340 | Afterlife Thought Control

340 | Abby and Evan Travel Out of Body to the Afterlife and Learn Why Souls Must Control Their Thoughts

Chapter 1: Abby and Evan Leave Their Bodies to Visit Abby's Parents in the Afterlife

Abby and Evan Leave Their Bodies to Visit Abby's Parents in the Afterlife, the two teenagers prepare for an unprecedented journey outside their physical forms. Night at Abby’s house looks quiet.

It isn’t.

Her body lies under a faded comforter, one hand curled around a worn stuffed animal. But her soul is already halfway gone. A silver‑white thread of light stretches from the center of her chest into the dark, pulsing with every slow breath.

Across town, Evan’s body sleeps in his own bed. His soul glides along a matching thread, arrowing toward Abby’s.

Rev is grounded tonight—stuck in his body with a pounding headache and a math test in the morning. But Abby and Evan are out.

They’ve been practicing this for months: slipping out of their bodies at night, exploring other realms, trying not to get lost in whatever waits there.

Tonight, they aim higher than ever.

They decide to visit her parents.

Abby feels the pull before she understands it. She rises like a spark, Evan rising beside her. The world below shrinks into a patchwork of roofs and roads.

There is a moment of weightless black.

Then—

Light.

They stand in a radiant town square surrounded by huge, luxurious mansions. The air glows. A choir of angels sings somewhere above them. Saint‑like beings in white robes drift through the square, faces soft and shining. Everything shimmers like someone turned the saturation all the way up on reality.

Abby turns in a slow circle, overwhelmed.

After scanning the crowd, she spots them.

Her parents stand near a glowing fountain. They look younger. Rested. Brighter.

“Hi, Mom. Hi, Dad,” Abby says, breathless. “It’s…really you. How do you like Paradise?”

Mom hugs her hard.

“Relax,” Mom murmurs. “Close your eyes. Shut down your beliefs, expectations, and creative willpower. Still your mind and feelings. Take control of your thoughts. When you open your eyes, see the four of us in a large empty room.”

Abby hesitates, then obeys.

She squeezes her eyes shut. The angel choir booms in her ears. The mansions burn at the edge of her awareness.

She forces herself to imagine…nothing.

When she opens her eyes again, the choir is gone.

So are the mansions.

They stand in a huge, plain room. No pillars. No stained glass. Just soft, dim light.

Dad frowns up at the invisible ceiling.

“Please turn off that deafening singing,” he says.

Mom squints around. “And who is responsible for this spotlight?”

Evan looks down at his own hands, glowing.

“Uh. My bad,” he says.

He inhales. The extra light around them rushes back into his chest. As he slowly exhales, the brightness fades to a normal, gentle glow.

Abby’s heart still hammers.

“What is happening?” she asks. “Why do my thoughts keep turning into…all that?”

Mom studies her carefully.

“How did you get here?” Mom asks. “Did you die already?”

“No!” Abby blurts.

“My friend Evan and I can leave our bodies at night and travel to other realms,” she says. “We planned a flight into the afterworld to find out what happens after death.”

The moment she says the words, the room shifts.

A new scene blooms around them: a massive church with a stern figure on a throne at the front—the Creator. Rows of souls kneel in worship. Stained glass windows burn with color. Incense hangs thick.

Abby sucks in a sharp breath.

“I can see Him,” she whispers. “The Creator. And everyone worshipping. This place is—”

The Creator’s gaze flicks toward her.

Abby screams.

Flames roar up around her—or at least, that’s how it feels. She thrashes in invisible fire, every nerve screaming.

Dad grabs her shoulders.

“Lower your voice and blank your mind,” he snaps. “You are not actually on fire.”

Abby forces herself to breathe. The burning feeling peels away. The church scene dissolves like smoke, leaving only the empty room again.

Her clothes, though, look singed at the edges.

Dad snaps his fingers.

The scorch marks vanish. Her outfit restores itself.

Mom continues like this is normal.

“How did you get past the guards?” she asks.

Evan shrugs.

