Luminary: A Divine Awakening in the Face of Judgment

Old Raymundus sat quietly by the window of his stone cell, gazing out at the endless sky. Tomorrow, he would face his execution—burned alive for claiming that the presence of God lived within every man.

It was the fall of 1245 AD. Not long ago, he had spent his mornings meditating under the open sky, listening to the gentle songs of birds deep within the jungle. This had been his sacred ritual—rising with the first light and turning inward, diving into the stillness of his soul.

Raymundus was a man of deep understanding, one whose insight was often difficult for others to grasp. His words, laced with a divine rhythm, often passed over the heads of those who listened. He looked unremarkable to most—long white hair, a thick beard, dressed in a simple white robe. His old brown slippers were worn thin, but they carried him faithfully.

He rarely spoke much. Instead, he listened. People sought him out, not because he offered answers, but because he offered space. They would speak freely, sometimes for hours, without judgment or interruption—only presence.

By trade, he was an ostler, caring for horses in exchange for just enough coins to eat. He had no home of his own, preferring to live in the wilderness. He knew he was unlike most, and he accepted that truth quietly.

One day, after sitting in deep meditation, Raymundus opened his eyes and saw only a radiant white light. The world around him blurred and faded, as if it had never truly existed. Yet he did not cry out. He simply smiled. Something within him recognized the moment. He had awakened.

Looking at a tree, he no longer saw branches or bark but a pulsing flow of life. A nearby bird met his gaze with curious stillness. And suddenly, Raymundus saw the light inside the creature—the divine essence animating its form.

Then, for the first time, he saw himself—not as a man reflected in water, but as if he had stepped outside of his own body. He stood face to face with himself, whole yet separate, witnessing his existence from beyond.

Something deep inside had opened permanently.

When he looked at himself again, he no longer saw an old man with a beard. What he now beheld could not be described. He was radiant—his presence shining brighter than ever before. From the crown of his head extended a column of pure light, rising into the sky, connecting him to the Source. The power of creation no longer felt like an abstract force; it was the reflection of who he truly was.

And then, he returned to the world. But nothing was the same. He had touched something eternal, something vast beyond imagining. And he understood—it did not exist only within him. That same power, that divinity, was asleep in every soul, waiting to be remembered.

A joyful laugh erupted from his chest, uncontainable. He began to run toward the village. He had to speak. They had to know.

“Listen to me—all of you!” he shouted through the streets. “The power to create your life lives within your very soul! You are the makers of your path, and there is nothing you cannot shape in this world!”

People paused in confusion, eyes narrowing, whispers rising. Some looked away, others exchanged nervous glances. Then, without warning, guards emerged from the shadows.

A heavy blow struck his back. Then another. The world tilted as fists and boots overwhelmed him. He was shoved to the ground, his cries buried beneath the chaos. His hands were bound, and he was dragged through the streets as if he were mad.

When he opened his eyes again, his skull throbbed, and his vision blurred. He lay on the cold stone floor of a vast chamber lit by flickering candlelight. The smell of melting wax filled the air. Strange symbols were etched into the walls—symbols he recognized as Stone Mason’s markings.

And seated on a grand throne at the end of the hall was the king.

The king stared down from his throne, expression stern and unyielding. “Old man, I hear troubling things. Word has reached me that you wander through towns declaring that men are gods, that they shape their destinies. Worse still, they say you are spreading unrest, challenging the laws of this land. Speak now. What do you say in your defense?”

Raymundus slowly lifted his head. “Your Majesty, I never intended to—”

“Silence!” the king roared, slamming his hand on the throne’s arm. “Do you dare argue with me? Christianity governs this land, and yet you, a baptized man, spread such wickedness? You are no more than a deceiver, a traitor to your faith!”

He leaned forward, his voice filled with disdain. “Do you believe the Knights Templar fought for their own glory? No. They pledged their lives to the Church and the crown, defending Christendom with sword and blood. And here you are—raving, rambling, stripped of honor and sense.”

Turning to his guards, the king declared, “Take him away. Tomorrow, at nightfall, he shall burn before the eyes of all, to remind the people that there is no power above Christ!”

Raymundus was dragged into a cold, lightless cell. Yet his spirit remained unshaken. He knew he had followed the truth.

Through the iron bars, he observed the fortress courtyard, where armored warriors murmured in low tones. The Knights Templar stood guard, their presence solemn and heavy beneath the glow of torchlight.

Lifting his gaze skyward, he spotted a single star shining brightly above. A subtle warmth stirred in his chest. He knew, beyond doubt, that he was not alone.

The final day of Raymundus had arrived.

As darkness fell, the moon’s soft glow spilled across the prison walls. A soldier entered, opened the cell with a loud clang, and stepped forward. Without speaking, he bound Raymundus’ hands and led him toward the execution grounds.

The ceremonial space was silent, filled with Templar knights. In the center stood the towering pyre. Raymundus was tied to it, facing the crowd.

A warrior stepped forward, holding a burning torch. He raised it and spoke aloud: “By order of the king, this man shall be burned for defying the holy faith and rebelling against Christianity. Let this serve as a warning to those who dare rise against the teachings of Christ. If there is anyone—or anything—that opposes this judgment, let the Almighty Himself give us a sign.”

Raymundus lifted his head toward the sky. “O mighty God, prove them wrong.”

The clear sky darkened. Storm clouds rushed in, rolling like waves. A sudden clap of thunder rattled the earth. Rain poured from the heavens, drenching the crowd. The warrior staggered back, his torch struggling to stay lit.

