There are sluggards and dull people here, as with you. There_Letters from a living dead man

LETTERS FROM A

LIVING DEAD MAN

_BY ELSA BARKER_

WAR LETTERS FROM THE

LIVING DEAD MAN

LAST LETTERS FROM THE

LIVING DEAD MAN

SONGS OF A VAGROM ANGEL

LETTERS

FROM A

LIVING DEAD MAN

WRITTEN DOWN

ELSA BARKER

_WITH AN INTRODUCTION_

NEW YORK

E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY

681 FIFTH AVENUE

BY MITCHELL KENNERLEY

BY E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY

_All Rights Reserved_

Printed in the United States of America

CONTENTS

LETTER PAGE

INTRODUCTION 5

I. THE RETURN 15

II. TELL NO MAN 16

III. GUARDING THE DOOR 18

IV. A CLOUD ON THE MIRROR 19

V. THE PROMISE OF THINGS UNTOLD 21

VI. THE WAND OF WILL 22

VII. A LIGHT BEHIND THE VEIL 24

VIII. THE IRON GRIP OF MATTER 26

IX. WHERE SOULS GO UP AND DOWN 28

X. A RENDEZVOUS IN THE FOURTH DIMENSION 30

XI. THE BOY--LIONEL 35

XII. THE PATTERN WORLD 40

XIII. FORMS REAL AND UNREAL 44

XIV. A FOLIO OF PARACELSUS 47

XV. A ROMAN TOGA 51

XVI. A THING TO BE FORGOTTEN 56

XVII. THE SECOND WIFE OVER THERE 64

XVIII. INDIVIDUAL HELLS 70

XIX. A LITTLE HOME IN HEAVEN 71

XX. THE MAN WHO FOUND GOD 78

XXI. THE LEISURE OF THE SOUL 84

XXII. THE SERPENT OF ETERNITY 90

XXIII. A BRIEF FOR THE DEFENDANT 97

XXIV. FORBIDDEN KNOWLEDGE 101

XXV. A SHADOWLESS WORLD 104

XXVI. CIRCLES IN THE SAND 109

XXVII. THE MAGIC RING 115

XXVIII. EXCEPT YE BE AS LITTLE CHILDREN 121

XXIX. AN UNEXPECTED WARNING 126

XXX. THE SYLPH AND THE MAGICIAN 131

XXXI. A PROBLEM IN CELESTIAL MATHEMATICS 139

XXXII. A CHANGE OF FOCUS 147

XXXIII. FIVE RESOLUTIONS 153

XXXIV. THE PASSING OF LIONEL 158

XXXV. THE BEAUTIFUL BEING 167

XXXVI. THE HOLLOW SPHERE 173

XXXVII. AN EMPTY CHINA CUP 179

XXXVIII. WHERE TIME IS NOT 187

XXXIX. THE DOCTRINE OF DEATH 195

XL. THE CELESTIAL HIERARCHY 205

XLI. THE DARLING OF THE UNSEEN 210

XLII. A VICTIM OF THE NON-EXISTENT 219

XLIII. A CLOUD OF WITNESSES 228

XLIV. THE KINGDOM WITHIN 235

XLV. THE GAME OF MAKE-BELIEVE 237

XLVI. HEIRS OF HERMES 241

XLVII. ONLY A SONG 247

XLVIII. INVISIBLE GIFTS AT YULETIDE 250

XLIX. THE GREATER DREAMLAND 258

L. A SERMON AND A PROMISE 265

LI. THE APRIL OF THE WORLD 273

LII. A HAPPY WIDOWER 276

LIII. THE ARCHIVES OF THE SOUL 284

LIV. A FORMULA FOR MASTERSHIP 288

INTRODUCTION

ONE night last year in Paris I was strongly impelled to take up a

pencil and write, though what I was to write about I had no idea.

Yielding to the impulse, my hand was seized as if from the outside,

and a remarkable message of a personal nature came, followed by the

signature “X.”

The purport of the message was clear, but the signature puzzled me.

The following day I showed this writing to a friend, asking her if she

had any idea who “X” was.

“Why,” she replied, “don’t you know that that is what we always call

Mr. ----?”

I did not know.

Now, Mr. ---- was six thousand miles from Paris, and, as we supposed,

in the land of the living. But a day or two later a letter came to me

from America, stating that Mr. ---- had died in the western part of

the United States, a few days before I received in Paris the automatic

message signed “X.”

So far as I know, I was the first person in Europe to be informed of

his death, and I immediately called on my friend to tell her that “X”

had passed out. She did not seem surprised, and told me that she had

felt certain of it some days before, when I had shown her the “X”

letter, though she had not said so at the time.

Naturally I was impressed by this extraordinary incident.

