Stepping into Eternity E-Book

Stephen Turoff

• Herausgeber: Clairview Books
• Kategorie: Ratgeber
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 337

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Beschreibung

Thirty years after penning his bestseller, Seven Steps to Eternity – the story of Jim, a young man killed in the First World War, and his progress in the afterlife – Stephen Turoff revisits the soldier's soul. In Stepping into Eternity, the world-renowned healer enters into fresh dialogue with Jim, discovering new insights and teachings. Together with the soldier's spirit-guide, Chan, we learn more about life after death – how souls are drawn out of darkness and into the embrace of 'heaven' and eternity. We are told of the roles of dreams, music, guardian spirits, relationships in life and death, and karma – the law of cause and effect. Also revealed are astonishing prophecies on humanity's future. In this engrossing sequel to Seven Steps to Eternity, we are invited once again to join the author on a voyage that encompasses timeless themes with humour and understanding, bridging the gap between the living and the dead – between history, the present and the future. We gain a greater comprehension of what it means to be human, to endure, and to find eternal life, joy and hope in the shadows of despair.

Leseprobe

STEPPING INTO ETERNITY

A CONVERSATION ON THE AFTERLIFE

STEPHEN TUROFF

Clairview Books Ltd.,

Russet, Sandy Lane,

West Hoathly,

W. Sussex RH19 4QQ

www.clairviewbooks.com

Published by Clairview Books 2025

© Stephen Turoff 2025

This book is copyright under the Berne Convention. All rights reserved. Apart from any fair dealing for the purpose of private study, research, criticism or review, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, electrical, chemical, mechanical, optical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the copyright owner. Inquiries should be addressed to the Publishers

No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner for the purpose of training artificial intelligence technologies or systems. In accordance with Article 4(3) of the DSM Directive 2019/790, Clairview Books expresssly reserves this work from the text and data mining exception

The right of Stephen Turoff to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988

A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

Print book ISBN 978 1 912992 75 1

Ebook ISBN 978 1 912992 76 8

Cover by Morgan Creative

Typeset by DP Photosetting, Neath, West Glamorgan

Printed and bound by 4Edge Ltd, Essex

Contents

Preface

  1.It Begins

  2.Karma, Cause and Effect

  3.Meeting my Spiritual Guide

  4.Out of the Darkness

  5.Embrace of Heaven

  6.New Beginnings

  7.The Frequencies of Life

  8.Relationships

  9.Ghostly Impressions

10.Dreams

11.The Summons

12.The Medium of Music

13.The Battle

14.Chan’s Gift to Jim

Preface

It’s been thirty years since I wrote Seven Steps to Eternity. I recall vividly the emotions and thoughts that filled my mind as I recorded the tale of a young soldier who met his untimely end in the horrific Battle of the Somme during World War I. In the years since its publication, the story has resonated with readers, offering a glimpse into the harrowing experiences of those who lived – and died – in the trenches.

Now, in early June 2024, I find myself once again drawn to the world of Seven Steps to Eternity. The soldier’s story, his courage, and the brutal realities of war have lingered in my thoughts, calling me back to explore further. It is a strange but compelling feeling to return to a narrative that has already been given life – to add new dimensions and perspectives that time and reflection have brought to the surface.

The first book was a poignant exploration of sacrifice and loss, centred on a young man who faced the ultimate test of character on the battlefield. With this book we connect once again with Jim, and find out what he has been up to in the intervening years. He was only eighteen years old when he was caught in the chaos and carnage of the Somme, a moment that defined his existence and marked the end of his earthly journey. Through his eyes, we witnessed the tragedy of war and the fleeting nature of life – themes that remain as powerful today as they were a century ago.

As I sit down to pen this follow-up, I am reminded of the soldier’s bravery and the lessons his story imparts. The intervening years have provided me with new insights and a deeper understanding of the human spirit’s resilience in the face of unimaginable adversity. This book is not merely a continuation but an expansion, delving into the enduring impact of his life and death on those he left behind and on the broader tapestry of history.

Writing again about a character who has become so intimately connected to my own creative journey is both a challenge and a privilege. The passage of time has allowed me to view his story through a different lens – one that is shaped by a world that has itself seen profound changes. It is my hope that this new instalment will honour the memory of that young soldier and the countless others who shared his fate, whilst offering readers a fresh perspective on their continuing legacy.