“We just zipped by when they weren’t looking,” he says. “They seemed more interested in keeping souls in than keeping visitors out. Why would anyone want to break out of Heaven?”

Mom’s mouth twists.

“This place is nothing like what we were promised,” she says. “We were deceived. We tried to warn you, but we’re not allowed to talk to the living.”

Cold fear slides into Abby’s chest.

“That’s…awful,” Abby says. “You’re scaring me. Everyone thinks Heaven is perfect. No pain. No problems. Should I tell people it’s a scam? No one would ever believe me.”

The room flickers.

In a blink, the space was filled with a furious mob burning churches and attacking priests.

Mom pulls Abby into a tight hug.

“Be quiet,” Mom whispers. “Don’t say those things. Calm down. Everything is fine.”

Abby clenches her jaw and forces herself back to neutral.

The rioters vanish. The room settles.

“It’s hard not to think and feel,” Abby says. “How do you stand it?”

Dad exhales slowly.

“It took us a long time,” he admits. “We’re still learning.”

Chapter 2: Abby's Parents Explain How Random Thoughts Instantly Manifest in the Devachan Realm

Abby's Parents Explain How Random Thoughts Instantly Manifest in the Devachan Realm begins, the young travelers realize the dangerous power of their own uncontrolled imaginations. Mom steps back and looks at Abby and Evan like a teacher sizing up new students.

“Our biggest problem,” Mom says, “is that we never learned to control our thoughts. Everything we experience on Earth becomes a permanent part of our soul’s mind. Every conversation, movie, fantasy daydream—etched in memory.”

She gestures at the blank space around them.

“In this realm, random thoughts manifest instantly,” she says. “I never realized how hard it would be to keep my mind clean.”

Abby starts to speak.

Before she gets a word out, an enormous unicorn thunders past. Its hooves shake the ground. Its horn glows. It slams right into Evan, knocking him flat.

“Sorry,” Abby gasps. “I’ve always wanted to see one.”

Dad’s eyes go distant for half a second.

Screaming people explode into existence. Buildings crack and crumble. Dust clouds sweep over them. Sirens wail.

Earthquake.

Mom punches Dad in the shoulder.

“Stop that,” she says.

The disaster blinks out.

Dad winces, rubbing his arm.

“Oops,” he says. “Guess I just demonstrated her point.”

Mom sighs.

“We’re in an outer realm of the afterworld called Devachan,” she explains. “For safety and growth, most people stay mostly isolated here until they learn better control.”

She nods at Dad.

“We’re allowed to be together because we had a strong marriage,” she says. “We catch each other when we start to spiral. Souls who are alone and lose control can get stuck for days replaying old traumas or violent movies. Eventually, they snap out of it and realize how much time they’ve wasted.”

A chill crawls up Abby’s spine.

“So you can do anything by replaying old memories,” she says, “but you’re separated from everyone until you master what you create. Does it help to replay good memories at least?”

Dad shakes his head.

“Not really,” he says. “It’s still fantasy. Not the present. Honestly, I’d think this whole talk was just a dream—except your mom hasn’t punched me yet. Then again, maybe we’re both imagining the same thing.”

Dozens of mini‑Abbys suddenly pop into the room: toddler Abby, angry teen Abby, birthday Abby, sobbing Abby.

Evan flinches.

“What do you have to master to move on?” Evan asks.

Dad’s voice goes more serious.

“Whatever we think, feel, or say appears around us as if it’s real,” he says. “We have to stop generating random replays and start choosing what we create on purpose. We also have to learn to spot fantasy fast.”

Mom nods.

“We watched a lot of movies,” she admits. “When a favorite scene starts playing, it’s hard to resist leaning into it. But if we let ourselves drift, our control weakens. Then we get dragged into violent scenes too. The best strategy is no fantasy at all. Think, feel, and speak to create new scenes instead.”

She closes her eyes.

Murmurs something under her breath.

The empty room ripples.

Suddenly, they stand in a beautiful garden with a flowing stream. Mom picks flowers. Dad holds a fishing rod by the bank. Light filters through trees. Birds sing.