“X” was not a spiritualist. I am not myself, and never have been, a

spiritualist, and, so far as I can remember, only two other supposedly

disembodied entities had ever before written automatically through my

hand. This had happened when I was in the presence of a mediumistic

person; but the messages were brief, and I had not attached any great

importance to the phenomena.

In childhood I had several times put my hand upon a planchette with

the hand of another person, and the planchette had written the usual

trivialities. On one occasion, some months before the first “X” letter,

I had put my hand upon a planchette with the hand of a non-professional

medium, and the prophecy of a fire in my house during a certain month

in the following year was written, supposedly by a dead friend, which

prophecy was literally verified, though the fire was not caused by my

hand, nor was it in my own apartment.

A few times, years before, I had been persuaded by friends to go with

them to professional séances, and had seen so-called materialisations.

I had also seen independently a few appearances which I could not

account for on any other hypothesis than that of apparitions of the

dead.

But to the whole subject of communication between the two worlds I felt

an unusual degree of indifference. Spiritualism had always left me

quite cold, and I had not even read the ordinary standard works on the

subject.

Nevertheless, I had for a number of years almost daily seen “hypnagogic

visions,” often of a startlingly prophetic character; and the

explanation of them later given by “X” may be the true explanation.

Soon after my receipt of the letter from America stating that Mr. ----

was dead, I was sitting in the evening with the friend who had told me

who “X” was, and she asked me if I would not let him write again--if he

could.

I consented, more to please my friend than from any personal interest,

and the message beginning, “I am here, make no mistake,” came through

my hand. It came with breaks and pauses between the sentences, with

large and badly formed letters, but quite automatically, as in the

first instance. The force used on this occasion was such that my right

hand and arm were lame the following day.

Several letters signed “X” were automatically written during the next

few weeks; but, instead of becoming enthusiastic, I developed a strong

disinclination for this manner of writing, and was only persuaded to

continue it through the arguments of my friend that if “X” really

wished to communicate with the world, I was highly privileged in being

able to help him.

“X” was not an ordinary person. He was a well-known lawyer nearly

seventy years of age, a profound student of philosophy, a writer of

books, a man whose pure ideals and enthusiasms were an inspiration to

everyone who knew him. His home was far from mine, and I had seen him

only at long intervals. So far as I remember, we had never discussed

the question of postmortem consciousness.

Gradually, as I conquered my strong prejudice against automatic

writing, I became interested in the things which “X” told me about

the life beyond the grave. I had read practically nothing on the

subject, not even the popular _Letters from Julia_, so I had no

preconceived ideas.

The messages continued to come. After a while there was no more

lameness of the hand and arm, and the form of the writing became less

irregular, though it was never very legible.

For a time the letters were written in the presence of my friend; then

“X” began to come always when I was alone. He wrote either in Paris or

in London, as I went back and forth between those two cities. Sometimes

he would come several times a week; again, nearly a month would elapse

without my feeling his presence. I never called him, nor did I think

much about him between his visits. During most of the time my pen and

my thoughts were occupied with other matters.

Only in one instance before the writing began had I any idea as to what

the letter would contain. One night as I took up the pencil I knew what

“X” was going to write about; but, though I remember the incident, I

have forgotten to which message it referred.

While writing these letters I was generally in a state of

semi-consciousness, so that, until I read the message over afterwards,

I had only a vague idea of what it contained. In a few instances I was

so near unconsciousness that as I laid down the pencil I had not the

remotest idea of what I had written; but this did not often happen.

When it was first suggested that these letters should be published

with an introduction by me, I did not take very enthusiastically to

the idea. Being the author of several books, more or less well known,

I had my little vanity as to the stability of my literary reputation.

I did not wish to be known as an eccentric, a “freak.” But I consented

to write an introduction stating that the letters were automatically

written in my presence, which would have been the truth, though not all

the truth. This satisfied my friend; but as time went on, it did not

satisfy me. It seemed not quite sincere.

I argued the matter out with myself. If, I said, I publish these

letters without a personal introduction, they will be taken for a

work of fiction, of imagination, and the remarkable statements they

contain will thus lose all their force as convincing arguments for the

truth of a hereafter. If I write an introduction stating that they

came by supposedly automatic writing in my presence, the question

will naturally arise as to whose hand they came through, and I shall

be forced to evasion. But if I frankly acknowledge that they came

through my own hand, and state the facts exactly as they are only two

hypotheses will be open: first, that they are genuine communications

from the disembodied entity; second, that they are lucubrations of my

own subconscious mind. But this latter hypothesis does not explain the

first letter signed “X,” which came before I knew that my friend was

dead; does not explain it unless it be assumed that the subconscious

mind of each person knows everything. In which case, why should my

subconscious mind set out upon a long and laborious deception of me, on

a premise which had _not been suggested to it_ by my own objective

mind, or that of any other person?