Seven Steps to Eternity was a story of the past, yet its themes are timeless. As we move forward into the sequel, I invite you to join me once again on this journey – one that bridges the gap between history and the present, between the fallen and the living. Together, let us explore what it means to be human, to endure, and to find hope in the shadows of despair.

Stephen Turoff

1

It Begins

It was a late Friday evening when my partner and I, utterly exhausted from a long day of decorating the lounge, finally decided to call it a night. The house was quiet, bathed in the soft glow of the bedside lamp as we climbed into bed. After a murmured goodnight, I quickly slipped into the embrace of sleep.

A few hours must have passed when I felt a tug at the duvet. In my half-awake state, I dismissed it as my partner’s restless movements and pulled the cover back over me. It happened again, this time with more insistence. Half-asleep, I mumbled to my partner, ‘Stop pulling the duvet off me’. Her drowsy reply came, ‘It’s not me’.

Startled, I tightened my grip on the duvet and tried to return to the refuge of sleep. But peace was short-lived. The third time, the duvet was yanked from my grasp with such force that it startled me fully awake. An unmistakable, eerie laugh echoed through the room – a laugh I hadn’t heard in decades but recognized instantly. My heart pounded in my chest as the room’s air grew heavy with a presence both familiar and otherworldly.

‘Jim, what do you want at this hour?’, I demanded, my voice a mix of frustration and anxiety. Jim was my old writing partner from 30 years ago – except he had passed on. We had spent many months together, crafting his life story and recounting his tragic death at the Battle of the Somme. Our book, Seven Steps to Eternity, had been a profound success, chronicling his journey from the battlefield to the afterlife. It had taken everything out of me, pouring my soul into that tale, and I had vowed never to pen another.

Yet here he was, lingering in the spectral twilight between sleep and waking, insisting I return to the quill. His presence filled the room, a tangible force that brought back memories of our long nights of writing and his ethereal guidance. The spectral chill hung in the air as his laughter faded, replaced by a sense of purpose and urgency that seemed to seep into my bones.

In the silent, haunting hours of the night, it became clear that Jim was not ready to let go. The afterlife still had tales to tell, and he wanted me, once again, to be their scribe.

That night, as the shadows grew long and the moon cast its silvery glow across my study, a sense of resolve crystallized within me. Jim’s spectral presence loomed, his words echoing through my mind with an urgency that transcended the realm of the living. I felt his silent plea, a haunting insistence that I bring his story to life.

With a deep breath, I made a solemn vow, a commitment to Jim and to the restless spirit of his unfinished tale. I would sit at my computer each day, devoting time to capturing his words, weaving his thoughts into the fabric of my own. Yet there was a condition to this pact that I needed my rest. No more nocturnal visitations that drained the colour from my dreams and left me in a twilight of fatigue. Jim, sensing the weight of my need, gave a silent nod, an ethereal agreement that he would respect my slumber. We had struck a deal: I would write his story, and he would let me sleep.

*

It was 5 am. The dawn broke gently, casting a warm, golden light through the curtains. My partner stirred beside me, her presence a comforting anchor in the reality of a new day. As she sipped her morning coffee, the events of the night tumbled from my lips. Jim visited again, I began, my voice a whisper over the steaming brew. We’ve come to an understanding. I’ll write his words each day, but he must leave me to my sleep.

She arched an eyebrow, a faint smile playing on her lips. Her eyes, sharp and unwavering, held not a hint of disbelief. She was a woman grounded in the here and now, her philosophy rooted in the practical and the tangible.

‘Well’, she said, her tone brisk and unwavering, ‘you better get on with it’.

There was no room for hesitation in her words. Her no-non-sense attitude left no space for the procrastination of tomorrow. She believed firmly in the power of the present, in seizing each moment with purpose and determination.

As she turned back to her coffee, I felt a surge of determination course through me. The day awaited, and with it, the task of giving voice to Jim’s unfinished tale. The keyboard beckoned, a silent witness to the promise I had made in the ghostly hours of the night. And so, with a heart steeled by my partner’s resolute encouragement and a mind buzzing with the echoes of the spectral, I sat down to write, ready to fulfil the pact that bound me to Jim and his haunting story.

