I walk beyond the suburbs in Heaven towards the edge. There are no houses here. Instead, a big, tall double wall with a narrow gap in between falls to a sheer drop way down below. The walls seem to be made of cement and they are the gray color of unpainted concrete. I am reminded of the double walls that guard cities. I look down, beyond the wall, and know instinctively that it is Hell, although I cannot see the details from where I stand. I know that it is mammoth, that it is far more spread out than the city of Paris had appeared when I viewed it from the top of the Eiffel Tower.
As I survey this place of gloom from afar, my second vision begins. I become aware of someone walking beside me and that I am walking downwards. His is a large presence, and I see his shadow. It is similar to the shadow I had encountered in 1998 in the meadow, but I knew that shadow to be the Shadow of the Almighty, as in Psalm 91:1; this time I sense it is an angel. I cannot see him, but I know it through the communication process where thoughts enter my mind that he is dressed in black and is a warrior.
Whereas the large person had walked on my right as we went uphill in the meadow, this person is on my left as we go downwards. Interestingly, the right side is heavenwards, so the warrior is on the left where the danger lurks, to protect me from it. He keeps about half a pace ahead as we descend long, winding steps hewn out of rock. It feels as if we are inside a deep mountain, walking down dozens and dozens of steps in a dark stairway with thick rock walls on either side. The stairway is narrow, able to accommodate two people at most, and it follows the contours of the mountain.
I do not fear tripping because somehow I can see through the darkness, as my sight is also heightened and clear. Like a nocturnal animal I have perfect vision and agility. This is both amazing and interesting, because in the natural I am very cautious of going down steps and always look for a handrail or a person to hold on to. Yet here I am without a handrail in the dark and I am treading down confidently and surely.
The angel of the Lord leads me to a deep abyss. Former atheist, Rev. Howard Storm, describes horrors at different levels of his journey in his book My Descent into Death,1 but thankfully I am not shown those. The knowledge is transmitted to me that I am a visitor on tour. This is a place that I cannot come to alone, because I am a foreigner and do not belong here. I have not asked to see this place, but the tour is being offered to me and the angel is my tour guide. This parallel is easy to understand, because in my travels to foreign countries, and even my native Trinidad, I’ve accessed the services of guides for both security and informational purposes.
As we grow closer to where the angel is taking me, a dark orange glow becomes apparent. It reminds me of Halloween colors and sights I have seen on television. I shrink back, my steps slowing. I hear faint shrieks in the distance that grow to louder wails, as if people are being tortured. The anguish is undeniable. The dark orange glows and glowers. It is spooky and terrifying, and I move closer to the angel as we continue down.
We turn a corner to the left. And I see it.
A place of fire just as the Bible describes.
The fire comes in waves, as water rolls in the ocean. Waves of fire. The fire “ocean” looks like an endless, flat surface. The fire waves are gigantic from far off and become smaller as they crash onto the burnt rocky shore with its blackened sand. The fire recedes and surges, surges and recedes, like swash and backwash on beaches. And in it are people, as if they are bathing in the ocean, tossed to and fro by the waves in the fire. They are screaming and many have their arms upraised.
I am extremely familiar with waves and oceans. My native Trinidad is a Caribbean island bounded by four bodies of water: the Atlantic Ocean to the east, the Caribbean Sea to the north, the Gulf of Paria to the west, and Columbus Channel to the south. Churning waters rolling blue and crashing waves with white frothy tips are the norm. They are cool and inviting, awesome and powerful. But Hell is the opposite–tormented and cursed, where the burnt-orange rolling fires are tipped with black.
I stand with the angel on the corner and watch Hell, witnessing the very real suffering of those who mocked the Christian gospel, who rejected the invitation that would have kept them out of the inferno. We do not talk, but there is an understanding that I am not permitted to go any closer. Nor do I wish to go closer.
I don’t know how long we spent watching Hell, because in Eternity a lot seems to happen in a short space of time. I can only extrapolate from my 1998 experience when I was unconscious for three minutes on earth, but saw, knew, and felt so much of Heaven. I also did not know how much time I spent in Heaven this time.
Our time is over. We walk up the stairs to Heaven and I go first with the angel behind me. At that point I came back to reality on earth, full of the dread and horror I had seen of the place prepared for the Devil and his angels. I do not know why I had been chosen for an unsolicited tour, but this would not be my last view of Eternity.
Copyright Susan Harris 2019, 2020