That anyone would accuse me of deliberate deceit and romancing in so

serious a matter did not then and does not now seem likely, my fancy

having other and legitimate outlets in poetry and fiction.

The letters were probably two-thirds written before this question was

finally settled; and I decided that if I published the letters at all,

I should publish them with a frank introduction, stating the exact

circumstances of their reception by me.

The actual writing covered a period of more than eleven months. Then

came the question of editing. What should I leave out? What should I

include? I determined to leave out nothing except personal references

to “X’s” private affairs, to mine, and to those of his friends. I have

not added anything. Occasionally, when “X’s” literary style was clumsy,

I have reconstructed a sentence or cut out a repetition; but I have

taken far less liberty than I used, as an editor, to take with ordinary

manuscripts submitted to me for correction.

Sometimes “X” is very colloquial, sometimes he uses legal phraseology,

or American slang. Often he jumps from one subject to another, as one

does in friendly correspondence, going back to his original subject

without a connecting phrase.

He has made a few statements relative to the future life which are

directly contrary to the opinions which I have always held. These

statements remain as they were written. Many of his philosophical

propositions were quite new to me. Sometimes I did not see their

profundity until months afterwards.

I have no apology to offer for the publication of these letters. They

are probably an interesting document, whatever their source may be, and

I give them to the world with no more fear than when I gave my hand to

“X” in the writing of them.

If anyone asks the question, what do I myself think as to whether these

letters are genuine communications from the invisible world, I should

answer that I believe they are. In the personal and suppressed portions

reference was often made to past events and to possessions of which

I had no knowledge, and these references were verified. This leaves

untouched the favourite telepathic theory of the psychologists. But if

these letters were telepathed to me, by whom were they telepathed? Not

by my friend who was present at the writing of many of them, for their

contents were as much a surprise to her as to me.

I wish, however, to state that I make no scientific claims about this

book, for science demands tests and proofs. Save for the first letter

signed “X” before I knew that Mr. ---- was dead, or knew who “X” was,

the book was not written under “test conditions,” as the psychologists

understand the term. As evidence of a soul’s survival after bodily

death, it must be accepted or rejected by each individual according

to his or her temperament, experience, and inner conviction as to the

truth of its contents.

In the absence of “X” and without some other entity on the invisible

side of Nature in whom I had a like degree of confidence, I could

not produce another document of this kind. Against indiscriminate

mediumship I have still a strong and ineradicable prejudice, for I

recognise its dangers both of obsession and deception. But for my faith

in “X” and the faith of my Paris friend in me, this book could never

have been. Doubt of the invisible author or of the visible medium would

probably have paralysed both, for the purposes of this writing.

The effect of these letters on me personally has been to remove

entirely any fear of death which I may ever have had, to strengthen my

belief in immortality, to make the life beyond the grave as real and

vital as the life here in the sunshine. If they can give even to one

other person the sense of exultant immortality which they have given to

me, I shall feel repaid for my labour.

To those who may feel inclined to blame me for publishing such a book I

can only say that I have always tried to give my best to the world, and

perhaps these letters are one of the best things that I have to give.

ELSA BARKER.

LONDON, 1913.

LETTERS FROM A LIVING DEAD MAN

LETTER I

THE RETURN

I AM here, make no mistake.

It was I who spoke before, and I now speak again.

I have had a wonderful experience. Much that I had forgotten I can now

remember. What has happened was for the best; it was inevitable.

I can see you, though not very distinctly.

I found almost no darkness. The light here is wonderful, far more

wonderful than the sunlight of the South.

No, I cannot yet see my way very well around Paris; everything is

different. It is probably by reason of your own vitality that I am able

to see you at this moment.

LETTER II

TELL NO MAN

I AM opposite to you now in actual space; that is, I am directly in

front of you, resting on something which is probably a couch or divan.

It is easier to come to you after dark.

I remembered on going out that you might be able to let me speak

through your hand.

I am already stronger. It is nothing to fear--this change of condition.

I cannot tell you yet how long I was silent. It did not seem long.

It was I who signed “X.” The Teacher helped me to make the connexion.

You had better tell no one for a while, except ----, that I have come,

as I do not want any obstructions to my coming when and where I will.

Lend me your hand sometimes; I will not misuse it.

I am going to stay out here until I am ready to come back with power.

Watch for me, but not yet.

Things seem easier to me now than they have seemed for a long time. I

carry less weight. I could have held on longer in the body, but it did

not seem worth the effort.

I have seen the Teacher. He is near. His attitude to me is very

comforting.

But I would like to go now. Good night.

LETTER III

GUARDING THE DOOR

YOU need to take certain precautions to protect yourself against those

who press round me.

You have only to lay a spell upon yourself night and morning. Nothing

can get through that wall--nothing which you forbid your soul to

entertain.

