Visions

What happens when we step beyond the veil? Coulson Kernahan imagines the afterlife not as certainty but as questions, posed in visionary sketches that haunt long after the final page. A dying man stumbles into the world beyond, uncertain of his reception. At the Last Judgment, the accused rise as accusers themselves, turning divine justice into a mirror of human accusation. An angel walks with a despairing soul through a single Christmas Eve, bearing strange comfort. In a garden, flowers whisper of their own brief bloom. And in a future world of perfect luxury, children have vanished entirely, leaving only their absence as prophecy. These are not comforting visions but unsettling inquiries into faith, judgment, and what remains when Christ is renounced or removed. Kernahan writes with the reverent restlessness of a man who cannot accept easy answers, layering allegory with genuine theological anxiety. For readers who find Dante compelling but prefer their cosmology uncertain, these dreams offer no resolution, only the persistent weight of the questions we carry into every darkness.