As the hours of the morning deepened, my thoughts turned to Jim. The stillness of the house seemed to amplify my anticipation, each tick of the clock echoing like a heartbeat. ‘I’m ready, Jim. Where are you?’ I whispered into the silence, my voice barely more than a breath, hoping to summon the spectre who had become my otherworldly muse.

I sat in my chair, eyes darting across the shadows that danced on the walls, waiting for the tell-tale chill or the faint whisper that signalled his presence. Minutes stretched into what felt like an eternity. The anticipation gnawed at me, a creeping unease that began to feel almost oppressive. Restless, I stood and made my way to the kitchen, the hum of the refrigerator and the soft clinking of the kettle offering a comforting counterpoint to the eerie quiet. The ritual of making tea was a small act of defiance against the ghostly tension that had settled over me.

As the hot liquid swirled in my cup, its steam curling upward like a ghost of its own, I returned to my chair, hoping the warmth would settle my nerves. I took a sip, letting the heat seep into me, and leaned back, my body slowly easing into the familiar contours of the seat.

Suddenly, a cold, forceful hand struck my back, and a voice – sharp and startling – pierced the quiet. ‘Here I am!’ The words slammed into me like a thunderclap, jolting my senses into high alert. My grip on the cup faltered, and hot tea splashed over the rim, spilling down my arm and narrowly missing my computer.

‘Jim!’, I gasped, the shock turning into a growl of frustration. The ghostly slap had sent a jolt through my body, scattering my thoughts and nearly ruining my equipment. I bit back a string of curses, my pulse pounding in my ears. For a moment, I was paralyzed by the absurdity of the situation – a ghost appearing with the tact of a jackhammer, and me, sitting there drenched in tea.

I turned, my eyes wide with a mix of irritation and disbelief, only to see the air shimmer where Jim’s presence had manifested. His spectral form flickered, as if amused by my dishevelled state. He hovered there, insubstantial yet palpably real, a ghostly smirk playing on his lips. I muttered something dark, shaking tea from my hands and glaring at the phantom who had once again disrupted my peace.

Jim’s laugh was a low, haunting echo, reverberating through the room like the sound of distant thunder. ‘Ready to write now?’, he teased, his eyes glinting with a mischief that seemed out of place for a spirit seeking to have his story told.

I took a deep breath, trying to steady the racing of my heart. ‘Yes, Jim. Ready as I’ll ever be’, I replied, my voice steadier than I felt. With a resigned sigh, I set my cup down, wiped the remnants of tea from my arm, and turned to the computer. The early morning was far from over, and the story awaited, demanding to be told. The ghost had made his presence known in no uncertain terms, and I had a promise to keep.

The room seemed to grow colder as Jim’s spectral form solidified before me, the edges of his presence shimmering like a heat mirage on a scorching day. His eyes, though ghostly and insubstantial, bore into mine with an intensity that spoke of untold stories and unfulfilled legacies.

‘Let’s get started’, he said, his voice a chilling whisper that seemed to resonate from another realm. The words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of untold history. There was a pause, a pregnant silence where the world seemed to hold its breath, waiting for the tales he was about to unearth.

As Jim began to speak, the room around us seemed to fade, the ordinary confines of my study dissolving into the ether. His voice, though soft, carried the power of ages past, painting vivid pictures of his existence in the spirit world. He spoke of the days following the First and Second World Wars, a time when the world above and the world below were in tumultuous flux.

‘After the First War ended’, Jim began, his tone imbued with a mix of solemnity and reverence, ‘the spirit world was awash with the echoes of countless souls. Soldiers, civilians, innocents – they all arrived in waves, their lives snuffed out in the throes of conflict. The realm was a sea of confusion and despair.’

As he recounted these events, I could almost see the scenes he described – ethereal beings drifting through a fog of uncertainty, searching for purpose and peace. Jim’s voice grew stronger, his spectral form flickering with the intensity of his memories.

‘There were councils’, he continued, ‘gatherings of spirits who sought to guide the newly arrived souls. We tried to help them find solace, to make sense of the sudden end of their earthly existence. I became a part of these efforts, learning to navigate the vast expanse of the spirit world, to offer comfort and understanding where I could.’

