191 | Divine Mother Departs

191 | Abby and Rev Survive the Departure of Mother Nature ·Crysticism 191

Chapter 1: Abby and Rev Listen to Mother Nature Resign Due to Stagnant Soul Seeds

As Abby and Rev listen to Mother Nature resign due to stagnant soul seeds, the fragile balance of their broken world finally shatters. The wind howls over the cracked earth like it’s trying to warn them.

“What happened to this place?” Abby mutters.

Her friend Rev kicks at the powdery dirt. “Used to be a park,” he says. “My mom brought me here when I was five. There were trees. Grass. Actual shade.”

Now it’s all dead trees and half-melted playground equipment. Rusted swings hang crooked. The burned-out slide points at nothing.

Around them, the Seed People gather—hundreds of them.

Most are adults, wrapped in too many layers and too many beliefs. Some are teens, dragged along, arms crossed, faces flat. They all stare at the sky like it’s a test they didn’t study for.

Abby hugs her thin jacket close. Sixteen. Exhausted. Quietly furious. The air smells like dust and burned plastic. Above them, clouds churn in slow, ugly twists, like the sky is sick.

At the front of the crowd, a man raises his arms.

“Listen up!” he shouts. His voice cracks. “We have a question for the sky.”

People quiet down. Even the wind seems to hold its breath.

“Why are winds blowing, volcanoes erupting, and the weather changing?” he cries. “Many humans are uncomfortable—and some are dying!”

The words hang above them.

“Yeah,” Abby whispers. “No kidding.”

Rev glances at her. “You think anyone’s actually listening?”

Abby opens her mouth to answer—and then the air thickens.

The wind drops. A low hum rises under their feet, like the ground just started breathing.

“Do you feel that?” Rev asks.

Abby nods. “Yeah.” Her heart stutters. “Something’s… here.”

The hum builds, soft but everywhere, inside and out.

Then a voice speaks.

Not in front of them. Not behind them. Inside them.

“I maintain a constant vision of a beautiful, harmonious planet,” the voice says.

Abby’s eyes widen. Rev grabs her sleeve.

“Did you hear that?” he whispers.

“It’s in my head,” Abby says. “Who is—”

She already knows.

“Mother Nature,” someone breathes. A murmur of fear and awe runs through the crowd.

The voice continues, calm and clear, like rain that hasn’t fallen in years.

“I envision peaceful cooperation between nature and mankind. My thoughts, words, and feelings send out tiny seeds of potential. They grow into trees, flowers, and wildlife.”

The ground under Abby’s boots vibrates gently. Pale green light seeps through the cracks in the hard earth, curling upward like mist.

Abby closes her eyes for a second.

She sees rivers running clear, forests humming with life, cities that don’t look like open wounds. For a heartbeat, the world isn’t broken.

Then the vision shatters.

“We were made to be soul seeds for all eternity!” a man yells.

Others echo him, as they’ve rehearsed it.

“We don’t want to change who we are! That is not our way. We await our Savior to gather the best seeds in Heaven. To expand and grow would violate our Creator’s wishes!”

Abby’s stomach twists.

“Same speech,” Rev mutters. “Different apocalypse.”

Abby hears her childhood in those words: sermons, family dinners, endless memes about waiting to be chosen and adopted by Heavenly Father.

We are seeds. We don’t grow. We wait in passive, blind belief.

The humming under their feet tightens, like the planet itself just clenched.

“Seeds,” Mother Nature answers gently, “are designed to die and grow into a plant that produces more seeds.”

A woman pulls her little boy close.

“No! No!” she cries. “We’ll die if we break our shell! Our Creator wrapped us in beliefs we can never question. We are good, pure seeds, not seed makers. Only the Creator makes new seeds!”

Abby watches people nod, eyes shut tight.

“If being ‘good’ means never changing while everything deteriorates,” Abby mutters, “what’s the point?”

Rev looks at her. “You’re gonna get smote saying stuff like that.”

“Already feel smote,” she says.

Mother Nature’s voice grows heavier.

“Your thoughts, words, and feelings create new seeds,” she says, “which either support or oppose my vision.

“You plant seeds of love or hatred, harmony or chaos, peace or fear. The winds, weather, and earthquakes respond to your inner state.”

Abby swallows.

The hum changes. For a second, she sees it—color rising off people like smoke: warm gold from some, sick gray from others, sharp red from many. All of it drifting into the sky, tangling in the spinning clouds.

“No! No!” a group of elders shouts. “We are worthless bystanders, not creators! Mother Nature rules the Earth. We don’t have her talent.”

Worthless bystanders.

The phrase hits Abby like a slap. She thinks of every time someone told her she was “just a kid,” “just one person,” “just a seed.”

