Part 7
My coming in this way through your hand is quite another matter. I could not do it if I had not been instructed in the scientific method of procedure, and I also could not do it if you should constantly interrupt me by side-thoughts of your own, and by questions relevant or irrelevant. It is because you are perfectly passive and not even curious, letting me use your hand as on earth I would have used the hand of my stenographer, that I am able to write long and connected sentences.
Most spirit communications, even when genuine, have little value, for the reason that they are nearly always coloured by the mind of the person through whom they pass.
You are right in reading nothing on the subject while these messages are coming, and in thinking nothing about this plane of life where I am. Thus you avoid preconceived ideas, which would interrupt the flow of _my_ ideas.
You know, perhaps, that while on earth I investigated spiritualism, as I investigated many things of an occult nature, looking always for the truth that was behind them; but I was convinced then, and I am now more than ever convinced, that, except for the scientific demonstration that _such things can be_--which, of course, has value as a demonstration only,--most spirit-hunting is not only a waste of time, but an absolute detriment to those who engage in it.
This may sound strange coming from a so-called “spirit,” one who is actually at this time in communication with the world. If that is so, I cannot help it. If I seem inconsistent, then I seem so; that is all. But I wish to go on record as discouraging irresponsible mediumship.
If a person sitting for mediumship could be sure that at the other end of the psychic line there was an entity who had something sincere and important to say, and who really could use him or her to say it through, it would be another matter; but this world out here is full of vagrants, even as the earth. As this world is peopled largely from your world, it is inevitable that we have the same kind of beings that you have. They have not changed much in passing through the doors of death.
Would you advise any delicate and sensitive woman to sit down in the centre of Hyde Park, and invite the passing crowds to come and speak through her, or touch her, or mingle their magnetism with hers? You shudder. You would shudder more had you seen some of the things which I have seen.
Then, too, there is another class of beings here, the kind which we used to hear the Theosophists call elementals. Now, there has been a lot of nonsense written about elementals; but take this for a fact: there are units of energy, units of consciousness, which correspond pretty closely to what the Theosophists understand by elementals. These entities are not, as a rule, very highly developed; but as the stage of earth life is the stage to which they aspire, and as it is the next inevitable stage in their evolution, they are drawn to it powerfully.
So do not be too sure that the entity which raps on your table or your cupboard is the spirit of your deceased grandfather. It may be merely a blind and very _desirous_ entity, an eager consciousness, trying to use you to hasten its own evolution, trying to get into you or through you, so as to enjoy the earth and the coarser vibrations of the earth.
It may not be able to harm you, but, on the other hand, it may do you a great deal of harm. You had better discourage such attempts to break through the veil which separates you from them; for the veil is thinner than you think, and though you cannot see through it, you can feel through it.
Having said this, my duty in the matter is discharged; and the next time I come I can tell you a story, maybe, instead of giving you a lecture.
I really feel like an astral Scheherazade; but I fear you would tire of me before a thousand-and-one nights were past. A thousand-and-one nights! Before that time I shall have gone on. No, I do not mean “died” again into another world beyond; but when I get through telling you what I desire you to know about my life here, I want to investigate other stars, if it shall be permitted.
I am like a young man who has lately inherited a fortune and has at last unlimited means and opportunity for travel. Though he might stay around home a few months, getting matters in shape and becoming adjusted to his new freedom of movement, yet the time would come when he would want to try his wings. I hope that is not a mixed metaphor; if so, you can edit me. I shall not feel hurt.
LETTER XXX
THE SYLPH AND THE MAGICIAN
IF your eyes could pierce the veil of matter, and you could see what goes on in the tenuous world around and above that city of Paris, you would gasp with wonder. I have spent much time in Paris lately. Shall I tell you some of the strange things I have seen?
In a street on the left bank of the river, called the _rue de Vaugirard_, there lives a man of middle age and sedentary habits who is a sort of magician. He is constantly attended and served by one of the elemental spirits known as sylphs. This sylph he calls Meriline. I do not know from what language he got the name, for he seems to speak several, and to know Hebrew. I have seen this Meriline coming and going to and from his apartment. No, it would not be right for me to tell you where it is. The man could be identified, though the sylph would elude the census-taker.