His words conjured images of spectral assemblies, ghostly figures huddled together in solemn discourse, their forms illuminated by the soft glow of their lingering life force. The air around us seemed to shimmer with the energy of these unseen gatherings. Each word Jim spoke pulled me deeper into his world.

‘Then came the Second World War.’ Jim’s voice darkened, taking on a tone of sorrow and determination. ‘The devastation was unimaginable. The influx of souls was even greater, their anguish and torment more profound. The spirit world struggled under the weight of so much loss, so much unfulfilled potential.’

He paused, his gaze distant, as if recalling the overwhelming tide of sorrow that swept through the afterlife. I could almost feel the chill of his memories, the despair that clung to each newly arrived soul. Jim’s spectral form wavered, his translucent figure flickering like a candle in a draft.

‘We were tested’, he said, his voice barely more than a whisper now. ‘Those of us who had taken on the role of guides were pushed to our limits. We had to find new ways to help, new methods to soothe the countless spirits who arrived, shattered and broken by the horrors they had endured.’

The weight of his words pressed down on me, the gravity of the spirit world’s struggle resonating through the quiet of my study. It was a harrowing tale, one that spoke of unseen battles and the relentless effort to bring peace to those caught in the wake of war.

‘But it wasn’t all despair.’ Jim’s voice softened, a glimmer of hope threading through the darkness. ‘There were moments of light, of triumph. We discovered that even in the afterlife, there is room for healing and growth. Some spirits found peace, found ways to move beyond their earthly suffering. We learned that the bonds of love and friendship could endure beyond death, offering a beacon of hope in the most profound darkness.’

His words hung in the air, a testament to the resilience of the human spirit, even beyond the veil of mortality. Jim’s gaze met mine, and in that moment I felt a profound connection to the countless souls whose stories he carried.

As his tale came to a close, the room seemed to breathe again, the ordinary sounds of the day seeping back into my consciousness. I was left in awe of the unseen struggles and triumphs of the spirit world, a realm as complex and vivid as our own.

‘Thank you, Jim’, I whispered, my voice barely audible, ‘for sharing this with me’.

He gave a slow nod, his form flickering with a spectral light. ‘There is more to tell’, he said softly. ‘But for now, let’s rest. We’ll continue tomorrow.’

With that, his presence began to fade, the room growing warmer as the chill of the spectral world receded. I sat back in my chair, the enormity of what I had just heard settling over me like a heavy cloak. There was much work ahead, a story to be told that transcended the boundaries of life and death. And I was the chosen vessel to bring it to life.

As I closed my eyes, the faintest smile crossed my lips. For the first time in a week, I knew I would sleep soundly, my dreams untroubled by ghostly visitations. Tomorrow, the journey would continue.

2

Karma, Cause and Effect

‘How did you get on with the book yesterday?’ my partner asked, her voice filled with curiosity and concern.

I looked up from my reverie, her question pulling me back into the present. ‘I never really realized what a dramatic effect Jim’s story would have on me’, I replied, my tone betraying the swirl of emotions that had gripped me. The memory of Jim’s haunting words and his ethereal presence still lingered, like a ghost at the edge of my consciousness. I felt the weight of his story pressing on my soul, each chapter a heavy stone adding to the burden.

She gave me a reassuring smile, a gesture meant to lift my spirits. ‘Well, you wrote his first book. I’m sure you will be able to write this one too’, she said, her confidence in me unwavering.

Her faith was a lifeline, and I clung to it as I made my way downstairs, the wooden steps creaking under the weight of my thoughts. The kitchen was bathed in the soft light of dawn, the calm before the storm of creativity that I hoped would soon strike. As I poured myself a cup of tea, the steam rising in delicate spirals, I felt a sense of anticipation. The warmth of the cup in my hands was a small comfort against the chill of uncertainty that had settled in my bones.

With my tea in hand, I moved to my study, the familiar hum of the computer a constant in my otherwise turbulent world. I settled into my chair, the leather creaking softly as I leaned back, and stared at the blank screen in front of me.

‘Come on, Jim’, I whispered, my voice barely more than a breath. ‘I’m ready.’

I closed my eyes and waited, hoping to feel that unmistakable tug from the other side, the signal that Jim was ready to share more of his story. The air seemed to thicken, and I could almost sense his presence, a faint shimmer at the edge of my awareness. My fingers hovered over the keyboard, ready to capture every word, every nuance of his tale.

