731 | Soul Components

731 | Evan and His Father Discuss the Components of a Soul and Cosmic Energy

Chapter 1: Evan and His Dad Discuss the Reasoning Mind, Self-Identity, and Heart Chakra of the Soul

As Evan and his dad discuss the reasoning mind, self-identity, and heart chakra of the soul, the gloomy weather outside mirrors Evan's internal restlessness. Rain taps against Evan’s bedroom window, a soft, nervous rhythm under the low hum of his computer. His chemistry textbook lies open but untouched, highlighter uncapped and drying out on the page. On his desk, a half-finished sketch of a human body—organs labeled, arrows stabbing in every direction—stares up at him like an anatomy crime scene.

He spends all week memorizing this stuff: heart, lungs, kidneys, neurons firing. It all feels official. Scientific. Solid.

Tonight, it suddenly feels small.

Evan leans back in his chair and rubs his eyes. His chest feels tight, like there’s a question pressing against his ribs.

“I already know about my body’s various organs and parts,” he says, half to himself.

His dad stands in the doorway, mug of chamomile tea steaming in his hand. He has that look—the one that means he senses a big question coming from a mile away.

“What’s up?” his dad asks, stepping into the room.

Evan pivots in his chair to face him. He hesitates, then lets it spill.

“So… I already know how my body works. Mostly.” He taps the sketch with his pencil. “But what are the parts of my soul?”

The corners of his dad’s mouth lift, like he’s been waiting for this exact moment.

“Excellent question,” he says, easing down onto the edge of Evan’s bed. “What do you think?”

Evan looks at the sketch again. Veins. Muscles. It’s all so neatly mapped. His soul feels nothing like that—more like fog with teeth. Present. Slippery. Dangerous, maybe.

“Well,” he says slowly, “I don’t think my soul eats, drinks, or breathes, so it doesn’t need all these organs. My soul thinks, understands and makes decisions, so there has to be a mental part… like a brain or a mind. But not the same.”

His dad nods once. “I agree. Without a reasoning mind, free-will choice would be useless…”

Useless. The word hits harder than he expects. Evan thinks about the choices he makes every day—what to wear, who to sit with, what to say, what to hide. How many of those are actually free and how many are just him reacting, avoiding or protecting?.

“What else?” his dad asks quietly.

Evan chews the inside of his cheek. The next part is harder to name, but he feels it all the time.

“I don’t know what to call it,” he admits. “But my soul has this… independent, conscious identity. Like—I’m me. Not just a brain in a skull. I’ve got this weird combo of skills and powers and attitudes that let me deal with physical stuff and people. Or other souls, I guess.” He glances up, bracing for a smile or a joke. “The closest word I can think of is self. All the special stuff about my soul could be piled into one glob called my self-identity.”

The word "glob" leaves his mouth, and he instantly regrets it. He’s pretty sure philosophers don’t talk about soul-globs.

His dad doesn’t laugh. He tilts his head like he’s trying to see something around Evan he can’t quite point to.

“Are you referring to the talents of your perfect self,” he asks gently, “or your separated self? Your perfect self has many skills and abilities. But your fantasy-vacationing soul left a lot behind.” His mouth quirks. “Your perfect self reads other people’s minds easily, but your current self has created boundaries that make it hard to connect with other minds.”

Evan stares down at his hands. He imagines a version of himself—older, steadier, clearer—who looks straight at people and knows: liar, honest, cruel, safe. That version never panics in crowded hallways or replays conversations at 2 a.m. until every word sounds fake.

“These would only be the newly re-developed potentials my soul is aware of,” he says, trying out the words as he hears them in his head. “Reading people’s minds would be… really useful. I don’t always know who I can depend on.” His chest tightens. “I do it now sometimes. I get a feeling about people. But I don’t totally trust it.”

Faces flicker through his mind—group projects, fake smiles, what people say versus what they mean.

“I think there are… degrees,” he goes on, warming up. “Like levels of skill. Beginning, intermediate and advanced. Like leveling up in a game. You unlock a new power, then you keep upgrading it. I guess that’s what soul school is…”

His dad’s eyes light up. “I would imagine souls are learning to master different kinds of care-actors,” he says, emphasizing the pun. “Like humans mastering different jobs and careers. Souls are acquiring abilities to act out how they care about something.”

Evan snorts. “Care-actors. Wow. That’s a dad joke on a cosmic scale.”

