732 | Become Spiritual Intercessor

732 | Evan and His Father Discuss Becoming a Spiritual Intercessor

Chapter 1: Evan and His Father Discuss the Role of a Mystic Intercessor

As the storm outside intensified, Evan and his father discuss the role of a mystic intercessor, exploring the deep spiritual connection between humanity and unseen forces. The rain sounds different at night. It taps at the old windows of the Sweeney house like it wants in, like it carries messages from somewhere else.

Evan sits cross‑legged on his bed, hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands, notebook open in front of him. The page is mostly blank except for three words he has scrawled in the corner: Who am I?

Down the hall, a door squeaks. Soft slipper‑shuffles move toward his room.

“Evan?” his dad calls quietly. “You still awake?”

Evan hesitates. Sleep is safer. Sleep means he doesn’t have to think about the fight he overhears between his parents, or how school feels like a pressure cooker, or the endless news alerts—wildfires, protests, kids his age disappearing into addictions and algorithms.

But tonight, something in him stirs. A restless, curious ache. It refuses to shut up.

“Yeah,” Evan says. “Come in.”

Dad steps into the room with that careful, respectful way he always has when Evan is deep in thought. He drags the old desk chair around and sits facing the bed.

He folds his hands. He doesn’t look like any guru—just a tired middle‑aged science teacher who stays up too late grading quizzes. But his eyes have that strange brightness they always get right before he says something big.

“One of the greatest spiritual talents a soul can develop,” Dad says softly, “is to become a mystic intercessor.”

Evan snorts before he can stop himself. “Mystic intercessor? Sounds like an intergalactic traveler. Or a Marvel character.”

Dad smiles. “It is. Just not with capes.” He leans back, searching for the right words. “Think of it as a spy behind enemy lines, reporting information to headquarters. The beings beyond the physical world have a lot of powerful energy, but they need an on‑site spotter to tell them where to drop water on the forest fires.”

Outside, thunder growls faintly across the sky, underlining the image.

In his mind, Evan sees it: dark smoke twisting over a burning forest, invisible planes circling above, loaded with water—or light—waiting for a signal.

He chews the inside of his cheek.

“So… a mystic intercessor is like a spiritual firefighter’s assistant?” he asks. “Or, wait—if everyone can have the power to boss around advanced mystic beings, how do those super beings know when to say yes or no?”

Dad’s eyes light up. “Excellent question.”

And then he stalls.

Evan narrows his eyes. “There you go, stalling again,” he says. “From what I see, the world is full of desperate people shouting at their Creator to do things for them. They act like their all‑powerful Creator is Santa Claus, waiting for people to say nice things and hand over their wish lists. They think his main job is to make them happy.” He shakes his head. “I don’t believe that’s how things work.”

Dad chuckles, but his face turns thoughtful. “Okay,” he says slowly. “I’ll stall again, but this time I throw it back to you. Pretend you are the almighty Creator. Your loyal subjects line up, asking for protection and help. How does it play out?”

The room goes quiet except for the rain and the low hum of Evan’s old laptop on the desk.

Evan imagines a line stretching out from heaven’s gates—not angels and saints, but people in hoodies and jeans. People clutching protest signs. People with tear‑streaked faces and cracked phone screens.

He looks down at his notebook. When he speaks, it feels like he’s reading from an inner script.

“First off, not everyone gets in line,” he says. “They have to be part of my kingdom, and they have to identify themselves and earn my attention. They have to offer me something in return. Their wants have to be in harmony with mine.”

He hears how harsh it sounds, but he keeps going.

“Selfish desires keep them outside my front gate. People who walk up angry, fearful, and full of hate can’t be trusted in my presence. Anyone with non‑virtuous intentions is turned away. My outer guards immediately reject desires laced with dishonesty, revenge, or greed.”

Dad raises his eyebrows. “You’re really picky,” he says. “With all those restrictions, how many actually get their request to the king?”

“Not very many,” Evan answers, surprised by how quickly the words come. “What’s the point of listening when I’m just going to say no?”

“You could tell them why you’re saying no,” Dad suggests.