Minutes passed, the silence around me deepening, and I began to wonder if today would be the day he would remain silent. But just as doubt began to creep in, I felt a sudden jolt, as if a spark of electricity had shot through me. My eyes flew open, and there it was – a new chapter, unfolding in my mind, vivid and urgent.

Jim’s voice, distant yet clear, began to fill the room, weaving a tapestry of words that I hurried to transcribe. The story poured out of him, raw and unfiltered, and I was merely the conduit, the scribe tasked with bringing his tale to life.

As I typed, the words flowed effortlessly, the barrier between our worlds blurring until it felt as though Jim was right there beside me, guiding my hands across the keyboard. His story was one of redemption and loss, of love and betrayal, and it resonated with a depth that I had not anticipated.

‘After I died’, Jim began, his voice resonating with a quiet intensity that sent shivers down my spine, ‘my parents were overwhelmed by guilt, a crushing weight that bore down on them day and night.’

The air in the room grew colder, and I could almost feel the oppressive atmosphere of despair that must have enveloped his family. Jim’s presence was palpable, a spectral entity hovering in the space between us, and his words painted a vivid picture of his parents’ anguish. Their faces, etched with sorrow, flickered before my eyes like a ghostly slideshow.

Jim’s voice trembled slightly, laden with the sorrow and confusion of his untimely end. ‘I wanted so desperately to let them know I was still alive, even though my body lay dead in the mud. My life snuffed out by a piece of shrapnel that tore through my chest.’ His words echoed with a haunting clarity, conjuring images of that fateful moment on the battlefield. ‘I remember the searing pain, the hot, sticky blood soaking into the cold earth beneath me’, he continued, his tone raw with emotion. ‘Everything around me was chaos – the screams of the wounded, the relentless pounding of artillery. But amidst the cacophony, there was a strange, eerie silence inside me as I felt life slipping away.’

His voice grew softer, tinged with a lingering incomprehension. ‘It was the most bewildering and terrifying time of my life. One moment, I was fighting, clinging to every shred of life. The next, I was hovering above my own body, looking down at the lifeless shell that had once been me.’ Jim paused, and I could almost see him reliving that moment, the horror and the confusion of it all. ‘I could see my parents’ faces in my mind, their expressions twisted with grief and regret. They were hundreds of miles away, yet I could feel their pain as if it were my own.’

Jim took a deep, shuddering breath, and I felt a surge of empathy for the struggle he had faced.

‘I tried to reach out to them’, Jim continued, ‘to let them know that I wasn’t truly gone, that my spirit still lingered. But I was trapped, caught between worlds, unable to bridge the gap. I was a silent observer to their suffering, powerless to ease their pain.’

Tears welled up in my eyes as I listened to his heart-wrenching tale. Jim’s words cut through me, laying bare the agony of a soul yearning for connection, for a chance to reassure the ones he loved that death had not taken him entirely.

Jim cried out: ‘I wanted to scream, to tell them that I was still here’, he whispered, his voice barely more than a breath. ‘But all I could do was watch, helpless, as they drowned in their sorrow.’

Jim’s story hung heavy in the air, a poignant reminder of the invisible threads that bind us to those we love, even beyond death. As I sat there, my fingers trembling on the keyboard, I knew that his tale was more than just a recounting of past events – it was a testament to the enduring power of love, and the haunting echoes of a life cut tragically short.

The room fell silent, the weight of his words settling over me like a shroud. Jim’s presence seemed to recede, his story now told, but the impact of his message remained. I stared at the screen, the words shimmering in the dim light, and I felt a profound sense of responsibility. Jim’s voice, though silent now, had left an indelible mark on my soul.

‘Do you need a rest?’ I asked Jim, my voice trembling with concern as the weight of his fatigue seemed to grow heavier with each step.

He paused for a moment, the shadows of his past etched deeply in the lines of his face. His eyes, once bright and full of life, now held a sombre wisdom. ‘No’, he replied, his voice a soft but resolute whisper, almost as if the admission carried a profound gravity. ‘I have long got over those feelings. I had to’, he continued, each word tinged with a mix of sorrow and steely determination.

