"What is hell? I maintain that it is the suffering of being unable to love." - Fyodor Dostoyevsky

I sat by Mark's fresh grave staring at the mound of freshly turned earth. I had no tears to shed for this man I hardly knew. He'd been a member of our group for such a short time, I'd barely known him at all. He seemed good, but if I wept at every crisis these days, I'd never stop crying.

Raziel appeared and stood near me. "The human body is made of dust. It is nothing more than a vehicle," he said.

"Right. 'Ashes to ashes and dust to dust' and all that rot," I said.

"It is the spirit, within, that is in The Image. It is the spirit which creates and has an effect within the realms. And the spirit is made of the very essence of That Which Is. Once a body had been formed of matter the Essence was breathed into the body and gave it True Life.

"When a human spirit rejects the Light and becomes filled with darkness it will no longer be able to tolerate the Presence of the Light. It becomes painful for them. And so That Which Is created a space where the Light is muted and filtered. Those who are uncertain of where their love lies can go there and stay as long as they need to. It is a safe place for them, neither too Bright nor completely overwhelmed by the darkness. Some, being apart from the direct Warmth of The Light will see that they miss it and will instinctively strive to return to it. Others find freedom from guilt in the darkness and they embrace it fully. Once their choice is clear in their hearts, they immediately go toward the light or toward the darkness. In that place, such a choice is still possible. Once a human has surrendered themselves entirely, though, to either the light or the darkness, they will almost surely never have the strength leave that path. Only one has ever done so in all the history of the Realms."

This was new to me. Having been raised in a protestant Christian church, I'd been taught that a person dies and goes straight to Heaven or straight to Hell according to their faith and obedience in Christ.

I squinted up at him. The sun behind him turned him to a faceless silhouette. "Are you saying that Hell is a mercy from the pain of the light? Not a divine judgment?"

"You humans always think that everything is a punishment, and punishment is bad. I have never understood why people believe that. There are times, such as now, when the Wrath of That Which Is burns against man. As a parent, are you never justifiably angry with your children?"

"Too often I'm just frazzled, which I can't imagine happens to God, but, yes. Sometimes I feel being angry is the right response. If they knew better than to do something and deliberately do it anyway... it makes me furious," I said.

"And so it is with That Which Is. The creatures of all the realms can be like children, getting into mischief or causing chains of events they don't fully understand. That Which Is is infinitely Patient, and Merciful, and Loving, but there are times when creation knows--whether because That Which Is has directly told us through the prophets or The Incarnate One or, especially in the case of humans, because of the Spark within--that what they are doing is unwise. The choice is deliberately made to follow a way other than the Way of Light. When that happens, the perfect justice within That Which Is must respond."

I followed his logic but still struggled with the idea of it. "That's when the walls of Jericho are crushed and everything with breath is slaughtered."

"Exactly," he said.

"Were the people of Jericho really so much worse than anyone else? They deserved that?"

He dropped to the earth next to me. "See? Even you think punishment is bad. Yes. The people of Jericho had completely abandoned the light. Darkness was fast overcoming them. They were on a path that would have led them to be lost souls. That Which Is was terribly angry, for they were a people who should have known better and so the privilege of walking in this realm was revoked. They had not shown that they deserved it. Even their beasts had become corrupted. They were mean and malnourished. They were unfit to be let into the wild, trained to live with men, or eaten. The waste of the lives of these beasts was part of what That Which Is was angry about. So Perfect Justice was served. Jericho was delivered into the hands of a people who, at least for that time, were being obedient to the Light, both as it had been revealed by the prophets and as it led them in their hearts.

"But do you not see? Their death was not the end of their story. They had lost the privilege to dwell on the earth in bodies of matter, but their spirits went to the other side of the veil. There, those who had made their choice to dwell in darkness went to Hell. Those who still allowed some measure of Light into their hearts went to the holding place until such a time as they could master their thoughts and make their choice.

"Those who went to Hell were then in a realm where The Light no longer burned painfully against them."

"So Hell is a happy place for them," I said.

"No. Hell is not a happy place. It is a place completely separated from That Which Is. There is no love. There is no kindness or mercy or justice. Wisdom has been cast aside. There is no hope there. It is terrible beyond all imagination."

"But people choose to go there."

"Have you never known anyone who would make such a choice?"

I started to protest but then I thought of Pastor Mark and the woman from the park.

He went on. "Only The Incarnate was able to leave the Light, enter the realm of darkness, dwell there for a time and return to the Light."

"So that he could preach the gospel to those who were there. That's what the Bible says," I said.

"Yes. He gave them Good News. But those who are in darkness have no ears to hear."

"What then, of faith? Don't we need to believe in Jesus and call upon His Name to be saved?" I asked.

"In overcoming the darkness He forged a path for others to follow. In truly embracing His way, man's heart is given over to the purity of the Light, no matter how dark his choices were in the past. However, few have truly followed that path, though many have spoken the Name."

"What about the Buddhists and the Wiccans and the Muslims and everyone else?" I asked.

"What about them?"

"Are they doomed to Hell or, at least to the Holding Place just because they didn't call themselves followers of Jesus?"

