Croton

By Artur Tadevosyan

What is happening to me? Where am I? Is this a dream?”

Thoughts were stampeding in the queue to get into Henry’s head. The last one seemed to be on the verge of explosion. Breath. He was running out of it. He felt like he was going to have a heart attack. The last thoughts started to trigger his memory.

“Heart attack? That’s what happened to me. But where is everybody? Nurses, doctors? Why is nobody helping me? Does my family know where I am?” From the top of his lungs, he screamed, “What is going on?” His voice echoed through the emptiness, and nobody gave him any answers. Steadily his pulse slowed down; his breath returned to normal, and Henry, like any other human, started to think. In other words, he started to rationalize the situation. The first question that popped into his mind was, “Am I dead?” After quite a substantial check of his body, he agreed that feeling was still there. He could see.

“But what can I see? I see myself, which is quite an achievement. But what about angels, Saint Peter? Where are all those things we have heard about Heaven? Heaven? Am I in it? I must be, I’ve done nothing wrong in my life. An average citizen, average job, average family. I definitely deserve Heaven if it exists here.”

The next thought that popped into his mind was, “But what good have I done in my life?” He tried to remember something he could brag about, something he could defend himself with if it came to Judgment Day. Nothing was coming to mind. “Oh God, I do not deserve to be in Heaven, it must be Hell I am in. No, I cannot believe this is happening to me.”

The next thing he shouted out was, “I have done nothing wrong in my life!” His voice echoed again into the invisible walls and disappeared into darkness. After a couple of seconds of absolute silence, he heard the Voice—the type of voice that could shake you to the core.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ozark Mountain Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Nov 22, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005275129

Artur Tadevosyan

I am a Company Director of 30 staff members and an Armenian Polytechnic Masters Graduate.I have owned my Business for 25 years, managing and training people from all walks of life. I lived the younger years of my life growing up in Soviet Union Armenia with my Wife and 2 daughters. We lived there in a time of difficulty and extreme poverty caused by the collapse of communism in the Soviet Union. My journey unexpectedly led myself and my family to Johannesburg, South Africa, to a land with a language I could not speak and a society that was completely new to me.These difficult and challenging circumstances are a colossal part of what led to the awakening of my spiritual journey and helping others through the trials and tribulations we face in everyday life.My lifetime of self-studies in Philosophy and Religion gave me a greater understanding of life, humanity and our Soul’s purpose. Leading me to writing my first Book, Croton, which came to me through conscious channelling.

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Croton

by

Artur Tadevosyan

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Table of Contents

Title Page

© 2020 by Artur Tadevosyan

Acknowledgments

Prologue

The House

Croton

Plane of Transition

The Courtroom

Wedding

City

Rose

Fun City

Reading

Second Hearing

Reflection

Father

Back Home

Preparation Chamber

Father and Son

Vivi

Hall of Knowledge

The Librarian

Revenge

Retreat

Hospital

First Man

Self-Discovery

Atria

Cradle of Souls

Back to Earth

True Love

Kevin

Young Boy

Encounter

Back to the Cradle of Souls

Back to Janet

The Date

Helen

Doubts

The Door

Slave Girl

Kevin and Rose

Confusion

Reception

Thales

Revelation

Rose’s Funeral

Back Home

Cio-Cio-San

Meeting

Prep Room

Postscript

About the Author

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© 2020 by Artur Tadevosyan

All rights reserved. No part of this book, in part or in whole, may be reproduced, transmitted or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic, photographic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without permission in writing from Ozark Mountain Publishing, Inc. except for brief quotations embodied in literary articles and reviews.

For permission, serialization, condensation, adaptions, or for our catalog of other publications, write to Ozark Mountain Publishing, Inc., P.O. Box 754, Huntsville, AR 72740, ATTN: Permissions Department.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

– 1963 -

Croton by Artur Tadevosyan

A story anyone seeking answers to the big questions about life and death should read.

