Spirit and Soul: A Journey

By Peter Mokhatas

By all accounts, Dr. Jonathan Isaac Holt lived a terrific life. He was a distinguished professor and best-selling author, was greatly respected in his field, and was blessed with a wife and a child.

However, under the surface, a cauldron of emotions stirred within him. Years before, he walked away from his true love, leaving him detached from the accomplishments that otherwise surrounded him. This detachment had a profound effect on his family, leaving Brenda, his wife, and Jean Louise, his daughter, to wonder what had become of their family.

Tragedy struck when an accident took Brenda and Jean Louises lives, shattering any semblance of happiness that remained within him. While enduring immense grief, unfamiliarity, and longing for his lost past, he entered a deep state. When he emerged, he found himself somewhere he had never been before.

Standing before him was Dante Alighieri, the supreme poet. Dante reveals to Dr. Holt that he will be taking him on a spiritual pursuit in heaven, reversing his role from Divina Commedia to become the attendant for Dr. Holts sojourn.

Spirit and Soul: A Journey tells the story of Dr. Holts past, seen through multiple points of view, as it has brought him to the point he is at today and intertwining with revelations about the very nature of existence, both in the physical and spiritual worlds. Dr. Holt will be learning about lifes deep-seated mysteries, among them the nature of love, sin, free will, religion, faith, the Holy Spirit, and the meaning of life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Sep 8, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524538255

Peter Mokhatas

Peter Mokhatas is a former high school teacher. After completing an undergraduate degree in English and a graduate degree in education, he spent several years teaching in both California and in Kentucky. Raised in a loving household, his parents instilled great morals and values within him, traits he strives to carry with him on a daily basis. He was raised as a Christian but has maintained that faith through his own means while seeking deeper answers about its role in his life. This search brought to life the words found in Spirit and Soul: A Journey.

Book preview

1

C hurches have always been like hospitals to Dr. Jonathan Isaac Holt. The anxiety and discomfort that accompany a hospital visit resonated greatly within him as he sat alone in the front pew at St. Ignatius Parish. The light that shone through its glass windows reflected off the marble floor, capturing Dr. Holt’s listless face and empty eyes. He would have rather been anywhere else.

He took little notice as people made their way gingerly past him. They looked toward him, but he never returned their gazes. Whispers abounded as to why the man in the black suit showed no emotion. Despite his apparent ignorance, Dr. Holt was quite aware of his surroundings—too aware, in fact, for him to acknowledge them.

Dr. Holt never did make it to the hospital that day. Circumstances prevented his timely arrival, mainly that he was never summoned. However, he was summoned to the morgue, where he made the positive identifications. And now here he was, at an all too unfamiliar place, and utterly alone.

The priest spoke his final words. The coffins carrying the bodies of Dr. Holt’s wife and only daughter began to make their processional toward the back of the church. As the coffins meandered down the aisle, Dr. Holt stood and watched. The focus of his stare shifted slowly toward a single mourner, standing near the entranceway. Looking at this man with his heartrending face belying any attempts at steadfastness revealed the truth to Dr. Holt. He knew what happened to his family.

The last of the condolers finally left Dr. Holt’s home. He appreciated that people came to pay their last respects, but he was anxious to be alone. Being alone was to be his new lot in life, and he saw little reason in delaying it. He was happy to be out of the church, out of the cemetery, and back where he felt most comfortable, however relative that term now was to him.

A family portrait adorned the previously drab area over his fireplace, having been framed and placed in that spot in memoriam. He recognized that such a poignant display of familial bliss never appeared in the home before. His doctorate of social science from Nicholas Gilman University along with various letters of commendation and pictures with scholastic dignitaries had beautified his walls for some time. Pictures of his wife with members of her family sat atop the grand piano. A collage that celebrated the ascent of their daughter from her birth up through the fourteen years of her life brought wondrous praise from all who saw it. Yet this picture, now sitting above the fireplace, was the first in the entire home that accommodated the three of them.

Dr. Holt emerged from the kitchen with a glass. It contained less ice and soda than usual, but he took great care in making sure the Scotch was plentiful. He trudged up the stairs, passing by his bedroom containing the bed that, until a few nights ago, he thought to be too small, and into his study. Sitting at his desk, he nursed his drink, unable to imbibe it at the pace he desired; drunkenness would have to wait for another night. He was finally alone with his thoughts, but no thoughts of any true consequence immediately came to mind. The university where he received his doctorate degree and where he now taught undergraduate courses in Greek and Roman history had given him an open-ended period of bereavement leave. His publishers insisted that he put aside the work he was doing on the Five Good Emperors of Rome until such a time that he was able to concentrate on it.

