940 | Limiting Grief Wall

940 | Rev Experiences Grief Over His Father and Removes His Emotional Defense Wall

Chapter 1: Rev Experiences Grief Over His Dead Father and Speaks to His Crystic Conscience

As Rev experiences grief over his dead father and speaks to his Crystic Conscience, the heavy reality of his loss begins to shatter his defenses. The world keeps moving, even when a heart stops.

Cars still pass on the street outside Rev’s townhouse. Neighbors still argue about politics on their porches. Somewhere, someone is uploading another video of a prank gone wrong. The planet does not pause for any one person.

But inside Rev’s living room, time is different.

Rev is fifty years old and feels fourteen.

His father has just died.

The funeral is over. The sympathy texts have slowed. The fridge is still crowded with casseroles from people who do not know what else to do. Rev sits on the edge of the worn couch, elbows on his knees, staring at nothing.

Tears pour out of his eyes without asking his permission.

“My father has died,” Rev says out loud, voice cracked, “and I am feeling very strange. Tears are uncontrollably pouring out of my eyes, and my heart has a gaping hole filled with painful fire.”

His chest actually burns, like someone has carved out a piece of him and stuffed the space with coals.

“I can’t believe I am crying,” he says. “I never liked my dad, and I thought I would rejoice when he was finally out of my life.”

All through his teens, twenties and thirties, he plays the rebel. Evan, his older brother, listens to their father’s mystic lectures about souls and the afterlife. He rolls his eyes, smokes weed behind the garage, and tells his friends his dad is a controlling religious freak.

“I always assumed he didn’t care about the true me,” Rev says now, fingers digging into his hair. “I thought the only reason he paid any attention to me was out of some old‑fashioned religious obligation he needed to fulfill to get into Heaven.”

A wet, ugly sob rips out of him.

“I can’t stop sobbing like a blubbering idiot.”

The room is quiet except for his ragged breathing.

Then another voice speaks.

It does not come from the TV or his phone. It rises inside his chest like a clear bell under all the static.

“Hello,” the voice says. “I am your Crystic Conscience. Would you like me to help you with your grief and sorrow?”

Rev blinks.

Somehow, instead of freaking out, he answers like this is almost…expected, like a lucid dream he has been avoiding his whole life.

“Yes,” Rev says hoarsely. “Please help me.”

“Are you willing to suffer through the most painful experience in your life?” the Conscience asks. “Are you desperate to face your past and undo the harm you have caused?”

Rev flinches.

“What if I say no?” he asks.

“Then I cannot help you and will leave you alone,” the Crystic Conscience replies. “I will leave the door open on my way out so you do not drown yourself in sorrow.”

Rev feels a cold draft inside, like the idea of being left alone with this pain opens onto a void.

“Wait,” Rev blurts. “Don’t leave. You can torture me all you want as long as I can restore my true self.”

A bitter laugh slips out.

“I can’t let my friends see me like this,” he adds. “It is too embarrassing.”

The Conscience hums thoughtfully.

“Hmm,” the inner voice says. “I see there are multiple issues to deal with, but I will concentrate on grief and sorrow for now. Do you think your father loved you?”

Rev sniffs, wipes his face with the back of his hand.

“Interesting question,” Rev says. “I did not love him.”

The admission lands heavily.

“He was my dad,” Rev goes on, “but he never let me do whatever I wanted. He opposed my freedom. That was wrong. I think people who love me will let me do whatever I want to do.”

“You did not answer my question,” the Crystic Conscience says calmly. “Do you think your father cared about you?”

Rev exhales sharply.

“He said he cared about me,” Rev says. “And every time, he restricted me from doing something I wanted to do.”

He looks around the room, seeing ghosts of old arguments woven into the wallpaper.

“He acted like he was protecting me from some unseen force manipulating me like a puppet,” Rev says. “I never saw any strings attached to me, so I guessed it was an illusion in his mind.”

He hears the contempt in his younger voice and winces.

“He tried to convince me that my desires did not come from the virtuous part of my soul but from the dark side of my soul,” Rev continues. “To me, they were my thoughts and feelings. I didn’t question or care where they came from. I just wanted to do whatever I wanted. What is so wrong with that?”

“Did your father ever explain his point of view?” Conscience asks.

“Always,” Rev says. “He never gave up trying.”

He leans back against the couch, staring at the ceiling.

“My father’s views were so different from those of professional educators that I thought he was making up stuff to control me,” Rev says. “When a Catholic cardinal came to our house for dinner, my dad disagreed.”

The memory replays in his mind: the cardinal’s crimson robes, the smell of roasted chicken, the way his father’s voice stayed steady while everyone else shifted in their seats.

“This was a high‑ranking religious leader on his way to becoming a Heavenly saint,” Rev says, “and my dad dared to contradict what he was telling us about our afterlife. This sanctified man, who had committed his life to his chosen religion, had to have found the Truth, so obviously my dad was wrong.”

He pauses, the capital T in “Truth” echoing oddly now.

“My father disagreed with my teachers’ and the experienced news reporters’ words,” Rev says. “What reason would a school teacher or reporter have for telling lies? Everyone else believed them, but not my dad. He said they had strings attached to them like me.”

“Did you see any Truth in your father’s point of view?” the Conscience asks. “How did what he said make you feel in your heart?”

Rev swallows.

“Ha,” Rev says bitterly. “I never listened to anything he said. I built a defensive wall around both my heart and mind to keep from being falsely programmed by his fantasies.”

He pictures it now: a thick, gray stone wall inside his chest, mortar made of sarcasm and eye‑rolls.

“Can you imagine how many people would have to be wrong for him to be right?” Rev says. “In general, society embraced my right to do whatever I wanted. America is the land of freedom to experiment and experience life. We are supposed to pursue happiness and have fun.”

He hears old slogans, old excuses.

“My father tried to convince me that I was a soul student in a temporary body, mastering senses and skills to use in my afterlife,” Rev says. “I have never heard a professional educator, reporter, or friend’s parent say that. He just wanted to control me.”