Evan lets out a short, humorless laugh. He already sees the chaos.

“That,” he says, “is a whole different can of worms for my teams of gatekeepers, advisors, and counselors. No matter what I say, they twist it until all their problems become my fault.”

His voice changes, slipping into the bitter tone he hears online again and again.

“Souls cry out, ‘You should do what I demand because you made me what I am. You created me this way, with these desires. You’re all‑powerful, all‑forgiving, and you can easily grant my wishes.’”

Dad chuckles sadly. “Sounds a lot like what my little kids used to say when they wanted something from me.”

Evan glances at him and remembers grocery store tantrums, his little sister’s high‑pitched cries, the way Dad’s eyes always look tired but kind.

“I gave up trying to control you,” Evan says slowly, “and learned to negotiate instead.”

Dad smiles. The air between them softens, a quiet thread of shared history pulling them closer instead of apart.

“What you’re doing right now,” Dad says, “that’s the beginning of intercession. Seeing the bigger picture. Asking what actually makes sense.”

Still, something unsettled twists in Evan’s chest. If a Creator is that selective, what chance does someone like him have—someone who doesn’t even know who he is yet?

Outside, the rain starts to fall harder, like the world is leaning in to listen.

Chapter 2: Evan Learns How Negative Emotions Block Spiritual Assistance

The following evening, Evan learns how negative emotions block spiritual assistance, realizing that selfish desires hold humanity back. The next night, the storm has passed, but the sky still feels heavy. Streetlights blur in the mist. Somewhere down the block, a dog barks at nothing.

Evan sprawls on the living room rug, scrolling his feed without really seeing it. Protest clips. Climate disasters. Another fake‑perfect influencer pushing a lifestyle he knows is edited and sold.

His chest tightens. Society looks like a glitchy video game seconds away from crashing.

Dad walks in with two mugs of hot chocolate and sets one beside him.

“Round two?” Dad asks.

Evan shrugs, but he sits up. He does want more. More answers. More… something.

“So,” he says, circling back to the thought that needles him all day, “back to my question. How do super beings know when to say yes or no when people make demands? No more stalling.”

Dad sinks onto the couch. The springs creak under his weight.

“Unacceptable wishes get an automatic no,” he says. His tone is calm and steady. “Desires born from negative emotions and unvirtuous thoughts don’t have enough virtuous thrust to rise very high.”

Evan frowns, turning that over.

Dad leans forward, hands shaping an invisible rocket in the air. “Imagine you’re launching a rocket to the moon with a note for the man in the moon. If the rocket is stuffed with heavy, corrupted feelings, it never makes it out of the Earth’s atmosphere.” He brings his palms down, like gravity slams the rocket back. “Selfish ties to the physical world drag it down.”

In Evan’s imagination, dark, oily smoke pours from a rocket trying to take off. It shudders, sputters, then drops, chained in place by invisible weights of fear and greed. The air around it turns thick and muddy, swirling low instead of lifting.

Dad’s voice softens.

“You’re on your own when it comes to the things of just this world,” he says. “Your free will lets you practice using your mystic senses and powers to build your life on Earth.”

Evan blows out a sharp breath.

“That’s why society is such a mess,” he mutters. “People can experiment and either reap rewards or suffer consequences.”

He thinks of kids at school trying drugs to feel something. Of message boards where hatred spreads like a virus.

“Kids use imaginative play to safely practice a range of emotions,” Evan says, half to Dad, half to himself. “Teens test their bodies and endurance. Adults work to drag their creative thoughts into physical reality.”

Dad nods slowly. “Exactly. Your mystic teachers don’t care about your bank account, your follower count, or your popularity. They don’t focus on your body’s weight, strength, or beauty. They don’t intend to make your life happy and pain‑free.”

He pauses, letting that sink in.

“Your master teachers care about your soul. They want it to develop and evolve.”

Evan studies his hands.

“So if my request isn’t good for my soul,” he says quietly, “I get a no.”

“Most likely,” Dad agrees. “You still have your mystic senses and skills to chase your human desires, but you get no extra help from your sponsors. Instead, your teachers try to inspire you to move in a more virtuous direction.”