Do not let any of your energy be sucked out of you by these larvæ of

the astral world. No, they cannot annoy me, for I am now used to the

idea of them. You have absolutely nothing to fear, if you protect

yourself.

LETTER IV

A CLOUD ON THE MIRROR

(_After a sentence had been half written, the writing suddenly

stopped, and was continued later._)

WHEN you respond to my call, wipe clean your mind as a child wipes

its slate when ready for a new maxim or example by its teacher. Your

lightest personal thought or fancy may be as a cloud upon a mirror,

blurring the reflection.

You can receive letters by this means, provided your mind does not

begin to work independently, to question in the midst of the writing.

I was not stopped this time, as before, by beings gathering round;

but by your own curiosity as to the end of an unusual sentence. You

suddenly became positive instead of negative, as if the receiving

instrument in a telegraph office should begin to send a message of its

own.

I have learned here the reason for many psychic things which formerly

puzzled me, and I am determined if possible to protect you from the

danger of cross-currents in this work.

There was one night when I called and you would not let me in. Was that

kind?

But I am not reproaching you. I shall come again and again, until my

work is done.

I will come to you in a dream before long, and will show you many

things.

LETTER V

THE PROMISE OF THINGS UNTOLD

AFTER a time I will share with you certain knowledge that I have gained

since coming out. I see the past now as through an open window. I see

the road by which I have come, and can map out the road by which I mean

to go.

Everything seems easy now. I could do twice as much work as I do--I

feel so strong.

As yet I have not settled down anywhere, but am moving about as the

fancy takes me; that is what I always dreamed of doing while in the

body, and never could make possible.

Do not fear death; but stay on earth as long as you can.

Notwithstanding the companionship I have here, I sometimes regret my

failure in holding on to the world. But regrets have less weight on

this side--like our bodies.

Everything is well with me.

I will tell you things that have never been told.

LETTER VI

THE WAND OF WILL

NOT yet do you grasp the full mystery of _will_. It can make of

you anything you choose, within the limit of your unit energy, for

everything is either active or potential in the unit of force which is

man.

The difference between a painter and a musician, or between a poet and

a novelist, is not a difference of qualities in the entity itself; for

each unit contains everything _except quantity_, and thus has the

possibilities of development along any line chosen by its will. The

choice may have been made ages ago. It takes a long time, often many

lives, to evolve an art or a faculty for one particular kind of work in

preference to all others. Concentration is the secret of power, here as

elsewhere.

As to the use of will-power in your present everyday problems, there

are two ways of using the will. One may concentrate upon a definite

plan, and bring it into effect or not according to the amount of force

at one’s disposal; or one may will that the best and highest and

wisest plan possible shall be demonstrated by the subconscious forces

in the self and in other selves. The latter is a commanding of all

environment for a special purpose, instead of commanding, or attempting

to command, a fragment of it.

In this communion between the outer and inner worlds, you in the outer

world are apt to think that we in ours know everything. You expect us

to prophesy like fortune-tellers, and to keep you informed of what is

passing on the other side of the globe. Sometimes we can; generally we

cannot.

After a while I may be able to enter your mind as a Master does, and

to know all the antecedent thoughts and plans in it; but now I cannot

always do so.

For instance, one night I looked everywhere for ---- and could not find

him. Perhaps it is necessary for you to think strongly of us, to make

the way easiest.

I am learning all the time. The Teacher is very active in helping me.

When I am absolutely certain of my hold upon your hand, I shall have

much to say about the life out here.

LETTER VII

A LIGHT BEHIND THE VEIL

MAKE an opening for me sometimes in the veil of dense matter that shuts

you from my eyes. I see you often as a spot of vivid light, and that is

probably when your soul is active with feeling or your mind keen with

thought.

I can read your thoughts occasionally, but not always. Often I try to

draw near, and cannot find you. You could not always find me, perhaps,

should you come out here.

Sometimes I am all alone: sometimes I am with others.

Strange, but I seem to myself to have quite a substantial body now,

though at first my arms and legs seemed sprawling in all directions.

As a rule, I do not walk about as formerly, nor do I fly exactly, for

I have never had wings; but I manage to get over space with incredible

rapidity. Sometimes, though, I walk.

Now, I want you to do me a favour. You know what a difficult job I

often had to keep things going, yet I kept them going. Don’t you get

discouraged about the material wherewithal for your work. Work right

ahead, as if the supply were there, and it will be there. You can

demonstrate it in one way or another. Do not feel weak or uncertain,

for when you do you drag me back to earth by force of sympathy. It is

as bad as grieving for the dead.

LETTER VIII

THE IRON GRIP OF MATTER

TO a man dwelling in the “invisible” there comes a sudden memory of

earth.

“Oh!” he says. “The world is going on without me. What am I missing?”

It seems almost an impertinence on the part of the world to go on

without him. He becomes agitated. He is sure that he is behind the

times, left out, left over.