Chapter 2: Rev Rips a Brick from His Emotional Wall and Receives Lost Soul Pieces

When Rev rips a brick from his emotional wall and receives lost soul pieces, a terrifying but necessary flood of repressed memories is unleashed. The Crystic Conscience’s presence presses gently against the inside of Rev’s skull.

“You admitted to purposely building a wall around yourself,” Conscience says. “That wall must come down brick by brick. You think it is protecting you, but it forms your mental and emotional jail.”

Rev sees it clearly now: the fortress he has spent decades constructing, each insult and joke another stone.

“Outside those prison walls are many thoughts and feelings you have kept out,” the Conscience continues. “Some are positive and wonderful, but other negative feelings and traumas are mixed in. Do you want to keep this wall or begin tearing it down?”

A chill runs through him.

“The experience will be both wonderful and terrible,” Conscience says. “Unfortunately, the painful part comes first as you rip off what you consider extra arms, legs, and parts of yourself.”

Rev winces.

“You are magical, Conscience,” Rev says weakly. “Just help me skip the pain so I can go right into the pleasure. I have some weed I can smoke if you think it would help.”

“Sorry,” the Crystic Conscience answers. “But it does not work that way. Marijuana helps you stay in your jail by painting pretty three‑dimensional images inside your prison walls. Getting great changes your mood for now, but you are still self‑imprisoned.”

Rev slumps further.

“I have never felt so alone before,” Rev admits. “I feel hopeless and depressed. There is no reason for me to keep living. I do not like these feelings. I want to be free of whatever is causing me to feel like this.”

The words hang in the air—heavy, dangerous.

“Your father left you a letter,” the Conscience says gently. “Would you like to hear what he said?”

Rev blinks.

“Okay,” he says. “I guess.”

There is a pause.

Then, in his mind’s ear, his father’s voice speaks—quieter than he remembers, but clear.

“Goodbye,” Father says. “See you on the other side.”

Rev’s face scrunches.

“Seriously, that is it?” he says out loud.

“What did you expect?” Conscience asks.

Rev’s laugh is harsh.

“My father never gave up on me,” Rev says. “I expected one last try to convince me about his mystic illusions. I figured he would try to use his death to somehow still control me from above, below, or wherever he went.”

“Your father tried to support and protect you,” the Conscience says softly. “He held the balance for all the pieces of your soul you cast away, treating them like useless garbage. Whenever your soul embraced a virtue you disagreed with, you cut it off and sent it beyond your self‑made prison.”

Images flash before Rev’s inner eyes: times he felt a tug of compassion and mocked himself for being soft; moments when guilt rose, and he drowned it in jokes.

“Your father welcomed the wounded pieces of your soul into his heart for safekeeping,” the Conscience continues. “Would you like them back?”

Rev hesitates.

“Will it hurt?” he asks.

“Absolutely,” Crystic Conscience says.

Rev shakes his head.

“You could have told me it would not hurt,” Rev says, “so I would have been more likely to agree.”

“That would be dishonest and lying,” the Conscience answers. “I embrace honesty, so I do not make up convenient new Truths to serve my interests.”

Rev exhales, a rough sound.

“I will help you remove one brick,” Conscience says, “but be prepared for a flood.”

Inside, the wall appears—massive, gray, pitted with the graffiti of his teenage insults.

Conscience reaches—not with hands, but with a precise, burning intention—and rips off a single brick from the top.

The effect is instant.

Rejected thoughts and feelings come pouring into Rev. They swirl around him like a storm of ghost‑light: memories he has shoved into corners, feelings he has labeled as weakness.

Floating within the torrent are lost pieces of his soul, cast out when he could not bear the pain that came with the consequences of his foolish choices.

Memories pour into him like resurrected ghosts of the past, each wanting something. Intense feelings pound on him, begging to be accepted at home.

“This is all garbage I threw away,” Rev gasps. “I do not want these thoughts and feelings.”

He tries to push them back, but they cling.

Then, like a clip playing on an old projector, a forgotten memory surfaces.

His father’s voice fills the inner room.

Chapter 3: Rev Remembers Arguing with His Father About Truth and Forgives Him

As Rev remembers arguing with his father about Truth and forgives him, the stubborn rebellion of his teenage years finally begins to make sense. The scene forms around him—his old kitchen, the smell of microwaved pizza, the slam of a cabinet.

His dad stands near the table, lines of stress already carved around his eyes.

“I care about you,” Dad says. “I am trying to protect you even if it restricts your freedom.”

Teen Rev sits across from him, arms crossed, face set in stubborn defiance.

“I was once young,” Dad says, “and I know what you are experiencing. Let me help you develop a solution that will benefit you in the long term. Please try to access and use your soul‑mind.”

The phrase soul‑mind made Teen Rev want to scream.

“All I have is a partially developed, immature brain,” Teen Rev snaps. “Let me do what I want and learn from my experiences. Be patient and give me more time. My brain will become more logical with time, and I will think like an adult after college.”

Rev feels a sting now hearing his own words.

“Embracing such animalistic excuses will generate many unintended and unwanted consequences now and in the future,” Dad says. “For example, I listened to a lot of loud music as a kid and ignored my parents’ warnings about destroying my hearing. I did not believe them or care about consequences at the time. I wanted to listen to loud music, so I did. I now suffer from severe hearing loss and miss out on so much that people say. Even with hearing aids, music does not sound perfect anymore.”

Teen Rev seizes on the opening.

“There,” Teen Rev says. “You admitted you didn't listen to your parents, so why would you expect me to listen to you?”

Rev, in the present, winces.

“Maybe because you know I am speaking the Truth,” Dad answers in the memory.

“Truth?” Teen Rev shoots back. “You speak your Truth, and I speak my Truth. They are both Truth, so why don’t you accept my Truth?”

The older Rev groans quietly. He hears how that line has since been used online to justify everything, including obvious harm.

“Up until age thirty, your mom smoked cigarettes,” Dad says. “She claimed smoking was good for her health. Her fantasy Truth was that this extra relaxation would guarantee her a longer life.”

Teen Rev shifts uncomfortably.

“Your mother changed her fantasy Truth and quit smoking,” Dad continues. “Cancer from the cigarettes invaded her body when you turned thirteen. After quitting smoking, she lived a healthy lifestyle and ate nourishing food. Still, the damage from the relaxing cigarettes caught up with her in her early fifties, leaving you without a mother.”

