well when Christmas is approaching. Sometimes they bring invisible
gifts, which they have fashioned by their power of imagination and love
out of the tenuous matter of this world. A certain grandmother all
last evening, Christmas Eve, was scattering flowers around her dear
ones. Their fragrance must have penetrated the atmosphere of the earth.
Did you ever smell suddenly a sweet perfume which you could not account
for? If so, perhaps some one who loved you was scattering invisible
flowers. Love is stronger than death.
Another whom you know will go out before long. Strengthen her with your
faith.
The practice of keeping Christmas is a good one, if you do not forget
the real meaning of the day. To some it means the birth into the world
of the spirit of humility and love; but while love and humility had
visited the world before the appearance of Jesus of Nazareth, yet never
before nor since have they come with greater power than they came to
Judæa. Whether the stable in Bethlehem was a physical reality or a
symbol, makes no difference.
I have been to the heavens of Christ, and know their beauty. “In My
Father’s house are many mansions.”
A traveller like me who wishes to go to some particular heaven must
first feel in himself what those souls feel who enjoy that heaven;
then he can enter and commune with them. He could never go as a mere
sight-seer. That is why, as a rule, I have avoided the hells; but the
heavens I often visit.
And I have been in purgatory, the purgatory of the Roman Catholics. Do
not scoff at those who have masses said for the repose of the souls of
the departed. The souls are often conscious of such thoughtfulness.
They hear the music, and they _may_ smell the incense; most of
all, they feel the power of the thought directed to them. Purgatory is
real, in the sense of being a real experience. If you want to call it a
dream, you may; but dreams are sometimes terribly real.
Even those who do not believe in purgatory sometimes wander awhile in
sadness, until they have adjusted themselves to the new conditions
under which they live. Should one tell them that they were in
purgatory, they might deny the existence of such a state; but they
would readily admit their discomfort.
The surest way to escape that painful period of transition is to go
into the hereafter with a full faith in immortality, a full faith in
the power of the soul to create its own conditions.
Last night, after visiting various places upon the earth, I went to
one of the highest Christian heavens. Perhaps I could not have gone so
easily at any other time; for my heart was full of love for all men
and my mind was full of the Christ _idea_.
Often have I seen Him who is called the Saviour of men, and last night
I saw Him in all His beauty. He, too, came down to the world for a time.
I wonder if I can make you understand? The love of Christ is always
present in the world, because there are always hearts that keep it
alight. If the idea of Christ as a redeemer should ever grow faint in
the world, He would probably go back there and relight the flame in
human hearts; but whatever the writers of statistics may say, that idea
was never more real than at present. It may have been more talked about.
The world is not in so bad a way as some people think. Be not surprised
if there should be a strong renaissance of the spiritual idea. All
things have their rhythms.
Last night I stood in a great church where hundreds of Christians knelt
in adoration of Jesus. I have stood in churches on Christmas Eve when
on earth as a man among men; but I saw things last night which I had
never seen before. Surely where two or three are gathered together in
the name of any prophet, there he is in the midst of them, if not
always in his spiritual body, at least in the fragrance of his sympathy.
The angels in the Christian heavens know when Christmas is being
celebrated on earth.
Jesus of Nazareth is a reality. As a spiritual body, as Jesus who dwelt
in Galilee, He exists in space and time; as the Christ, the paradigm
of the spiritual man, He exists in the hearts of all men and women who
awaken that idea in themselves. He is a light which is reflected in
many pools.
I wrote the other day about Adepts and Masters. Jesus is a type of the
greatest Master. He is revered in all the heavens. He grasped the Law
and dared to live it, to exemplify it. And when He said, “The Father
and I are one,” He pointed the way by which other men may realise
mastership in themselves.
Humanity on its long road has evolved many Masters. Who then shall dare
to question that humanity has justified itself? If one demands to know
what purpose there is in life, tell him that it is this very evolution
of the Master out of the man. Eternity is long. The goal is ahead for
each unit of sufficient strength, and those who cannot lead can serve.
