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."

6               

 

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.

INTRODUCTION                                    7

 

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

8                LETTERS FROM A LIVING DEAD MAN

 

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.

INTRODUCTION                                    9

 

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 semi­consciousness, 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

10              LETTERS FROM A LIVING DEAD MAN

 

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

INTRODUCTION                                  11

 

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

12              LETTERS FROM A LIVING DEAD MAN

 

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.

INTRODUCTION                                  13

 

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

14              LETTERS FROM A LIVING DEAD MAN

 

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.

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.

TELL NO MAN                                     17

 

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 larvae 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 Ike 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

20              LETTERS FROM A LIVING DEAD MAN

 

determined if possible to protect you from the danger of cross­currents 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. 21

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 n 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

THE WAND OF WILL                               23

 

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

A LIGHT BEHIND THE VEIL                           25

 

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 morel 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 in

THE IRON GRIP OF MATTER                         27

 

visible. 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;

WHERE SOULS GO UP AND DOWN                  29

 

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.

A RENDEZVOUS IN THE FOURTH DIMENSION 31

 

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.

32              LETTERS FROM A LIVING DEAD MAN

 

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

A RENDEZVOUS IN THE FOURTH DIMENSION 33

 

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

34              LETTERS FROM A LIVING DEAD MAN

 

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.

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

36              LETTERS FROM A LIVING DEAD MAN

 

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

THE BOY—LIONEL                                 37

 

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

38              LETTERS FROM A LIVING DEAD MAN

 

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

THE BOY—LIONEL                                 39

 

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 flying­machines. I saw model cities, and towers with strange wing-like projections on them, of which

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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

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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

THE PATTERN WORLD                             43

 

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

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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 Miserables, 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

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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

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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.¹

 

"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.

 

1 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 more idea than has the reader.—ED.

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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.