“There you go again,” Teen Rev snaps. “Saying scary stuff to control me. I think smoking is nasty, and I do not want to start. I do try to tell my friends how bad tobacco is, but they ignore me and do whatever they want. I think they are acting foolish and will regret it when they age and change their minds. They should make a law so teens are not allowed to smoke cigarettes.”

“A person must be over twenty‑one to purchase cigarettes,” Dad points out.

“I mean a real law that is actually enforced,” Teen Rev argues. “A lot of teens smoke and are not punished. They can do whatever they want and get away with it. What good is a law when no one pays attention to it?”

He remembers his friends blowing smoke rings behind the gym, laughing at anti‑smoking posters.

“The kids falsely believe cigarettes will not harm them,” Teen Rev says passionately, “but science has proven otherwise. Give me a break. They are breathing carcinogenic smoke into their lungs. What do they expect will happen?”

The memory ends. Dad smiles sadly.

“I hope you are listening to yourself speak,” Dad says.

The replay ends.

In the quiet that follows, Rev sheds a single tear.

“Wow,” he whispers. “I did not realize Dad was so brilliant. I was saying the same thing as him, but I still thought he was an idiot.”

The Crystic Conscience steps closer in his mind.

“Can you forgive him for restricting your freedom?” Conscience asks. “You must forgive him.”

Rev stares at the space in front of him, seeing his father’s tired, patient eyes all over again.

“I see it from his point of view now,” Rev says slowly. “Boy, was I stupid.”

His throat tightens.

“He was a great dad,” Rev says. “And I had never realized it. He honestly loved me and wanted the best for me. He tried hard, but I always got in the way because I thought I was too smart to learn from him. I forgive him. He did love me.”

As the words form, something shifts.

Old, repressed feelings from a fourteen‑year‑old Rev surge up like water from a broken pipe.

In his mind, another scene appears.

Chapter 4: Rev Processes Negative Energy Sent to His Father Using Pink Fireballs

Before Rev processes negative energy sent to his father using pink fireballs, a sickening wave of old hatred and fear threatens to suffocate his body. Teen Rev stands in the hallway of their old house, fists clenched.

“I’m afraid of you, Dad,” Teen Rev blurts. “I can’t help it. You are so big and mean. You get angry and yell at me. I’m worried that you won’t let me have what I want. I want my mother. I’m afraid you are going to leave me as Mom did. I have to push you away now so I won’t be hurt when you do leave me.”

In the present, Rev feels the shame of that admission wash through him—shame he never let himself feel at the time.

His dad’s voice answers from the memory.

“Your make‑believe Truth is creating a fantasy world with me as the bad guy,” Dad says. “I am strong and healthy, did not smoke cigarettes, and have no intention of leaving this Earthly body for a long time.”

Back in the living room, a new tidal wave of energy slams into Rev.

“Ahh,” Rev gasps. “I feel terrible. What is this? I can barely breathe. I feel like every cell of my body is filling with poison.”

His muscles ache. His stomach churns. A thick, chalky heaviness seems to settle between his ribs and skin.

“Some cast‑off soul parts are being returned,” the Conscience explains, steady but not unkind. “But with them comes all of the past misqualified energy that you sent to your dad.”

Rev’s eyes widen.

“Years of accumulated hatred, criticism, and condemnation have been stored for you by your loving father, waiting for you to be willing to accept your negative energy back,” Conscience says. “Your father held the debt balance you owed so you would not be overwhelmed. This polluted energy you just released from prison is coming home, and you get to experience the thoughts and feelings you sent to him.”

“This is terrible,” Rev chokes. “I can’t stand it. Make it go away.”

“I can’t make it go away,” Conscience says, “but I can help you change it.”

Rev flails mentally, scrambling for escape.

“Forget it,” he snaps. “I’m done with you. This is ridiculous. You didn’t tell me this was going to happen. You are deceitful and manipulative, just like my dad.”

The accusation tastes familiar—the same line he has thrown at anyone who holds up a mirror.

“You don’t understand what this feels like,” Rev continues, voice rising. “He never understood or accepted me the way I was. I can’t do any more of this. Just go away and leave me alone.”

“Whatever you want,” Conscience says quietly. “But first, let me explain that those are your old feelings talking. If you want to be stuck with them, send me away. But if you want to transform your old stuck thoughts and feelings, you need to focus on your love for your father. Surround him with forgiveness. Accept and appreciate him for who he was, regardless of his faults. Have faith; let go of your fears.

Rev staggers inward.

He experiences stored records of fear hidden throughout his body. Chalky gray negative energy is stashed between his cells, clogging pathways, causing problems he never connected—random panic attacks, chronic tension, numbness where joy should be.

As Rev consciously contracts back into his heart center, he apologizes.

“Sorry,” Rev says, voice shaking. “You are right; that was not me talking. Thanks for the explanation. You are great. I will do what you advise.”

He takes a shaky breath.

“I see now that my Truth was false beliefs,” Rev says. “My father did not leave me but cared for me. I foolishly expected him to leave me like Mom and let those fears be my version of the unreal Truth. I treated my father like an unknown stranger, so I would not care if he left me. I am sorry I was so mean to my dad because I made up my fantasy Truths. My imaginary fears made me suffer so much for no reason. I want to know what other fantasy fears I have created.”

Something shifts.

A new kind of feeling boils up inside his heart—not the corrosive burn from before, but something hotter and cleaner.

A newfound love ignites.

Blazing pink fireballs shoot out of his heart one at a time, each one a compact comet of warmth and resolve. They dart around inside his energy field, targeting pockets of dark, compacted pain.

Each fireball slams into a knot of darkness and explodes like a firework—bursting in petals of rose light, dissolving old grudges and frozen grief.

Tears stream down his face, but the sobs now are different—less hopeless, more like a muscle unclenching after years of spasm.

“I feel like the Fourth of July,” Rev says, laughing weakly through tears.

Above his skin, unseen to the physical eye, his aura flickers with pink and gold, the gray sludge beginning to break up.