This thought came home to me with special force last night. I am not
so bold as to say that every unit in the great mass is strong enough,
has energy enough, to evolve individual mastership; but there is no
unit so weak that it may not have some part, however small, in the
great work of evolving Masters out of men. It is sweet to serve. They
too have their reward.
The great mistake made by most minds in wrestling with the problem of
evolution is in not grasping the fact that eternity is eternity, that
to be immortal is to have no beginning or end. There is time enough in
which to develop, if not in this life cycle, then in another which will
follow; for rhythm is sure.
If I could only make you grasp the idea of immortality as I see it! I
did not fully understand it until I came out here and began to pick up
the threads of my own past. My reason told me that I was immortal, but
I did not know what immortality meant. I wonder if you do?
I know an angel who has done more, perhaps, than many prophets have
done to keep that idea alight in the world. Until I met the one whom
we know as the Beautiful Being I had not revelled in the triumph of
immortality. There is one who plays with immortality as a child plays
with marbles.
When the Beautiful Being says, “I am,” you know that you are, too. When
the Beautiful Being says, “I pluck the centuries as a child pulls the
petals of a daisy, and I throw away the seed-bearing heart to grow more
century-bearing daisies,” you feel--but words are weak to express what
the Beautiful Being’s joy in endless life can make one feel.
You forget the thing of flesh and bones which you used to call yourself
when this sliver of conscious immortality exults in its own existence.
When the Beautiful Being takes you for a walk in what it calls the
“clover meadows of the sky,” you are quite sure that you are one of the
co-heirs of the whole eternal estate.
The Beautiful Being knows well the Christ of the Christians. I
think the Beautiful Being knows all the great Masters, embodied or
disembodied. They all taught immortality in some form or other, if only
in essence.
The Beautiful Being went with me last night to the highest heaven of
the Christians. Should I tell you all that I saw, you might be in too
great a hurry to go out there and view it for yourself, and you must
not leave the earth for a long time yet. You must realise immortality
while still in the flesh, and make others realise it.
I have told you about the minor heavens, where merely good people
go; but the passionately devout lovers of God reach heights of
contemplation and ecstasy which the words of the world’s languages were
not designed to describe. With the Beautiful Being at my side I felt
those ecstasies last night, while you were locked in sleep.
Where shall I be next Christmas Eve? I shall be somewhere in the
universe; for we could not get out of the universe if we should try.
The universe could not get on without us; it would be incomplete. Take
that thought with you into the happy New Year.
LETTER XLIX
THE GREATER DREAMLAND
I HAVE not been to see you for some time, for I have been trying an
experiment.
Since coming to this country I have so often seen men and women lying
in a state of subjective enjoyment, of dream, if I may use the word,
that I have long wanted to spend a few days alone with my interior
self, in that same state. My reason for hesitating was that I feared to
dream too long, and thus to lose valuable time--both yours and mine.
But when I expressed to the Teacher one day my desire to visit the
greater dreamland lying within my own brain, also my fear that I might
be slow in waking, he promised that he would come and wake me in
exactly seven days of earthly time if I had not already aroused myself.
“For,” he said, “you can set an alarm-clock in your own brain, which
can always be relied upon.”
This I knew from old experience; but I had feared that the psychic
sleep might be deeper than the ordinary earthly sleep, and that the
alarm-clock might not go off at the appointed time.
I have heard much comment, so doubtless have you, on the fact that
spirits, when they return to communicate with their friends, say, as
a rule, so little about their celestial life. The reason is, I fancy,
that they despair of making themselves understood should they attempt
to describe their existence, which is so different from that of earth.
Now, most souls, when they have been out some time, fall into that
state of reverie, or dream, which I had so long desired to experience
for myself. Some souls awake at intervals, and show an occasional
interest in the things and people of the earth; but if the sleep is
deep, and if the soul is willing or desirous to leave the things of
the earth behind, the subconscious state may last uninterruptedly
for years, or even centuries. But a soul that could stay asleep for
centuries would probably be one that was living according to long
rhythm, the normal rhythm of humanity.