He looks about him, and sees only the tranquil fields of the fourth

dimension. Oh, for the iron grip of matter once more! To hold something

in taut hands!

Perhaps the mood passes, but one day it returns with redoubled force.

He must get out of the tenuous environment into the forcibly resistant

world of dense matter. But how?

Ah, he remembers! All action comes from memory. It would be a reckless

experiment had he not done it before.

He closes his eyes, reversing himself in the invisible. He is drawn to

human life, to human beings in the intense vibration of union. There

is sympathy here--perhaps the sympathy of past experience with the

souls of those whom he now contacts, perhaps only sympathy of mood or

imagination. Be that as it may, he lets go his hold upon freedom and

triumphantly loses himself in the lives of human beings.

After a time he awakes, to look with bewildered eyes upon green fields

and the round, solid faces of men and women. Sometimes he weeps, and

wishes himself back. If he becomes discouraged, he may return--only to

begin the weary quest of matter all over again.

If he is strong and stubborn, he remains and grows into a man. He may

even persuade himself that the former life in tenuous substance was

only a dream, for in dream he returns to it, and the dream haunts him

and spoils his enjoyment of matter.

After years enough he grows weary of the material struggle: his energy

is exhausted. He sinks back into the arms of the unseen, and men say

again with bated breath that he is dead.

But he is not dead. He has only returned whence he came.

LETTER IX

WHERE SOULS GO UP AND DOWN

MY friend, there is nothing to fear in death. It is no harder than a

trip to a foreign country--the first trip--to one who has grown oldish

and settled in the habits of his own more or less narrow corner of the

world.

When a man comes out here, the strangers whom he meets seem no more

strange than the foreign peoples seem to one who first goes among them.

He does not always understand them; there, again, his experience is

like a sojourn in a foreign country. Then, after a while, he begins to

make friendly advances and to smile with the eyes. The question, “Where

are you from?” meets with a similar response to that on earth. One is

from California, another is from Boston, another is from London. This

is when we meet on the highroads of travel; for there are lanes of

travel over here, where the souls go up and down as on the earth. Such

a road is generally the most direct line between two great centres;

but it is never on the line of a railway. There would be too much

noise. We can hear sounds made on the earth. There is a certain shock

to the etheric ear which carries the vibration of sound to us.

Sometimes one settles down for a long time in one place. I visited an

old home in the State of Maine, where a man on this side of life had

been stopping for I do not know how many years; he told me that the

children had grown to be men and women, and that a colt to which he

became attached when he first came out had grown into a horse and had

died of old age.

There are sluggards and dull people here, as with you. There are also

brilliant and magnetic people, whose very presence is rejuvenating.

It seems almost absurd to say that we wear clothes, the same as you do;

but we do not seem to need so many. I have not seen any trunks; but

then I have been here only a short time.

Heat and cold do not matter much to me now, though I remember at first

being rather uncomfortable by reason of the cold. But that is past.

LETTER X

A RENDEZVOUS IN THE FOURTH DIMENSION

YOU can do so much for me by lending me your hand occasionally, that I

wonder why you shrink from it.

This philosophy will go on being taught in the world and all over the

world. Only a few, perhaps, will reach the deeps of it in this life;

but a seed sown to-day may bear fruit long hence. Somewhere I have read

that grains of wheat which had been buried with mummies for two or

three thousand years had sprouted when placed in good soil in our own

day. It is so with a philosophic seed.

It has been said that he is a fool who works for philosophy instead of

making philosophy work for him; but a man cannot give to the world even

a little of a true philosophy without reaping sevenfold himself, and

you know the Biblical quotation which ends, “and in the world to come

eternal life.” To get, one must give. That is the Law.

I can tell you many things about the life out here which may be of

use to others when they make the great change. Almost everyone brings

memory over with him. The men and women I have met and communed with

have had more or less vivid recollection of their earth life--that is,

most of them.

I met one man who refused to speak of the earth, and was always talking

about “going on.” I reminded him that if he went on far enough he would

come back to the place from which he started.

You have been curious, perhaps, as to what we eat and drink, if

anything. We certainly are nourished, and we seem to absorb much water.

You also should drink plenty of water. It feeds the astral body. I do

not think that a very dry body would ever have enough astral vitality

to lend a hand to a soul on this plane of life, as you are doing now.

There is much moisture in our bodies over here. Perhaps that is one

reason why contact with a so-called spirit sometimes gives warm-blooded

persons a sense of cold, and they shiver.

It is something of an effort on my part also to write like this, but it

seems to be worth while.

I come to the place where I feel that you are. I can see you better

than most others. Then I reverse; that is, instead of going in, as I

used to do, I go out with great force and in your direction. I take

possession of you by a strong propulsive effort.

Sometimes the writing has stopped suddenly in the midst of a sentence.