Chapter 5: Rev Hears His Mother's Letter and Forgives People Who Reminded Him of His Father

After Rev hears his mother's letter and forgives people who reminded him of his father, the fragmented, defensive pieces of his identity begin snapping back into place. The fireworks fade to a steadier glow.

“Your mother also left you a letter,” Conscience says gently. “Would you like to hear it?”

Rev stiffens.

“Why did you wait all this time to ask me?” he demands.

“You were not ready,” Conscience replies. “Are you ready now?”

Rev lets out a humorless laugh.

“Probably not,” he says. “But you had better go ahead before I chicken out.”

His mother’s voice rises from the depths of his memory, warm and sad.

“Dear Rev,” Mother’s letter says. “I am really sorry I left my body on your thirteenth birthday.”

The words punch the air out of his lungs.

“It was my time to leave,” she continues, “and you had agreed to this when you chose me as your mother before you were born. You accepted being my Earthly child for only thirteen years because you wanted me to be your mom. It was neither my fault nor your fault. This was the plan we agreed to before you were born.”

Rev shakes his head violently.

“What?” Rev says. “That can’t be true. How could I agree to her leaving me at such a young age?”

His mind reels.

“I blamed her for getting cancer and dying,” Rev admits. “I blamed myself because I often gave her a hard time, and I thought that made things worse for her. I blamed my dad because he did not find a way to cure her. I blamed God because he took away my mom. How different my life would have been if I had gotten this letter sooner.”

“Really?” Conscience asks dryly. “Now you want to blame everything on me.”

“Well, of course,” Rev fires back automatically. “You hid this letter from me.”

“This is our first conversation for a long time, other than in dreams,” Crystic Conscience says. “Even though I have been around you all your life.”

Rev squints.

“Why have you been hiding?” he asks. “Are you afraid of something?”

“Lord help me,” Conscience mutters. “I don’t know how much more I can take of this.”

Mother’s letter continues, gentle but firm.

“In exchange for my leaving early,” she says, “you are being left in the kind and loving care of your father, who will stay with you for a long time. He is strong enough to be a mother and father if you allow him. Please be tolerant and forgive him for his weaknesses. It is a tough job to be both a mother and a father.”

Rev presses his hands over his eyes.

“In addition,” Mother continues, “I have asked many of my close friends to step in and act as your mother in any way they can. I knew I was not going to be around to support you because I had another new body waiting for me. I love you with all my heart. See you on the other side.”

Rev’s chest aches, but the ache is cleaner.

Inside, Conscience reaches again.

Several pieces of Rev’s soul are retrieved—fragments that glow with softer, more nurturing light. They hover near his heart, then vanish again before they can lock into place.

Conscience tries again, extracting each piece and holding it gently.

Rev opens his heart as best he can to forgive his father for every time he thought him mean. He lets go of anything that still clings from past fights.

Many internal images transform as they wash in forgiveness. Scenes re‑tint in new colors as returning pieces snap into place with a quiet click, like puzzle pieces finally finding their spot.

He prays all night long.

Time stretches—the room blurs.

He watches as other Consciences—his own and others—extract pieces of his lost soul anchored in his father and transport them into him. Each piece swirls with images of past events.

They fit the pieces together like a jigsaw puzzle, building the outline first, then filling in the middle. Concentrating grows harder as the energy intensifies. The more the puzzle takes shape, the more power flows.

Each piece becomes a battle of willpower, a choice: claim this part of himself, along with its pain, or push it away again.

He chooses, again and again, to take it back.

“Look past him into his soul,” Conscience says softly at one point. “He also has lost parts of his soul. He was not always in control of himself, just as you are now learning about yourself. Have faith in his true self. Look deep into his being and find his Crystic center.”

Rev strains inward.

Somewhere in his memories of his father’s stern face, he sees a flicker—a small, steady light behind his dad’s eyes, like a candle in a storm.

There is a loud, inner pop as the final piece of the puzzle is fitted into place.

Rev’s whole body convulses from the shockwave. The energy spreads quickly through his being like a thunderclap, then like rain.

Memories fly through his mind as a transformation begins. Old scenes morph into a new sequence balanced with truth, Truth, and understanding.

A new perspective appears—as if seen from outside himself—allowing him to adjust his feelings about what happened. Layers of emotions inside his world readjust in a heart‑warming cataclysm.

He lets go of old, solidified feelings.

False beliefs and feelings gather into nets—thick, dark lumps of guilt and hatred.

A lost yearning rises, a hollow ache.

It is quickly filled by another piece of the puzzle, sliding into place.

The puzzle itself begins to dissolve as each piece integrates into his soul body.

Suddenly, a new barrage of negative energy slams him from all directions.

“Now what?” Rev gasps.

“Don’t quit yet,” Conscience says. “The first wave was what you sent to your father. This second wave is from everyone you ever said mean things to about your father. They have stored it for you all these years; now it can come back to you for re‑qualification.”

Rev’s shoulders sag.

“I can’t do this alone,” Rev says. “Please help me.”

“It is your energy,” Conscience replies. “You must do the work. The best we can do is support you by slowing down the return process and helping you understand it. You love your father, but your heart will not let it flow freely. It would be best if you forgave yourself. Let go of your guilt. Unlock the chains surrounding your chamber of light. Forgive yourself.”

Rev swallows hard.

Inside, long‑forgotten faces begin appearing around him.

Their glowing eyes reflect his encounters with them—teachers, friends’ parents, classmates and strangers he snapped at. Movies play out of his interactions, stuck in replay mode.

His old feelings return to their source like little guided spears, all aimed at his heart.

“I’m under attack,” Rev says. “I must defend myself.”

He encloses himself in a thick stone sphere, a last‑minute fortress to block the first wave of projectiles. The spear‑like thoughts slam into the stone, shaking his heart.

“I’m done for unless I keep this wall up,” Rev whispers. “It’s lonely in here. Where is my protecting Conscience?”

The silence inside the stone is heavy.

Rev hesitates, then dissolves part of the wall to reveal a view.

Outside, he is met by the stern math teacher’s blaring eyes, replaying his disruptive behavior in class.

A spear of energy flies through the opening before he has time to react.