So, when I went into the deep sleep, I went into it with a spell upon
myself not to remain too long.
Oh, it was wonderful, that dream-country in my own self! The
Theosophists would perhaps say that I had taken a rest in the bliss
of devachan. No matter what one calls it. It was an experience worth
remembering.
I closed my eyes and went in--in--deeper than thought, where the
restless waves of life are still, and the soul is face to face with
itself and with all the wonders of its own past. There is nothing but
loveliness in that sleep. If one can bring back the dreams, as I did,
the sojourn there is an adventure beyond comparison.
I went in to enjoy, and I enjoyed. I found there the simulacrum of
everyone whom I had ever loved. They smiled at me, and I understood the
mystery of them, and why we had been drawn together.
I refound, too, my old dreams of ambition, and enjoyed the fruit of
all my labour on earth. It is a rosy world, that inner world of the
soul, and the heart’s desire is always found there. No wonder that the
strenuous life of earth is oftener than not a pain and a travail, for
the dream-life which follows is so beautiful that the balance must be
preserved.
Rest! On earth you know not the meaning of the word. I rested only
seven days; but so refreshed was I that, had I not other worlds to
conquer, I should almost have had the courage to return to earth.
Do not neglect rest--you who still live the toilsome life in the
sunshine. For every added hour of true rest your working capacity is
increased. Have no fear. You are not wasting time when you lie down and
dream. As I have said before, eternity is long. There is room for rest
in the wayside inns which dot the path which the cycles tread.
If you want to take a long and devachanic rest--why, take it. Take
it even on earth, if it seems desirable. Do not be always grubbing,
even at literature. Go out and play with the squirrels, or lie by the
fire and dream with the household cat. The cat that enjoys the drowsy
fireside also enjoys catching mice when the mood is on her. She cannot
be always hunting, neither can you.
Just take a dip in devachan some day, and see how refreshed you will be
when you come out. Perhaps I am misusing that word “devachan,” for I
was never very deeply learned in the lore of Theosophy.
I have even heard nirvana described as a state of intense motion, so
rapid that it seems motionless, like a spinning-top, or the wing of a
humming-bird. But nirvana is not for all men--not yet.
I have hinted at the wonders of my seven days of blissful rest, but I
have not described them. How can I? A great poet once declared that
there was no thought or feeling which could not be expressed in words.
Perhaps he has changed his mind by this time, after being out here some
sixty years.
As I went to rest, I commanded my soul to bring back every dream. Of
course I cannot say whether some may not have escaped, any more than
you can say on waking that you have or have not forgotten the deeper
experiences of the night. But when I came back into the normal life of
this plane that is called astral, I felt like an explorer who returns
from a strange journey with wonder-tales to tell. Only I did not tell
them. To whom should I relate those dreams and visions? I would not be
a bore, even to “disembodied” associates. Had Lionel been here, I might
have entertained him many an hour with my stories; but he is lost to me
for the present.
And, by the way, he seems to have taken little or no devachanic
rest. Is that because he was so young on coming out that he had not
exhausted the normal rhythm? Probably. Had he remained out here and
grown up, perhaps he also would have sought the deeper interior world.
But I will not speculate, for this is a record of experiences, not of
speculations. You can speculate as well as I, if you think it worth
while.
I found in my own dreamland a fair, fair face. No, I am not going to
tell you about that; it is my little secret. Of course I found many
faces, but one was lovelier than all the others, and it was not the
face of the Beautiful Being, either. The Beautiful Being I meet when I
am wide awake. I did not encounter her as an actual presence in sleep,
only the simulacrum of her. In the deeper dreamland we see only what is
in our brains. _Things_ do not exist there, only the memories of
things and the imagination of them.
Imagination creates in this world, as in yours: it actually moulds the
tenuous substance; but in the greater dreamland I do not think that we
mould in substance. It is a world of light and shadow pictures, too
subtle to be described.
Even before this experience I had gone into the memories of my own
past; but I had not revelled in them, had not indulged myself to the
extent of conjuring with light and shade. But, oh! what’s the use?