That was when I was not properly focussed. You may have noticed when

reversing and shutting away the outside world, that a sudden noise, or

maybe a wandering thought, would bring you right out again. It is so

here.

Now, about this element in which we live. It undoubtedly has a place

in space, for it is all around the earth. Yes, every tree visible has

its invisible counterpart. When you, before sleep, come out consciously

into this world,[1] you see things that exist, or have existed, in

the material world also. You cannot see anything in this world which

has not a physical counterpart in the other. There are, of course,

thought-pictures, imaginary pictures; but to see imaginatively is

not to see on the astral plane--not by any means. The things you see

before going to sleep have real existence, and by changing your rate of

vibration you come out into this world--or rather you go back into it,

for you have to go in, in order to come out.

Imagination has great power. If you make a picture in the mind, the

vibrations of the body may adjust to it if the will is directed that

way, as in thoughts of health or sickness.

It might be well as an experiment, when you want to come out here, to

choose a certain symbol and hold it before your eyes. I do not say that

it would help to change the vibration, but it might.

I wonder if you could see me if just before falling asleep you should

come out here with that thought and that desire dominant in your mind?

I am strong to-day, because I have been long with one who is stronger;

and if you want to make the experiment of trying to find me this night,

I may be able to help you better than at another time.

There is so much to say, and I can seldom talk with you. If you were

differently situated and quite free from other things, I could perhaps

come often. I am learning much that I should like to give you.

For instance, I think I can show you how to come out here at will, as

the Masters do constantly.

At first I took only your arm to write with, but now I get a better

hold of the psychic organisation. I saw that I was not working in the

best way, that there was a waste somewhere, so I asked the Teacher for

instruction in the matter. By this new method you will not feel so

tired afterwards, nor shall I.

I am going now, and will try to meet you in a few minutes. If the

experiment should fail, do not be discouraged; but try again some other

time. You will know me all right, if you do see me.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 1: This undoubtedly refers to my “hypnagogic”

visions.--ED.]

LETTER XI

THE BOY--LIONEL

YOU will be interested to know that there are people out here, as on

the earth, who devote themselves to the welfare of others.

There is even a large organisation of souls who call themselves a

League. Their special work is to take hold of those who have just

come out, helping them to find themselves and to adjust to the new

conditions. There are both men and women in this League. They have done

good service. They work on a little--I do not want to say higher plane

than the Salvation Army, but rather a more intellectual plane. They

help both children and adults.

It is interesting about the children. I have not had time yet to

observe all these things for myself; but one of the League workers

tells me that it is easier for children to adjust themselves to the

changed life than it is for grown persons. Very old people are inclined

to sleep a good deal, while children come out with great energy, and

bring with them the same curiosity that they had in earth life. There

are no violent changes. The little ones grow up, it is said, about as

gradually and imperceptibly as they would have grown on earth. The

tendency is to fulfil the normal rhythm, though there are instances

where the soul goes back very soon, with little rest. That would be a

soul with great curiosity and strong desires.

There are horrors out here--far worse than the horrors on earth. The

decay from vice and intemperance is much worse here than there. I have

seen faces and forms that were really frightful, faces that seemed to

be half-decayed and falling in pieces. These are the hopeless cases,

which even the League of workers I spoke about leave to their fate. It

is uncertain what the fate of such people will be; whether they will

reincarnate or not in this cycle, I do not know.

The children are so charming! One young boy is with me often; he calls

me Father, and seems to enjoy my society. He would be, I should think,

about thirteen years old, and he has been out here some time. He could

not tell me just how long; but I will ask him if he remembers the year,

the calendar year, in which he came out.

It is not true that we cannot keep our thoughts to ourselves if we are

careful to do so. We can guard our secrets, if we know how. That is

done by suggestion, or laying a spell. It is, though, much easier here

than on earth to read the minds of others.

We seem to communicate with one another in about the same way that

you do; but I find, as time goes by, that I converse more and more by

powerful and projected thought than by the moving of the lips. At first

I always opened my mouth when I had anything to say; it is easier now

not to do so, though I sometimes do it still by force of habit. When

a man has recently come out he does not understand another unless he

really speaks; that is, I suppose, before he has learned that he also

can talk without using much breath.

But I was telling you about the boy. He is all interest in regard to

certain things I have told him about the earth,--especially aeroplanes,

which were not yet very practicable when he came out. He wants to go

back and fly in an aeroplane. I tell him that he can fly here without

one, but that does not seem to be the same thing to him. He wants to

get his fingers on machinery.

I advise him not to be in any hurry about going back. The curious thing

about it is that he can remember other and former lives of his on

earth. Many out here have no more memory of their former lives, before

the last one, than they had while in the body. This is not a place

where everyone knows everything--far from it. Most souls are nearly as

blind as they were in life.