The scene wavers and fades, then returns to the empty room.

Mom opens her eyes.

Dad smiles. “We designed that together,” he says. “We can go there anytime.”

Evan squints.

“But it’s still fantasy,” he says.

“True,” Mom says. “But we built it consciously, together, instead of being hijacked by random replays. It’s training. We’re learning to steer. Imagine being trapped forever in random movie clips you didn’t even pick. That’s what happens if you never learn.”

Abby hugs herself.

“Why can’t the Savior just reboot your mind and delete all the bad memories?” she asks.

Mom’s face softens.

“Because I’m the one who has to choose which memories to keep,” she says. “If someone wipes my mind, I lose everything—including my good memories, my kids, and everything I’ve learned. Self‑discipline is tied to memory. A total reboot would erase my entire existence.”

She looks at them both.

“So I’m learning to overwrite specific memories instead,” she says. “When we’ve rewired enough, we’ll be allowed to join others who have done the same.”

Dad claps his hands once.

“Let’s practice,” he says. “Warm, peaceful forest.”

Chapter 3: Abby, Evan, and the Parents Practice Building a Peaceful Forest Together Without Corrupted Distractions

Abby, Evan, and the Parents Practice Building a Peaceful Forest Together Without Corrupted Distractions, the group attempts to hold a shared vision against the interference of intrusive mental habits. All four of them close their eyes.

“Warm, peaceful forest,” they say together.

The room responds.

Ghost‑trees rise, colorless at first, then glowing faint green. A stream lines itself into existence, trickling, then flowing stronger. The air warms. Faint birdsong trickles in.

As they hold the shared picture, the details sharpen.

A four‑wheel‑drive truck suddenly roars through the clearing, spraying mud.

Mom punches Dad.

The truck vanishes mid‑skid.

Dark rain clouds roll overhead.

“Who’s doing that?” Evan asks.

Abby winces.

“Oops. Me,” she admits. “I’ll put the sun back.”

She focuses. The clouds thin. Light breaks through again.

They keep at it.

Mom keeps accidentally spawning extra animals—a squirrel, a deer, a fox that almost turns into a dragon before she reins it in. Abby adds a faint rainbow in the distance. Evan casts a gentle glow over the wildflowers along the bank. Dad adds sleek trout that leap and flash silver in the stream.

Abby spins slowly, grinning.

“This is way better than being a singing statue in some frozen choir,” she says.

Dad chuckles.

“This little forest is child’s play,” he says. “Millions of beings in sync create Inner Heaven. The mind of God holds up the whole universe. His thoughts, feelings, words keep the world going.”

Evan looks up toward the invisible sky.

“That must take insane focus,” he says. “What happens if He gets distracted?”

Dad shakes his head.

“He doesn’t,” Dad says. “He wants us to align with His vision and help. Beings who fight His picture twist reality—riots, wars, chaos. Humans have to stop pushing their own corrupted scenes into the cosmos and join the main story. We can’t keep drawing trucks and earthquakes into a peaceful forest. We’re supposed to add flowers and rainbows, not wildfires.”

Abby lifts her hand.

“So no big trucks and thunderstorms,” she says.

“Right,” Dad says. “Souls who won’t sync with the Creator’s scene are building a different world. Their addictions and grudges keep popping up, warping everything. Eventually, they get sent to the hellish reality they’ve been creating. Their own mess haunts them until they finally choose to align.”

“When do you get to join the main group?” Evan asks.

Dad shrugs.

“When we can hold our thoughts and emotions steady,” he says. “When we can join a group vision without adding earthquakes and riots. Then we can help paint in extra details instead of wrecking the background.”

Abby smiles faintly.

“So once you sync with the group,” she says, “you get to add more flowers. And maybe a rainbow or two.”

Mom nods.

“The goal is to clear out programming, movies, distractions,” she says, “so we can invite the mind of God. When His mind infuses ours, we see the bigger picture. Until then, we keep bumping into His plans without meaning to. Once we’re synced, we use our free will to add appropriate details.”