The glass was empty. Dr. Holt looked up, seeing his reflection in the dingy mirror before him. He reached into the large drawer situated on the right side of his desk. Easily the desk’s largest drawer, it housed many items of relative unimportance ranging from some of his undergraduate lecture notes to a forgotten hammer he borrowed from a former neighbor years before. The drawer became a place for him to put things that he did not want to look at simply lying around the room. After sifting through the conglomeration of junk, Dr. Holt found what he was looking for.

The album. It’s still here.

I can’t wait to put this album together, Brenda, Dr. Holt could hear himself saying whimsically to his expectant wife. When the baby’s born, I’m going to take more pictures than they will let me develop. It will be the three of us, and it’s all going in here as our family heirloom.

Jean Louise was born. The album was never completed.

He thumbed through the pictures at a slow pace, stopping to pick up the slightest of details. Few pictures featuring Jean Louise by herself were present, for they had made their way to her collage in the living room. They began to pass through his hands in a more accelerated manner. Soon he was whipping through them to the point where they became indiscernible, as mental pictures of his wife and his daughter flooded his mind. Yet their visual acuity, as strong as it was, did nothing to compare to where his thoughts truly lay.

Eva.

He gently set the album back in the drawer. Laying his hand over it, he shut his eyes. Leaving his eyes shut, he slowly removed his hand and closed the drawer. When he lifted his head and opened his eyes, he once again came face-to-face with his dingy visage.

The answers he sought were not before him.

Dr. Holt turned his attention to the left side of the desk. Here were more drawers, but much smaller. These drawers demonstrated his more practical side, everything organized by order of importance from the top down. Opening the top drawer, without needing to look, he placed his hand directly on the item he desired.

He always felt that this particular 9mm Browning fit perfectly into his hand. He knew it the first time he held it. When he brought it home, he placed a single bullet in its chamber that still remained.

He brought the gun before his eyes, seeing it both in front of him and in the mirror. He held it firmly to his chest. He closed his eyes and entered a deep state.

* * * * *

You’re not dead.

A flurry of unimaginably iridescent light surrounded Dr. Holt. It came at him first as waves, then as flashes. A rumbling yet somehow soothing noise took hold of him. For the moment, he was not afraid.

He was now standing, facing a different direction. The mirror had disappeared. He turned back around. He was no longer where he was before. He was somewhere he had never been.

An expanse of space lay before him. Gingerly, still without trepidation, he began to walk. He had gone quite a time, if not a great distance, when his surroundings started to come into focus. He had been walking through a corridor. The farther he walked, the more it began to narrow. Try as he might, he was neither able to deviate from his linear path nor turn his head in any direction, as if he was stuck in a tractor beam. More was coming into focus. His peripheral vision allowed him to see what he might decipher to be people, amalgamated into a single wall. He could not see anyone’s eyes. He could not see if anyone even had eyes, yet he could still feel them looking at him.

The corridor narrowed such that his linear and peripheral visions were one and the same. He wished to talk to these people, to untangle the mystery of what was happening to him, but he couldn’t find the words as a twinge of fear gripped him for the first time. As soon as the fear set in, so too did a voice.

My friend.

Dr. Holt was brought to a standstill. The encumbrance lifted from off his chest, allowing him to speak. Who is that? Where am I?

A silhouette emerged from the wall of people. The corridor disappeared. Only when he placed his hand on Dr. Holt’s shoulder could he see him clearly. The figure spoke.

You are chosen.

2

D r. Holt was certain he was in a dream. He had been there many times before: his feet firmly planted in the firmament, unable to utter a sound, a dry sensation overtaking his throat, and the feeling that what was happening was completely real. His faculties fired like the pistons of a revved-up sports car. As the brightness settled, his vision came into clear focus. Mountainous regions cascaded along a scenic sky tinted with a blend of colors that intertwined into a lush display not found in rainbows. The feel of a light ocean breeze kissed his skin as the sound of a harmonious melody filled the air around him. The scent—reminiscent of his childhood memories of freshly cut grass on a brisk autumn day yet somehow more enchanting—lifted him aloft. Surely no such concoction existed in his w orld.

The sights and sounds around Dr. Holt slowly started to drain away, and the only thing that was real was the feel of this figure’s hand on his shoulder.

I’m chosen? What the hell does that mean?

Features began to form in the figure’s face. A sturdy, sloping nose separated gritty eyes that sat upon powerful cheekbones. A mouth, betrayed by any emotion, sketched a line above a protruding chin. Coals of fire sat within the ominous brown irises, fixated upon a still muted Dr. Holt.

Close your eyes.