Faces flash in Evan’s mind—celebrities drowning in wealth, politicians bending crowds like puppets, influencers selling every last piece of themselves.

“Then why,” he demands, “do so many non‑virtuous people have extreme power, wealth, and fame?”

Dad doesn’t flinch. “They’ve developed some of their talents,” he says, “and they get help from their non‑virtuous sponsors.”

A chill runs down Evan’s spine.

He imagines shadowy figures standing behind powerful people, feeding them energy like dark lightning. Jagged pulses crawl along their bodies, lighting them from within with something that looks strong—but feels wrong.

“I get it,” Evan says slowly, his voice edged with bitter humor. “They attend the talent classes and skip the courses on wisdom and virtue. They’re not soul‑smart enough to see the long‑term price of getting help from dark energy.”

Dad sighs and rubs his face. “When children are told their existence is a cosmic accident,” he says, “it’s hard for them to find a purpose beyond this Earth. When morality becomes relative, not absolute, ‘me first’ becomes the rule for what’s moral. Other souls stop mattering when you’re obsessed with protecting your own right to do whatever you want.”

The words hang in the air like smoke.

Evan thinks of classmates who treat ‘doing what I want’ like a religion and laugh at anyone who believes in anything bigger than themselves. He thinks of himself, pinned between cynicism and longing.

If there is some cosmic classroom, he wonders, which classes is he skipping without even knowing it?

Outside, a siren wails somewhere in the distance, then fades. The world keeps spinning, messy and burning, while two figures in a small living room talk about rockets that never reach the moon.

Chapter 3: Evan Questions His Father About Gaining Spiritual Approval

Seeking clarity on his cosmic education, Evan questions his father about gaining spiritual approval for his unselfish petitions. Days pass. School grinds on.

Group projects where no one actually works together. Hallway drama. Teachers who either don’t care at all or care so much it feels like drowning. Posters about mental health were taped right next to signs explaining lockdown drills.

During lunch, Evan watches everyone around him. Some stare blankly at their phones. Some simmer with rage over unfair grades, racist comments and rules that feel designed to be broken.

Everyone wants something.

But who is actually listening?

That night, Evan finds his dad at the kitchen table, grading papers under the harsh overhead light. The room smells like coffee and leftover tomato sauce.

Evan drops into the chair across from him.

“So far,” he says without easing in, “everything is about denials. What do I have to do to get an approval?”

Dad sets his red pen down and gives Evan his full attention.

“There are two types of intercessor petitions,” Dad says. “Personal, or beyond yourself. I don’t say ‘selfish’ or ‘unselfish.’”

He taps the table with one finger, a soft, steady rhythm.

“If you ask for help with a personal soul goal, unselfishly, your master teachers welcome it. A lot of your requests are actually the result of their earlier nudges and inspiration.”

Evan blinks. “Nice trick,” he says dryly. “First, they tell me what to do. Then they only help me if I ask for help doing the thing they told me to do in the first place.”

Dad laughs. “I never thought of it that way. When your teacher gives you homework, he’s happy to help you—but he’s not going to do it for you. And he’s willing to help in other areas as long as it benefits your education.”

Evan leans back and stares up at the ceiling—the kitchen light flickers, like it’s also thinking about all this.

“It all feels either over‑controlled or totally random,” Evan says. “Either my teachers control me because they want what’s best, or I get used by dark, selfish beings who want to drain my soul energy. My teachers help me if I’m befriending Truth. I fail my tests if I think, feel, or do the wrong thing.”

Dad tilts his head. “So would you rather your high school teachers just pass every student, whether they learn anything or not?” he asks quietly. “No answers marked wrong. No Truth, no lies. Everyone is always right, no matter what they say or do?”

Images flash in Evan’s mind: students who never show up still getting A’s. Cheaters praised—no difference between effort and apathy.

His stomach twists.

“No,” he bursts out. “No, and no. Universal equal correctness for every student is useless. If there are no wrong answers, there are no facts. No truths.”

The words feel too big for him, but they’re real.

Somewhere inside, a hidden compass twitches.