There are no words to describe it. Can you describe the perfume of a
rose, as you once said yourself? Can you tell how a kiss feels? Could
you even describe the emotion of fear so that one who had not felt it,
by former experience in this life or some other, would know what you
meant? No more can I describe the process of spiritual dreaming.
Revel to your heart’s content in fancy, in memory, while you are still
in the body, and yet I think that you will have only the shadow of
a shadow of what I experienced in those seven days, the reflection
of a reflection of the real dream. The reflection of a reflection! I
like that phrase. It suggests a clear picture, though not a direct
impression. Try dreaming, then, even on earth, and maybe you will get
a reflection of a reflection of the pictured joys of the spiritual
dreamland.
LETTER L
A SERMON AND A PROMISE
AS I have been coming to you every few days for several months, and
have told stories for your amusement, may I come now and preach a
sermon? I promise it shall not be long.
You live in a land where church spires pierce the blue of heaven,
looking from the viewpoint of the clouds like the uplifted spears of
an invading army--which in intent they are; so surely you have the
habit of listening to sermons. The average sermon is made up mostly of
advice, and mine will not differ from others in that particular. I wish
to advise you, and as many other persons as you can make listen to my
advice.
You will grant that, for one who offers counsel, I have had unusual
opportunities for fitting myself to give it. In order to help
you to live, I would show you the point of view of a serious and
thoughtful--however imperfect--observer of the after effects of causes
set in motion by dwellers upon the earth. It has been said that cause
and effect are opposite and equal. Very good. Now I want to draw your
attention to certain illustrations of that axiom which have come to my
mind during the last few months. If I repeat one or two things which I
have already said, that is no serious matter. You may have forgotten
them, or missed their application to the business of preparing for the
future life on this side of the gulf of death. That is a moss-grown
figure of speech, “the gulf of death”; but I am writing a sermon, not a
poem, and well-worn tropes are expected from the pulpit.
The preachers remind you every few Sundays that you have got to die
some day. Do you realise it? Does your consciousness take in the fact
that at any moment--to-morrow or fifty years hence--you may suddenly
find yourself _outside_ that body whose cohesive force you have
become accustomed to; that you may find yourself, either alone or
accompanied, in a very tenuous and light and at first not easily
manageable body, with no certain power of communicating with those
friends and relations whom you may see in the very room with you?
You have not realised it? Then get it through your consciousness.
Grasp it with both hemispheres of your brain. Clutch it with the talons
of your mind. _You are going to die._
Oh, do not be alarmed! I do not mean you personally, nor that you, or
any particular person, will die to-morrow, or next year; but die you
must some day; and if you remind yourself of it occasionally, it will
lessen the shock of the actual happening when it comes.
Do not brood over the thought of death. God forbid that you should read
such a morbid meaning into my blunt words! But be prepared. You insure
your life for so much money that your family may be provided for; but
you do nothing to insure your own future peace of mind regarding your
own self.
Remember this always: however minute are the instructions you leave
for the management of your affairs after death, should you be able to
look back to the earth you will find that someone has mismanaged them.
So expect just that, take it as a matter of course, and learn to say,
“What difference does it make?” Learn to feel that the past _is_
past, that the future alone has possibilities for you, and that the
sooner you leave other persons to manage your discarded earthly affairs
the better it will be for your own tranquillity. Be prepared to _let
go_. That is the first point I wish to make.
Do not go out into the new life with only one eye open to the celestial
planes, and the other inverted towards the images of earth. You will
not get far if you do. Let go. Get away from the world just as soon as
you can.
This may sound to some people like heartless advice, for there is no
doubt that a wise spirit, looking down from the higher sphere, can, by
his subtly instilled telepathic suggestions, influence for good the men
and women of the earth. But there are always thousands of those who
are eager to do that. The heavens above your head now are literally
swarming with souls who long to take a hand in the business of earth,
souls who cannot let go, who find the habit of managing other people’s
affairs a fascinating habit, as enthralling as that of tobacco, or
opium. Again, do not call me heartless. I am blunt of speech, but I
love you, men of earth. If I hurt you, it is for your good.