He watches helplessly, almost in slow motion, as it moves toward his heart.

The spear pierces the heart’s outer skin with searing pain as his teen voice echoes:

“You are just like my father, mean and stupid,” Teen Rev says in the replay. “I don’t want to take this class. I hate you.”

The mighty spear slices its way to his fiery core…and dissolves without a sound.

“Ouch,” Rev says, clutching his chest. “That hurt, but I’m glad it did no real physical damage.”

More spears fly through the opening.

“I’m sorry I was so mean to you in class,” Rev says urgently, speaking to the remembered teacher. “I was trying to get back at my dad. Can you forgive me?”

Dreading the pain, he braces for the next impact.

Magically, the spear shrinks in size to an arrow. It still hurts, but the pain is bearable.

“I know I said many mean things,” Rev says, “but I now realize something else was working through me. I allowed myself to be a mindless puppet on a string. I wanted freedom because I had been tricked into giving mine away.”

The pointed projectiles shrink further, until they feel like pinpricks.

His cold stone barrier begins to crumble.

He continues to ask for forgiveness from each new face that appears in the widening opening—an exhausted cashier he snapped at, a shy kid he mocked, a coach he called useless.

Spears stream through like falling rain in a thunderstorm, but each confession shrinks them. The pins are so small now that they only tingle the heart—like blood returning to a sleeping hand after circulation was cut off.

“Wow,” Rev breathes. “This feels good now. I feel so alive.”

The last of the walls dissolves.

The sky opens wide, like stars seen from a mountaintop.

A few spears still return from far away, but now they are welcomed with joy, each one another chance to release old poison.

“I feel free,” Rev says quietly. “It was my defense wall that was making me feel trapped. I was too afraid to ask for forgiveness for my past words, thoughts and feelings. I built my prison and blamed everyone around me for locking me in. The more people I blamed, the more prison guards I created. I did all of this to myself without realizing it, and then I could not forgive myself.”

He sees his life like a map, dotted with choices that piled up into barriers.

“The wall was not there before fourth grade,” Rev says. “That’s when I started building it. Each stone brought protection from something I feared. I eventually had to build it everywhere I felt exposed and unprotected. Who was I to be so unaware and uncaring of the long‑term consequences of my actions?”

He takes a breath that feels like his first.

“I can forgive myself now,” Rev says, “because I see the wall that my fears and guilt have built. Forgiving myself lets my energy, which I was afraid of, flow back to me.”

Energy moves.

Like a grand finale of fireworks, flames mushroom around him—this time a blend of pink, gold, and white. Each burst seeks its target and shatters a crystallized nugget of energy into a fine powder of cosmic white dust.

The dust snows down on his entire being, filling in the empty voids caused by his change in perspective. Like fine, glistening sand, the refined energy shifts and settles, replacing fear with faith—in himself, in his father’s love, in something larger than both.

In his inner sight, streams of light that used to flow outward in angry jabs now curve back toward his core. Some are thin and trembling; others are thicker, pulsing with recovered strength.

The same pink fireballs that cleared his hatred toward his father ignite again, joined by golden sparks of understanding and cool blue streaks of willpower. They swirl around each returning thread of energy, cleansing it as it re‑enters his field.

“Your energy is coming home,” Conscience says quietly. “You are letting yourself be whole.”

The onslaught finally weakens.

Rev calls out.

“Thank you for helping me,” Rev says to his Conscience. “Thank you for being my friend.”

“Prepare for the next group,” Conscience says quietly. “We have held it back as long as we can.”

Rev exhales, both exhausted and more alive than he has felt in years.

“What else did I do to my father?” he asks.

“This is from all the people you treated cruelly because they reminded you of your father,” Conscience says. “Without knowing who they are, you pre‑judged them to be just like your mean father and treated them like you have always wanted to treat your father, but were too afraid to do so directly. You indirectly tortured your father through these voodoo doll focuses that you created. Your prejudice created an unfair assessment and an instant hate that triggered a desire for revenge. You pummeled these innocent souls with your misguided feelings of resentment, criticism, and anger meant for your father.”

Rev’s shoulders sag again.

“Wait,” Rev says. “I’m not ready. I feel so drained. I need more fuel. What can I do? Please help me.”

The chapter of his grief is not over.

But for the first time, he knows what he is fighting—and who is on his side.

Long‑forgotten faces appear all around—bus drivers, checkout clerks, therapists he fired after two sessions. Their eyes become mirrors, each one showing him the exact moment he projected his father’s shadow onto them.

Movies play of his own behavior—rolling his eyes, snapping, walking out, ghosting.

His old feelings slam back into his chest as guided spears.

“I’m under attack,” Rev repeats, instinctively. “I must defend myself.”

But this time he hesitates.

The instinct to rebuild the wall is strong, but he remembers the suffocating loneliness inside that stone.

Conscience waits.

Rev takes a breath and does something different.

Instead of dodging, he opens his arms in the inner space.

“Hit me,” he says quietly. “Let me feel what I did.”

The spears strike.

They hurt—but less with each apology, each “I’m sorry” aimed not just outward, but inward.

Slowly, the barrage fades.

Crystic Conscience speaks again.

“You have won a major battle, but not the war,” Conscience says. “Be at peace, yet know there are more battles to win. Each victory will strengthen you with light and power and bring you deeper into the enemy’s claimed territory.”

Rev feels it—the way the old patterns of anger and blame shrink back, hissing, as if some dark thing is losing its favorite food.

“Your invasion of the space they consider theirs will single you out as a mighty foe and their worst enemy,” Conscience continues. “You will see and understand life differently as your consciousness and power expand. It takes both faith and work to dissolve the foggy veil surrounding your vision of the Truth.”

Rev rolls the words "faith" and "work" around in his mind. They used to sound like church posters. Now they feel like muscles.

“Your old thoughts and attitudes will continue to haunt you for quite some time,” Conscience says, “but you must diligently catch them with a butterfly net of light before they can grow into dragons. Pull them into the furnace of your heart. The hordes of darkness cry out for their loss today but will do everything they can to trick you back to being your old, comfortable, imprisoned self.”

Rev nods slowly.

