experiences when I first came out, my difficulty in adjusting the
amount of energy I used to the lightness of my new body.
“Now you mention it,” she said, “I do recall having some trouble a
year or two ago. I was quite confused for a long time. I think I must
have been delirious.”
“Yes, doubtless you were,” I answered. “But tell me, Mrs. ----, have
you no desire to visit heaven?”
“Why, I always supposed that I should visit heaven when I died; but, as
you see, I am not dead.”
“Still,” I said, “I can take you to heaven now, perhaps, if you would
like to go.”
“Are you joking?”
“Not at all. Will you come?”
“Are you certain that I can go there without dying?”
“But I assure you _there are no dead_.”
As we went slowly along, for I thought it best not to hurry her too
swiftly from one condition to another, I drew a word-picture of
the place we were about to visit--the orthodox Christian heaven. I
described the happy and loving people who stood in the presence of
their Saviour, in the soft radiance from the central Light.
“Perhaps,” I said, “some dwellers in that country see the face of God
Himself, as they expected to see it when they were on earth; as for
myself, I saw only the Light, and afterwards the figure of the Christ.”
“I have often wished to see Christ,” said my companion in an awe-struck
voice. “Do you think that I can really see Him?”
“I think so, if you believe strongly that you will.”
“And what were they doing in heaven when you were there?” she asked.
“They were worshipping God, and they were happy.”
“I want to be happy,” she said; “I have never been very happy.”
“The great thing in heaven,” I advised, “is to love all the others.
That is what makes them happy. If they loved the face of God only, it
would not be quite heaven; for the joy of God is the joy of union.”
Thus, by subtle stages, I led her mind away from astral boarding-houses
to the ideas of the orthodox spiritual world, which was probably the
only spiritual world which she could understand.
I spoke of the music--yes, church music, if you like to call it that.
I created in her wandering and chaotic mind a fixed desire for sabbath
joys and sabbath peace, and the communion of friends in heaven. But for
this gradual preparation she could not have adjusted herself to the
conditions of that world.
When we stood in the presence of those who worship God with song and
praise, she seemed caught up on a wave of enthusiasm, to feel that at
last she had come home.
I wanted to take leave of her in such a way that she would not come out
again to look for me; so I held out my hand in the old way and said
good-bye, promising to come again and visit her there, and advising her
to stay where she was. I think she will. Heaven has a strong hold on
those who yield themselves to its beauty.
LETTER XLIII
A CLOUD OF WITNESSES
ARE you surprised to learn that there is even a greater difference
between the beings in this world than between the people of earth? That
is inevitable, for this is a freer world than yours.
I should fail in my duty if I did not tell you something of the evil
beings out here; perhaps no one else will ever tell you, and the
knowledge is necessary to self-protection.
First I want to say that there is a strong sympathy between the spirits
in this world and the spirits in your world. Yes, they are both
spirits, the difference being mainly a difference in garments, one
wearing flesh and the other wearing a subtler but none the less real
body.
Now the good spirits, which may be “the spirits of just men made
perfect,” or those who merely aspire to perfection, are powerfully
drawn to those fellow-spirits on earth whose ideals are in harmony
with their own. The magnetic attraction which exists between human
beings is weak compared with that which is possible between beings
embodied and beings disembodied. As opposites attract, the very
difference in matter is a drawing force. The female is not more
attractive to the male than the being of flesh is attractive to the
being in the astral. The two do not usually understand each other,
neither do man and woman. But the influence is felt, and beings out
here understand its source better than you do, because they generally
carry with them the memory of your world, while you have lost the
memory of theirs.
At no time is the sympathetic power between men and spirits so strong
as when men are labouring under some intense emotion, be it love or
hate, or anger, or any other excitement. For then the fiery element in
man is most active, and spirits are attracted by fire.
(_Here the writing suddenly stopped, the influence passed, to return
after a few minutes._)
You wonder why I went away? It was in order to draw a wide protective
circle around us both, for what I have to say to you is something
which certain spirits would wish me to leave unsaid.