Abby hesitates.

“Then do you finally get into Heaven and hang out with the Savior?” she asks.

Dad’s eyes go distant.

“Real control takes a long time,” he says. “Thousands of years. Most apprentices in Devachan eventually return to Earth in a new body. Creation on Earth is slower; consequences manifest physically.

“Your soul still creates a field around you,” he continues, “but other people’s scenes interfere, distorting what you try to build. Billions of souls are practicing creation through human lives right now. Hardly any are synced with the Creator’s mind, so humanity’s inventions fight His vision and block Heaven from showing up on Earth.”

Mom adds quietly, “To receive more Holy Spirit power, we have to increase our self‑worth. Staying stuck as ‘miserable, worthless sinners’ leaves people powerless. It’s not enough to say ‘everyone’s worthy.’ Worthiness is measured by our virtues and wisdom—and grows as they grow.”

Evan inhales, organizing it all.

“So,” he says, “we have to stop polluting our minds. Block pop‑up replays from movies and social feeds. Flush out toxic beliefs. Control our thoughts, feelings, and words to create new, virtuous scenes—not fantasies. Fill our minds with the Creator’s vision. Practice helping Him hold up that vision. Then we earn the right to add rainbows.”

Dad smiles. “Exactly.”

He glances toward the trees.

“Meanwhile, Tempters are out there pushing riots, epidemics, fear,” he says. “When people focus on their chaos, they overwrite the Creator’s peaceful scene—at least in their area. The Tempters distract, drain, and program people to sync with their messed‑up version of reality. They’ll send a forest fire through your peaceful scene to wreck it.”

Evan grimaces.

“The news helps them,” he says. “Endless violent clips program people’s imaginations. The more contamination in a soul’s mind, the harder it is to import the Creator’s vision.”

Abby nods slowly.

“So Heaven isn’t a free, eternal vacation for lazy believers,” she says. “It’s…work. Real work. On thoughts, feelings, and words. I want to learn that.”

The forest brightens just a little at her words.

Chapter 4: Abby and Evan Learn That Unpaid Debts and Lack of Mystic Skills Prevent Souls From Entering Heaven

Abby and Evan Learn That Unpaid Debts and Lack of Mystic Skills Prevent Souls From Entering Heaven, the harsh reality of divine accountability shatters the teens' illusions of an effortless paradise—the forest steadies.

Birdsong smooths out. The stream glides.

Dad clears his throat.

“The Creator made free‑willed souls in His image,” he says, “so we’d choose to align with His vision first—and then add our own touches.”

Mom continues, “If everyone visualized a different scene, we’d get chaos, not harmony. When the news blasts details of terror attacks, millions of viewers secretly reinforce those images with their thoughts and feelings. When billions binge violent movies and games, they pump extra energy into those scenes.”

She gestures to the forest.

“The Creator holds a peaceful forest,” she says. “But united groups of corrupted people dump toxins into the water, set trees on fire, and black out the sky.”

Abby crosses her arms.

“So we’re supposed to be robots who just do what He says?” she asks.

Mom shakes her head.

“Think of it like a symphony,” she says. “God sets the stage and writes the main score. If every musician plays whatever they feel like, it’s noise. If they accept the piece and play their part with heart, you get music. Free will is in how you play your role, not in wrecking the whole performance.”

Evan snorts.

“Too bad a lot of modern music still sounds like chaos, even when played ‘correctly,’” he says. “Feels like the Tempters hijacked half the playlists.”

Mom nods.

“The Creator is like a director,” she says. “He sets parts of the stage, assigns rough roles, tries to inspire us. He built the universe, so He gets to decide what ending He’s aiming for. Souls who accept the setting and sync their thoughts, feelings, and words with the other actors get rewarded.”

“It still kind of sounds like puppets,” Abby mutters.

“Puppets don’t choose,” Mom says. “We do. A father is meant to discipline his kids. His conscience nudges him, but he chooses how to act that out. A kid is told to stay in the yard—but inside the fence, the kid chooses what game to play.”