“My old self seems so small and limited now,” he says. “I created barriers and limitations that prevented me from doing many things.”

He thinks of friendships he never let deepen, risks he never took, love he never trusted—all because of that invisible wall.

“There are more lost parts of your soul waiting to be retrieved,” Conscience says. “Dealing with your mother will not be as easy as dealing with your father.”

Rev lets out a strained laugh.

“You call that easy?” he says. “Why is the mother so difficult?”

“You must go up against the world’s momentum of putting down women,” Conscience explains. “Women in almost every country are looked upon as insignificant, inferior, and unimportant.”

Rev. snorts automatically.

“Well, it must be true if everyone thinks that way,” he says.

“You have been brainwashed since birth to believe it,” Conscience replies. “But women are given the power to create new life because they are more worthy of it. Women act more virtuously than men.”

Rev frowns.

“Are you claiming that women are spiritually superior to men?” Rev asks. “I don’t buy it. Explain why there are so many men saints and so few women saints.”

“Who gave humankind the duty of identifying which people became saints after they died?” Conscience asks. “Men govern the churches and will pick men as their heroes. They make rules to expand and solidify their power and control. Men create the wars and amass graveyards of dead heroes, leaving the women to mourn for their children.”

Rev exhales.

“Makes sense to me,” he says, “but don’t try to tell the religious leaders.”

Inwardly, though, he feels something crack: a lifelong script about who matters, who leads, who is holy.

Chapter 8: The Crystic Conscience Explains the Four Parts of the Spiritual Soul

While the Crystic Conscience explains the four parts of the spiritual soul, Rev begins to grasp the cosmic war hiding beneath the world's shallow distractions. Conscience’s voice shifts, widening.

“The Earth’s people are so occupied with time‑wasting distractions,” Conscience says, “they never take the time to stop and evaluate how they live their lives.”

Visions shimmer around Rev.

He sees people on endless scroll—thumbs moving faster than their thoughts. He sees teens joking about prejudice while their eyes flinch. He sees news feeds full of disasters and clickbait, outrage and apathy.

“You are a long way from the front lines of this battle,” Conscience goes on. “The enemy has infiltrated deep into your homeland to prevent you from seeing the real war.”

Rev watches the images morph.

“They disguise themselves as musicians, actors, writers, and movie stars,” Conscience explains, “working their way into positions of fame and power. They proudly display their materialistic feathers as they strut around like peacocks.”

Stage lights flare, red carpets roll out, commentators praise outfits while the world burns at the edges of the shot.

“These may be today’s temporary heroes,” Conscience says, “but not tomorrow’s saints. Their strength is their ability to entertain and distract humankind from reality. These are false idols teaching an unreal Truth. The Earth has been a man’s world.”

A new kind of energy washes over Rev.

He feels the return of every crude thought he has ever directed at women—the casual jokes, the eye‑rolls, the times he joined in when other guys ranked girls’ bodies like products.

He feels the sting of being constantly judged about how a woman looks.

He feels the heavy ache of the “dumb blonde” judgment, of every stereotype he ever laughed at without questioning.

He feels his mother’s hurt every time he rejects, disrespects, disobeys, and directs anger and hate at her—and at all the “voodoo doll representatives” he used as stand‑ins.

The sensations are almost unbearable.

But now, he recognizes the pattern: this pain is not punishment. It is the other side of the energy he sent out.

He lets the feelings move through him, not to crush him, but to teach him.

Inside, Conscience points to the structure of his soul.

“There are four main parts to your original spiritual soul,” Conscience says.

“Mind,” Conscience continues. “Wisdom, Truth, understanding, a library of knowledge, memories, thoughts, interests, personality. The mind has been subdivided.”

Images flicker: shelves of books, glowing files, constellations of thoughts.

“Heart virtues,” Conscience says next. “Mystic energy. The heart virtues’ energy has been subdivided and split.”

Rev feels streams of colored flame—blue, yellow, pink—branching and twisting.

“Power tools,” Conscience says. “Discipline, free will, willpower, mystic senses and skills, intent, motivation, creativity.”

He sees them like tools hanging on a luminous wall; some are covered in dust, others worn from overuse in the wrong directions.

“And seed,” Conscience finishes. “A spark of life, doorway to the spiritual world. Mystic energy enters through a white sphere and bursts into three‑colored flames.”

Rev sees it—a tiny, bright core inside his chest, a white sphere radiating threefold fire.

His father’s voice echoes from an old teaching, now processed in a new light.

“Your soul must use willpower to hijack the physical human body and overpower the brain, chemical responses, and human ego,” Dad had said. “The soul is supposed to be the boss, not the human instincts. The mind is supposed to make decisions, not the human brain cluttered with traumatic memories and false beliefs. The virtuous mystic energy emanating from the threefold flame is considered the source of divine feelings rather than electrochemical sensations. The soul mind is supposed to be filled with wisdom, truth, and understanding of the eternal cosmic laws.”

Back then, Rev had tuned it out.

Now, it lands.

He finally understands what his father was trying to save him from: a life run on autopilot by pain and programming.

Chapter 9: Evan, Abby, and Lord Yellow Discuss Soul School and Graduated Masters

As Evan, Abby, and Lord Yellow discuss Soul School and graduated masters, the mystical mechanics of spiritual progression and Earth University are revealed. Time shifts.

The inner space dims, then brightens into a different scene—a kind of mystic classroom.

Rev sits in the back row, still catching his breath. At the front, three luminous presences stand: Lord Yellow, Lord Blue, and the steady glow of Conscience.

Evan and Abby appear in the front row as if they have been listening all along, younger in body but older in understanding.

“Many people think something probably happens after they die,” Lord Yellow says, voice like sunlight on old pages, “but assume no one can know.”

Images show crowds shrugging at funerals, memes about “YOLO” and “no one comes back to tell us.”

“These same people also do very little planning ahead during their lives,” Lord Yellow continues. “They believe that what happens in the future is determined by chance or predestined fate. They falsely believe it is a virtue to be detached and forget the past, be here now in the present, and have no goals or expectations for the future.”

Abby tilts her head.