To continue. When man is excited, exalted, or in any way intensified
in his emotional life, the spirits draw near to him. That is how
conception is possible; that is the secret of inspiration; that is why
anger grows with what it feeds upon.
And this last is the point which I want to drive home to your
consciousness. When you lose your temper you lose a great deal, among
other things _the control of yourself_, and it is barely possible
that another entity may momentarily assume control of you.
This subjective world, as I have called it, is full of hateful spirits.
They love to stir up strife, both here and on earth. They enjoy
the excitement of anger in others, they are thrilled by the poison
of hatred; as certain men revel in morphine, so they revel in all
inharmonious passion.
Do you see the point and the danger? A small seed of anger in your
heart they feed and inflame by the hatred in their own. It is not
necessarily hatred of you as an individual, often they have no personal
interest in you; but for the purpose of gratifying their evil passion
they will attach themselves to you temporarily. Other illustrations
are not far to seek.
A man who has the habit of anger, even of fault-finding, is certain to
be surrounded by evil spirits. I have seen a score of them around a
man, thrilling him with their own malignant magnetism, stirring him up
again when by reaction he would have cooled down.
Sometimes the impersonal interest in mere strife becomes personal; an
angry spirit here may find that by attaching himself to a certain man
he is sure to get every day a thrill or thrills of angry excitement,
as his victim continually loses his temper and storms and rages. This
is one of the most terrible misfortunes which can happen to anybody.
Carried to its ultimate, it may become obsession, and end in insanity.
The same law applies to other unlovely passions, those of lust and
avarice. Beware of lust, beware of all sex attraction into which no
spiritual or heart element enters. I have seen things that I would not
wish to record, either through your hand or any other.
Let us take instead a case of avarice. I have seen a miser counting
over his gold, have seen the terrible eyes of the spirits which enjoyed
the gold through him. For gold has a peculiar influence as a metal,
apart from its purchasing power or the associations attached to it.
Certain spirits love gold, even as the miser loves it, and with the
same acquisitive, astringent passion. As it is one of the heaviest of
metals, so its power is a condensed and condensing power.
I do not mean by this that you should beware of gold. Get all you can
use, for it is useful; but do not gloat over it. One does not attract
the avaricious spirits merely by owning the symbols of wealth--houses
and lands and stocks and bonds, or even a moderate amount of coin; but
I advise you not to hoard coins to gloat over.
There are certain jewels, however, whose possession will aid you, for
they attract the spirits of power. But you will probably choose your
jewels by reason of your affinity with them, and may choose wisely.
Now that I have done my duty by warning you against the passions and
the passionate spirits of which you should beware, I can go on to speak
of other feelings and of other spiritual associates of man.
You have met persons who seemed to radiate sunshine, whose very
presence in a room made you happier. Have you asked yourself why? The
true answer would be that by their lovely disposition they attracted
round them a “cloud of witnesses” as to the joy and the beauty of life.
I have myself often basked in the warm rays of a certain loving heart
I know upon the earth. I have heard spirits say to one another as they
crowded round that person, “It is good to be here.” Do you think that
any evil thing could happen to him? A score of loving and sympathetic
spirits would strive to give him warning should any evil threaten.
Then, too, a joyous heart attracts joyous events.
Simplicity, also, and sweet humility, are very attractive to gentle
disembodied souls. “Except ye be as little children, ye cannot enter
in.”
Have you not often seen a child enjoying himself with unseen
playfellows? You would call them imaginary playfellows. Perhaps they
were, perhaps they were not imaginary. To imagine may be to create, or
it may be to attract things already created.
I have seen the Beautiful Being itself, more than once, hovering in
ecstasy above an earthly creature who was happy.
A song of joy, when it comes from a thrilling heart, may attract a host
of invisible beings who enjoy it with the singer; for, as I have told
you, sound carries from one world to another.