Dad adds quietly, “We’re expected to work in Heaven. We don’t have the skills yet. The Father works. The Son works. Everyone works. At our current level, we’d qualify as low‑level helpers at best.”

Abby’s jaw drops.

“That’s messed up,” she says. “Heaven’s supposed to be a resort. We believe our debts disappear, and then we get full‑service eternity while God and His Son keep working?”

Evan shakes his head.

“I never bought that story,” he says. “No wise being builds a whole universe just to chain Himself to a forever day‑care full of spoiled, lazy fans. That would be His prison. Eventually, he’d quit.”

Dad nods.

“After death, souls go through a testing process,” he says. “Some call it Judgment Day. Your accomplishments are weighed—your spiritual savings, your mystic skills, your mastery of the nine gifts of the Holy Spirit. Your unpaid debts get measured, too.”

The forest flickers.

Scenes from Abby’s past pop up all around them—embarrassing secrets, petty acts and worse ones she tried to forget. Every guilty memory she’s ever tried to bury plays in the air like holograms.

Abby turns bright red and literally slaps her own cheek.

“Pretend you didn’t see that,” she says. “There’s no privacy here. Every memory leaks out. But I thought the Savior paid all my debts. Aren’t believers’ sins erased?”

Mom’s voice is gentle but firm.

“Your sins prove they’re not erased,” she says. “Your actions can be forgiven, yes. But the divine energy you misused is still trapped in those events. Forgiveness alone doesn’t free it. You have to transmute the corruption and release the holy fire inside. That purified energy goes back into your mystic bank account.”

She looks Abby in the eye.

“You can’t enter Heaven if more than half of all the energy you’ve ever been given is still locked in misused scenes,” she says. “You need more savings than debt.”

More old clips bubble up.

Abby slaps herself again.

“This is…a lot,” she says weakly. “Being held accountable every time I misused my own power changes everything.”

Mom nods.

“Souls with more savings than debt can get a job in Heaven to pay the rest off,” she says. “But they need discipline and a high level of mastery over wisdom, virtues, and soul powers before any ascended master sponsors them. Jobs are earned, not handed out. Also? It helps to have a good relationship with your spiritual teachers now. You’ll want references.”

Abby groans.

“Life was so simple before this,” she says. “I’m starting to regret this little field trip.”

Evan takes a slow breath.

“So the job interview looks at your energy, discipline, and talents,” he says. “What skills do they want that you don’t have yet?”

Dad half‑laughs.

“We didn’t get far,” he says. “Our pop‑up memories kept crashing the interview. The moment I caught a giant fish and your mom got distracted by roses, we were out. They assigned us here instead. One huge category they check is your extra senses: intuition, discernment, gut feeling.”

“Earth interviews don’t care about any of that,” Evan mutters.

Dad nods.

“In Heaven, they do,” he says. “You need all nine Holy Spirit gifts. You have to be able to direct and project different ‘colors’ of mystic fire all day. Before that, you must get total control over your thoughts and emotions. Imagine if your anger could launch literal fireballs at everything that annoys you.”

Mom adds, “Souls who drag fear, rage, and depression in here get sent to Ghost World instead. Their addictions and grudges trap them as invisible spirits in a parallel world until they’re ready for a new body. That wait can be a thousand years.”

The forest’s light dims for a second as if it heard her.

Chapter 5: The Parents Warn Abby and Evan About the Creator's Burning Radiance and the Dangers of Addiction Before the Teens Wake Up

The Parents Warn Abby and Evan About the Creator's Burning Radiance and the Dangers of Addiction Before the Teens Wake Up, the overwhelming requirements for standing near the divine source are finally revealed. Abby looks up into the unseen sky.

“Where is the Creator?” she asks. “He needs to explain a few things. There are a lot of promises that don’t match this place.”

Heat licks at her sleeves.

Mom taps her arm.

“Watch it,” Mom says. “Your clothes are on fire again.”

Abby tamps her anger down. The flames vanish.

