When I say that I have been outside and have returned, I speak the
truth, and yet my words seem to express an untruth. It is because, as I
have said before, that other kind of existence is so different from this
that it uses a different language to express even a simple idea, a
language which the kind we know as figurative most nearly resembles,
although that is far enough from being the same. I should therefore use
figurative language to embody what I have to say in regard to that other
life, if literary considerations were alone to be regarded; but my aim
is to benefit, and I decline to use a form of speech which has been so
often sold as merchandise that many people no longer believe there is
any truth attached to it. I use instead the plain, everyday speech, and
say without qualification that I have been away, that I am acquainted
with the conditions that follow after death, that I lean on no man's
theories, not even on those which I might make, if I were given to
theorizing, which I am not. No, I rest on facts, plain, cold facts,
which are none the less so because they are registered in the mind of
one man instead of many; facts of consciousness not to be gainsaid,
although, in order to express them so as to make them most useful here,
it is necessary to translate them into a language so far from the
original, that only those who keep the fact of the translation in mind
can hope to receive the truth in something like its purity.
I am well aware that I can scarcely hope to convince my reader that it
could be possible under any circumstances for one to enter the kingdom
of the dead, to take on the powers and conditions belonging to that
realm, to become a component part of that world of mystery to the extent
of dismissing all care in regard to the possibility of return, and even
to transmit such a thought-message as this. The responsibility for my
being out of place rests upon you all; I was compelled to undergo the
pain of the passage at your will; and now that you repent and ask me to
return, I will take my time and think about it. I am well housed in a
good body on this side. I do not know that I would go back if I could.
That, after all this, and after a succession of spiritual events which,
measured by their effect on one's consciousness, should correspond to a
period of centuries on earth, one should actually make his way back and
take up again the broken threads of his earthly life, and weave them
into something resembling an orderly design once more,--to convince my
readers of the possibility of this is so nearly impossible that I shall
not seriously attempt it, although it is true.
It will be said that even though I suppose that this is actually true of
myself, it does not follow that I am not suffering from an
hallucination.
It will be argued very naturally that in so far as I am now a tangible,
actual human being, just so far is it impossible that I should ever have
been actually dead; and as to becoming habituated to the kind of life
which may remain after the body loses its animation, for any one now
living to make such a claim is the height of absurdity.
Any one who shall take this stand will need to be reminded that bodily
consciousness is one thing, and soul-consciousness another, and that
there may be _spiritual_ existence beyond that. Comparatively few
mortals have not at some time in their lives awakened at least
momentarily to soul-consciousness, and can remember, if they care to
try, how suddenly and completely the bodily consciousness retired into
the background at its coming.
Thousands can testify that this soul-consciousness in them so dominates
that of the body as to render bodily pains powerless to disturb the
regnant soul.
These may be able to understand that in the world toward which they
hasten, another advance will become possible, wherein the
soul-consciousness shall become subordinate to the higher life of the
spirit.
To make this a little clearer let me say that what you are now conscious
of as your soul, the sensitive inner nature, that feels a slight as
though it were a blow, that spurs the organism to years of anxious toil
in the hope of gaining independence, that scorns to beg, yet in the hour
of danger sometimes feels to pray--this inner self is to be your body
when death shall come to break the tie that holds you captive in the
dust. Every consideration to which your soul is now sensitive shall
become, as it were, the laws of nature then. You will suddenly discover
that ill-will, for instance, is a current actually tangible, as much so
as an electric current was to your physical body. You will learn
experimentally that kindliness of spirit, good-will, and gratitude are
equally tangible to your new and finer senses. You will perceive that a
generous spirit diffuses light, and a selfish one dwells in his own
darkness, and this kind of light and darkness you will be astonished to
discover has taken the place of what you formerly knew by those names.
You will soon perceive that a deceiving spirit knows how to wear a
false light as he pretends to a genuine interest in your welfare, and
that a truly friendly one will sometimes hide his light, if thereby he
can obtain advantage for your benefit.
If your life has been little more than a revolution around yourself,
measuring everything by its relation to your personal advantage as you
saw it, you will be surprised to find how small and dark a space will
bound your being; and it may be a long time before you cease to dwell
upon the memories of the world left behind, or cease to hope that in
some way you can return to make a better use of its opportunities. And
when you shall fairly come to understand that you have been living in
the generous air and sunshine of the spirit of God, and that, instead of
seeking to imitate Him by making your life a blessing to those less
favored than yourself, you have employed your brief span in the effort
to appropriate to your private use everything that could be lawfully
seized on, you will wonder why the certainty that earth-life is limited
had not impressed you more; and when you perceive, through the
soul-consciousness which has taken the place of the bodily, that you
have no data whatever upon which to base even a surmise as to how long
your new kind of life is to continue, such measureless despair may fall
upon you as shall even make tears impossible.