Dr. Holt did as he was told. Alternating sensations of fright and serenity gripped him as he remembered where he was and what he was doing before hearing that he was not dead. The dingy mirror reflected absolute truth. The gun was loaded. Did I fire it? Is this the afterlife? But someone said I’m not dead …

Dr. Holt finally found the words. I want to open my eyes, but I can’t. Why can’t I open my eyes? How is this happening? How am I not dead? How—

Please remain patient. Emotion perked forth from the voice for the first time. It took upon a soothing tone, detaching Dr. Holt from all the apprehension residing within him, infused instead with a latent trust. This was all too real to be a dream.

It was necessary for you to pacify your inhibitions so that we could proceed with what lies ahead. You did very well, Dr. Holt. You may open your eyes.

Dr. Holt peered through the sliver of space created by his disconnecting eyelids, prepared to adjust to the wondrous scene he knew lay in front him. Gingerly, he brought them to full separation, only to find nothing of what he saw, felt, or heard before.

What happened? We didn’t move, but everything is gone. What? How?

I understand you have a lot of questions. The voice maintained a gentle tone, now tinged with determination. He circled Dr. Holt slowly as he spoke intently. These questions will be answered in due time. At the present, we must enlighten you to your situation. Your patience is of great benefit to you. Maintain it, maintain peace, and you shall divulge your soul into a clarity heretofore unbeknownst to man.

I don’t understand.

Hold your tongue. Heighten your ears. Keep your other sensibilities dulled. He was less voice and more man now. Dr. Holt could feel him probe his thoughts. "Your first two questions are evident. What did we mean when we said ‘You are chosen’? And

‘Who am I?’"

Dr. Holt agreed that this was fairly evident, but he knew there was something deeper to this man’s perception. With some hesitation, he offered an affirmative nod of his head.

You are still alive yet in a state of lucidity only achieved by those who have passed on. You have achieved an incomparable combination. You have a spiritual, communal fellowship with God’s kingdom while physically persisting. You have channeled heavenly apparitions, and that is what makes you worthy. That is why you are here.

I’m in heaven. Dr. Holt spoke plainly without a hint of interrogation.

Yes, you are. I am your attendant. I am Dante.

Dante? Dante Alighieri? You’re my … guide?

I am not your guide. We will not be on a tour. Our time together will discern humanity from its often ill-conceived notions of existence, corporeally and spiritually. A long pause. You may speak freely.

Words were not for finding.

3

W hen in times of need, Dr. Holt always knew he could count on his intelligence and intuition to see him through. He was born with these abilities, and he always strived to put those gifts to their greatest use. Great professional success was a justifiable end. Nicholas Gilman University was lucky to have him, both as an alumnus and as a distinguished professor. His volumes of work on the convolution found between political science, linguistics, and theology brought him universal praise in academic circles throughout the w orld.

Despite this record, intelligence, intuition, and all other forms of thought and perception currently slipped through his cerebral grasp. For here he stood in front the preeminent Italian poet, centuries dead, prepared all at once for everything and nothing.

Come with me. Dr. Holt dragged his feet across what he could only perceive to be the ground beneath him, gradually transitioning into short strides. Much of what he saw before returned in rapid flashes, yet the brevity of its time could not extinguish the breadth of its beauty. He came to an abrupt stop. He sustained direct eye contact with Dante for the first time, surprised to notice that he appeared just as a man and nothing more. His neurons moved faster than his body could manage.

Where is my wife? Where is my daughter? They must be here. He reached deeper into his thoughts. What does it mean to exist? Deeper still. "Where is God? Who is God? Finally, the intricacies of his considerations came to fruition. What’s the meaning of life?"

For the first time, Dante’s visage displayed a hint of sentiment. His disconsolate glare softened while the corners of his mouth twitched upward slightly, nearly resembling a smile. He carried himself well, with a strident, upright posture stringing his legs along in a fluid motion. Every last action, even the subtlest tugs against loose portions of his plush wardrobe, exemplified an imposing sumptuousness. He lived a life of great importance and, but for the dearth of urbanity in a world littered with idols of popular culture, would likely remain a household name. The century in question notwithstanding, he remained so in the academic world where Dr. Holt took full residence.

Dr. Holt’s astonishment at the situation unfolding before him was not powerful enough for him to overcome the sheer presence of this literary god for all times and all places. Although he made his life’s work in a different field, he was always fond of literature. He read Divina Commedia in college as part of an assignment before rereading it ten years later on his own accord. He observed the fervent love Dante had for Beatrice in his first reading of the text, but it permeated his consciousness to no end upon his second. Circumstances in his life had changed, and drawing on this new perspective, their storybook relationship commandeered his complete attention. Dante’s love for Beatrice consumed his entire life. Beatrice married another, as did Dante, but this did nothing to curb his passion. Her life and untimely death prompted Dante to pay homage to her in La Vita Nuova, an exposition of indeterminate ardor so unyielding that it kept Dr. Holt up at night, thankful that he could capture its true essence in the original Italian yet mortified by the parallels it presented in his own life.

