The Seven Heavens
The Seven Veils of Light
In the village of Aramiel, where the river bent like a silver prayer around the land, the people prayed with humble voices to Almighty Yehoah. They prayed at dawn, at dusk, and in the aching stillness of night. Their faith was steady, but it was ordinary: they bowed, they recited, and they hoped for bread, rain, and mercy. None among them ever dreamed of seeing beyond the veil of the mortal sky.
Except Elior.
Elior was not a prophet, nor a priest, but a seeker. His heart was restless, his nights were filled with visions, and in every grain of sand he felt the whisper of eternity. He longed to see what no eye of clay could behold—the dwelling of Yehoah, the Seven Heavens spoken of only in echoes, parables, and forgotten psalms.
One night, while the village lay still, Elior climbed the hill of Hermar, where the stars burned like fiery embers. There, a voice fell upon him—not thunder, not wind, but a living resonance that seemed older than the earth.
“Elior, son of dust, why do you seek what has not been granted to mortals?”
His knees trembled, but his spirit did not break. “Because, O Voice, my soul thirsts not for bread but for the rivers where bread itself is conceived. I long to know the heights where Yehoah reigns.”
The Voice was silent, then returned, gentler: “Then you shall pass through the Seven Heavens, but you must not boast nor turn back with pride. What you see is not yours to own, only to witness.”
At once, the stars drew close, folding into a ladder of light. Elior stepped forward—and was taken.
The First Heaven: Shamayim of Breath
He entered a realm where air was pure song. The angels here were as bright as dawn, their wings moving like the tides of the ocean. They guarded the prayers of mortals, carrying each whispered plea like sparks in their hands. Elior saw the prayers of his village—fragile, glowing—ascending like incense.
One angel whispered to him: “Here is where the smallest faith becomes eternal fragrance.”
The Second Heaven: Rekia of Waters
A vast sea stretched without shore, its waves reflecting every soul born and unborn. Mighty beings, like pillars of lightning, stood guard over the waters. They spoke in thunders, saying: “This sea is the memory of Yehoah, where nothing is forgotten, neither sin nor virtue.”
Elior gazed into the waves and saw his own face, trembling with both fear and hope.
The Third Heaven: Shehaqim of Bread
Here, fields stretched endlessly, yet no farmer sowed them. Angels baked loaves not of wheat but of radiance, feeding the spirits of the righteous. Elior tasted one crumb, and within it felt the comfort of a thousand suns.
An elder angel told him: “Here is the storehouse where Yehoah prepares manna for the faithful in times of famine—seen and unseen.”
The Fourth Heaven: Zebul of Fire
Heaven blazed here, not with destruction but with holy brilliance. Thrones of sapphire stood in solemn rows. Angels of flame sang in deep voices that shook the foundations of reality. In their midst, Elior glimpsed an altar of immeasurable fire, upon which burned the offerings of all time.
A flame-angel spoke: “Here Yehoah remembers covenant, and the fire does not consume but purifies.”
The Fifth Heaven: Ma’on of Silence
A vast silence reigned. Yet in that silence, Elior heard the weeping of angels interceding for the sins of mankind. Their tears fell like meteors, carving rivers of mercy across the sky.
One angel, cloaked in sorrow, said: “This is the heaven of intercession. Here Yehoah’s compassion bends closer to the broken-hearted.”
The Sixth Heaven: Machon of Decrees
Before him stretched chambers of divine law, where scrolls of eternity were unrolled by radiant beings. Here destinies were inscribed, kings enthroned and dethroned, nations raised and scattered.
An angel with eyes of fire told him: “Here is where Yehoah’s will is etched before it descends into time. What is written here cannot be erased, save by mercy itself.”
The Seventh Heaven: Araboth of Presence
At last, Elior entered the realm of unspeakable light. There were no forms, no measures, only brilliance like a thousand dawns. He fell to his face, for he felt the breath of Yehoah Himself, the source beyond source, the silence beyond silence.
A voice filled him—not around him, but within:
“Child of earth, you have seen the Seven Heavens, but remember this: the greatest heaven is not above, but within a heart made humble. Return to your people, teach them to love, and you will have brought a fragment of My eternity into the dust.”
Elior awoke on Hermar Hill with tears upon his face and light in his eyes. He returned to the village, not as a prophet of visions, but as a servant of compassion. To the common believers, the Seven Heavens remained unseen—but through Elior’s gentleness, his patience, and his unshakable love, they glimpsed a heaven nearer than the sky.
And thus, the Seven Heavens remained a mystery to the ordinary—but not forever unseen.