Still, the image hooks him: people shaped by what they care about most—animals, justice, money, status. You could walk down a hallway and see it, like labels above their heads. Cares about power. Cares about belonging. Cares about looking perfect.

“I think souls must have a… center for caring,” Evan says. The thought surprises him by how right it feels. His voice drops. “The human heart is, like, the symbol of love. So maybe souls have a kind of heart, too. Not a pump. But some part where soul-caring gets generated, kept alive, and acted out…”

His dad leans back on his palms, eyes unfocusing, like he’s staring at something just beyond the ceiling.

“What you’re describing is called the heart chakra,” he says. “It’s the receiving and processing station for mystic light energy. Holy light always arrives with a divine purpose. The soul chooses whether to align with that purpose—or to use expanded free choice to twist it into something selfish and out of tune.”

Evan imagines it: thin threads of light sliding into his chest, swirling, waiting for orders and waiting to become something.

“Think of it like a bag of potting soil,” his dad continues. “It’s meant for seeds, food and flowers. But someone could mix it with water, make mud balls, and have a crazy mud fight. Fun for an hour. Afterward, there’s a filthy house, no food, and no fresh soil. The same resource. Different choice. The soul decides whether to work with the energy’s divine purpose or let the human ego waste it.”

Evan pictures himself holding a glowing bag of light instead of soil, weighing his options: grow something… or throw it.

“So far,” he says slowly, “our souls have a wise, reasoning mind, a unique self-identity, and a heart-chakra caring center…”

He looks at his half-finished drawing. For the first time all week, he realizes he is building a different kind of map—not of organs, but of something invisible.

And somehow, studying what he can’t see feels more honest than memorizing what he can.

Chapter 2: Evan Questions His Dad About How Holy Spirit Energy Vibrates as Positive or Negative Energy

While Evan questions his dad about how Holy Spirit energy vibrates as positive or negative energy, the dark evening deepens. The storm presses closer. Thunder rumbles low and distant, like something huge rolling over in its sleep. The overhead light is off; only the desk lamp burns, a small, warm circle of yellow like a fake sun.

Evan spins his chair fully toward his dad.

“Okay,” he says. “If the soul has all these parts, what about the… fuel? The stuff it runs on? The power?” The word feels clumsy in his mouth.

His dad lifts his mug like a tiny toast. “Energy,” he says. “Holy Spirit energy is never bad. But it does have higher and lower vibrations. Lighter and heavier. The divine will prefers the higher, lighter frequencies. That’s where virtues shine. The lower ones spin in a negative, counterclockwise, descending spiral. That’s the zone of anger, hatred, fear.”

In Evan’s mind, two spirals appear above his desk: one bright and spinning upward like a luminous tornado, the other dark and heavy, twisting down like water vanishing down a drain.

He frowns. The question that’s been quietly burning in the back of his mind ignites.

“So why does negative energy even exist at all if the Creator prefers positive?” he asks. His voice sharpens. “If there’s this divine mother flame or whatever, why not just make everything good from the start?”

He doesn’t say the rest: Why does my energy feel trapped in that downward spiral on school mornings? Why does my brain wake me up at 3 a.m. just to torture me?.

His dad inhales slowly, like he’s breathing in the thunder.

“Dense negative energy lacks the virtues that make it light,” he says. “It’s missing something that could be there. That absence makes it feel irritating, heavy and painful. When love twists into hate, all the virtues that flowed through that love can’t shine through the hate-tuned vibration.”

Evan thinks about that fast flip: liking to disgust, trust to suspicion, friendship to ghosting. How easy it is for something bright to sour into resentment.

“Entropy is like friction,” his dad goes on. “It promotes decay and natural decline. Like ripples in a pond that eventually go still. Cosmic energy, on the other hand, is a continuous flame. It wants to rise, to move toward harmony and higher vibration. Dense negative energy sinks toward a disordered, restless resting state.”

Cosmic energy. The phrase sends a faint shiver through Evan. He pictures a flame that never dies, always stretching upward, always trying to pull everything with it. Beside it, a thick gray sludge oozes down, heavy and unmoving.

“It seems logical,” Evan says, tapping his pencil against the desk, “that negative energy balances positive energy. Like, if you have too much light, everything floats away from Earth, right? Without dense, out-of-tune energy, there’d be virtues, and every soul would just—” he waves his pencil vaguely upward “—float into Heaven or something.”