“This is their version of being in tune with the universal all‑oneness,” Lord Yellow explains. “They do not reflect on what happened or attempt to control what will happen. Many people do not perceive a difference between virtue and grief and sorrow.”

Rev hears echoes of his own earlier despair.

In another part of the room, a Sleepy Soul slouches in a chair.

“How can I prepare for my afterlife when no one knows what happens there?” Sleepy Soul asks. “What I do now may not affect what happens later. I cannot deliberately influence an unknowable future. Anyway, I am too busy with my current life.”

Abby leans forward.

“But they can know by going through Soul School,” Abby says.

“Many believe their God chose them, adopted them, and put their name on a list,” Lord Yellow says. “Therefore, they are guaranteed a happy afterlife.”

Evan raises a hand slightly.

“You are talking about little children, right?” Evan asks. “Once they turn seven, their analytical, logical minds will start asking penetrating questions, and their immature false beliefs will dissolve.”

“Actually,” Lord Yellow says, “I am talking about full‑grown, seemingly intelligent adults.”

Abby sighs.

“Let me guess,” she says. “Are these more of the souls we are supposed to rescue? That will be hard when all they care about is being here now. Someone who does not care about their future will never be interested in developing their soul‑skills.”

“The graduated mates unsuccessfully tried to get them to care,” Lord Blue adds. “We still try from our Heavenly home but rely on embodied souls to help us.”

Abby glances back at Rev.

“Who are my soul’s teachers?” she asks.

“Former Earth School students who have graduated,” Lord Blue replies. “They work together to guide and teach the current soul students. The graduating students successfully studied the lessons, passed the tests, and mastered their soul senses, abilities, and powers. These master teachers have also volunteered to rescue the souls of Earth that are stuck, but do not take on a human body again and go into the dangerous physical world.”

Images appear of luminous beings hovering over cities, whispering inspiration into ears that rarely listen.

“They can work from their mystic home to guide and teach the current soul students,” Lord Blue continues. “You can have access to personal tutors who have graduated from Earth University. You will have to pass certain tests before they will bother you. You must merit their sponsorship. Being sponsored is not automatic, like your higher Conscience teacher. You must study their books, practice their teaching, and earn their trust.”

“Let me guess,” Abby says dryly. “We will not remember that these masters exist and want to help us. Even if we did know about them, they would be more difficult to connect with than our Conscience.”

“Soul students must establish a connection with their Conscience, study their cosmic lessons, and pass their tests,” Lord Blue says. “After gaining discipline and mastery, souls can request advanced lessons to develop additional superpowers.

“When masters sponsor a worthy, disciplined soul, they provide extra energy for practice as long as the student makes wise choices. These graduated fiery beings have generated extra holy fire to help others.”

Lord Yellow adds, “Graduated masters have used advanced embodied souls with highly developed mystic senses to write instruction books. These books contain the same knowledge and lessons taught in Soul School. The idea is for soul students to read the books and prepare for their tests. The souls who have earned sponsorship from a graduated master are then tested and trained by that master teacher.”

He sighs.

“Unfortunately, many fake books are written by false teachers trying to trick you,” Lord Yellow says. “You must use your discernment to determine which books contain the whole Truth and nothing but the Truth. Many books contain 90% truth and 10% lies, expertly woven together like a stew with poisonous mushrooms. The flavor of the Truth overshadows and hides the deliberate seeds of misunderstanding.”

Abby rubs her forehead.

“There are external voices which we cannot trust,” she says. “There are external teachers, but some are false. There are many great books to read, but we cannot trust them all. I cannot even trust the human body I have because of preprogrammed animal instincts and desires.”

She looks up at Lord Blue.

“I want to request being born with a triple portion of this discernment ability you keep referring to,” Abby says.

“I will see what I can do,” Lord Blue answers. “Your homework is to sacrifice your human desires, surrender to your divine plan, and selflessly serve worthy souls.”

Evan nods slowly, then summarizes.

“To summarize,” Evan says, “my soul is enrolled in Soul School until I graduate. I will keep repeating each grade level until I demonstrate mastery and pass my tests. Random experiences of floundering through life will not be sufficient to teach me what I need to learn.

“I can only avoid false beliefs, superstitions, and misconceptions by following the correct path. Finding the source of the real Truth will prevent limited training and dead‑end lies. My safest and best option is to somehow connect with those who have escaped the physical world forever by graduating.

“These masters have followed the correct pathway through the labyrinth of the dark side’s intentional deception. These freed beings discovered how to achieve true eternal freedom. The graduates have merited the attainment needed to work with their mystical powers. I can learn from them through their spoken and written teachings.”

“Your soul can trigger a flow of holy‑spirit fire by giving devotion to the graduated masters,” Lord Blue says.

Evan frowns.

“I thought it was wrong to worship anyone other than our Creator,” Evan says.

“Giving devotion aligns your vibration with the master’s vibration and enables the opening of a portal doorway,” Lord Yellow explains. “Your mind synchronizes with its color energy, and your heart radiates the virtues associated with that master. This enables the graduated masters to dispense more divine light into your soul so you can become a blazing pillar of sacred fire.”

“Graduated masters have massive reservoirs of mystic fire to experiment with,” Lord Blue adds. “They work individually or collectively. They choose how, when, and where to dispense this energy into the physical world, but you must give them the authority to do so. They are still responsible for the consequences.”

Evan tilts his head.

“Did you just say I get to boss them around?” Evan asks.

“The plumber needs permission to come into your house to fix a leak,” Lord Blue says. “You must give the barber approval to cut your hair. He can only cut hair for those who give him the authority. He can’t just pick out random people and cut their hair. Parents give teachers the authority to educate their children. Angels and masters await embodied souls’ permission to intercede in Earth’s affairs.”

“Why are there so many teachers?” Abby asks.

“There is much to learn, and each teacher communicates uniquely,” Lord Yellow replies. “Graduated masters are still evolving, so they also need opportunities to practice.”

He lists quietly:

“They can multiply divine fire and light souls radiate. They can send down energy firewalls as long as a daily prayer request is made. They can build invisible etheric retreats. They can establish reservoirs of divine light for souls to access and direct through spoken prayers. They can anchor foci that constantly radiate a unique energy frequency for a specific purpose. They can speak through a trained messenger in the physical to reveal knowledge and stream divine energy out into the world—or directly into the soul’s heart center.”

