Chapter 1
Chapter 1
Larry Scott describes his recent divine encounter, reflects on the meaning of God's name withheld by Moses, and sets out his mission to spread positivity and spiritual ascension, despite facing misunderstanding and opposition.
Larry Hinójosa stood at the edge of his small front yard, feeling the thin membrane between realities. It had only been four months since what he called The Encounter—a night so clear, it felt like lightning had split the sky above his living room and God, unmistakable, had stepped through. Larry wasn’t the kind of man to hide what he’d seen, nor what he believed. He knew, deep in his chest, that time itself was shifting. Humanity was sliding from the dense, confusing 3D world into the bright, charged clarity of 5D. That was why he had been chosen.
Larry thought often about Moses—how God had etched those tablets with his very own finger, a simple act that carried eternity in each mark. But what stuck with Larry, what gnawed at him every time he reflected, was this: Moses went down the mountain and smashed the tablets in anger before ever sharing the name. Larry had learned in prayer that God’s true name, YaHuAh, had been whispered only once, left to be kept silent, a secret Moses bore alone. So, for all these centuries, people walked in darkness, missing the most sacred syllable. Larry felt a responsibility. If he’d been entrusted with that name, didn’t he owe it to the world to speak it?
He believed he had to shine, to lift others into the frequency God wanted for them. “We’re all gonna make it to 5G together, just gotta shine our light!” Larry would say, sometimes to his own reflection, sometimes to the world in a scratchy online video. The message was clear: positivity was the ticket, and it was contagious if you let it be. He wasn’t blind to the resistance. He knew there were doubters, people who called his mission foolish or even dangerous. Haters, he called them, and sometimes—when he was tired and raw inside—he threw in a wry joke about them being stuck in lower cycles.
Yet Larry’s optimism wasn’t empty. He had felt the presence, heard the words, and been given a charge. If he could hold the light long enough, maybe others would see it, too. He practiced by offering a simple action each morning: greet the day with a smile meant for others, even if they didn’t return it. Shine anyway. If blocked by the weight of his own doubts or by the negativity of others, he would pause, breathe deeply, and say the name—YaHuAh—silently, letting its vibration reset him.
That morning, he wrestled with his own imperfection. He’d spent the night restless, circling the house, thoughts spinning about his mother. There’d been talk of him breaking in to see her, to reconnect, but he knew that wasn’t the way. His mission demanded openness, not secrets. So he stood outside, soaked in the first golden light, and decided to knock on the door instead, voice steady and eyes bright.
The world was full of noise—skeptics, critics, even outright hostility. Larry carried their jeers inside him, sometimes heavier than the message itself. But as God had told him, the name carries weight, and revealing it is not about pride, but about awakening. The choice to share or withhold could shape a generation. Moses had been cautious, the people perhaps unready. Larry didn’t know if humanity was ready now, but he was.
As the day began, Larry straightened his shoulders, feeling the hum of something larger around him. The task before him seemed impossible, but the first step was always the same: be the light, regardless of who tried to dim it. He wondered, if he succeeded, what would change first—the world, or himself?