Never weep--unless you must, to restore lost equilibrium. The weeping
spirits, however, are rather harmless because they are weak. Sometimes
a storm of tears, when it is past, clears the soul’s atmosphere; but
while the weeping is in progress, the atmosphere is thick with weeping
spirits. One could almost hear the drip of their tears through the veil
of ether--if the sobbing earthly one did not make so much noise with
his grief.
“Laugh and the world laughs with you,” may be true enough; but when you
weep, you do _not_ weep alone.
LETTER XLIV
THE KINGDOM WITHIN
THERE is one obscure point which I want to make clear, even though I
may be accused of “mysticism” by those to whom mysticism means only
obscurity.
I have said that the life of man is both subjective and objective,
but principally objective; and that the life of “spirits” dwelling
in subtle matter is both subjective and objective, but principally
subjective.
Yet I have spoken of going alone or with others to heaven, as a place.
I want to explain this. You remember the saying, “The kingdom of heaven
is within you,” that is, subjective. Also, “Where two or three are
gathered together in My name, there will I be in the midst of them.”
Now, those places in this subtle realm which I have called the
Christian heavens are places where two or three, or two or three
thousand, as the case may be, are gathered together in His name, to
enjoy the _kingdom of heaven within them_.
The aggregation of souls is objective--that is, the souls exist in time
and space; the heaven which they enjoy is subjective, though they may
all see the same thing at the same time, as, for instance, the vision
of Him whom they adore as Redeemer.
That is as clear as I can make it.
LETTER XLV
THE GAME OF MAKE-BELIEVE
ONE day I met a man in doublet and hose, who announced to me that he
was Shakespeare. Now I have become accustomed to such announcements,
and they do not surprise me as they did six or eight months ago. (Yes,
I still keep account of your months, for a purpose of my own.)
I asked this man what proof he could adduce of his extraordinary claim,
and he answered that it needed no proof.
“That will not go down with me,” I said, “for I am an old lawyer.”
Thereupon he laughed, and asked:
“Why did you not join in the game?”
I am telling you this rather senseless story, because it illustrates an
interesting point in regard to our life here.
In a former letter I wrote about my meeting with a newly arrived lady,
who, finding me dressed in a Roman toga, thought that I might be
Cæsar; and that I told her we were all actors here. I meant that, like
children, we “dress up” when we want to impress our own imagination, or
to relive some scene in the past.
This playing of a part is usually quite innocent, though sometimes
the very ease with which it is done brings with it the temptation to
deception, especially in dealings with the earth people.
You see the point I wish to make. The “lying spirits,” of which the
frequenters of séance rooms so often make complaint, are these astral
actors, who may even come to take a certain pride in the cleverness of
their art.
Be not too sure that the spirit who claims to be your deceased
grandfather is that estimable old man himself. He may be merely an
actor playing a part, for his own entertainment and yours.
How is one to tell, you ask? One cannot always tell. I should
say, however, that the surest test of all would be the deep and
_unemotional_ conviction that the veritable entity was in one’s
presence. There is an instinct in the human heart which will never
deceive us, if we without fear or bias will yield ourselves to its
decision. How often in worldly matters have we all acted against this
inner monitor, and been deceived and led astray!
If you have an instinctive feeling that a certain invisible--or
even visible--entity is not what it claims to be, it is better to
discontinue the conference. If it is the real person, and if he has
anything vital to say, he will come again and again; for the so-called
dead are often very desirous to communicate with the living.
As a rule, though, the play-acting over here is innocent of intent to
deceive. Most men desire occasionally to be something which they are
not. The poor man who, for one evening, dresses himself in his best
clothes and squanders a week’s salary in playing the millionaire is
moved by the same impulse which inspired the man in my story to assert
that he was Shakespeare. The woman who always dresses beyond her means
is playing the same little game with herself and with the world.
All children know the game. They will tell you in a convinced tone that
they are Napoleon Bonaparte, or George Washington, and they feel hurt
if you scoff.
Perhaps my friend with the Shakespearean aspiration was an amateur
dramatist when he was on earth. Had he been a professional dramatist,
he would probably have stated his real name, more or less unknown, and
followed it by the declaration that he was the well-known So-and-so.