He glanced up at the dim, flickering light that barely pierced the oppressive gloom surrounding us, as if searching for something unseen. ‘They were holding me back’, he confessed, his tone growing more intense, laden with the echoes of countless battles fought within his soul. ‘They kept me a prisoner of the lower astral plane’, he added, his voice cracking slightly under the weight of the memories that surfaced – a place of torment and despair, where the lost and the broken wander endlessly.

Jim’s eyes flickered with a haunted intensity, the depth of his struggle laid bare before me. ‘Every step away from that darkness was a battle’, he said, his gaze locking onto mine with a fierce resolve. ‘A battle I could not afford to lose. Because losing meant losing myself, forever.’

His words hung in the air between us, heavy and fraught with unspoken pain. I could almost feel the invisible chains that once bound him, the relentless grip of the lower astral plane that sought to drag him back into its shadowy depths. But there he stood, defiant, no longer a prisoner but a warrior, forged in the fires of his own suffering.

‘That day, I was one of the lucky few, narrowly escaping the calamity that claimed countless lives’, Jim stated, ‘as I stumbled through the dense, disorienting fog, lost and bewildered, a figure materialized beside me. He introduced himself as “the Bear”, a name that suited him perfectly at first glance. His massive frame and commanding presence loomed like a steadfast guardian in the midst of the swirling, relentless mist. “But my family calls me Bill”, he added, his voice a low rumble that matched his formidable stature. Together, we stumbled through this eerie purgatory, the acrid taste of smoke and fear thick in the air. The mist, dense and unyielding, clung to us like the remnants of war itself, obscuring the ground beneath our feet and the sky above our heads. We were adrift in a void where time and space seemed to collapse, the screams and echoes of battle still reverberating in our ears.

‘In that suffocating gloom, we suddenly encountered a group of beings who moved with a grace and purpose that contrasted starkly with the devastation around them. They were the Rescuers, radiant figures whose very presence exuded warmth and light, cutting through the despair that had enveloped us. I felt an overwhelming surge of gratitude and relief as they approached, their eyes reflecting a kindness that seemed almost otherworldly.

‘“Thank God”, I whispered, my voice trembling with the weight of survival. These were not just ordinary souls; they were our saviours, tasked with the solemn duty of gathering the newly fallen and guiding us to a sanctuary beyond the reach of war’s cruel grasp. Their mission was to rescue us from the abyss of suffering, to lift us from the battlefield strewn with shattered lives and carry us to a realm of peace and solace. Yet, not all who roamed this astral battleground were benevolent. We were warned of other entities, dark and malevolent, who prowled the fog with a sinister intent. These predators of the soul sought out the newly slain, preying upon our raw, exposed emotions. Their goal was to ensnare us in the web of our own despair, to feed on our fear and hopelessness until we were dragged down into the depths of hell itself.

‘As the Bear and I followed the Rescuers, the threat of these shadowy figures loomed large in our minds. We could feel their presence lurking at the edges of the mist, waiting for a moment of weakness to strike. Every step we took was a desperate struggle to stay in the light, to hold on to the hope that these good souls offered, and to avoid the darkness that threatened to consume us entirely. In the end, it was the unwavering resolve of the Rescuers and the unexpected bond I formed with the Bear that saved me. They led us through the mist, away from the battlefield of carnage and toward a sanctuary where the echoes of war could no longer reach us. And as we stepped into the light, leaving the fog and the horrors behind, I knew we had escaped not just the grip of death, but the clutches of a fate far more terrifying.

‘Stephen, would you believe we were among a hundred and fifty other souls claimed by destiny on that fateful day, our lives abruptly severed from the world we knew. Guided through the veil of death, we were ushered into a vast, ethereal hall. The air was thick with an otherworldly aura, the walls shimmering with an unsettling, spectral light. The crowd around me – men, women, children – stood silent, their faces etched with the haunting realization of their demise.

‘At the front of this ghostly assembly, upon a raised platform, stood a figure of authority – Captain Marsh. His presence commanded attention, a sentinel in a military uniform that seemed to flicker between the tangible and the ethereal. His eyes, deep and unyielding, scanned the crowd as he began to speak.

‘“Welcome”, he said, his voice reverberating through the hall, carrying a weight that felt both comforting and inescapable. “You are no longer of the living. You have crossed into a realm between worlds, a place of reckoning and reflection. I am Captain Marsh, and I am here to guide you through the next steps of your journey.”’