Dad’s tone shifts.

“The Creator’s radiance makes the sun’s core look dim,” he says. “Only beings blazing with similar holy fire can get close. Your Uncle Bob tried to force his way in once. Rumor says he was still a million miles out when the light hit him. His soul…just dissolved. We haven’t heard from him since.”

Abby swallows.

“So the Creator punished him?” she asks.

Mom shakes her head.

“No,” she says. “Natural consequence. If you’re full of anything but pure holy fire, you melt in that field.”

“Then why would anyone want to get near Him?” Abby asks.

Mom’s eyes shine.

“Because His presence is the most empowering place there is,” she says. “The closer you get, the more your creative power multiplies. His field supercharges your soul with holiness and fire. But to stand there, you must be debt‑free, full of pure flame, and empty of addictions, attachments, and grudges. Only selfless, evolved beings can handle it.”

Evan thinks of kids at school messing with ‘spiritual’ drugs.

“What about people using drugs to chase spiritual experiences and self‑control?” he asks.

Dad’s jaw tightens.

“Drugs are built for addiction,” he says. “That addiction clings to your soul after you die. There are no drugs in the afterlife. Ghosts hooked on substances exist in constant craving with nothing to satisfy it until they get another body.”

He looks at them hard.

“Real discipline comes when an addict decides to quit and fights through the cravings,” Dad says. “There is no spiritual advantage to indulgence. Most drugs thin your protective field and attract vampire demons. Making friends on that side fills your soul with something very different from Holythe  Spirit.”

The forest shivers once, like a warning.

Abby and Evan both feel it—a cold ripple through warm leaves.

Abby’s shoulders slump.

“I think I’ve seen enough for one night,” she says softly.

Evan nods. “Yeah.”

Mom hugs Abby tight. Dad grips Evan’s shoulder.

“The Creator made independent, free souls,” Dad says. “He wants you to choose His vision and then add your own.”

Abby and Evan close their eyes.

The forest dissolves.

They wake up in their own beds.

Their pillows are damp with tears they don’t remember shedding.

But their minds hum with new, sharp questions.

And their souls—however small their flames still are—burn a little brighter.

Somewhere beneath the noise of school and screens, the parables of Crysticism whisper:

To bridge the gap between high school and Heaven, the real test isn’t who you say you believe in.

It’s what you create.

And whether you can control it.

Chapter Synopsis:

Abby and Evan project their souls out of their bodies to visit Abby's parents in the Devachan realm of the afterworld, where they discover that uncontrolled thoughts, memories, and fantasies instantly manifest as chaotic physical environments. The parents explain that souls must achieve strict self-discipline, eliminate toxic mental programming and movie replays, and align their thoughts, feelings, and words with the Creator's peaceful vision before they can earn a place in Heaven.

Core Themes & Laws:

Thoughts and feelings instantly manifest as tangible realities in the afterlife realm of Devachan.

Souls must attain absolute self-discipline and mastery over their memories to prevent chaotic manifestations like riots or earthquakes.

Unpaid debts, misused energy, and a lack of spiritual gifts prevent souls from entering higher heavenly realms.

True spiritual progress requires active alignment with the Creator's vision rather than passive reliance on doctrinal forgiveness.

Key Entities Featured in this Document:

[Abby]: A teenager who practices out-of-body travel with Evan to explore the afterworld and visit her parents.

[Evan]: Abby's teenage friend and travel partner who joins her on out-of-body explorations of the afterlife.

[Mom]: Abby's mother residing in the Devachan realm who guides the teens on controlling their thoughts and emotions.

[Dad]: Abby's father residing in the Devachan realm who explains afterlife accountability, energy savings, and divine alignment.

[Devachan]: An outer realm of the afterworld where souls reside in isolation until they learn mental control and discipline.

[The Creator]: The supreme divine being whose powerful radiance and vision sustain the universe and require absolute purity to approach.

[Tempters]: Negative forces in the cosmos that push fear, addiction, epidemics, and chaos to distract souls from the divine vision.