Dad studies him with quiet pride but doesn’t say it. He nods, like they’ve placed another piece of a puzzle whose picture they can’t quite see yet.

The overhead light steadies.

Chapter 4: Evan Discovers How to Ask Unseen Sponsors for Soul Guidance

During a quiet weekend afternoon, Evan discovers how to ask unseen sponsors for soul guidance, shifting his perspective on life. Saturday afternoon, the sky turns a flat, colorless gray.

Evan lies on the patchy grass in the backyard, hood up, earbuds dangling but silent. The clouds above him look like smudged eraser marks.

He feels suspended between everything: childhood and adulthood, belief and disbelief, anger and hope. His therapist calls it “transition stress.” Evan calls it “being alive in 2026.”

The sliding door clacks open. Dad steps out in a sweatshirt and sits on the back step.

For a while, they breathe the same cold air.

“Everything keeps circling back to some mysterious universal plan,” Evan says finally. “You keep hinting that life turns wonderful if I plug into this mystical work‑study program that no one advertises clearly. All I get are slogans and hints.” He lets out a frustrated sigh. “Right now, I’m willing to trust that there’s a divine program and that my mystic teachers want what’s best for a virtuous soul. My problem is this: you tell me there’s a powerful way to ask for help, but you don’t tell me how to actually get what my soul needs to evolve.”

Dad stays quiet for a moment, watching a leaf tumble along the fence line.

“I’m trying,” he says at last. “But it’s a complicated web of motivation, intention, and soul mastery.” He looks at the worn fence, then back at Evan. “You’re already ahead of most teens if you’re even willing to trust master teachers who are wiser, more virtuous, and more powerful than you.”

Evan doesn’t feel ahead. He feels lost in a maze with no map. But he listens.

“You’re working to connect with your higher self as your life guide,” Dad continues, “instead of blindly trusting your human emotions and instincts. But you’re trying to skip the wisdom and virtue classes and jump straight into the advanced courses in power.”

Evan presses his hands into the cold grass. In his mind, a course catalog appears:

Cosmic Engineering 401, Timeline Manipulation 502, Intro to Humility 101, Advanced Compassion Lab

Of course, he wants to sign up for the cool powers first.

“To sum it up,” he says slowly, trying to put it in his own words, “I can become an intercessor for wealthy beings with spiritual energy to invest. I act as an on-the-ground observer, pointing out where these beings can help soul students master their talents. I identify places where soul students are oppressed. I locate where dark forces are attacking souls. I tell these abundant beings about chances to protect souls who actually deserve help. I ask, out loud, for their help in developing my own soul so I can become a better intercessor.”

As he speaks, something invisible shifts.

He imagines rivers of light flowing overhead, carrying energy from unseen sponsors to kids in crisis. When he focuses, he almost feels a subtle current move through his chest, like a warm breeze nudging him toward courage.

For the first time, the word intercessor doesn’t sound like science fiction.

It sounds like a job description he might actually want.

Chapter 5: Evan Realizes He Can Call Upon His Higher Self for Spiritual Authority

Amidst his homework, Evan realizes he can call upon his higher self for spiritual authority to help others in need. Sunday evening, the house smells like laundry detergent and leftover pizza. Evan and his dad sit at the dining table, textbooks and notebooks spread between them. Evan’s math homework sits untouched. His body is at the table; his mind is somewhere else entirely.

“What do I have to do,” Evan asks suddenly, slicing through the silence, “to get a favorable reception when I ask for protection, assistance, and training? How do I make sure my observations are taken seriously?”

Dad smiles faintly. “I admire your persistence,” he says. “Basically, you have to build credibility. The wealthy beings have to trust what you ask for.”

He laces his fingers together.

“Over thousands of years, your soul builds a reputation. Your soul has to maintain good momentum on an inner outpost, feeding information to divine graduates. Your soul establishes such a strong rapport that sponsors who know you trust you and, in a sense, obey you.”

Evan swallows. Thousands of years. Compared to that, high school feels both tiny and enormous.