Mother Nature’s presence flickers, then steadies.

“I hold the vision that sustains the Earth,” she says. “But I need your help to reinforce it—and to overwrite the visions of the destroyers.”

“Destroyers?” Rev says under his breath. “That sounds… bad.”

Abby thinks of endless doomscrolling. War clips on repeat. Cruel jokes over real suffering—disaster as background noise.

A man in the crowd snorts.

“We don’t believe in helping almighty Creators,” he calls. “We’re simple seeds. Our Savior will harvest us and stack us in glass jars by the throne.

“We weren’t made to help keep a perfect vision. We’re happy filling our minds and hearts with movies, social media, and the latest news. We like watching the horrible pictures the Tempters create. We don't believe mankind's corrupted thoughts and feelings could infect the air, water, fire, or earth.”

Abby stares at him.

“You seriously believe that?” she whispers.

Rev shrugs weakly. “Convenient belief.”

The air shivers with Mother Nature’s sorrow.

“What you consistently look at,” she says, “you help make real. Your corrupted visions will cause people to perish.”

Abby’s eyes snap open.

She sees it: every violent clip, every hate-filled comment, every cruel joke rising off screens like black smoke, building a thick, choking layer around the planet.

“Dude,” someone near her whispers. “We’re literally killing the world with what we watch on our cellphones.”

No one laughs.

A voice from the back yells, “We’re practicing for a dreamlike afterlife in Heaven! We don’t need you!”

Abby flinches at the word we.

“I didn’t vote on this,” she mutters.

Silence settles again. It feels heavier now.

When Mother Nature speaks, something cold and final has entered her tone.

“I hereby resign as the world’s Mother,” she says.

The crowd gasps.

“You can’t quit!” an old woman shouts. “You’re Mother Nature!”

“For ages,” the voice says, “I have tried to keep the Earth in balance. But more of you resist me than help me.

“I will move to another world, where destroyers do not fight every vision. I refuse to be blamed for the disasters caused by your uncontrolled thoughts and feelings.”

The hum under Abby’s feet starts to fade.

“No, no, no,” Rev whispers. “She can’t just leave.”

“Farewell and good luck,” the Seed People call back together, almost cheerfully.

A few of them wave like they’re saying goodbye to a neighbor moving away.

“Soon our Savior will return and fix everything!” someone shouts. “We’ll wait. We’ll hold onto the wishful vision of our Redeemer in the clouds!”

Abby stares at them.

“You’re losing your planets' protector,” she says softly, “and your plan is still just… wait?”

Mother Nature speaks one last time.

“The Creator made seeds with the potential to become His image and likeness,” she says. “You refused to grow.

“The Savior will not assist stagnant seeds who cling to false beliefs. I withdraw my presence and vision. What remains will be the world you create together.”

Then she’s gone.

The hum cuts off.

The silence is terrifying.

“Did—did she really leave?” Rev whispers.

Abby doesn’t answer.

Because the ground answers for her.

It shudders.

A blinding flash explodes out of a crack near the dead swings. Lightning blasts up from the dirt, spearing the sky from below. Another bolt erupts. And another.

Thunder slams down like a giant hammer.

“Run!” someone screams.

Dark clouds swarm together, swallowing what little light is left.

Then the sky falls.

Chunks of ice wrapped in fire—reeking, burning hailstones—crash into the ground. Each one hits with a sickening sizzle, bursting into steam and leaving behind pits that belch sulfur and metal smoke.

People shove and trip, slamming into each other as they scramble for shelter under twisted playground frames, dead trees, anything.

A knife-cold wind tears through the park, slicing through jackets and bravado.

The “pure-hearted seeds” howl, sob, curse, pray. Faith slogans fall apart in their mouths.

Abby stands frozen, watching a flaming chunk slam into the dirt where kids once played.

“This,” she says through her teeth, “is what our beliefs look like when Mother Nature stops holding back mankind's visions. They finally break loose.”

Rev grabs her arm. “Abby, move!”

She lets him drag her toward the skeleton of the slide, her eyes still on the cratered ground.

“And the planet,” she whispers, “is the one taking the hit.”

Chapter 2: Abby and Rev Migrate with the Seed People and Encounter the Paradise Valley Energy Barrier

When Abby and Rev migrate with the Seed People and encounter the Paradise Valley energy barrier, they realize their passive mindset will no longer save them. Time unravels.

Abby doesn’t know if it’s been hours or days.

The hail finally stops. The thunder rolls away, leaving the air thick with ash and something heavier—grief, maybe. Or numbness.

The Seed People gather in a ragged circle. No one even tries to pretend this is a “meeting” or a “service.” They huddle.