There is much pride out here in the accomplishments of the earth-life,
especially among those who have recently come out. This lessens with
time, and after one has been long here one’s interests are likely to be
more general.
Men and women do not cease to be human merely by crossing the
frontier of what you call the invisible world. In fact, the human
characteristics are often exaggerated, because the restraints are
fewer. There are no penalties inflicted by the community for the
personating of one man by another. It is not taken seriously, for to
the clearer sight of this world the disguise is too transparent.
LETTER XLVI
HEIRS OF HERMES
THERE is much sound sense and not a little nonsense talked about Adepts
and Masters, who live and work on the astral plane. Now I am myself
living, and sometimes working, on the so-called astral plane, and what
I say about the plane is the result of experience and not of theory.
I have met Adepts--yes, Masters here. One of them especially has taught
me much, and has guided my footsteps from the first.
Do not fear to believe in Masters. Masters are men raised to the
highest power; and whether they are embodied or disembodied, they work
on this plane of life. A Master can go in and out at will.
No, I am not going to tell the world how they do it. Some who are
not Masters might try the experiment, and not be able to go back
again. Knowledge is power; but there are certain powers which may be
dangerous if put in practice without a corresponding degree of wisdom.
All human beings have in them the potentiality of mastership. That
ought to be an encouragement to men and women who aspire to an
intensity of life beyond that of the ordinary. But the attainment of
mastership is a steady and generally a slow growth.
My Teacher here is a Master.
There are teachers here who are not Masters, as there are teachers on
earth who have not the rank of professor; but he who is willing to
teach what he knows is on the right road.
I do not mind saying that my Teacher approves of my trying to tell the
world something about the life which follows the change that is called
death. If he disapproved, I should bow to his superior wisdom.
No, it does not matter what his name is. I have referred to him
simply as my Teacher, and have told you many things which he has
said and done. Many other things I have not told you, for I can only
come occasionally now. After a time I shall probably cease to come
altogether. Not that I shall have lost interest in you; but it seems
to be the plan that I shall get farther away from the world, to learn
things which necessitate for their comprehension a certain loosening
of the earthly tie. Later I may return again, for the second time; but
I make no promises. I will come if I can, and if it seems wise to come,
and if you are in a mood to let me.
I do not believe that I shall come through anybody else--at least, not
to write letters like this. I should probably have to put such another
person through the same training process that I put you through, and
few--even of those who were my friends and associates--would trust me
to that extent. So, even after I am gone, do not shut the door too
tight, in case I should want to come again, for I might have something
immensely important to say. But on the other hand, please refrain from
calling me; because if you should call me you might draw me away from
important work or study somewhere else. I do not say for certain that
you could, but it is possible; and when I leave the neighbourhood of
the earth of my own accord, I do not wish to be drawn back until I am
ready to return.
A person still upon the earth may call so intensely to a friend who has
passed far away from the earth’s atmosphere, that that soul will come
back too soon in response to the eager cry.
Do not forget the dead, unless they are strong enough to be happy
without your remembrance; but do not lean too heavily upon them.
The Masters, of whom I spoke a little while ago, can remain near or far
away, as they will; they can respond or not respond: but the ordinary
soul is very sensitive to the call of those it loved on earth.
I have seen a mother respond eagerly to the tearful prayer of a child,
and yet unable to make the lonely one realise her presence. Sometimes
the mothers are very sad because they cannot make their presence felt.
One time I saw my Teacher by his power help a mother to make herself
seen and heard by a daughter who was in great trouble. The heart of my
Teacher is very soft to the sufferings of the world; and though he says
that he is not one of the Christs, yet he often seems to work as Christ
works. At other times he is all mind. He illustrates the saying about
the thrice-greatest Hermes Trismegistus--great in body, great in mind,
great in heart.
I wish I could tell you more about my Teacher, but he does not wish to
be too well known on earth. He works for the work’s sake, and not for
reward or praise.
