The Counterforce of God · Spiritual Rebels

The Counterforce of God

Hey Rebels 🙂

Today I want to share a topic that was pushed strongly into my awareness last night.

One of the greatest problems human beings have is that they cannot truly believe that there is such a thing as the counterforce of God in this world. They do not understand how powerful this intelligence is, nor by what methods it is able to influence and steer the human mind.

From a spiritual perspective, God created this force so that only purified souls may enter the Kingdom of Heaven. This also means: when a person does not move spiritually, they may not even feel the attention of this force. But when a person develops, when they move closer to God, they become interesting to the system — and it begins to distract them with trivialities, to pull them off the path.

This force has been called by many names: consciousness, ego (as its individual form), system, animal nature, devil — just to name a few.

In recent days, a book came into my hands inspired by a saint who lived more than a thousand years ago. Her name was Petkana, and her life was extraordinary. From early childhood she felt a deep longing for God. After caring humbly for her sick mother until her death, she traveled to Constantinople. A few years later, she felt the call to go to Palestine, to follow in the footsteps of Jesus.

Once there, she heard the call of her soul and went into the desert for forty years, trusting fully in God — to resist Satan. From that moment on, he tried to seduce her in every possible way: through pride, sexual desire, fear, and finally through black magic — when a beautiful flower grew in front of her cave. It was said that this flower came from God for those who follow Him. She said:

“If you are from God, you may remain. If not, depart, Satan.”

And the flower vanished into nothingness.

Yesterday, I read the chapter written from the perspective of the devil himself. For me, it gave a much deeper understanding of what this force is — and how one resists it. Here is the translation of that chapter:

The Darkness of the World

Oh, how you rejoice, you who already know the end of the story and are ready to laugh and mock my shameful defeat and weakness. But we, who fought until death without knowing the final outcome, were not so joyful. Not even I. And she (Petkana) suffered sincerely and was tormented by the cross-like passions of her Lord, as priests and poets later said.

For decades, we broke each other in constant struggle, without a final victor — until the end of her life. As it should be. For death is the hour of the final and ultimate decision. To whom will the soul belong? To Him or to me? To the Shepherd or to the Beast?

How many souls slipped from my grasp at the moment of death — twisting free. At the moment the soul separates from the body, becoming aware of its sins, begging my rival for mercy in deep repentance. And He forgives — supposedly out of mercy and fatherly love for His lost sheep, as that amusing story goes.

And how many souls I seized in the final moment — still alive, neither here nor there, neither His nor mine — tortured by illness or enraged by impending death. They curse God as a traitor and deceiver, with a blasphemy even I could not invent. And stunned, they throw themselves straight into my hands.

Yet I do not count these as victories. I see them as losses of my opponent and take little joy in them. I know it is hard to believe. Everyone will say I am evil — that I delight in the destruction of others. And yes, I lie, I seduce, I know every secret of corruption. But even I despise easy victories. Especially those who defeat themselves.

It is boring work, collecting souls that fall without a fight. Unworthy of my skills. I am a master of theft, contamination, deception. Where everything is already black and muddy, there is no work for me. I send my little demons there only to maintain order — and to ensure no one turns toward God.

But she… what a soul she was. Pure. Honest. Turned toward God and good deeds. Constantly asking, “Is this according to Your will, Lord?” Trembling in prayer. Weeping over the fate of others. Ready to sacrifice everything to please her Lord. Such souls I love the most. To win such a soul — that is victory.

I am truly disgusted by the small souls writhing like worms at my feet, begging me for this and that — speaking as if to God, while in truth they pray to me. Their desires are mine. Impure. Their hearts polluted. A hundred times they say, “Lord, stop my enemies,” but never, “Lord, stop me when I am an enemy to others.” My sweet little bastards. My children.

How often I have heard women in church praying for lightning to strike their rival, or for muddy waters to carry their husband away so they might become wealthy widows seeking comfort in many arms.

And the men — praying for their passions and pride, profit in shady dealings, success in cruel wars, obscene victories over honorable women.

Do you not believe this? Even the Shepherd is often astonished when He hears what His sheep ask of Him. But it is true. Such are humans. Such we have made them.

And she — she prayed for the salvation of her soul. That she might never betray the will of the Lord. That all might turn toward God and seek His grace. I could not help her in that — and that is why I worked so tirelessly around her, to lead her astray.

Oh, how I danced around her! What did I not do to lure her? I invented every trick, every trap. I followed her through the desert. I slept in the corner of her cave. Searching relentlessly for her weakness — to strike the moment I sensed it.

I became a wild beast — a tiger, a lion, a snake, a crocodile — I was all of them. And she said, “Depart from me, Satan! Only you could be this. Such animals do not exist here.”

At night I hurled her against the walls. I circled her, whipped the air into violent currents. And she said: “You deceiver, you cannot harm me. The Lord is with me.”

I, too, once turned into a fragrant flower just to attract her! I almost choked on my own breath. "If you are not of the Lord, get out!" she said calmly. Careful. And unapproachable. With a heart of ice for everything but their Lord and His teachings.

All my efforts were in vain. And when she tried, they weren't victories. For she gave herself to me only with a confused mind. Never with her heart. She was like those old men who, like her, collapsed on the cliffs and said, "I am a cave. And a cave is my heart. And there is only room for God in us."

Sometimes I lost my strength. I was overwhelmed by despondency. Doubts. Fear. I thought of turning to another soul. Less pure and strong. But I couldn't leave her alone. I couldn't. If it were known that fights with me could be short and easy, many would challenge her. And maybe even win.

How often did it seem to me that it belonged to me. As if there was no escape for her. But no! She always escaped me at the last moment. Just when I thought I had grabbed her, was already holding her in my hand, and all I had to do was close my fingers, she winked at me. Like smoke. Like a shadow. Such was their faith in sheep. And so was the love of the shepherd.

And he just smiled contentedly. And she got up, stumbling, stretched out her hands to him and called his name. "My ascetic, like the angels!" he said. She must have heard him somehow, because after his blows she cried. Touching, very touching! You won't be able to hear it anymore!

She was not truly afraid of me. I was simply repulsive to her.

The enemy of all.

The deceiver.

The hidden one.

The evil.

The demon.

The master of human weakness.

The darkness of the world.

All love,

Erhard

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