Mother Nature is gone.

Without her, the world feels colder in a way that has nothing to do with temperature.

A man sobs into his hands. Someone else shouts an angry prayer at the motionless sky. A couple of teens argue in low, shaky voices about whose fault this is.

Rev stares upward. “You ever seen a sky look this… dead?”

Abby follows his gaze. The clouds sit there, flat and gray. No shape. No depth.

“It looks like a screen that froze,” she says.

“Maybe the Earth needs to reboot,” Rev jokes weakly.

No one laughs.

Faces turn up, over and over, searching the sky for an answer that doesn’t come.

Now what? hangs in the air, unspoken but loud.

A girl’s voice slices through the muttering.

“Look!” she shouts. “Look to the north!”

Heads whip around.

Far off, at the jagged edge where land meets sky, something glows.

It’s a soft, golden dome, curving up like the top of an invisible bubble. The light pulses slowly, like a giant sleeping heart.

“What is that?” Rev breathes.

Phones appear as if by instinct. People squint at cracked screens, fighting for a signal. After a few seconds, the maps finally load.

“Paradise Valley, Montana,” the girl announces. “That’s where the glow is.”

“Paradise Valley,” someone repeats.

The name moves through the crowd: Paradise. Paradise. Paradise.

“We’ll die if we stay here,” an older man rasps. “The light and warmth are gone from our city. We must go to where we will surely be welcomed.”

Others latch onto his words.

“We will surely die if we stay here,” a woman repeats. “We must go where we will be welcomed.”

Abby hears the way they say will be welcomed, like it’s a promise signed in cosmic ink.

“You don’t even know who’s there,” she says under her breath.

“Maybe they’re handing out hot chocolate and new planets,” Rev says.

“Or maybe,” Abby says, “they don’t want a stampede of people who helped break the last one.”

Rev glances sideways at her. “Are you always this pessimistic?”

“Only at the end of the world,” she says.

By morning, the decision is made.

No votes. No real discussion.

Just momentum.

The Seed People become a caravan.

They load carts, backpacks, even strollers with what’s left of their lives. Government offices choke on their emergency forms: relocation requests, religious exemptions, travel grants.

“We have to leave,” a woman pleads at a folding table. “We are Seed Souls. Paradise is our rightful home.”

Overworked caseworkers stamp approvals.

On the road, volunteers hand out food, blankets and basic medicine. Temporary shelters go up at night and vanish at dawn.

“Feels like the universe is pushing us toward that glow,” Rev says one night, chewing on stale bread.

“Or just clearing us out of the way,” Abby says.

Every day, the caravan crawls forward.

Every night, Abby looks at the horizon.

The golden dome is always there.

Never closer. Never farther.

Just… there.

Weeks blur past.

Blisters bloom and break in Abby’s boots. Dust coats her teeth. Sleep comes in thin, nervous snatches.

One evening, as the sun gives up and the cold creeps in, a middle-aged man frowns at the northern glow.

“Something is wrong,” he says slowly, loud enough for people nearby to hear.

Rev and Abby sit up.

“What do you mean?” someone asks.

“We’ve been traveling for months,” the man says, “and we are no closer to Paradise. We have made our wishes very clear to our Savior. Something is blocking us.

“Surely Google Maps would never deceive us.”

Abby almost laughs, but the sound dies in her throat.

“Oh, it would,” she mutters. “It could and it would.”

The same teen girl who first spotted the glow steps forward. Her face is gaunt, but her eyes are sharp.

“Mother Nature warned us about getting trapped in fantasy,” she says. “About being wrapped in blind beliefs.”

Screens flicker around the camp. A few people pause mid-scroll.

“We move a few miles a day,” the girl goes on. “The rest of the time, we watch movies, relax, and scroll.”

The words make the air feel tighter.

“So?” an elder snaps. “We deserve rest.”

The girl doesn’t back down.

“I think there’s an energy barrier around Paradise,” she says. “It keeps out people who won’t share the kind of vision Mother Nature had. How do we let go of false beliefs and actually grow?”

The question lands in Abby’s chest like a stone.

How do you let go of beliefs that raised you? Believe that for your whole family are called sacred and untouchable?

“Child,” an old man laughs, “our blind beliefs are the only things that can take us to Paradise. If we can’t see, our Savior can guide us.”

Abby clenches her jaw.

“If your eyes are closed,” she murmurs, “how do you know who’s holding your hand?”

The girl hears her and nods.

“How can an absent redeemer be our guide?” the teen asks the elders directly. “My calculations show we’re walking in a circle around Paradise.

“Maybe our blind beliefs need to be replaced with the truth Mother Nature tried to teach. Just being ‘good bystanders’ isn’t the same as aligning our thoughts and feelings with cosmic laws.”