He pauses, surprised by his own next thought.

“We react negatively because we care,” he says slowly. “Powerful negative emotions can be… useful, like an emergency thruster. Anger pushes people to protest, to make changes. Fear keeps us alive. Right?.”

He remembers students walking out of class on the news, crowds with homemade signs and raw voices. Anger turning into motion.

His dad nods once, but his eyes darken. “A soul’s accumulated dark, heavy energy becomes a magnet,” he says quietly. “It keeps attracting that soul back into another human body. The weight of what it has created pulls it down. It can’t ascend higher.”

Evan blows out a sharp breath. “So what,” he bursts out, louder than he intends. “Who cares? Being here or somewhere else—it’s all just part of the soul’s experience, right? We’re all one. The universe is one.”

He sweeps his hand around his room as if it’s the whole cosmos: posters on the wall, the dying plant in the corner, his buzzing phone lighting up with half-ignored notifications.

“Music has high and low notes,” he says. “Sometimes it’s fun to crawl around in dark, cold caves. Isn’t everything just… relative? Depends on your perspective?”

He thinks about teachers explaining “both sides” of an argument, even when one side clearly crushes people.

His dad straightens, voice steady but iron-hard.

“No,” he says. “Pretending everything is just relative denies the real difference between positive and negative energy. Success is more desirable than failure. Harmony feels better than chaos. Perfection is preferable to imperfection.”

He doesn’t sound harsh. He sounds like he’s describing gravity.

“This doesn’t mean failure, chaos, and imperfection are ‘bad,’” he adds. “But virtuous energy vibrates lighter and higher. Souls radiating virtuous, divine energy can live together in peace and harmony. Souls radiating anger, hatred and jealousy generate tension and violence. Souls are meant to live in community, not constant war.”

Evan thinks of the news—protests, shootings, wars. He thinks of school—lockers slamming, insults muttered under breath, rumors spreading like viruses—tension everywhere, just under the noise.

Community sounds like a fantasy. But a part of him wants it to be possible.

Chapter 3: Evan and His Dad Discuss Why Free Will Creates Negative Energy Under Cosmic Laws

A few days later, the question still won’t leave him alone, prompting Evan and his dad to discuss why free will creates negative energy under cosmic laws. The sky is clear now, scrubbed clean by the storm. Late-afternoon light slants through the windshield as his dad drives them home. Traffic crawls; brake lights flicker like red fireflies in a long, restless line.

Evan stares out at gray buildings, tired trees, and dirty snow piled on the sides of the highway. The world looks exhausted.

“I still don’t get it,” he says suddenly, breaking a long silence. His backpack bumps against his sneakers as the car slows again. “If the Creator made only positive energy, there’d be no violent criminals. No school shootings. No hate crimes. None of it.”

He does not say: maybe no panic attacks, either.

His dad’s fingers tighten a little on the steering wheel.

“Imagine someone walking on a mountain trail,” he says after a moment, “and stepping off the edge of a cliff. The absence of ground beneath their feet causes them to fall. It isn’t the Creator’s fault that there was no ground where they chose to step.”

The car rolls forward a few feet. A billboard slides by—smiling people in a luxury apartment complex, fake grass glowing too green.

“Or imagine someone driving,” his dad continues, “and turning the car straight into a brick wall. There are consequences for trying to drive through a solid wall. That doesn’t make the wall evil. There isn’t a road at that spot.”

Evan watches his own reflection ghost across the side window, features slightly warped by the glass.

“The absence of qualities that could be there,” his dad says, “is what makes energy negative. Energy always has the potential to be virtuous. When souls twist mystic fire with anger, hatred, resentment, that fire burns like a raging blaze, destroying everything in its path.”

In Evan’s mind, a white fire burns pure and high. Then anger stains it red. Then darker. Until all it does is devour.

“Then the Creator should give us the power to materialize a path across the canyon the second we step off,” Evan snaps. “A bridge appears under our feet so we don’t fall. We should be able to snap our fingers and drive through the brick wall unharmed.”

He knows he sounds ridiculous, but he doesn’t care. The rules of this universe feel rigged.

His dad’s mouth curves into a sad half-smile. “We do have that power,” he says quietly. “But we separated ourselves from it…”

Evan scoffs. The words still land like a needle sinking into cork—small, but impossible to ignore.