The boy was an inventor in a prior incarnation, and he came out this

time by an accident, he says. He should stay here a little longer, I

think, to get a stronger rhythm for a return. That is only my idea. I

am so interested in the boy that I should like to keep him, and perhaps

that influences my judgment somewhat.

You see, we are still human.

You asked me some questions, did you not? Will you speak them aloud? I

can hear.

Yes, I feel considerably younger than I have felt for a long time, and

I am well. At first I felt about as I did in my illness, with times

of depression and times of freedom from depression; but now I am all

right. My body does not give me much trouble.

I believe that old people grow younger here until they reach their

prime again, and that then they may hold that for a long time.

You see, I have not become all-wise. I have been able to pick up a

good deal of knowledge which I had forgotten; but about all the details

of this life I still have much to learn.

Your curiosity will help me to study conditions and to make inquiries,

which otherwise I might not have made for a long time, if ever. Most

people do not seem to learn much out here, except that naturally they

learn the best and easiest way of getting on, as in earth life.

Yes, there are schools here where any who wish for instruction can

receive it--if they are fit. But there are only a few _great_

teachers. The average college professor is not a being of supreme

wisdom, whether here or there.

LETTER XII

THE PATTERN WORLD

THERE is something I want to qualify in what I said the other day, that

there is nothing out here which has not existed on the earth. Since

then I have learned that that statement is not exactly true. There are

strata here. This I have learned recently. I still believe that in

the lowest stratum next the earth all or nearly all that exists has

existed on earth in dense matter. Go a little farther up, a little

farther away--how far I cannot say by actual measurement; but the other

night in exploring I got into the world of patterns, the paradigms--if

that is the word--of things which _are to be_ on earth. I saw

forms of things which, so far as I know, have not existed on your

planet--inventions, for example. I saw wings that man could adjust to

himself. I saw also new forms of flying-machines. I saw model cities,

and towers with strange wing-like projections on them, of which I

could not imagine the use. The progress of mechanical invention is

evidently only begun.

Another time I will go on, farther up in that world of pattern forms,

and see if I can learn what lies beyond it.

Bear this in mind: I merely tell you stories, as an earthly traveller

would tell, of the things I see. Sometimes my interpretation of them

may be wrong.

When I was in the place which we will call the pattern world, I saw

almost nobody there--only an occasional lone voyager like myself. I

naturally infer from this that but few of those who leave the earth go

up there at all. I think from what I have seen, and from conversations

I have had with men and women souls, that most of them do not get very

far from the earth, even out here.

It is strange, but many persons seem to be in the regular orthodox

heaven, singing in white robes, with crowns on their heads and with

harps in their hands. There is a region which outsiders call “the

heaven country.”

There is also, they tell me, a fiery hell, with at least the smell

of brimstone; but so far I have not been there. Some day when I feel

strong I will look in, and if it is not too depressing I will go

farther--if they will let me.

For the present I am looking about here and there, and I have not

studied carefully any place as yet.

I took the boy, whose name by the way is Lionel, out with me yesterday.

Perhaps we ought to say last night, for your day is our night when we

are on your side of this great hollow sphere. You and the solid earth

are in the centre of our sphere.

I took the boy out with me for what you would call a walk.

First we went to the old quarter of Paris, where I used to live in a

former life; but Lionel could not see anything, and when I pointed

out certain buildings to him he asked me quite sincerely if I were

dreaming. I must have some faculty which is not generally developed

among my fellow citizens in the astral country. So when the boy found

that Paris was only a figment of my imagination--he used to live in

Boston--I took him to see heaven. He remarked:

“Why, this must be the place my grandmother used to tell me about. But

where is God?”

That I could not tell him; but, on looking again, we saw that nearly

everybody was gazing in one direction. We also gazed with the others,

and saw a great light, like a sun, only it was softer and less dazzling

than the material sun.

“That,” I said to the boy, “is what they see who see God.”

And now I have something strange to tell you; for, as we gazed at that

light, slowly there took form between us and it the figure which we are

accustomed to see represented as that of the Christ. He smiled at the

people and stretched out His hands to them.

Then the scene changed, and He had on His left arm a lamb; and then

again He stood as if transfigured upon a mountain; then He spoke and

taught them. We could hear His voice. And then He vanished from our

sight.

LETTER XIII

FORMS REAL AND UNREAL

WHEN I first came out here I was so interested in what I saw

that I did not question much as to the manner of the seeing. But

lately--especially since writing the last letter or two--I have begun

to notice a difference between objects that at a superficial glance

seem to be of much the same substance. For example, I can sometimes

see a difference between those things which have existed on earth

unquestionably, such as the forms of men and women, and other things

which, while visualised and seemingly palpable, may be, and probably

are, but thought-creations.

This idea came to me while looking on at the dramas of the heaven

country, and it was forced upon me with greater power while making

other and recent explorations in that which I have called the pattern

world.