Her voice shakes a little, but she doesn’t stop.

The Seed People bristle.

“Show some respect for your wise, experienced elders,” one woman snaps.

Murmurs of agreement ripple through the camp.

“Now that Mother Nature is gone,” another elder declares, “we are freer than ever. We can do as we please. Our bodies will adapt to the cold. Our eyes will adjust to the gloom.

“Being cold, tired, and homeless is a small price to pay for more freedom. You’ll understand when you’re older.”

Abby scans the faces around the fire.

Cracked lips. Red eyes. Hands that can’t stop shaking.

“This is freedom?” Rev whispers.

“It’s a cage you call a castle,” Abby says.

Far away, the dome of light glows steadily.

Abby narrows her eyes.

For the first time, she notices something shimmering around the golden curve—a faint, invisible shell. When the caravan’s mix of fear, entitlement, and denial drifts too close, the shell brightens. The light inside ripples, then holds.

“Do you see that?” she asks.

“See what?” Rev says.

“The edge,” Abby says. “It pushes back.”

“Paradise is rejecting us?” Rev asks.

Abby shakes her head slowly.

“No. I think… we’re rejecting it.”

She closes her eyes and pictures it: two different kinds of smoke.

Mother Nature’s vision—warm, gold, steady.

The Seed People’s beliefs—storm-gray, twitchy, threaded with anger and numbness.

When they touch, they spark, clash—and spring apart.

“Maybe we can’t get in,” she says, “until we stop being ignorant, rebellious and lazy.”

“That’s a tiny problem,” Rev says. “Just change our lifestyle and everything we believe. Easy.”

That night, Abby lies awake under the same flat, unblinking sky.

The glow is still a curve at the world’s edge, pulsing like it’s calling to someone. Maybe to anyone willing to change.

Abby stares at it until her eyes burn.

“I don’t just want out of the cold,” she whispers to herself. “I want to know who and what I am.”

A seed that’s supposed to stay safe in its shell forever?

Or something else—something that has to die, crack open and split to actually live.

Mother Nature is gone.

The destroyers grow louder every day.

No one is coming down from the clouds with a step-by-step guide.

Maybe, Abby thinks as the wind claws at the tents and the distant light throbs in the dark, that’s the worst secret.

Or the most important.

Because if no one is coming to show them how to grow, someone here will have to figure it out.

And the question she can’t shake is this:

Who’s going to be brave—or desperate—enough to try first?

Chapter Synopsis:

This document details chapters 1 and 2 of the narrative within the Crysticism framework, capturing the departure of Mother Nature as human consciousness and collective actions ruin the planetary ecosystem. Gathered around melted playgrounds, hundreds of "Seed People"—adults and teens wrapped in passive beliefs, denial, and a complete reliance on an external Savior—listen as Mother Nature announces her resignation due to stagnant soul seeds and corrupted visions that infect the air, water, and earth. Following her departure, severe apocalyptic weather and burning hailstones pummel the earth, forcing Abby and Rev to migrate northward with the Seed People toward a glowing energy barrier over Paradise Valley in Montana. During the journey, Abby and Rev realize that the protective dome of light is not rejecting them maliciously, but rather pushing back against their unexamined blind beliefs, entitlement, and passive mindset, leaving them to recognize that they must awaken and grow rather than wait for a rescue that never arrives.

Core Themes & Laws:

• The Resonance of Collective Consciousness: The foundational Crystic law that humanity's inner states—thoughts, words, feelings, and media consumption—directly manifest as environmental realities, weather patterns, and planetary destruction.

• The Stagnation of the "Seed People": The psychological and spiritual peril of individuals who refuse to grow, choosing instead to remain passive bystanders trapped in blind beliefs, waiting for an external Savior to provide an eternal vacation.

• Mother Nature's Resignation: The cosmic consequence of human corruption, wherein planetary support is withdrawn because destroyers constantly fight against harmony and clean visions.

• The Paradise Valley Energy Barrier: The reality of higher-vibrational sanctuary shields that naturally repel lower-frequency states like fear, entitlement, and denial, requiring genuine internal transformation to cross.

Key Entities Featured in this Document:

• Abby and Rev: Teenagers navigating the physical and spiritual collapse of Earth, questioning the passive dogmas of the Seed People and recognizing that blind belief is an intellectual cage.

• Mother Nature: The planetary intelligence who reaches her breaking point, announces her resignation from her role due to toxic human thoughts, and withdraws her sustaining presence.

• The Seed People: A massive caravan of adults and teens who cling to passive traditions, dismiss their responsibility for planetary healing, and march blindly toward Paradise Valley expecting unearned luxury.