Meriline does not make his bed or cook his broth, for which humble service he has a char-woman; but the sylph runs errands and discovers things for him. He is a collector of old books and manuscripts, and many of his treasures have been located by Meriline in the stalls which lie along the banks of the Seine, and also in more pretentious bookshops.
This man is not a devil-worshipper. He is only a harmless enthusiast, fond of occult things, and striving to pierce the veil which shuts the elemental world from his eyes. A little less brandy and wine, and he _might_ be able to see clearly, for he is a true student. But he is fond of the flesh, and it preys upon the spirit.
One day I encountered Meriline going upon one of his errands, and I introduced myself by signalling with my hands and calling my name. This attracted the attention of the sprite, who came and stood beside me.
“Where are you going?” I asked; and she nodded towards the other side of the river.
The thought came to me that perhaps I ought not to question this servant of the good magician as to her master’s business, so I hesitated. She also hesitated; then she said:
“But he is interested in the spirits of men.”
This made the matter simpler, and I asked:
“You do his errands?”
“Yes, always.”
“Why do you do his errands?”
“Because I love to serve him.”
“And why do you love to serve him?”
“Because I belong to him.”
“I thought every soul belonged to itself.”
“But I am not a soul!”
“Then what are you?”
“A sylph.”
“Do you ever expect to be a soul?”
“Oh, yes! He has promised that I shall be, if I serve him faithfully.”
“But how can he make you to be a soul?”
“I don’t know; but he will.”
“How do you know that he will?”
“Because I trust him.”
“What makes you trust him?”
“Because he trusts me.”
“And you always tell him the truth?”
“Always.”
“Who taught you what truth is?”
“He did.”
“How?”
This seemed to puzzle the being before me, and I feared she would go away; so I detained her by saying, quickly:
“I do not want to worry you with questions which you cannot answer. Tell me how you first came into his service.”
“Ought I?”
“So you have a conscience?”
“Yes, he taught me to have.”
“But you say that he is interested in the spirits of men.”
“Yes, and I also know good spirits from bad ones.”
“Did he teach you that?”
“No.”
“How did you learn?”
“I always knew.”
“Then you have lived a long time?”
“Oh, yes!”
“And when do you expect to have, or to become a soul?”
“When he comes out here, into this world where we are.”
This staggered me by its daring. Had the good magician been deceiving his sylph, or did he really believe what he promised?
“What did he say about it?” I asked.
“That if I would serve him now, he would serve me later.”
“And how is he going to do it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Suppose you ask him?”
“I never ask questions. I answer them.”
“For instance, what sort of questions?”
“I tell him where such and such a person is, and what he or she is doing.”
“Can you tell him what these people are thinking?”
“Not often--or not always. Sometimes I can.”
“How can you tell?”
“By the feel of them. If I am warm in their presence, I know they are friendly to him; if I am cold, I know they are his enemies. If I feel nothing at all, then I know that they are not thinking of him, or are indifferent.”
“And your errand this evening?”
“To see a lady.”
“And you are not jealous?”
“What is ‘jealous’?”
“You are not displeased that he should interest himself in ladies?”
“Why should I be?”
This was a question I could not answer, not knowing the nature of sylphs. She surprised me a little, for I had supposed that all female things were jealous. But, fearing again that she might leave me, I hurried to question her further.
“How did you make his acquaintance?” I asked.
“He called me.”
“How?”
“By the incantation.”
“What incantation?”
“The call of the sylphs.”
“Oh,” I said, “he called the sylphs and you came!”
“Yes, of course. I liked him for his kindness, and I made him see me.”
“How did you manage it?”
“I dazzled his eyes until he closed them, and then he could see me.”
“Can he always see you now?”
“No, but he knows I am there.”
“He can see you sometimes still?”
“Yes, often.”
“And when he saw you first?”
“He was delighted, and called me loving names, and made me promises.”
“The promise of a soul--that first time?”
“Yes.”
“Then you had wanted to have a soul?”
“Oh, yes!”
“But why?”
“Many of us want to be men. We love men--that is, most of us do.”
“Why do you love men?”
“It is our nature.”
“But not the nature of all of you?”
“There are malignant spirits of the air.”
“And what will you do when you have a soul?”
“I will take a body, and live on earth.”
“And leave your friend whom you now serve?”
“Oh, no! It is to be with him that I specially want a body.”
“Then will he come back to the earth with you?”
“He says so.”
This again staggered me. I was becoming interested in this magician; he had a daring imagination.
