The time was a little after 1:00 AM. They had picked up their luggage and their car, and, after making the uneventful trip home, were both tired from the day-long travel routine. After calling their children to let them know they were home safely, they had soup and sandwiches, and went to bed early. As was his habit, he awoke after about four hours, and began to think of the conversation with the young man on the plane.

The universe is a big and complicated place, he thought. And he hoped he hadn’t rambled too much as he tried to explain his theory to the young man. But there was an awful lot of ground to cover if one was to begin to truly understand the universe. Maybe, he thought, I shouldn’t have made so much of an issue about the relationship between science and religion which will be bound to arise from this theory once scientists and philosophers begin to flesh it out. Maybe I should have just stuck to my own particular way of looking at the physical universe, and let it go at that. But the young man had brought it up, and besides, he truly disliked the often bitter, and totally unnecessary, row that had sprung up between science and Christianity. I hope, he thought, I stressed forcefully enough the idea that the connection between science and the world’s great religions had to do with wisdom. That the human race above all needed wisdom. And that, thanks to our Creator, we humans have always had two ways to gain that wisdom. Through simple religious faith in God, and an afterlife, and the wisdom of the Ten Commandments, or, and very soon now, through the wisdom which will come from scientific knowledge and understanding of God’s universe.

He was also worried he may have destroyed any confidence the young man might have had in his theory when the discussion turned to the ideas of the brain as the location of the immortal soul. The young man saw immediately that he may have been reaching too far here. Perhaps, he thought, it would have helped if he had related his own personal reasons for being so certain there is an immortal soul in each of us.

His mother had visited him one night in the fall of 1966, when he was 33. She had died of cancer some months earlier. So when she appeared, standing at the foot of the bed in a long, flowing white robe, he simply could not at first, or for many years after, believe he was experiencing anything but a dream. After all, at the time he was absolutely certain there was no such things as ghosts, or a life after death of any kind.

He had immediately sat up in bed and looked away from her and around the room, which was lit by the glow from her body. He first looked to his right at his wife sleeping next to him, and then to his left at the night stand with the clock-radio on it. The green hands, close together, were pointing at about 3:15 AM. The bedroom window, open to the cool Arizona night air, let in some light, but not very much. After no more than a second or two, he looked again at his mother. Still there, she appeared younger than he had ever known her, perhaps in her early twenties. Her hair was long, down to her shoulders, something else he had never seen. Instead of actually standing on the floor, the folds of her robe ended in a small, slowly billowing cloud just below her knees. Her face was remarkably serene and peaceful.

He remembered later that he himself had of course felt some surprise and wonder at seeing her. But he also remembered just generally feeling pleased more than anything else, as when a loved one might return unexpectedly from a long journey.

After a few seconds more, during which time he was just beginning to get his wits about him enough to say something, she said “Don’t worry, Joseph, everything will be all right.” But the words didn’t actually come from her mouth. Rather, although the voice was certainly her voice, he simply heard the words in his head.

Immediately upon hearing her speak, extraordinarily powerful feelings of peace and harmony and love began to grow within him. In a few seconds these feelings became so strong that he simply could not handle them and began to pass out. The last he remembered was thinking, “oh, no!, mother, please don’t go! I want to talk to you!”, as his head hit the pillow. But he could not help himself.

The next thing he knew the alarm went off at 5:30 AM, at which time he sat bolt upright in bed, remembering instantly what had happened. Had it been a dream, he wondered? Or had his mother actually visited him? No!, he thought, it had to be a dream! There’s no such thing as ghosts! He got out of bed and walked around the house, his wife and children still asleep, trying to convince himself that it was a dream. Eventually, he decided the best thing was to try not to think about it and see if his mother might not visit him again that night. Maybe then he could determine if it was a dream or if it really, somehow, in some way, had actually been a visit from his mother.

She did not return. Not that night, or ever again.

Two days later he was sitting at their chrome dinette set after dinner. The neighborhood in those days was basically wall-to-wall children, and theirs, having finished eating, had raced out the front door to play with their friends for awhile before coming in for baths and bedtime. Right after they left, his wife, who had been clearing away the dishes, sat down across the table from him.

“All right,” she had said, in a calm but determined voice, “what’s going on?”

“What do you mean”, he replied, but knowing what she meant.

You haven’t said a word for two days.”

Although he knew he probably shouldn’t have been, given her powers of perception, he was still surprised that she was on to him. For he had thought he was being really cool about the whole thing. He had not wanted anyone at work, and especially his wife, to think he was crazy. So he had not said anything. But at least he knew his wife wouldn’t tell anyone. And he really wanted to tell her anyway. So he recounted what he had by then come to think of as his dream.