“There are tons of ways the universe could be designed so energy never turns negative,” Evan pushes on. His thoughts speed up; traffic still crawls. “Souls could own and control Heaven. They could demand whatever they want from the Creator.

“Souls should get all their wishes instantly without earning them. If the Creator is all-powerful, He could figure out a system. Everyone could live in their own private universe and do whatever they want.”

He pictures it: billions of custom-built video game worlds, everybody starring in their own perfectly edited life.

“Every soul could live in a personal game world,” he says, “where they can rewind time, undo mistakes, replay anything that feels good, forever…”

A memory flashes: him replaying the same level over and over to get a perfect score, as if perfection could erase the day he had in real life.

“You have to admit,” he says, turning toward his dad, “this universe with its cosmic laws and consequences needs a new version. A major programming upgrade…”

His voice drops, but the bitterness doesn’t.

“People with the least virtues keep attacking the ones with the most,” he says. Faces flicker in his mind: the quiet kid shoved in the hallway, the girl who starts a climate club and gets mocked for it. “The Creator should kick the unvirtuous souls out into a separate universe. Let the immoral live with each other. Let them bother themselves instead of the soul students.”

His dad’s gaze stays on the road, but his attention sharpens like someone turning a lens.

“Please continue,” he says.

It doesn’t sound like permission. It sounds like an invitation—to follow this thought all the way to its edge.

Chapter 4: Evan Suggests Separating Disobedient Souls from Soul Students

Later that night, Evan suggests separating disobedient souls from soul students to eliminate interference in the universe. That night, they sit at the kitchen table—the overhead light hums. Evan’s phone screen glows beside a half-eaten pizza, notifications piling up.

He drums his fingers against the table. The rant from the car ride replays, but now it’s rearranging itself, forming something sharper.

“Imagine souls playing in a symphony,” he says slowly. “An actual orchestra. The conductor cuts anyone who’s out of tune and not following directions. One drum off rhythm ruins everything. One cello playing the wrong notes wrecks the song.”

He looks up.

“Let those useless musicians play alone on the street corner,” he says. “If you leave them in the group and just hope they get better, they keep wrecking the music…”

His dad raises an eyebrow. The comparison is harsh. Evan knows it. It still feels uncomfortably logical.

“There’s more than enough space in the universe,” Evan goes on. “The Creator doesn’t have to mix all souls. Why let criminals and chaos-souls constantly hold back the ones actually trying to graduate?”

He thinks of school hallways—kids yelling, teachers worn down, the few who try getting drowned out.

“Picture a classroom,” he says, picking up his water glass and setting it down with a sharp thud, “where ninety percent of the students don’t care. They talk over the teacher, ignore the lesson, make so much noise the other ten percent can’t hear anything.”

His throat tightens. That part doesn’t feel hypothetical.

“There’s just too much opposition,” he says, voice dropping. “Too much interference for souls who actually want to learn and graduate. If the Creator really wants more souls to graduate, why not teleport all the bad people to another planet?”

He looks straight at his dad, daring him to say it’s wrong.

“Can I pray for that?” he asks.

His dad dabs grease from his fingers with a napkin. “You can try,” he says. “But first, what’s your definition of ‘bad guys’?”

Evan opens his mouth. Closes it again. The answer is obvious—until he has to say it out loud.

“Well, uh…” He stares at a smear of tomato sauce on the cardboard. “Maybe… all human criminals. And disobedient souls who quit school to do whatever they want.”

The second the words leave his mouth, they sound thin.

“The problem,” his dad says, “is that about ninety-nine percent of the population unknowingly creates more negative energy than positive. So if the Creator teleports all the ‘bad guys’ away…” He pauses. “Very few people are left…”

Evan blinks. “Ninety-nine percent?” he repeats. “That’d mean only one percent of the world are dedicated soul students.” He runs the numbers in his head and feels dizzy. “That’s, like, eighty million people. You’d need a huge island for that little group.”

He frowns. “But it has to be more than one percent who use more positive than negative energy. Most people are… decent. Honest. Respectable. Right?.”

He thinks of his friends. Some kind. Some careless. Some are casually cruel. Where do they fall on this invisible scale?.

“The selfish human ego controls most people,” his dad says. “They don’t know the difference between positive and negative energy. They think they’re ‘good’ people. But their self-image doesn’t change the vibration of their thoughts, feelings, and actions.”