Could a spirit of the air develop into a human soul? I asked myself. Was the man self-deceived? Or, again, was he deceiving his lovely messenger?
I thought a little too long this time, for when I turned again to speak to my strange companion, she had left me. I tried to follow, but could not find her; and if she returned soon, it must have been by some other road. Though I looked in all directions, she was invisible to me.
Now, the question will arise in your mind: In what language did I talk with this aerial servant of a French magician? I seemed to speak in my own tongue, and she seemed to respond in the same. How is that? I cannot say, unless we really used the subtle language of thought itself.
You may often, on meeting with a person whose language you do not speak, feel an interchange of ideas, by the look of the eyes, by the expression of the face, by gestures. Now imagine that, intensified a hundredfold. Might it not extend to the simple questions and answers which I exchanged with the sylph? I do not say that it would, but I think it might; for, as I said before, I seemed to speak and she seemed to reply in my own language.
What strange experiences one has out here! I rather dread to go back into the world, where it will be so dull for me for a long time. Can I exchange this freedom and vivid life for a long period of somnolence, afterwards to suck a bottle and learn the multiplication table and Greek and Latin verbs? I suppose I must--but not yet.
Good night.
LETTER XXXI
A PROBLEM IN CELESTIAL MATHEMATICS
BY the vividness with which you feel my presence at times, you can judge of the intensity of the life that I am living. I am no pallid spook, dripping with grave-dew. I am real, and quite as wholesome--or so it seems to me--as when I walked the earth in a more or less unhealthy body. The ghastly spectres, when they return, do not talk as I talk. Ask those who have seen and heard them.
It is well that you have kept yourself comparatively free of communications “from the other world.”
It would have been amazing had you been afraid of me. But there are those who would be, if they should sense my presence as you sense it.
One night I knocked at the door of a friend’s chamber, half expecting a welcome. He jumped out of bed in alarm, then jumped back again, and pulled the blanket over his head. He was really afraid that it might be I! So, as I did not wish to be responsible for a case of heart failure, or for a shock of hair which, like that in the old song, “turned white in a single night,” I went quietly away. Doubtless he persuaded himself next day that there were mice in the wainscoting.
Had you been afraid of me, though, I should have been ashamed of you; for you know better. Most persons do not.
It is a real pleasure for me to come back and talk with you sometimes. “There are no friends like the old friends,” and the society of sylphs and spirits would never quite satisfy me if all those whom I had known and loved should turn their backs on me.
Speaking of sylphs, I met the Teacher last night, and asked him if that French magician I told you about could really make good his promise to his aerial companion, and help her to acquire the kind of soul essential to incarnation on earth as a woman. His answer was, “No.”
Of course I asked him why, and he answered that the elemental creatures, or units of force inhabiting the elements, as we use that term, could not, during this life cycle, step out of their element into the human.
“Can they ever do so?” I asked.
“I do not know,” he replied; “but I believe that all the less evolved units around the earth are working in the direction of man; that the human is a stage of development which they will all reach some day, but not in this life cycle.”
I asked the Teacher if he knew the magician in question, and he answered that he had known him for a thousand years, that long ago, in a former life, the Paris magician had placed his feet upon the path which leads to power; but that he had been side-tracked by the desire for selfish pleasures, and that he might wander a long time before he found his way back to real and philosophical truth.
“Is he to be blamed or pitied?” I asked.
“Pity cuts no figure in the problem,” the Teacher replied. “A man seeks what he desires.”
After the Teacher went away I began asking myself questions. What was _I_ seeking, and what did I desire? The answer came quickly: “Knowledge.” A year ago I might have answered “Power,” but knowledge is the forerunner of power. If I get true knowledge, I shall have power enough.
It is because I want to give to you, and possibly to others, a few scraps of knowledge which might be inaccessible to you by any other means, that I am coming back, and coming back, time after time, to talk with you.
The greatest bit of knowledge that I have to offer you is this: that by the exercise of will a man can retain his objective consciousness after death. Many persons out here sink into a sort of subjective bliss which makes them indifferent as to what is going on upon the earth or in the heavens. I could do so myself, easily.
As I believe I have said before, while man on earth has both subjective and objective consciousness, but functions mostly in the objective, out here he has still subjective and objective consciousness, but the tendency is towards the subjective.