When he was through, she asked what night this had happened. When he said the night before last, she noted that yesterday was October 13th, his mother’s birthday. She asked a few more questions, about how he felt and so forth, and then no more was said on the matter. But the dream would not go completely out of his mind, for there were some things about it he could not explain if it were only a dream. First of all, it was far too life-like. The instant he woke up the next morning he had remembered every detail, as one would if suddenly awakened in the middle of the night by, say, an unexpected visitor at the front door. And why would she pay him a visit like that, if she really did, and not talk to him for awhile? There were so many things he had wanted to ask her. And why did she cause him to experience those intense feelings? Feelings he would never forget. For surely, she must have caused them. And there was something else about them. Something truly extraordinary he could not explain. Eventually, though, he managed to talk himself into thinking it was just a dream. Most of the time, anyway.

Until years later, when he felt he had finally come to understand the universe, and how there must be a Creator of infinite power, wisdom, goodness, and mercy. And how there must also be a life after death as well. For, as his theory of the universe was filling out, he also came to understand more fully the nature of those feelings. It was not a dream after all. His mother had purposely caused him to experience the afterlife that awaits each of us. The thing he could not understand about those feelings, besides their intensity, he finally realized, was that he was not himself experiencing them as we normally experience feelings in this life. He was those feelings! His body no longer existed, and all that was left of him were those feelings of peace, and harmony, and love, and goodness and mercy. And that’s why his mother acted as she did. She knew if she just talked to him he would simply pass the conversation off forever as no more than a strange, extraordinary dream. This way, she knew he would, in spite of his own beliefs about there being no afterlife, always look for a way to explain those strange and beautiful feelings. And would not be able to do so until he realized there is a God, and there is a life after death. And that such feelings constitute, for each of us, our immortal soul.

Tomorrow, he thought, I shall begin one last organization of my thoughts and writings on the universe, and God, and our life after death. And I’ll make it available on the Internet to anyone who might want to read it. I guess I could just let well enough alone since I’m certain scholars will themselves soon understand the universe as I see it, and much more clearly. But there is so much fear, and anger, and hatred and despair in the world right now. It’s ironic, he thought, I never ever considered I might become an apocalyptic thinker. I even used to make fun of those who would say the world was going to end on such and such a date. But now, I don’t know, he thought, to be forewarned is forearmed, as they say. So even though people don’t like to be told such things, we all need to realize the human race cannot continue to harbor fear, and hatred, and despair. We could do that and still survive up until about 50 years ago. But now we have the capability to destroy our entire human race. And, worse yet, especially with the possibility of the proliferation of biological weapons of mass destruction, it will soon come to the point where perhaps, rather than nations, even small numbers of individuals will possess such evil power.

But then I’d also better tell them about my dream. The dream my mind always slips into whenever I try to think about the future of the human race.

The time is a thousand years from now. The place a planet, much like earth, but far away. As his mind slows and drifts down through the clouds he sees the school and the children being taught, as always, the history of the human race. And each time, when they reach the year 2000, they learn that it was these generations of their ancestors who first saw an end to Hitlers, and wars, and starving children. And the beginning of the golden age of earth.

His mind quieter now, he turned toward his beloved, and finally drifted off to sleep.

And so, dear reader, I come to the final message of this work, which is what I personally have come to believe about God and His universe, and each and every one of us as well. Let me say right off that I have agonized right up to this very end whether I should write these last thoughts down or not, for, in telling you my own beliefs on these matters it will seem as if I am trying to convert you to my way of thinking about God and our life after death. Something which, as I have said before, I do not feel at all qualified to be doing. Especially since I’ve come to these beliefs so late in life. But, if only so that you’ll know clearly what I now believe regarding these matters, and to bring some personal closure to this life-long work, I am compelled to do so.

First, we are all immortal. For, whether my previous explanation be correct or not, I am convinced there is within every one of us an immortal soul which, with each act of love and goodness and mercy received by us from others, or given by us to others, has been building and growing since we first came to life in our mother’s womb. Thus, you see, when God said to Moses “Thou Shalt Not Kill”, He did not command this because death itself is wrong or evil, and something in and of itself which should be feared. But only because premature death for anyone is to be avoided at all costs since our immortal souls must be allowed to form and grow for as long as possible.

And second, in a more general sense, God is saying to us that He does not care what language we speak, or the color of our skin. Nor does he care what religion we belong to. He only requires that we love one another, and live lives of goodness and mercy. And that if we do this, then when our life ends here on earth, our immortal souls will go on to live with Him, in His house, forever.

To my children and grandchildren,
and to those children of Columbine
no longer with us, I dedicate this work.

Joseph W. Reid Jr.
       June 10, 2002