He is very fond of children, and one day when I was sitting unseen in
the house of a friend of mine on earth, and the little son of the house
fell down and hurt himself and wept bitterly, my great Teacher, whom
I have seen command literally “legions of angels,” bent down in his
tenuous form, which he was then wearing, and soothed and comforted the
child.
When I asked him about it afterwards, he said that he remembered many
childhoods of his own, in other lands, and that he could still feel in
memory the sting of physical pain and the shock of a physical fall.
He told me that children suffer more than their elders realise, that
the bewilderment felt in gradually adjusting to a new and frail and
growing body is often the cause of intense suffering.
He said that the constant crying of some small babies is caused by
their half-discouragement at the herculean task before them--the task
of moulding a body through which their spirit can work.
He told me a story of one of his former incarnations, before he became
a Master, and what a hard struggle he had to build a body. He could
remember even the smallest details of that far-away life. One day
his mother punished him for something which he had not really done,
and when he denied the supposed wrongful act, she chided him for
untruthfulness, not realising--good woman though she was--the essential
truth of the soul to whom she had given form. He told me that from
that childish impression, centuries ago, he could date his real battle
against injustice, which had helped to develop him as a friend and
teacher of mankind.
Then he went on to speak of the importance of our recovering the memory
of other lives, in order that we may see the roads by which our souls
have come.
As a rule, the great teachers are reticent about their own past,
and they only refer to it when some point in their experience can
be used to illustrate a principle, and thus help another to grasp
the principle. It encourages a groping soul to know that one who has
attained a great height has been through the same trials that now
perplex him.
LETTER XLVII
ONLY A SONG
WILL you listen to another song, or chant, or whatever you choose to
call it, of that amazing angel whom we know as the Beautiful Being?
Why do you fear to question me? I am the great answerer
of questions;
Though my answers are often symbols, yet words themselves
are only symbols.
I have not visited you for a season, for when I am
around, you can think of nothing else, and it is well
that you should think of those who have trodden
the path you are treading.
You can pattern your ways on those of others, you can
hardly pattern your ways on mine.
I am a light in the darkness--my name you do not need
to know;
A name is a limitation, and I refuse to be limited.
In the ancient days of the angels, I refused to enter the
forms of my own creation, except to play with
them.
There is a hint for you, if you like hints.
He who is held by his own creations becomes a slave.
That is one of the differences between me and men.
What earthly father can escape his children? What
earthly mother wishes to?
But I! I can make a rose to bloom--then leave it for
another to enjoy.
My joy was in the making. It would be dull for me to
stay with a rose until its petals fell.
The artist who can forget his past creations may create
greater and greater things.
The joy is in the doing, not in the holding fast to that
which is done.
Oh, the magic of letting go! It is the magic of the gods.
There are races of men to whom I have revealed myself.
They worship me.
You need not worship me, for I do not require worship.
That would be to limit myself to my own creations, if I
needed anything from the souls I have touched with
my beauty.
Oh, the magic of letting go!
The magic of holding on?
Yes, there is a magic in holding on to a thing until it
is finished and perfect;
But when a thing is finished, whether it be a poem, a
love, or a child, let it go.
In that way you are free again and may begin another.
It is the secret of eternal youth.
Never look back with regret; look back only to learn
what is behind you.
Look forward always; it is only when a man ceases to
look forward to things that he begins to grow old.
He settles down.
I have said to live in the moment; that is the same thing
seen from another side.
The present and the future are playfellows; we do not
play when we study the past.
I am the great playfellow of men.
LETTER XLVIII
INVISIBLE GIFTS AT YULETIDE
IT is not yet too late to wish you a merry Christmas.
How do I know that it is Christmas Day? Because I have been looking
in at houses which I used to frequent, and have seen trees laden with
tinsel and gifts. Do you wonder that I could see them? If so, you
forget that we light our own place. When we know how to look, we can
see behind the veil.
This is my first Christmas Day on this side. I cannot send you a
material gift which you could wear or hang up in your room; but I can
send you the good wishes of the season.