Then, from the storm’s core, a radiant light descended. It pierced the darkness, shining brighter than the midday sun. The brilliance was blinding. People shielded their eyes. And when they looked again, they gasped.

Each person saw themselves—not as they were, but illuminated, glowing with sacred light. Their celestial reflections stood beside them, identical yet divine, wearing expressions of warmth and wisdom. The sight struck something deep and ancient within every soul.

A young girl stretched her arms into the air. Her divine counterpart appeared and placed into her hands a doll—the very one she had lost. An old woman, weary from years of pain, watched as her radiant twin knelt beside her. With a gentle hand, the twin closed her eyes in peace. The pain vanished, and the woman slipped quietly into eternal rest.

A man, unjustly imprisoned, looked on as his higher self approached. Without a word, the cell door unlocked and opened. A pregnant woman, burning with fever, was met by her divine reflection, who laid a hand on her forehead. Instantly, the fever vanished.

Each person recognized the truth—their power to create had always been within. Still, they could hardly comprehend what they were witnessing. The celestial forms all turned, moving together toward the center. As they came close, their shapes dissolved into a single field of radiant light, immense and unspeakable. And in that light, everyone understood who stood before them.

God. The Almighty. The Source of all creation. The unseen origin of all form, light, and breath. The eternal intelligence beyond time and space, beyond all human imagining.

From within that brilliance, a figure stepped toward Raymundus. Though God was not of flesh, the form was offered as a kindness to human understanding. No one else could see the face—only Raymundus.

The ropes on his wrists were gone. Rain soaked his trembling body. His eyes burned, and his breath faltered under the weight of the moment. Tears streamed freely, mixing with the rain. His lips shook, caught between laughter and sobbing.

Overwhelmed, Raymundus dropped to his knees. He pressed his hands into the wet ground, placing his forehead to the earth before the Highest One. He stayed like that, unmoving, as if time itself had paused.

The crowd watched, waiting. But something remarkable occurred. His physical body slumped to the ground, lifeless. Yet his radiant self—his divine form—stood in its place, looking upon what he had once been.

He glowed with extraordinary brilliance.

God extended His hand. Raymundus took it. Together, they stepped into the light.

The people believed he had died. To them, he had vanished.

But they were wrong.

It was not an end.

It was only a beginning.

Raymundus walked with God along the shores of eternity. The sand was soft and warm. Waves whispered ancient songs. He looked out toward the sun, setting the sky aflame in gold and crimson.

And he smiled.

“Is that the end of my life? Will I go to heaven or to hell?” he asked.

“Neither,” God replied.

The Highest Self looked upon him with such depth that Raymundus was stirred into confusion. “Where is everyone else?” he asked softly.

“There is no one else. It is only you and I,” God answered.

Raymundus, uncertain, asked again, “But what of all the other souls who passed before me?”

“They are not here,” God said once more.

He stood in silence, his thoughts swirling. His knowledge could not make sense of what he was hearing, and he hesitated to ask more. God smiled and spoke with clarity:

“My son, the more questions you ask, the more lost you will become. Humans fill their minds with things they were never meant to understand. The truth is, they do not need them to live. Centuries from now, people will become isolated in artificial worlds of their own making, using tools to distract themselves from the truth. They will justify their choices through these inventions and forget the deeper truths entirely.

“When a child is born, he is given a mind—a sacred bridge between his soul and Me. But too often, that child learns to shut it off, influenced by those around him. He has access to sacred wisdom, passed down by those who came before. And yet, the first thing he does is ignore it.

“He listens to voices that do not understand. In time, he forgets that he ever had a connection. The farther he drifts from Me, the more distant he becomes. What you experienced—the opening of the mind—is rare.

“By being still and setting aside the ego and fleeting desires of the lower self, you realized the truth. You are the creator. And creation is born from the union of will and choice.

“Every human holds these two powers. But many forget. Not because of bad luck or fate, but because of choice. They choose to forget. And though I always extend the connection, some turn away from it again and again. In time, the bond grows faint.

“The connection never dies. But if someone keeps turning away, the current weakens. It is much like magnets. When facing each other, they attract. But turn one away, and resistance grows. Even if forced together, the moment you release them, they pull apart again.

“In the end, all will return to Me. Maybe not in this life. Maybe not in the next. But in time, all shall return.

“You ask of heaven and hell. In Eastern teaching, there is karma. What you give, you receive. Acts of kindness bring joy and peace. Harmful actions return as suffering and grief.”

Raymundus was overwhelmed with understanding. He now saw why so many enlightened ones had been called mad or foolish. It is not difficult to grasp the words of the Highest Self—but only for those prepared to receive them. It takes time and an open heart, which many resist, having built thick barriers between themselves and truth.

Then God spoke again:

“Now, your journey continues. You will be born again, this time as a man named Lucas Harper in the United States of America, in the year 1994. You will live in a time of technology—an era where men have reached beyond the Earth to distant worlds.

“You are being gifted with a deep sense of connection. It is time to rise and shift the world. You have been chosen to create great change. You will meet people and be led to resources that guide you beyond the ordinary.

“But remember these two truths above all: the power of will, and the power of choice. Together, these will shape your life and the lives of many others.

“You will be born into a place that feels foreign. But in time, you will discover that your true home lives within.”

Raymundus smiled. He closed his eyes.

The light welcomed him.

He was reborn as Lucas—a newborn who squinted at the light, yet whose heart was already open.

The End