"All men have been given the chance to embrace the Light, Simone. It is only That Which Is who can truly see if they have done so. Man is not judged by the words he speaks in a temple or the actions of his daily life, but by the choices of his heart. However, the words that a man speaks, the actions of his daily life, and even his attendance at one place of worship or another can certainly give a glimpse into the state of his heart."

I pulled my knees up to my chest and rested my forehead on them. I figured I looked like a five-year-old, hiding from the Boogie Man and then I almost laughed out loud wondering if the Boogie Man was real and, if so, where he lived now. Did he have a house in the suburbs of Cleveland or something?

It's happening!

He comes.

We must stop it.

He will do it!

It is time.

Go to the prophet.

He has been chosen.

"Something's happening," I said to the angel. "On the other side. Someone from there is coming. Someone important."

Raziel agreed. "Yes. Acedia has appointed one over the earth in this age. He will bring great suffering."

I buried my face in my knees again. Was it only a few hours ago I was thinking how content I felt? Now here I was wondering if all the suffering would ever know an end.

Maybe it was wrong, but once Raziel left me, I sought out my preschool age son for comfort. No one I knew was better at finding joy in the average moments of the day. When I asked him if he wanted to play with me, his whole face lit up with a brightness as glorious as an angel's. He presented me with one of his most treasured objects, a green and yellow striped bouncy ball with a cartoon tiger on it. I had the joy of adding to his delight by showing him a fat plastic baseball bat that Eddie had brought back from his latest supply run.

"I'm totally good at baseball!" he told me.

"Prove it!" I challenged.

I stood back and tossed the ball gently, with the most careful aim I could muster, straight at the enormous bat. With a look of concentration that rivaled the focus of any neurosurgeon, Ike swung and made contact. He sent it soaring. I never would have thought that such a soft ball, hit with such an absurd bat, could fly so far, all the way across the room to where it knocked over three water glasses stacked on the pass-through counter waiting to be washed. One of them rolled to the edge and fell on the concrete floor with a shattering crash.

Ike's eyes were the size of saucers. His little chin started to quiver. "I'm sorry! It was an accident!" he said, tears welling up and spilling onto his chubby cheeks.

I hugged him, taking as much comfort from the contact as he did. I never knew how much I missed human touch until this pure soul of a child allowed me the gift of feeling it again. "It's OK, baby. I know it was an accident. It's OK. Hey!" I said, trying to pull him back a little. It was rather like trying to yank a determined octopus off a chunk of coral. "Hey, buddy. Hey, look up at Mama. Let me see your eyes."

He peeked up at me.

"It's OK," I promised him. Then, whispering in his ear, "I didn't know you were such an awesome baseball player or I would have taken you outside to do this. You're like... a major leaguer or something!"

He brightened. "Daddy says I hit like Barry Bonds!"

I agreed with exaggerated seriousness. "Daddy would know. Come on, slugger. Everybody makes messes sometimes. The important thing is that we clean them up, right? Let's go sweep up."

He slipped his tiny hand into mine and we went to find a broom and dust pan to sweep up the glass. His little palm felt so hot, pressed against mine. This boy had always burned like a coal. When he was newborn I used to check his temperature all the time. He just felt too warm to my constantly cool hands.

We swept the glass, dumped it in a trash can, and put the broom back. "Know what? I'm on cookie duty today."

His whole face lit up. "And I am, too?"

"Yup. I need a helper. No way can I make cookies for everybody here all by my lonesome. "

"Awesome!" he said, and raced ahead of me to drag a chair to the kitchen counter so that he'd be able to reach.

I set out all of the ingredients and measured everything. Ike was in charge of dumping the stuff into the big silver bowl. While he worked he sang, "This is how we mix the dough, mix the dough, mix the dough..."

He rattled on an endless stream of questions:

"Why do you have to use four of scoops of this but only two scoops of that?"

"Why does vanilla smell good but taste bad?"

"How do bees make pollen into honey? How come it's sweet? How come some of our chicken eggs look browner than the other ones?"

I did my best to answer but it was undeniable that the kid had more questions than I had answers.

Once they were all prepared, he carried the dirty dishes to the sink and dropped it all into the hot water. "How come when you put stuff underwater it looks different? It doesn't really change shapes but it looks like a different shape. "

I stood behind him, resting my chin on the top of his head and looked down into the water. The soap and an occasional drip made the surface of the water ripple and bend changing the appearance of the items resting on the bottom. There was a silver knob in the center of the drain, with a ring of little black circles further out. The blackness became inky and liquid, and slowly begin to ooze up, rising with the weird, too-slow way of things beneath the water. It swirled around the dishes and to the sides of the sink and back toward the center and slowly began to form itself into a black-clawed hand which suddenly burst through the surface toward Ike.

I was ripped from my paralysis as I snatched him away from the sink, causing him to bang his knee on the edge of the counter. He wailed at the pain. What I had seen had not been in this world at all. What I didn't know is if it existed in another realm or solely in my head.

I sat my son on the counter and we clung to each other for comfort. I didn't want to be a prophet any more. I really wanted, more than anything in the whole world to be "just a mom."