Jim continued speaking: ‘As Captain Marsh words settled over us like a shroud, a murmur of recognition rippled through the gathered souls. We were in the presence of a guardian of the dead, a shepherd for those who had lost their way in the cataclysmic chaos of the day. The rest, as you know from our first book, is a tale of discovery and redemption, a chronicle of the paths we walked in that shadowy realm, guided by the enigmatic Captain Marsh.

‘In the labyrinthine corridors of time, the present moment stands as an extraordinary confluence of forces, where the echoes of the past intertwine with the burgeoning whispers of the future. The present moment is a unique blend of the past’s legacy and the future’s promise. Your world stands at a crossroads, where technological advancement, societal change, and environmental challenges converge, shaping the fabric of your daily life.

‘In the realm of Earth technology, you have witnessed an unprecedented acceleration. Artificial intelligence (AI) and machine learning have moved from being niche technologies to mainstream applications, influencing nearly every industry. Societal norms and structures are also evolving rapidly. The pandemic years have left an indelible mark on social behaviour and work environments.

‘The present time reflects a collective consciousness grappling with complex issues, striving towards inclusivity, and demanding accountability and action from institutions and leaders. The climate crisis is one of the most pressing issues of your time, Stephen. The present moment is marked by an urgent need for action to combat global warming and environmental degradation. The increasing frequency of extreme weather events, rising sea levels and biodiversity loss underscore the necessity for sustainable practices and policies. The present is a moment of significant transformation, driven by a complex web of influences and marked by the enduring human spirit. It is a time that demands awareness, adaptability, and collective effort to shape a future that is equitable, sustainable, and hopeful to all.’

‘Good God, Jim, did you eat a dictionary?’, I blurted out, barely containing my shock. The sheer sophistication of his language was almost laughable. ‘In just 30 years, you’ve transformed from a regular guy to someone who sounds like they’re auditioning for a role in a Shakespearean play. Are you sure you’re not hiding a thesaurus somewhere? I mean, what happened to the guy who used to yell at me if I was not at the computer on time? Now you’re tossing around phrases like “labyrinthine corridors of time”, as if you’re delivering a grand lecture at a forum! It’s as if you’ve suddenly transformed into a sage, standing at the helm of a cosmic symposium, unravelling the intricate and boundless tapestry of existence with the eloquence and fervour of a seasoned orator. You’re not just speaking; you’re weaving an epic narrative that dances across the eons, traversing the winding, enigmatic passageways of history and destiny – ha ha ha! It’s as if, in this very moment, you and I have been possessed by the spirit of the universe itself, and you to channelling the wisdom of the ages into a single, electrifying discourse that leaves us all in awe of the vast, uncharted expanses of time.’

A hearty, resonant laughter erupted from deep within Jim, filling the room with an unexpected vibrancy. His eyes sparkled with a mix of amusement and revelation, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. ‘You know’, he began, his voice carrying a warmth that was almost tangible, ‘I was made to study over there. At first, I thought it was just another challenge thrown my way, another hurdle in the relentless race of life. But Chan, my spirit guide, made me go.’

He paused, glancing out of the window at the garden bathed in the golden hues of the midday sun. ‘I remember the distant sounds of students’ chatter and the occasional rustling of leaves as I walked to the lecture hall. We have many halls of learning there’, he continued, turning his gaze back with a newfound clarity. ‘I’m glad I did. Truly. This place, this experience – it’s given me a better insight into your world and, in ways I hadn’t anticipated, into my own.’

Jim’s eyes took on a faraway look, as if he were peering into the depths of his past and the possibilities of his future. ‘Over there, I’ve discovered layers to myself I never knew existed. I’ve learned to see the world through different lenses, to appreciate the vast tapestry of cultures, ideas and dreams that weave our lives together. It’s like I’ve been handed the keys to a treasure chest brimming with perspectives and wisdom.’

He leaned forward, his expression earnest now. ‘And in understanding your world better, I’ve come to understand mine too. The things I took for granted, the beliefs I held without question – they’ve all been challenged and reshaped. It’s as if this journey was meant to peel back the layers, to reveal a deeper truth about who I am and where I come from.’

Jim’s voice softened, but the intensity in his eyes remained. ‘So yes, I was made to study there, but it’s been more than just an education. It’s been an awakening. And for that, I am profoundly grateful.