Have your settled your mind? Dante asked.

Dr. Holt was tentative, an unfamiliar feeling to him. I’m not—I don’t understand.

Have you reconciled your earthbound understanding of existence with where you stand right now?

Dr. Holt felt as though he could not lie. Dante would know. This is very difficult to wrap my head around. I have no basis for understanding it.

Dante smiled. It was a soothing sight for Dr. Holt. Always the academic. Every condition is rooted either in precedent, experience, or outlook. Rationality is so important in that world, and you are a master. You write much about theology, interspersing it throughout your works, sometimes as a means to understand important sociological behavior. Did no one tell you that the two do not mix?

I was told that at times, yes.

A quizzical twinkle took hold of Dante’s eyes as he looked off onto what would be an impracticable horizon on Earth. Logic and the spirit are one and the same. The constant yearning of imperfect beings resolved to separate the two causes the strife and odium which bring longing, unhappiness, and regret into the world. He turned his eyes on Dr. Holt. "You have understood this better than anyone before you. This is why you are chosen. Your purpose is too great at this time to let slip away from la terra firma."

Dr. Holt gave considerable thought to his next words. So what is my purpose?

As I have mentioned, you have attained fellowship with God while still alive. Mysteries about the physical and the spiritual worlds will be explained to you. Given your life experience and your finely tuned viewpoint on the relationship between logic and the spirit, you are given to comprehend these complexities. Your life will be explored, so you must be ready. When you are discharged and returned, the life you lead will determine whether or not the earth can benefit from your knowledge. This will be difficult. Again, you must be ready.

The whirlwind of thoughts and emotions that gripped Dr. Holt at various points from the moment the feel of his gun left his fingers dissipated and drifted off into space. Difficulty, frustration, and perhaps anger lay before him. So too did great knowledge. Therefore, he was ready.

BOOK II

1

W hat is heaven like?

Dante mused over the deceptively plain missive posed by Dr. Holt. The area between his eyebrows crinkled whenever he entered into thought. Dr. Holt considered it an endearing quality.

Heaven shares several similarities with earth, which tends to cause a great deal of surprise for those discovering it. It is not tailor-made to fit an individual’s fancy as some may have you believe. Its majesty reduces the most comforting experiences you have ever known in your physical form into muddles of despair. It produces a wellspring of bliss within you, washing away every fiber of negativity and adversity you have ever known. It is a very real place with very real people who have simply passed from one bodily form to another.

Dr. Holt looked at his surroundings. They remained inconstant but never lacking in superfluous elegance. He looked for other people, perhaps even for someone he may recognize, but could not find any.

Dante continued, We are not perfect in heaven. This remains with God and is never passed down to us. But souls do exist more harmoniously. Imperfection does not relegate us to despondency.

These words colonized Dr. Holt’s consciousness. Perfection meant a lot to him, and falling short of it, even though he recognized its inevitability, was cause for consternation.

* * * * *

I was engaged to my wife for a short time. Just under four months in fact. This after asking her to marry me only four months into dating her. But now, as we just passed our first anniversary, we also neared the birth of our first child. I think we were the right age. I was thirty-one, and she was twenty-seven. Now that my alma mater had hired me as an assistant professor, allowing my wife to quit her job and stay at home, the timing could not be better. Everything was lining up. Perfectly.

As students in my late afternoon class filed slowly into the door, my thoughts were with my wife and our unborn child. We made the unorthodox decision of not finding out whether we were having a boy or a girl. I was quite adamant about that actually. I’d never been one to take to superstition or tradition, but it had been such in my family that we received the child as the blank slate that he or she was, without foreknowledge of any kind. I was born this way, as were my three siblings and my many cousins, following the generation that preceded us. My wife did not really want to wait to find out, but she was conciliatory and agreed to defer.

We hoped she would be having the child relatively soon. Her due date was a few days away still, but there had been signs to indicate that the baby would be a little early. We’d been ready to be parents since receiving the news.

I think we’re ready to begin. As you know, my wife is very pregnant. Should the blessed event of our child’s birth begin while we are in class, then you shall receive a blessed event of your own. That is to say, we will end early, and you will get to go home.

Chuckles and cheers traveled through the room.

A voice called out from the crowd. Are you excited, Professor Holt?

I smiled. More than I could have ever thought imaginable.

* * * * *

So what are the differences, mainly, between heaven and earth?

"Heaven is the continuation of existence. The word death is used out of sheer convenience. If it were said that one transitioned from one existence to another, it takes away the finality of that initial stage. From earth, existence is indeed transitioned into another realm. It is in heaven where true finality is achieved."

Dr. Holt considered this