At almost any time, on composing yourself and looking in, you can fall into a state of subjective bliss which is similar to that enjoyed by souls on this side of the dividing line called death. In fact, it is by such subconscious experience that man has learned nearly all he knows regarding the etheric world. When the storms and passions of the body are stilled, man can catch a glimpse of his own interior life, and that interior life is the life of this fourth-dimensional plane. Please do not accuse me of contradicting myself or of being obscure; I have said that the objective consciousness is as possible with us as the subjective is with you, but that the tendency is merely the other way.
You may remember a pair of lovers about whom I wrote you a few weeks ago. He had been out here some time, and had waited for her, and helped her over the uncertain marsh-lands which lie between the two states of existence.
I saw these lovers again the other day, but they were not at all excited by my appearance. On the contrary, I fancy that I put them out somewhat by awakening them, by calling them back from the state of subjective bliss into which they have sunk since being together at last.
While he waited for her all those years, he kept himself awake by expectation; while still on earth she was always thinking of him out here, and so the polarity was sustained. Now they have each other; they are in “the little home” which he built for her with so much pleasure out of the tenuous materials of this tenuous world; they see each other’s faces whether they look out or in; they are content; they have nothing more to attain (or so they tell each other), and they consequently sink back into the arms of subjective bliss.
Now this state of bliss, of rumination, they have a right to enjoy. No one can take it from them. They have earned it by activity in the world and elsewhere, it is theirs by rhythmic justice. They will enjoy it, I fancy, for a long time, living over the past experiences which they have had together and apart. Then some day one or the other of them will become surfeited with too much sweetness; the muscles of his (or her) soul will stretch for want of exercise; he (or she) will give a spiritual yawn, and by the law of reaction, pass out--not to return.
Where will he (or she) go, you ask? Why, back to the earth, of course!
Let us imagine him (or her) awaking from that subjective state of bliss which is known to them as attainment, and going for a short promenade in blessed and wholesome solitude. Then, with a sort of morning alertness in the heart and the eye, he (or she) draws near to a pair of earthly lovers. Suddenly the call of matter, the eager, terrible call of blood and warmth, of activity raised to the _n_th power, catches the half-awakened soul on the ethereal side of matter, and----
He has again entered the world of material formation. He is sunk and hidden in the flesh of earth. He awaits birth. He will come out with great force, by reason of his former rest. He might even become a “captain of industry,” if he is a strong unit. But I began by saying “he or she.” Let me change the figure. The man would be almost certain to awake first, by reason of his positive polarity.
Now, in drawing this imaginary picture of my lovers, I am not making a dogma of the way in which all souls return to earth. I am merely guessing how these two will return (for she would probably follow him speedily when she awoke and found herself alone). And the reason why I fancy they will return in that way is because they are indulging themselves in too much subjective bliss.
When will they go back? I cannot say. Perhaps next year, perhaps in a hundred years. Not knowing the numerical value of their unit of force, I cannot guess how much subjective bliss they can endure without a violent reaction.
I am sure that you are wondering if some day I shall myself sink into that state of bliss which I have described. Perhaps. I should enjoy it--but not for long, and not yet. However, I have no sweetheart out here to enjoy it with me.
LETTER XXXII
A CHANGE OF FOCUS
WITH the guidance of the Teacher, during the last few weeks I have been going to and fro in the earth and walking up and down in it. You smile at the veiled reference. But have not certain friends of yours actually feared me, as if I were the devil of the Book of Job?
Now, to be serious, I have been visiting those lands and cities where in former lives I lived and worked among men. One of the many advantages of travel is that it helps a man to remember his former existences. There is certainly a magic in places.
I have been in Egypt, in India, in Persia, in Spain, in Italy; I have been in Germany, Switzerland, Austria, Greece, Turkey, and many other lands. The Dardanelles were not closed to me recently, when by reason of the war you could not have passed through. There are advantages to almost every condition, even my present one; for the law of compensation holds good.
In certain lives of the past I was a wide traveller.
Now you may wonder how it is that I pass easily from this world to yours, seeing into both. But you must remember that your world and mine occupy about the same space; that the plane of the earth’s surface is one of the lower and more material planes of our world, using the word “plane” as you would use the word “layer.”
As I have said before, there are also places accessible to us which lie at some distance above the earth’s surface. “Mansions in the skies” are more than figurative.