1. Channeling 2. Spirit Guides 3. Metaphysical 4. Metaphysical

I.Sumpter, Lee, 1963 - II. Metaphysical III. Spirit Guides IV. Title

Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 2020933272

ISBN: 9781950639007

Cover Art and Layout: Victoria Cooper Art Book set in: Times New Roman, Papyrus Book Design: Summer Garr

Published by:

PO Box 754, Huntsville, AR 72740

800-935-0045 or 479-738-2348; fax [phone] WWW.OZARKMT.COM

Printed in the United States of America

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Thank you to all the Souls who shared their stories through me.

I dedicate this book and all the books to follow to them.

Thank you for choosing me.

Create the memories deserving to withstand, The test of time and timelessness of virtues. Though memories are all what we will take, And leave behind when our time is over.

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Acknowledgments

I would like to express my deepest gratitude to my daughter, Eva Tadevosyan, for committing herself to the tremendous task of transferring my unreadable scribbles into readable English. Her dedication and sacrifices as well her gentle touch to almost every sentence made this book possible.

Special thanks to my soul mate, my wife, Grace, for being an attentive and very patient listener to whatever I had to read and for believing and trying to make sense out of my writings. To my daughter, Diana, for her support and for giving me the push I needed to share this story.

I would like to thank, Bridget Lötz, the bravest soul I have ever encountered personally. Thank you for believing in this book and giving me hope beyond my expectations.

Thank you to my publisher, Ozark Mountain Publishing, for believing in me and choosing to share my story with the world.

Finally, my greatest appreciation to you, my reader, for choosing this book among millions of others and allowing me to invite you to have a journey to the other side of the veil, and with that, hopefully, to illuminate the fear of death so firmly planted in your mind and heart.

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Prologue

What is happening to me? Where am I? Is this a dream? Thoughts were stampeding in the queue to get into Henry’s head.

The last one seemed to be on the verge of explosion. Breath. He was running out of it. He felt like he was going to have a heart attack. The last thoughts started to trigger his memory.

Heart attack? That’s what happened to me. But where is everybody? Nurses, doctors? Why is nobody helping me? Does my family know where I am? From the top of his lungs, he screamed, What is going on? His voice echoed through the emptiness, and nobody gave him any answers. Steadily his pulse slowed down; his breath returned to normal, and Henry, like any other human, started to think. In other words, he started to rationalize the situation. The first question that popped into his mind was, Am I dead? After quite a substantial check of his body, he agreed that feeling was still there. He could see.

But what can I see? I see myself, which is quite an achievement. But what about angels, Saint Peter? Where are all those things we have heard about Heaven? Heaven? Am I in it? I must be, I’ve done nothing wrong in my life. An average citizen, average job, average family. I definitely deserve Heaven if it exists here.

The next thought that popped into his mind was, But what good have I done in my life? He tried to remember something he could brag about, something he could defend himself with if it came to Judgment Day. Nothing was coming to mind. Oh God, I do not deserve to be in Heaven, it must be Hell I am in. No, I cannot believe this is happening to me.

The next thing he shouted out was, I have done nothing wrong in my life! His voice echoed again into the invisible walls and disappeared into darkness. After a couple of seconds of absolute silence, he heard the Voice—the type of voice that could shake you to the core.

Haven’t you?

Where the voice came from, Henry could only guess. The impact of it was terrifying. He again attempted to go back into his life, trying to dig out something that deserved punishment from God, in existence of whom, Henry by now had no doubts. The whole situation was driving him mad.

When is this torturing going to stop? Henry asked through tightly clenched teeth.

Whenever you are ready, the voice replied. I am ready, show yourself.

Those last words came out so strong and commanding that Henry stumbled for a second. God only knew who or what would appear in front of his eyes. This unexplainable physical condition he was in could not carry on for much longer. There was nothing surrounding him, absolute emptiness. Somehow he managed to stand straight on some invisible object. Strangely enough, it wasn’t a feeling of absence of gravity or any floating sensation.