Evan shifts back in his chair, suddenly uncomfortable in his own skin.

“Aren’t they automatically forgiven,” he asks, his voice tight, “if they just don’t know? If they’re blind to what their thoughts and feelings are doing?”

His dad shakes his head. “There’s some mercy for ignorance, mistakes, accidents,” he says. “But the negative outcomes don’t disappear. Energy still does what energy does.”

He lets out a breath, then continues.

“People have endless excuses for why they’re stressed, angry, or foolish,” he says. “They say, ‘It’s not my fault. I was drunk. I was distracted. It was just my brain’s chemistry. I was temporarily insane.”

The word insane lands in Evan’s chest like a stone. He thinks of his own spirals—the way his thoughts sometimes spin so fast he feels like he’s losing his grip. He wonders how much of that counts as a choice and how much is a storm hitting him from the outside.

He doesn’t ask.

Chapter 5: Evan and His Dad Explore How the Human Ego Untunes Mystic Energy

As they stroll outside, Evan and his dad explore how the human ego untunes mystic energy through everyday reactions and choices. The next afternoon, they walk through the park. The air hangs in that in-between temperature—not really warm, not really cold. A flat, pale sky presses low. Kids shout on the playground; a dog barks over and over, like it’s stuck in a loop.

Evan kicks a rock along the path. Leaves crunch under their shoes. The park looks calm, but his thoughts race.

“What do people actually do that creates negative energy?” he blurts. “I mean, besides obvious stuff—crimes, hurting people, that kind of thing.” He thinks of headlines: shootings, scams, scandals. “You said most people are misusing energy without even knowing it…”

He looks up. “So… what does that look like? For real?”

His dad nods slowly. “Good question,” he says. “Society has one set of morals, virtues, values. The divine universe has another. The divine standard expects perfection. Society tells souls to live in constant stress, insecurity, emotional ups and downs—and calls that normal.”

They pass a bench where a man in a suit scrolls furiously through his phone, jaw clenched, coffee going cold beside him.

“This environment,” his dad continues, “pushes humans to escape into fantasy and ignore cosmic Truth. A soul misaligns its energy when it uses free will outside cosmic reality, outside cosmic law, outside Truth.”

They walk in silence for a few steps. A skateboarder rattles past, earbuds in, eyes far away.

“When a soul separates from its higher, perfect self,” his dad says, “its vibration drops. It gets heavier. Most people live from their selfish human ego. Their higher soul doesn’t run their thoughts, feelings and actions. Commercials, trends, and the return of negative karma push their buttons instead. They usually have no idea why they want what they want. Honestly, most don’t even care.”

Evan thinks of the targeted ads on his feed that somehow know he’s tired and lonely before he does. The rush of wanting something he never knew existed five minutes earlier.

“Okay,” he says slowly. “That explains why people use so much negative energy. But what do they do? Like, on the ground level…”

His dad’s breath comes out in a faint cloud.

“That’s hard to describe,” he admits, “because there are so many tangled layers. The action itself might look fine. The feeling or motive underneath might not be…”

They turn onto a quieter path lined with bare trees.

“Plenty of people do their jobs well on the outside,” his dad says. “But inside, they’re stressed about politics, money, relationships. They smile, but feel jealous of richer customers. Or furious at everyone demanding instant service.”

Evan shifts his backpack, remembering the cashier last week who smiled perfectly while her eyes looked like all the light had been shut off.

“Some people hate their jobs but can’t quit,” his dad continues. “They resent their bosses for having power over them. Others move through their day braced to be robbed, criticized, or harmed. Every negative thought and feeling is justified in their own minds. ‘I deserve to be angry. I should be jealous. People should understand my pain and let me do whatever I want.”

The words shove at something raw in Evan. Too often, that inner voice sounds like his.

“The human brain can explain away anything,” his dad says softly. “Criminals believe they have good reasons for what they do. In their minds, it’s not a crime at all.”

A picture flashes in Evan’s mind—people walking through the city trailed by smoky halos of resentment and fear, the air around them thick with invisible static.

“So,” he asks, “free will decides the quality of the energy we use?”

“There are many levels of conscious and unconscious choices all day long,” his dad replies. “Every one of them retunes our aura and energy. Toward a more virtuous frequency—or a more unvirtuous one.”