‘Knowledge, in all its splendour, is a beacon illuminating the vast expanse of human potential.’ Jim continued. ‘It is a magnificent force, capable of unravelling the mysteries of the universe and propelling civilization to astonishing heights. Yet knowledge alone is a double-edged sword – brilliant in its promise, perilous in its absence of guidance. Without the steadying hand of wisdom, knowledge becomes a mere instrument of ignorance, a Pandora’s box unleashed upon the world. Wisdom is the compass that navigates the uncharted seas of knowledge, tempering its power with insight and understanding. It is the quiet voice urging caution in the face of innovation, the discerning eye that perceives the long shadows cast by short-term gains.

‘Look around you, witness the marvels that knowledge has bestowed upon you – the technological wonders, the vast repositories of information at your fingertips, the incredible feats of science and engineering. You soar higher than ever before, touching the stars and unravelling the fabric of reality itself. Yet in the same breath, observe the scars of heedless ambition. The environmental degradation, the ethical dilemmas of unchecked advancements, the social fractures driven by the relentless pursuit of progress. Consider the grandeur of your achievements and the haunting consequences of their misapplication. Knowledge, untethered by wisdom, has become a force of both creation and destruction. The same intellect that harnesses the atom for energy also wields it for annihilation. The same networks that connect you can divide and manipulate you.

‘Wisdom, that profound and elusive companion to knowledge, is the key to a balanced and harmonious world. It is the sage counsel that recognizes when to advance and when to retreat, when to innovate and when to preserve. It is the guardian of our shared humanity, ensuring that our pursuit of knowledge enhances rather than diminishes the human spirit. Reflect upon the world before you. See the brilliance of your collective intellect, and also see the chaos and destruction wrought by knowledge untempered by wisdom. To forge a future that is not only advanced but also just and compassionate, you must marry our relentless quest for knowledge with the timeless wisdom that guides your actions towards the greater good.’

I asked with bated breath: ‘Jim, are you still with Rose?’ His response came slowly, laden with an unspoken weight. ‘No’, he sighed heavily, ‘we’re still good friends. It’s just – she had to move on with her life. In a mystical twist of fate, she was reincarnated amidst the vibrant turmoil of 1970s Denmark, finding herself born into a bustling household already graced with two other children. Destiny wove her a new life, steering her path towards marriage and motherhood, where she now stands as the matriarch of her own loving family.

‘Our connection transcends mere mortal bounds. Across the veils of reality, I journey to her side whenever she calls, lending my aid in moments of need. And in those ethereal hours of night, she visits me in her dreams, where we converse deeply, reminiscing about days past and unravelling the mysteries of life itself. These nocturnal dialogues are our sanctuary, where time bends and our spirits intertwine, forging an unbreakable bond that defies the constraints of earthly existence.’ There was a fleeting pause, but in that moment I felt a profound sadness emanating from Jim, as if each word he uttered carried the weight of a thousand regrets.

‘Jim, could you please explain reincarnation more thoroughly. How does it work? How do past lives influence our current existence?’ Could he share the stories of souls moving through different realms, seeking understanding or resolution? I was curious about karma’s role in shaping this journey through time.

Jim’s voice trembled with the weight of the knowledge he was about to share. ‘I can only touch upon this vast ocean of knowledge’, he began, his eyes reflecting the depth of what he was about to convey. ‘Imagine, if you will, a boundless sea, stretching infinitely in every direction. This sea holds secrets and truths beyond our wildest dreams, depths that no human can fully fathom.’

He paused, letting the gravity of his words sink in. ‘And in the midst of this overwhelming expanse, I stand on the shore, a mere speck, able to grasp only a fraction of its immensity. But even this tiny fragment is powerful beyond measure.’

Taking a deep breath, he continued, his voice now a hushed reverence. ‘When I sought answers, when the weight of my own questions bore down upon me, I turned to Chan. I asked him the very same questions that now linger in your mind, questions that gnaw at your curiosity and thirst for understanding.’

Jim’s gaze became distant, as if he was transported back to that moment. ‘Chan looked at me with eyes that seemed to hold the wisdom of ages. And he answered, not with the complexity one might expect, but with a simplicity that held profound truth. His words were like a beacon, cutting through the fog of uncertainty.’