Later I may be able to distinguish at a glance between these two

classes of seeming objects. For example, if I encounter here a

being, or what seems a being, and if I am told that it is some

famous character in fiction, such as Jean Valjean in Hugo’s _Les

Misérables_, I shall have reason to believe that I have seen a

thought-form of sufficient vitality to stand alone, as a quasi-entity

in this world of tenuous matter. So far I have not encountered any such

characters.

Of course, unless I were able to hold converse with a being, a form, or

saw others do so, I could not positively state that it had an essential

existence. Hereafter I shall often put things to the test in this

way. If I can talk to a seeming entity, and if it can answer me, I am

justified in considering it as a reality. A character in fiction, or

any other mental creation, however vivid as a picture, would have no

soul, no unit of force, no real self. Whatever comes to me merely as a

picture I shall try to submit to this test.

If I see a peculiar form of tree or animal, and can touch and feel

it,--for the senses here are quite as acute as those of earth,--I know

that it exists in the subtle matter of this plane.

I believe that all the beings whom I have seen here are real; but if I

can find one that is not,--a being which I cannot feel when I touch it

and which cannot respond to my questions,--I shall have a datum for my

hypothesis that thought-forms of beings, as well as things, may have

sufficient cohesion to seem real.

It is undoubtedly true that there is no spirit without substance, no

substance without spirit, latent or expressed; but a painting of a man

may seem at a distance to be a man.

Can there exist deliberate thought-creations here, deliberate and

purposive creations? I believe so. Such a thought-form would probably

have to be very intense in order to persist.

It seems to me that I had better settle this question to my own

satisfaction before talking any more about it.

LETTER XIV

A FOLIO OF PARACELSUS

THE other day I asked my Teacher to show me the archives in which

those who had lived out here had recorded their observations, if such

existed. He said:

“You were a great reader of books when you were on the earth. Come.”

We entered a vast building like a library, and I caught my breath in

wonder. It was not the architecture of the building which struck me,

but the quantities of books and records. There must have been millions

of them.

I asked the Teacher if all the books were here. He smiled and said:

“Are there not enough? You can make your choice.”

I asked if the volumes were arranged by subjects.

“There is an arrangement,” he answered. “What do you want?”

I said that I should like to see the books in which were written the

accounts of explorations which other men had made in this (to me) still

slightly known country.

He smiled again, and took from a shelf a thick volume. It was printed

in large black type.[2]

“Who wrote this book?” I asked.

“There is a signature,” he replied.

I looked at the end and saw the signature: it was that used by

Paracelsus.

“When did he write this?”

“Soon after he came out. It was written between his Paracelsus life and

his next one on earth.”

The book which I had opened was a treatise on spirits, human, angelic,

and elemental. It began with the definition of a human spirit as a

spirit which had had the experience of life in human form; and it

defined an elemental spirit as a spirit of more or less developed

self-consciousness which had not yet had that experience.

Then the author defined an angel as a spirit of a high order which had

not had, and probably would not have in future, such experience in

matter.

He went on to state that angelic spirits were divided into two sharply

defined groups, the celestial and the infernal, the former being

those angels who worked towards harmony with the laws of God, the

latter being those angels who worked against that harmony. But he said

that both these orders of angels were necessary, each to the other’s

existence; that if all were good the universe would cease to be; that

good itself would cease to be through the failure of its opposite--evil.

He said that in the archives of the angelic regions there were cases

on record where a good angel had become bad or a bad angel had become

good, but that such cases were of rare occurrence.

He then went on to warn his fellow souls who should be sojourning in

that realm in which he then wrote, and in which I knew myself also to

be, against holding communion with evil spirits. He declared that in

the subtler forms of life there were more temptations than in the earth

life; that he himself had often been assailed by malignant angels who

had urged him to join forces with them, and that their arguments were

sometimes extremely plausible.

He said that while living on earth he had often had conversations with

spirits both good and bad; but that while on earth he had never, so

far as he knew, held converse with an angel of a malignant nature.

He advised his readers that there was one way to determine whether

a being of the subtler world was an angel or merely a human or an

elemental spirit, and that was by the greater brilliancy of the light

which surrounded an angel. He said that both good and bad angels were

extremely brilliant; but that there was a difference between them,

perceptible at the first glance at their faces; that the eyes of the

celestial angels were aflame with love and intellect, while the eyes of

the infernal angels were very unpleasant to encounter.

He said that it would be possible for an infernal angel to disguise

himself to a mortal, so that he might be mistaken for an angel of

light; but that it was practically impossible for an angel to disguise

his real nature from those souls who were living in their subtle bodies.

I will perhaps say more on this subject another night. I must rest now.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 2: I hope no one will expect me to answer the question why

should such a book appear to be printed in large black type. I have no