Evan feels it then, almost physically—a faint pressure in the air around his body, like the room is a radio station he’s constantly tuning without realizing it.

The idea scares him.

It also, in a small, stubborn way, gives him hope.

Chapter 6: Evan Asks His Dad if the Creator is Responsible for Souls Lacking Discipline and Wisdom

Feeling frustrated, Evan asks his dad if the Creator is responsible for souls lacking discipline and wisdom, wrestling with the origins of human imperfection. That evening, Evan sits on the edge of his bed, hoodie still on, backpack dropped by his feet. Outside, daylight leaks away, turning his window into a dark mirror. His phone buzzes on the nightstand—group chats, memes, drama he doesn’t have the energy to respond to.

“I think I’m starting to get it,” he says, staring at the carpet. “But it still feels… unfair.”

He looks up. His dad leans against the doorframe, arms folded, giving him space to think—but not escape.

“It’s not people’s fault that they’re weak and manipulated,” Evan says. “They wouldn’t be manipulated if the Creator had made them disciplined in the first place.”

The frustration in his voice surprises even him.

“The Creator should’ve given souls the vision to see who’s trying to control them,” he says, words coming faster now. “He should’ve given us the power and determination to block negative thoughts from ever getting in. He should’ve made us perfect so we wouldn’t have to struggle and suffer.”

His throat tightens. The words feel dangerous, like he’s picking a fight with the sky itself.

“This is all the Creator’s fault,” he finishes, “for not thinking ahead when He made us…”

The accusation hangs between them like a live wire.

His dad doesn’t flinch.

“Souls are originally made disciplined, determined, and powerful,” he says calmly. “Perfect souls can resist manipulation. But free choice has a vulnerability. It lets souls demand freedom outside cosmic law and Truth.”

He steps into the room, voice low.

“When souls separate from their perfect selves,” he says, “they give up the discipline and power that come from living inside cosmic law and Truth. That surrender makes them easy to control—for anyone with selfish motives.”

Evan pulls his knees up slightly and wraps his arms around them, like he’s bracing for impact.

“Souls who stay aligned with their perfect self in consciousness and free will,” his dad goes on, “never lose their internal standards of morals, virtues and values. Staying in sync with divine law and Truth shields them from temptations to be selfish and immoral.”

Evan frowns.

“So what’s the real difference,” he asks, “between the souls who stayed aligned and the ones who split away from their perfect self? They all started with the same moral standards and virtues. What made some of them want extra freedom outside the rules? Why didn’t all of them have that weakness? Wouldn’t that flaw mean they weren’t truly perfect to begin with?”

His dad sits beside him on the bed, hands loosely clasped.

“They stopped aligning with divine law and Truth,” he says. “So they lost the shield. They chose to stop synchronizing their will with the divine will. They wanted to do whatever they wanted—whether or not it matched the larger plan.”

Evan scrubs a hand through his hair.

“Yeah, but why?” he pushes. “Why choose that? What kind of weakness was built into them that made them want freedom outside divine law? Why didn’t every soul have that same weak point?”

His dad thinks for a moment, then speaks slowly.

“Imagine a group of kayakers heading down a rapid river,” he says. “They choose that river, knowing it’s hard. Those who don’t yet have the skills or strength aren’t allowed there under the safety rules. But the ones who do go—whether they fully understand the risk or not—are vulnerable. They can still get flipped, injured or nearly drowned.”

Evan flashes back to whitewater camp when he’s twelve—the shock of cold water, the panic, the moment he isn’t sure which way is up.

“All beings are evolving,” his dad continues. “Even perfect beings. Perfect means that, at their current stage, their abilities and character match what they’re meant to handle. They still have more to master—especially in how they direct Holy Spirit energy and live out virtues. Partial mastery doesn’t equal imperfection. It equals ‘not done yet.’”

He studies Evan’s face to make sure the words land.

“The soul’s perfect self starts as a perfect being,” he says, “but with many levels still ahead. Some souls develop stronger discipline, determination, and power. That keeps them aligned with divine will. Others don’t build enough wisdom and virtues to keep their desires from drifting off course.”

Evan bites his lower lip.

“Mastery of power must be balanced with mastery of wisdom and virtues,” his dad says. “Some souls chase power first. They want more ability, more control. They don’t balance that with wisdom. Their willpower becomes stronger than the virtues meant to guide it. So instead of serving the divine thrust, their willpower starts serving their cravings.”

