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Short Story On Grand Master Choa Kok Sui
He Stayed When All Left
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He Stayed When All Left
Aira once believed that family was forever. Until they weren’t.
One by one, relatives drifted away. Some with betrayal, some with judgment, and others with dark intentions. Black magic seeped silently into her home — not as superstition, but as a real, paralyzing force. The kind that clung to dreams, drained health, strangled finances, and whispered in her sleep.
Aira once believed that family was forever. Until they weren’t.
One by one, relatives drifted away. Some with betrayal, some with judgment, and others with dark intentions. Black magic seeped silently into her home — not as superstition, but as a real, paralyzing force. The kind that clung to dreams, drained health, strangled finances, and whispered in her sleep.
Even her own blood turned cold. Curses came disguised as concern. “You won’t make it,” they said. “You deserve this.”
Hope thinned. Her once-lively home became a space of shadows — with empty eyes, illnesses that defied diagnosis, constant arguments, and money slipping through every crack. Her family cried. Prayed. Screamed into silence. Until one night, a soft light fell upon the photo of Master Choa Kok Sui on the altar.
Aira’s mother, almost robotically, whispered, “Take out the books.”
What started with desperation became devotion. They practiced Basic and Advanced Pranic Healing — daily, faithfully. They studied Pranic Psychotherapy, Psychic Self-Defense, and clutched crystals like lifelines. They invoked divine blessings, cleaned their chakras, healed one another.
Protection returned. Then came clarity.
But karma, they realized, wasn’t healed only through energy work. So they gave. What little they had — their groceries, savings, even a loan — all donated. Service. Tithing. Feeding. Blessing.
The more they gave, the more something shifted — not outside, but inside.
Still, their finances remained stuck. That’s when Aira took up Kriyashakti. She immersed herself in Spiritual Business Management and rearranged her home using Pranic Feng Shui. She set intentions, charged plans, infused her business ideas with life force.
Months passed. Then a year. Then two. They weren’t just surviving — they were transforming. Aira’s younger brother recovered from chronic illness. Her parents opened a small healing center. Income began flowing. Laughter cautiously returned.
After five years, they were ready for one last wish: to meet their beloved Master in person.
They booked tickets to the Philippines.
But when they arrived, they heard the words that shattered them:
“Master Choa passed away in 2007.”
Aira collapsed in tears. “He healed us. Taught us. Protected us. We didn’t even get to say thank you.”
And then — in the quiet hotel room, wrapped in grief — a golden light flooded the ceiling.
A voice as gentle as wind yet firm as truth echoed,
“Why do you cry, my beloveds? I never left. I was never the body. I am omnipresent. I live in every technique, every blessing, every breath of prana you use. I am in your hands when you heal. I am the light when you serve.”
Aira’s mother fell to her knees. “He stayed… when all left.”
They didn’t just return home as survivors. They returned as keepers of his voice — a voice now written on paper, on energy sheets, on yantras, on sacred notes taped to their walls.
Everyone may leave in the end.
But some Presences are eternal.
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