Now comes another and a most interesting point. Forget, if you can, the
sins you have committed in the flesh. You cannot escape the effects of
those causes; but you can avoid strengthening the tie with sin, you can
avoid going back to earth self-hypnotised with the idea that you are a
sinner.
Do not brood over sin. It is true that you can exhaust the impulse to
sin by dwelling on it until your soul is disgusted; but that is a slow
and an unpleasant process. The short-cut of forgetfulness is better.
Now I want to express an idea very difficult to express, for the reason
that it will be quite new to most of you. It is this: The power of the
creative imagination is stronger in men wearing their earthly bodies
than it is in men (spirits) who have laid off their bodies. Not that
most persons know how to use that power: they do not; the point I wish
to make is that they _can_ use it. A solid body is a resistive
base, a powerful lever, from which the will can project those things
conjured by the imagination. That is, I believe, the real reason why
Masters retain their physical bodies. The trained mind, robed in the
tenuous matter of our world, is stronger than the untrained mind robed
in dense matter; but the Masters still robed in flesh can command a
legion of angels.[3]
This is by way of preface to the assertion that as you on earth picture
your future life to be, so it will be, limited always by the power with
which you back your will, and by the possibility of subtle matter to
take the mould you give it, and that possibility is almost unlimited.
Will to progress after death, and you will progress; will to learn, and
you will learn; will to return to the earth after a time to take up a
special work, and you will return and take up that work.
Karma is an iron law, yes; but you are the creator of karma.
Above all things, do not expect--which is to demand--unconsciousness
and annihilation. You cannot annihilate the unit of force which you
are, but you can by self-suggestion put it to sleep for ages. Go out
of life with the determination to retain consciousness, and you will
retain it.
When the time comes for you to enter that rest which a certain school
of thought has called devachan, you will enter it; but that time will
not be immediately after you go out.
On finally reaching that state you will, as a matter of course, relive
in dream your former earthly life and assimilate its experiences; but
by that time you will have got rid of the desire personally to take
part, as a spirit, in the lives of those you have left behind.
Do not, while still on earth, invoke the spirits of the dead. They may
be busy elsewhere, and you may be strong enough to call them away from
their own business to attend to yours unwillingly.
You who write for me, I want to thank you for never calling me. You
let me come always at my own time, and let me say what I wish to say
without confusing my thought by either questions or comments.
You of the earth who are still upon the earth may find your departed
friends when you come out here, if they have not already put on another
body. Meantime, let them perform the work of the state in which they
are.
You who write for me will remember that the first time I came you did
not even know that I had left the earth. I found you in a passive
mood, and wrote a message signed by a symbol whose special meaning was
unknown to you, but which I knew would be immediately recognised by
those in whom you were likely to confide. That was a most fortunate
beginning, for it gave you confidence in the genuineness of my
communications.
But I said that I would write only a sermon to-night, so I will now
pronounce the blessing and depart. I shall return, however. This is not
the last meeting of the season.
_Later._
One word more before I go to my other work.
If you had urgently called me during that week which I spent in
rest, you might have had the power to cut short a most interesting
and valuable experience. So the final word, after the benediction of
this sermon, is: Do not be too egotistically insistent, even with the
so-called dead.
If your need is great, the souls who love you may feel it and come to
you of their own accord. This is often illustrated in the earth life,
among those whose psychic pores are open.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 3: He has said that they build freely in that world through
the creative imagination; but we must remember how tenuous and easily
handled is the matter which they use.--ED.]
LETTER LI
THE APRIL OF THE WORLD
HAVING told you last week that you must die, according to the jargon of
the earth, I now want to assure you that you can never really die at
all; that you are as immortal as the angels, as immortal as God Himself.
No, that is not a contradiction.
I have spoken before of immortality: it was always a favourite theme of
mine; but since my association with the Beautiful Being it has become
for me an exultant consciousness.