He pauses.

“That weakness is naturally inherent,” he finishes. “Like free power. Power that isn’t fully trained yet…”

A sharp, strange laugh escapes Evan. “Like handing a kid a stick of dynamite,” he says.

The image is chilling—a small hand holding something capable of leveling a building.

And he knows kids like that. Teens with too much power and not enough wisdom. Sometimes, if he’s honest, he feels like one of them.

Chapter 7: Evan and His Dad Discuss How Perfect Souls Can Fail and Slowly Learn

Sitting outside, Evan and his dad discuss how perfect souls can fail and slowly learn over the course of multiple lifetimes. A week later, the sky bleeds orange and pink as the sun sets behind the trees. Evan and his dad sit on the back porch steps. Crickets chirp in the grass; somewhere, a neighbor’s TV blares a laugh track that doesn’t match Evan’s mood.

He traces a crack in the wooden step with his fingertip.

“Do perfect beings ever fail at what they try to do?” he asks.

His dad chuckles softly. “Of course,” he says. “Being wise, virtuous, and powerful doesn’t guarantee success every time.”

Evan squints at the darkening sky. “Wouldn’t perfect wisdom stop them from trying something risky in the first place?” he presses.

His dad smiles. “That’s a profound question,” he says.

Evan rolls his eyes. “You always say that when you don’t have a straight answer…”

His dad laughs, caught.

“The hard part about that question,” he says, “is defining failure. Beginner kayakers flip their boats a lot. That’s expected. They haven’t failed just because they’re upside down. The important part is learning how to roll back up. To come out of the water and keep going.”

Evan leans his head against the porch post.

“So you want to redefine ‘failure,’” he says, “as just ‘not having success yet.’”

He thinks about the tests he bombs, conversations he ruins, friendships that fade anyway. Calling all that ‘not-success-yet’ feels generous.

His dad gestures out toward the tree line.

“Watch people around you,” he says. “Their souls still carry the same desires that once pushed them to demand freedom outside the divine director’s guidance. They still want to step where there’s no path. They still want to drive where there’s no road.”

He sighs, long and tired.

“Nothing has changed,” he says quietly, “after thousands of lifetimes with the option to do anything they want…”

Bitterness curls under Evan’s ribs.

“Talk about slow learners,” he mutters. “By now, the Creator should be fed up with their disobedient, lazy rebellion and just… get rid of them. Toss them into outer darkness. Or into some lake of fire…”

He knows he’s stealing old religious words, but they fit too well.

His dad shakes his head. “I’m glad you aren’t the school principal,” he says. “The real problem is: where do you draw the line? A million years is not long for the Creator. He doesn’t run out of patience as fast as humans do.”

The sky deepens to navy; crickets grow louder.

“A soul that misuses fifty percent of its energy,” his dad continues, “still uses the other fifty percent well. Even criminals master certain wisdom and virtues. Cosmic law automatically reduces their daily energy and then sends their mistuned energy back to them as a teacher.”

Evan hugs his knees to his chest.

“I don’t think that’s working,” he says flatly. “The system needs a complete reboot…”

His dad stares into the trees like he’s looking through them to something far beyond.

“This is the last embodiment for many souls,” he says quietly.

Evan blinks. “Great,” he mutters. “Overpopulation in the ghost world. That’ll be fun…”

He tries to turn it into a joke, but it doesn’t land. If this really is the last round for many souls, a new question rises inside him, sharp and cold:

What does that mean for me?.

Chapter 8: Evan Learns About Investing Positive Energy for the Afterlife and Summarizes Cosmic Laws

While browsing a bookstore, Evan learns about investing positive energy for the afterlife and summarizes cosmic laws with his father. A few days later, the air in the used bookstore smells like dust and old paper. Tall shelves press in on all sides, overflowing with books that look like they’ve already lived several lives.

His dad walks ahead, trailing his fingers along the spine of a beat-up philosophy book.

“Have patience and faith,” he says over his shoulder. “This is a rare opportunity to master more wisdom, virtues and soul powers.”

He stops and turns to face Evan between two crowded shelves.

“You can choose to be a bright example for people around you,” he says. “This lifetime is your chance to invest. The energy you use well now turns into credits for your afterlife. Your soul can make investments that pay huge dividends after you graduate.”

Evan picks up a battered fantasy novel with a dragon half-peeled off the cover. He flips it open, then snaps it shut.