“When I make a bank withdrawal,” he says, searching for something concrete, “the teller needs my ID. I have to prove I’m allowed to give instructions. Once I prove my rights, the teller does what I tell her—within legal limits.”

Dad nods. “An intercessor goes one step further. They can claim to represent someone much greater. Your evolving soul is just an extension of a far greater part of you. You can call on your higher self to speak and act through you.”

A tingling crawls up Evan’s spine as Dad continues.

“You can claim the authority to be an instrument of a higher being. An intercessor makes requests in the name of their spiritual father.”

Evan sits with that.

“So it’s like me going into a store to buy something in my father’s name,” he says slowly. “‘In my father’s name, John Smith, I ask for a gallon of white paint.’ I have permission to act like my father, even though I don’t yet have all his qualities.”

He pictures himself at a counter, clutching a list.

“I read the list of what my father wants. The clerk makes it seem like my father is the one reading. The clerk even lets me sign my father’s name on the credit slip. The clerk doesn’t trust me on my own, but because I use my father’s name, I borrow his credibility and can give instructions.”

As he talks, Evan senses something—a tall presence of light standing just behind him, steady and calm, a hand resting gently on his shoulder. The power isn’t his. Not exactly. But it flows through him when he chooses alignment instead of ego.

Dad’s eyes soften.

“A group of intercessors can make a petition together,” he adds. “If a hundred people ask for the same thing in unison, the response can speed up.”

Evan grins, remembering. “I saw that happen at school,” he says. “One kid asked the principal for monthly dances. He said no. The next week, half the school stood outside his window chanting, ‘We want school dances.’ We got our dances.”

Dad laughs. “I notice the same thing when my three children team up, begging to go out for pizza. You all want the same thing at the same time, and I have to say yes.”

Evan shakes his head, still smiling. The examples are silly, but the pattern is clear: unity multiplies power.

“To summarize,” he says, feeling the words settle like both an ending and a beginning, “the most successful intercessor has a trustworthy, unselfish reputation, acts as an emissary of more advanced beings, and works together with other intercessors.”

He pauses.

In his own mind, he adds one more line:

And learns who he really is along the way.

In that moment, he feels a current rise inside him—not a dramatic lightning strike, but a steady, glowing thread that runs from somewhere deep within up into the unseen sky.

It feels like a quiet yes.

He still doesn’t know exactly where he belongs. He doesn’t know how he’ll face the prejudice at his school, the injustice in his country, the environmental chaos on the news, or the private storms that rip through his own mind.

But he knows this much: he can watch. He can care. He can speak. He can ask.

And maybe—just maybe—he can become a spy behind enemy lines, armed with nothing but truth, compassion, and a stubborn refusal to give up on the idea that souls can evolve.

The page‑turning mystery of his own life is only just beginning.

Chapter Synopsis: Evan and his father discuss the spiritual role of a mystic intercessor, comparing spiritual spotters to agents who report conditions on the ground so higher beings can direct light and help where it is needed. Through ongoing conversations, Evan learns how negative emotions and selfish desires block spiritual assistance, why requests born of fear or greed are automatically denied, how unselfish personal growth goals align with higher teachings, and how an intercessor builds spiritual authority and credibility by invoking their higher self and working in unity with others.

Core Themes & Laws:

• A mystic intercessor acts as a spiritual spotter on the ground, identifying where souls are struggling or under attack and asking higher beings for assistance.

• Requests driven by negative emotions, fear, and unvirtuous desires lack the spiritual thrust to rise above Earth's atmosphere, resulting in automatic denials.

• Master teachers focus primarily on evolving and maturing the soul rather than granting superficial human wishes or making lives pain-free.

• Successful intercessors build long-term spiritual credibility and can draw on the authority of their higher self—acting in the name of a higher spiritual parent to deliver petitions.

• Collective unity among intercessors multiplies spiritual influence and accelerates a favorable response, much like children teaming up for a shared request.

Key Entities Featured in this Document:

• Evan: A questioning teenager navigating modern stressors, existential doubts, and the training of an aspiring mystic intercessor.

• Dad: Evan's mentor and father who guides him through complex spiritual mechanics and intercession principles.