tenderly grasping one of her hands, then lifting it to my cheek. "Jenny," I whispered. "Jenny, wake up. It's me!"

Again she did not stir.

"Jenny!" I said louder.

Still nothing.

I now thought of myself as 'Prince Charming.' I lowered my head towards her and gently kissed my 'Sleeping Beauty.' Yet still, she did not stir. My kiss of life proved as futile as it had been vain. I instinctively felt for her pulse. None! I lowered the side of my head onto her bosom.

Nothing.

Her body felt warm, but the heart did not beat.

"Jenny! Jenny!" I yelled, shaking her shoulders. I called her name several more times, shaking her ever more vigorously, yet still nothing. Nothing!

NOTHING!

"My God! My God! Wake up! Wake up!" I now screamed, yet still she did not stir. I could not believe it. It simply could not be. What cruel trick by God could this be? For a moment, anger welled up inside of me, then I began to sob. I now pleaded to the Almighty, and Creator of all life, to give her life once more.

Then it happened: the miracle of life. An imperceptible stir of the head, then her hand. I prayed even harder and heard a groan, then another, and the spirit, the Divine 'breath of life,' had entered into her, and she was born anew.

She groaned again and rocked her head back and forth, but her eyes remained closed, seemingly still impervious to her surroundings. I cradled her head in my hands. "Jenny, it's me!" Suddenly, her closed eyelids twitched a couple of times, then she opened her eyes. She gazed at me but showed no sign of recognition. She shut her eyes again, then reopened them once more. I clasped her face even firmer. "Jenny, it's me!"

She stared intently for another few seconds, as if she was coming out of a very, very long and deep sleep. Her mouth then moved ever so imperceptibly. She tried to say something, but the words failed to come out. I now gently stroked her cheeks. "Jenny, wake up, wake up!" I pleaded.

Her mouth opened wider and I heard her inhale, a rasping inhalation, then faintly, ever so faintly she stammered, "Da... Da... Dav...id?"

"Yes! Oh yes, it's me! It's me!" I exclaimed in sheer delight, then thanked God with all my heart.

She continued looking at me as if still in a daze. She closed her eyes, then held them shut for a second or two, then reopened them once again. Her fingers now stroked my hair and then my entire face. "Da...David, you, you are -"

"ALIVE! Yes, I'm alive! And so are you!" I laughed, then added: "Welcome to Paradise!"

I laughed even harder, with tears of joy flowing down my face. We embraced, we laughed, and we cried with tears of unmitigated joy. Now, for all eternity, we were together at last, ready to enjoy all the wonders and fruits of Paradise!

Chapter 37 - From Here Towards Eternity

As I am writing these words, five blissful years have passed since Jenny's resurrection. And we still have an eternity ahead. Already in that short time, many other wonderful things have happened. For one thing, the population of Deer Park has almost tripled, purely due to the steady flow of resurrections each month, although all from the same faith, and all either relatives or close friends from our existing community. It is not the Great Resurrection of peoples of all the nations, creeds and ages, but we are still in the very early stages of the Millennium.

Meanwhile, Jenny and I have now our own house, and outside our bedroom, I hear the sound of a child playing with his dog. The dog is Cory, and the child is Simon, our Simon, a lovable blue-eyed, fair-haired boy that has filled our lives with even more joy, in a life already filled with incredible joy.

Let me explain. On the day I had died, Jenny had already been pregnant, although neither one of us had known. Just over six months later, a premature, three and a half pound infant was born. Then, six days later, he was dead. However, two months after Jenny's own resurrection, little Simon arrived, this time healthy and strong. How proud I am to be a father, and how much love and attention our baby was shown, not just by us, but by all in our community!

Now I hear a second child's voice. It is Carlos's daughter, Isabella. Seven years older than Simon, she is like an older sister to him.

I hear Jenny's voice in the background, welcoming my father and mother. Soon they will be coming into our home. However, not yet, as Jenny is showing them our garden, then no doubt the sculptures in progress of both her own mother and father in the workshop near our house. She is full of hope that both will soon be here, here with us in Paradise.

And what of Harry? I had been told that Thomas had indeed led him to his resurrected mother, and that it had been a wonderful reunion. Last night, whilst within the Light, I had been told that Harry and his mother would also be visiting us very soon. How wonderful that will be! I again raise my head and listen to the children at play, thinking how beautifully it epitomizes life here in this beautiful world. Surely, nothing should ever be changed. However, deep within me, I know nothing ever stays completely the same. I look at my guitar on its stand, and then at the music sheets nearby. It is the second movement to my first classical guitar sonata. It may not be up to the standards of guitar maestros like Tarrega or Sor, however, they are certainly a far cry from what I could have composed just four or five years before. I see even the way I write this epilogue, when contrasted to the rest of the book I had written three years before, even the way I now think, it too has changed. I have become more introspective, my thoughts, well, somehow deeper, more profound. I have simply seen and experienced too much - Harry has played at least some part in that.

I now have other new interests: botany, zoology, astronomy, and yes, even history. I know I will enjoy talking to others who once lived in the past, to learn more of their world, a world that now no longer exists. Here was definitely another part of Harry's influence. Yes, I realize as I write, that change is inevitable, and that learning never ends.

It will be good to see Harry again. Will he be pleased to read my book? Yes, I believe he will. Will he edit or offer suggestions for improvement? Quite possibly. Certainly the historical and narrative details. In his former life, he had been a writer, albeit an academic one, and I am sure he has kept on writing until now. I am also sure he must have written more on Thomas More - an intended pun - and probably other famous people that he might have met. Also his journeys, visions and dreams - surely he must have written about them as well.

He could write yet another book. The mother of a famous American is now residing amongst us, her son having been a West Point graduate, a general, and later a president.

I suddenly recall Harry's strange tales of visions and dreams, and then recall my own. I stop. No, although things do change, nothing can spoil the tranquility of Paradise. Everything is always perfect. Things cannot go wrong.

Thoughts turn to Ron Bristol. What a remarkable change he has made. For six more months after we had left, George and Flo remained with him, not in his ramshackle home, but in that strange and miraculous cave that seemed in every way like my parent's home. Very strange, yet that was how it was. Afterwards, for a while at least, Ron lived in the village of Peace, at first with George and Flo, and later wanting to live in a house of his own. Jenny and I visited him once; he seemed okay, quiet perhaps, but not unfriendly. That was the last time I had seen him. Nothing drastic happened, he just became restless, just wanted to explore, so George had been told. I then recall the incident within the Light more than two years ago, of beholding the angel called John, of him telling me that Ron now knew but had forgiven George as I had forgiven Ron, as we must indeed all forgive. That is how things are in Paradise; how things must be. In Paradise, we always learn and change for the good, at least eventually.

I am now almost finished with writing. I hear my family entering the house. Somehow, I also sense that Harry is not too far away. I also sense another change; the world itself is ever-changing, even here in Paradise. More people will be arriving, from other cultures and from other historical times. I now recall the time when Harry and I had been lying on our backs staring into the starry sky. Now I think of eternity, not just of space, but of time as well. Already so many changes have occurred, but what in a hundred, a thousand, a million, a billion or a trillion years? I suddenly think of dreams, of visions, of heaven, even oddly, of other worlds and dimensions, sending my mind into a dazzling kaleidoscope of ideas. But I am only fantasizing. I cannot at this stage know. However, what I do know is that whatever it may be, I know that God, love, beauty and happiness are all now ubiquitous and eternal. These things will never change. As for the rest, we will know in time. After all, ahead of us is eternity!

THE END

OR IS IT ONLY THE BEGINNING?