“Isn’t that just soul-selfish?” he asks. “Aren’t I supposed to act out of pure kindness, not because I’m waiting for rewards?”

He leans back against the shelf. “Planning to get… kickback from my good works after I graduate sounds sketchy. Unvirtuous. Like spiritual insider trading…”

His dad smiles.

“I hope that’s not how your teachers are told to invest,” he says. “Your soul is learning to use energy virtuously and wisely. Planning for future returns doesn’t mean being greedy. It means setting things in motion now that will help other souls later.”

He moves down the aisle, tapping a row of self-help titles.

“Those souls might not have bodies yet,” he says, “but you can still create something for them. Write a book. Produce a movie. Invent a product. Build a spiritual teaching center. That kind of planning for your soul’s future is not unvirtuous—and doesn’t break cosmic law.”

Evan looks around the bookstore with new eyes. Every book becomes a long-ago investment, still paying out in questions and feelings to strangers who weren’t even born when it was written.

“Let me see if I can summarize,” he says after a moment, carefully returning the fantasy book to its slot. “It’s not the Creator’s fault that some souls took a long vacation in fantasyland…”

He walks slowly down the aisle, fingers trailing along faded spines.

“When they jump into bodies in the world of illusion,” he says, “souls radiate their thoughts and feelings as energy—either positive or negative. Dense, untuned energy sinks clump together with similar energy and form a magnet.”

He stops in front of a tower of used textbooks and stares at them, feeling a strange kinship—worn, marked up, passed around.

“That magnetic pull keeps dragging the soul back into new human bodies,” he continues, “so it can retune and reclaim all that lost energy. Selfish, indulgent souls gradually get less energy to play with—and more of their own twisted energy slams back into them.”

He turns to his dad with a crooked half-smile.

“And my dad is obviously signing up to teach a soul-investment class at my school next semester,” he adds.

His dad laughs, shaking his head. “That’s a great summary,” he says, “except for that last part. The FBI would probably investigate me for spiritual securities fraud.”

Evan laughs too, but inside, something slides into a new place.

He still doesn’t fully understand cosmic law, mystic fire, or why some souls obsess over chaos while others strain toward harmony. But the next time he feels his own anger rising, the next time he sees cruelty in the cafeteria or cruelty online, he knows he won’t just see bad behavior.

He will see energy—dark, restless, spiraling.

He will also see light.

For the first time, he wonders if his choices—tiny, awkward, everyday—might be doing something real in the invisible world. If every thought and feeling is a small push, a ripple nudging his energy either up into the light or down into the spiral.

That thought doesn’t cure his anxiety. It doesn’t erase the pain he sees around him.

But it gives him a mystery big enough to cling to.

A mystery worth staying alive to solve.

Chapter Synopsis: Evan and his dad discuss the invisible anatomy of the soul, exploring the reasoning mind, independent self-identity, and the heart chakra center for caring. Their conversation shifts to the nature of Holy Spirit energy, examining why dense negative energy vibrates downward through anger and hatred while cosmic energy constantly strives toward virtue and higher harmony. They examine why free will creates negative energy when souls step outside divine law, how the human ego untunes mystic energy, and why learning, failing, and investing positive energy across multiple lifetimes builds spiritual dividends for the afterlife.

Core Themes & Laws:

• The soul possesses non-physical components including a reasoning mind for free-will choices, a unique self-identity, and a heart chakra that acts as the receiving and processing station for mystic light energy.

• Holy Spirit energy is inherently positive, but when twisted by the human ego through anger, hatred, and selfishness, it forms a descending, counterclockwise negative spiral that acts as a magnet pulling souls back into physical bodies.

• Free will gives souls the vulnerability to step outside cosmic law, which results in negative energy when human willpower serves personal cravings instead of divine wisdom.

• Society's commercial and commercialized push for stress, insecurity, and instant gratification trains the human ego to misalign daily thoughts and actions from spiritual truth.

• Earth acts as a temporary school where souls can invest positive energy and virtuous choices into the future, yielding spiritual dividends and credits for the afterlife.

Key Entities Featured in this Document:

• Evan: A restless teenager navigating chemistry homework, existential questions, and the hidden mechanics of soul energy alongside his father.

• Dad: Evan's mentor and father who guides him through invisible spiritual anatomy, cosmic energy vibrations, and soul development.