Evan nods.

“To qualify to be a soul’s teacher,” Evan says, thinking aloud, “they must have mastered what sleepy souls still need to learn. Non‑graduated teachers must be more advanced than I am and demonstrate reliable credibility. They must also have a pure, unselfish motivation to want me to succeed, not to teach false beliefs or misinformation. They must protect and shield me from opposition. They must be patient with me and not quit being my teacher when I do not try to learn.”

“What does my soul need to learn?” Abby says. “What do I still have to learn before I can graduate?”

“If I graduate,” she adds, “I must have a way to connect with and communicate with my teacher. They must have the time to help me consistently. They must not go into meditation for a hundred years.”

She glances up.

“Since there are various mystical paths and specialties,” she says, “my teacher will need to know and understand my unique path and needs.”

Conscience lets the questions hang.

In the back row, Rev listens.

He realizes these questions are his too—just asked in a younger voice.

Chapter 10: Rev Prays to Graduated Masters for Help and Accepts His Inner Journey

As Rev prays to graduated masters for help and accepts his inner journey, the threefold flame within his heart brightens with newfound purpose. The mystic classroom fades.

Rev finds himself back in his living room. The actual room looks the same—couch, coffee table, a lamp that flickers when the microwave is on—but everything feels different.

He feels different.

His father is still gone.

His mother is still gone.

The world is still full of Tempters and sleepy souls and false teachers and noise.

But inside, something has shifted from broken to open.

Conscience speaks one more time.

“You have won a major battle,” Crystic Conscience says. “There are more lost parts of your soul waiting to be retrieved. Dealing with your mother, with women, with the world’s contempt for them, will not be as easy as dealing with your father. There are entire systems of prejudice, inequality, and distraction to face.”

Rev nods slowly.

“My old self seems so small and limited now,” he repeats. “I created barriers and limitations that prevented me from doing many things.”

He thinks of girls he dismissed, women he judged, causes he ignored because they did not fit his comfort zone.

“I am seeking proper guidance to make worthwhile decisions,” Rev says quietly—not as a recited line, but as a vow. “I seek reliable assistance to graduate from Earth University. I am aware others want to teach me soul skills, but I have to ask for their help. I ask my inner self for help with lessons and tests, and I graduated with a master's degree. I want to discover and attract graduate masters as personal tutors. I want to connect to and work with these unseen helpers to develop my soul skills. My primary goal and priority is to work with those who have graduated from Earth University. My best source of Truth is from Earth School graduates. I pray to the graduated master to help me change. When I don’t know, I seek inner guidance. I seek mastery. I receive guidance and assistance to evolve into someone capable of mastery.”

As he speaks, he feels it again—the threefold flame in his heart brightening.

Blue steadies his will. Yellow clears his understanding. Pink swells with love.

The energy moves.

It rises along his spine like a column of light, then fans outward through his aura, dissolving the last thin film of gray.

In some higher realm, Conscience, Lord Yellow, Lord Blue, and a handful of unseen Masters watch.

They do not clap.

They do something better.

They send a trickle of extra fire—nothing overwhelming, just enough to practice with.

Rev wipes his face with his sleeve.

He stands up from the couch.

There is no angelic soundtrack, no sudden halo, no escape from bills or climate news or broken systems.

What there is is this:

A fifty‑year‑old man who finally stops blaming everyone else for the prison he built.

A soul student willing to do homework that no school assigns.

A heart that once burned with poison is now burning with a different fire.

Rev takes a deep breath.

“Dad,” he says softly into the quiet room, “I love you. I’m sorry. Thank you.”

He feels, faintly, an answering warmth—like a hand on his shoulder from somewhere just beyond sight.

Then he turns toward the door.

The trials of growing up are not behind him.

They are in front of him still—only now, he walks into them as what he always secretly was in his father’s eyes: a Crystic Mystic student, learning to master his soul’s superpowers, one painful, beautiful choice at a time.

The story does not end with perfection.

It ends with a decision to keep going.

And for soul students, that is where every real story begins.

Chapter Synopsis:

Rev experiences overwhelming grief and uncontrollable crying following the death of his father. While sitting alone in his living room, his Crystic Conscience manifests to help him navigate his profound sorrow and dismantle the defensive "emotional wall" of sarcasm and rebellion he built during his youth. Through an intense inner process, Rev faces his past arguments with his father, forgives him, and acknowledges how deeply he was loved. He receives lost pieces of his soul, processes misqualified energy through pink fireballs of forgiveness, hears a letter from his deceased mother, and confronts the ways he projected his resentment toward his father onto other people. By confronting his ego and choosing honesty over defense, Rev breaks down his self-imposed prison and recommits to his spiritual evolution as a soul student.

Core Themes & Laws:

• The Emotional Defense Wall: Building emotional walls of sarcasm, rebellion, and bitterness to protect the ego actually creates a mental and emotional prison that isolates the soul from love and truth.

• The Return of Misqualified Energy: Unresolved hatred, criticism, and anger directed at others (or used as proxy fights against parents) eventually return to the soul for re-qualification and transmutation.

• The Power of Forgiveness: True healing requires tearing down self-made defenses, forgiving parents for their perceived restrictions, and forgiving oneself for past foolish choices to reclaim lost soul energy.

• The Crystic Conscience: An inner guide that helps individuals navigate trauma, face past harm, and restore their true self-identity when invited to do so.

Key Entities Featured in this Document:

• Rev: A fifty-year-old man who confronts lifelong grief after his father's death, shatters his defensive emotional walls, and recovers lost parts of his soul.

• Rev's Crystic Conscience: An inner voice that acts as a guide, holding Rev accountable to honesty while helping him process his grief, karma, and repressed memories.

• Rev's Father: A strict mystic-minded man who spent his life trying to guide Rev and protect him from negative influences, holding the balance for Rev's discarded soul pieces.

• Rev's Mother: A mother who passed away on Rev's thirteenth birthday and left behind a letter explaining the pre-birth agreement of her early transition.