All his life Henry had been so certain in the absence of God, or any type of a creator, instead believing in science and things that could be touched, seen, or experienced. Religion to him was for uneducated and gullible people. Although he saw the importance of religion, in teaching morals and all kinds of virtues to common people, the stories about some old man sitting somewhere up there and watching over us were altogether quite ridiculous.

Henry always knew that we lived one life; there is the beginning and the end. Thoughts of death, he always tried to push as far away as possible. Deep inside he knew that the day would come, though nothing more certain than death. But it always seemed to be very far in the future. It would not be true to say that he never thought about death and what was after. This feeling—a mixture of fear and uncertainty—forced him to stop and say to himself, There is nothing after, we just cease to exist. We are born, we live, and we die like anything else on this planet, you just make the best out of your given life, and that is it.

The meaning of God or a Creator was successfully replaced by the name Nature. Now, after all that—this Voice. This voice in one sentence led him to doubt everything he stood for, believed in, and lived for. Suddenly, a bright idea crossed his mind.

Maybe it was me talking to myself, but how can you explain this strange reality?

Thoughts started pumping into his head randomly and the same way they were leaving, scattered and unfinished. The next rational idea that came to his mind was try to walk. The first step was successful, the second followed after, the next moment he was running, running away from this crazy reality, back to life, to what made sense, to light, to people, to Earth. Nothing was changing around him; it seemed like he was in the same place, the same spot. If this is death, then I’d rather close my eyes and try to sleep. Atleast that will be one way to escape this strange reality.

After a certain time of unsuccessful slumber, Henry tried to remember everything he had ever heard about crossing over to the other side. Isn’t there supposed to be a tunnel of light and somebody to meet me at the end of it?

The moment those thoughts crossed his mind, far on the horizon, if you could call it that, Henry noticed a spot of light that started to move toward him quite rapidly. He felt his heartbeat through his entire body, fear mixed with curiosity began choking him—what to expect, whom to expect?

This light in the distance slowly turned into a human figure, which seemed to be floating toward him. The man who appeared in front of Henry was dressed all in white. A type of ancient Roman toga covered his entire body, just his arms were exposed. What astonished Henry was this figure’s big dark eyes, proportionally placed on his pale face. Something was very different about them. This strong current of comforting energy was seeping through them and enveloping Henry from head to toe.

After quite some time Henry came back to his senses and repeated the question again. Am I dead?

The Roman looked straight into his eyes and said, No.

This answer made Henry want to jump and give the stranger in front of him a big hug. So this is a dream?

No.

But that doesn’t make any sense.

Let me help you to remember.

These were the last words of the Roman. Henry immediately appeared in a hospital ward, in a white bed with doctors running around him, trying to save his life. Seconds later he experienced a tremendous shock through his body with a noise like somebody gave a big clap right into his ear then silence. A type of total silence. The last thing he remembered were the eyes of the doctor, they were the only things he could see on his face; the rest of it was covered.

I will remember his eyes forever, Henry said to himself.

They expressed sorrow and helplessness at the same time. All of a sudden he was able to read the mind of the doctor.

How am I going to tell this news to his relatives?

Somehow Henry was able to follow the doctor out of the ward, through the corridor into a small room with two people in it. Oh my God, it’s my family! I have a wife and daughter! It was a kind of revelation to him. How could I forget them?

The doctor’s entry into the room and his short announcement brought a look of horror on the faces of Rose, his wife, and Emily, his daughter. Unable to do or say anything, he was a distant observer of this silent scene. He noticed a single tear that slid down Rose’s cheek to the corner of her tightly squeezed lips, and Emily’s hands were raised to cover her face. It lasted for a minute after which the doctor left, apologizing again on his way out. Rose sat down with a stunned look on her face in absolute disbelief of what just happened. That’s it? Henry said to himself. He was expecting Rose to be crushed by the sorrow, fall to pieces, and scream in the pain of loss. All that I am worth is a single tear? And my daughter whom I love dearly, not even one? Disappointment on the face of Henry was wiped out by the appearance of the Roman next to him. Give them time, he said.

The whole scene was so surreal with this man standing next to him in this strange outfit. The next question burst out of Henry, Who the hell are you?

The room around them began to slowly fade away, and after a couple of seconds, it seemed like the Roman was trying to find the right words.

I am Croton.

Croton? repeated Henry. That’s my name.

Only now Henry noticed that the man standing in front of him had not opened his mouth once since the moment they met. Somehow, he was capable of hearing him.

Are you for real? Henry asked. As real as you are.

What kind of an answer is that? Henry replied with a note of agitation in his voice.

You see, Henry, there are many kinds of realities, so for the physical—the one you just departed from—you are not real anymore. As for the one we are in, you are quite real.

So will it be inappropriate to ask the question, if there is life after death? Henry asked with great disappointment in his voice.

What’s wrong? Seems like you are not happy, Croton said. What’s there to be happy about? I was so certain in the idea that death is the end of all. Now God knows what you are going to tell or show me in your realities, or probably to take me into one of them.

Are you afraid of Hell? Croton asked.

No, but who knows what kind of judges you have here. Oh, and I presume Judgment Day exists too?

Hmm … Yes and no, answered the Roman.

Why can you not give me straight and simple answers to my questions?

Because, Henry, nothing is straight and especially simple in the place you are in now.

Are you trying to scare me more?

No, but that’s how it is. Everything you are going to encounter here, you are going to compare with the physical reality, that’s why you need my guidance.

So you are my guide in the Underworld? Henry asked with a sarcastic smile on his face.

I was, and I am.

Does this mean that I have died before?

No, this means that you have lived before, and you carry on living now.

But this does not make any sense.

It makes perfect sense if you accept the fact that you were not just your body but something else. Something that was inside of that body, or resides in it for the time being and now left it. You do agree with me, don’t you, about still being alive?

I guess so.

So to answer your question, yes, I was guiding you when you were on Earth, and I am guiding you now.

Guiding to where?

To your next destination.

Wait a minute. Are you trying to say that all my life you have been spying on me? Henry asked.

I would not call it that; I would say I was helping you.

Helping to do what?

To make the right choices.

Are you claiming to know the difference between right and wrong? Henry asked.

No, but I always knew what would have been right for that particular situation.

How come I never heard you?

Sometimes you did.

Are you trying to say that you are my ‘Jiminy Cricket?’

I assume you are referring to your consciousness? It is a big misconception to compare us with consciousness, or with an angel who is whispering into your right ear.

Us? Henry asked in a final attempt to understand who he was talking to.

Us, spirit guides, but let’s get back to the subject. Consciousness is the result of all your experiences you have been collecting through the lives lived on the planet Earth. Each event, each person that you encounter, each failure and success is just an experience to help you to establish your personality and your level of understanding and differentiating good from bad.

Does it mean that the more lives I live, the wiser I become?

I like comparing consciousness with wisdom. Here you are absolutely right, but quantity of lives does not lead to wisdom; some souls manage in one lifetime to achieve that which some cannot in ten.

Earlier you used the words soul and spirit; what’s the difference? Henry asked.

I will give you an answer to that question later. We are going to have plenty of time for conversations like this one. For now, there are more important things to do, Croton answered.

What things?

Do you want to witness your own funeral?

After some time of indecisiveness, Henry answered. No. I never liked to attend any funerals before, and by any excuse, I was always trying to avoid them. Why would I want to attend my own? Definitely no.

Would you like to say good-bye to your family before we start our journey?

That’d be nice, Henry said with a gentle smile on his face.

But remember, they are not going to see or hear you; in the best-case scenario, they can only feel your presence.

That’s okay.

Just close your eyes, whispered Croton.

The next moment Henry opened his eyes and saw that he had appeared in his own living room. Mixed feelings overwhelmed him. Everything was so dear and familiar to him, and at the same time, he felt a strange feeling of not belonging to his space anymore. He found Rose in the kitchen dressed all in black, trying to organize a mountain of dishes, glasses, and cutlery.

Seems like I missed my own party, Henry said.

But there was nobody to hear him. The Roman had disappeared, and Rose didn’t even notice his presence. He stepped up closer and tried to hug her from the back. This was the first time Henry experienced his own lack of solidity. Unable to hug Rose, he was thrown out of balance. With great difficulty, he tried to control his body, and he went straight through Rose and appeared in front of her. He turned around to face her and looked straight into her eyes. She stopped for a moment, and without raising her face, she whispered, Henry.

Tears filled her red eyes that had not been dry in days. He wanted to give her a big kiss like he used to, hold her tight, to calm her down. But the sharp sound of the shattered plate that slipped out of Rose’s hands and the realization of the situation he was in led him to stop and pull back. Somehow he knew that further encounters with Rose would only cause her more pain.

Suddenly, everything started to get hazy and blurry. What is happening to me? Henry asked.

It’s time to go, replied Croton. Wait, I want to see my daughter.

Then do it quickly.

Passing right through Emily’s door did not surprise him; she was lying on the bed and writing something in her diary. Moving closer, Henry started to read, it was a poem—To My Dad. He wanted to cry out—I am alive, I am not dead!

Sorrow for the pain he had caused to his child began to choke him. He had never cried before, he saw weakness in that. Like an overflowing cup, he couldn’t hold the tears anymore.

It’s time to leave, Croton said.

What is going to happen to them? How are they going to survive without me?

You mustn’t worry about them, they will be alright. These things have a way of working out.

Am I going to see them again?

Yes, and it will be way before they cross over.

But, where are we going to go now? Henry asked.

I would like you to do something for me. Please close your eyes and try to remember a place where you enjoyed being regularly, a place where you felt free.

A moment later they appeared in quite a big room filled with tables and chairs with a distinct smell of beer. Oh my God, Henry shouted with great excitement in his voice. This is the pub where I used to spend my evenings and sometimes my weekends. Wait a minute. It looks the same but still a bit different. Where are all the people? I’ve never seen this place so empty.

Let me explain to you how it works before you overload me with hundreds of questions, Croton replied.

But before you do, I would like to say that you look quite ridiculous here in that outfit. Henry teased Croton in an already acquainted manner.

Very funny, the Roman said with a serious face.

So tell me, how did we get here and so fast? And where is everybody? I have never seen a bar without a barman. Besides, by looking at your face, I assume this conversation is going to be a very long one. Don’t you think it will be a good idea to order a couple of beers before we start?

Go ahead, Croton said patiently.

Two beers, please, Henry called loudly facing toward the bar. By some miracle, the order appeared on the table. How did you do that? Henry asked.

I didn’t, you did.

On a serious note, Henry said, Please explain to me how this works.

I will try to do that, but it will require a great deal of patience and concentration from you. You have asked me a ton of questions, and it is not in my character to leave them unanswered. Let us start with transportation. Transportation in this reality is quite easy, all that you have to do is just to think about the place where you want to be and, voilà!

That sounds fun! Henry said. But …

There is always a ‘but.’

Before going somewhere, you have to know where you are going, meaning you have to be familiar with the place. So the situation you are in now, it won’t be much use.

What about this pub? Henry asked. I got you here in the nick of time.

It’s true, but as you can see this place is not exactly the one you were visiting on Earth. It is just a replica of the real pub. Everything here is the way you remembered the place. In other words, you created this place with your own imagination.

For something created in my mind, it is quite solid. Everything looks real to me. Henry touched the top of the table, gave a couple of knocks, and convincingly concluded, It’s definitely real.

Yes, agreed Croton, but if by some miracle Rose would appear here, she would not be able to see me or you or anything around her.

Why is that?

As I told you earlier, there are many different realities. Or we are accustomed to calling them realms. The difference in those realms is in the energy they vibrate at.

I don’t understand. Can you give me a simpler version of what you just said?

I will try, Croton said as he took a big breath.

"You see, everything