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In The Twilight
By
Annie Besant
The “In The Twilight” Series of Articles
The “In
The Twilight” series appeared during 1898 in The Theosophical Review and from
1909-1913 in The Theosophist.
Return to Annie Besant
Selection
Chronology
(1a) Theosophical Review March 1898 v22
p78-82
(2a) Theosophical Review April 1898 v22
p177-181
(3a) Theosophical Review May 1898 v22
p274-280
(4a) Theosophical Review June 1898 v22
p364-368
(1 ) The Theosophist April 1909 p78-84
(2 ) The Theosophist May 1909 p193-198
(3 ) The Theosophist June 1909 p359-366
(4 ) The Theosophist July 1909 p504-508
(5 ) The Theosophist August 1909 p608-616
(6 ) The Theosophist Sept 1909 p750-756
(7 ) The Theosophist Oct 1909 p121-126
(8 ) The Theosophist Nov 1909 p252-260
(9 ) The Theosophist Dec 1909 p390-396
(10) The Theosophist Jan 1910 p517-524
(11) The Theosophist Feb 1910 p640-645
(12) The Theosophist March 1910 p774-780
(13) The Theosophist April 1910 p930-931
(14) The Theosophist May 1910 p1098-1100
(15) The Theosophist June 1910 p1185-1190
(16) The Theosophist July 1910 p1348-1350
(17) The Theosophist Oct 1910 p116-120
(18) The Theosophist Nov 1910 p285-293
(19) The Theosophist Jan 1911 p709-712
(20) The Theosophist March 1911 p964-969
(21) The Theosophist May 1911 p290-296
(22) The Theosophist Sept 1911 p900-908
(23) The Theosophist Jan 1912 p589-594
(24) The Theosophist Feb 1912 p747-754
(25) The Theosophist April 1912 p120-124
(26) The Theosophist May 1912 p281-285
(27) The Theosophist Sept 1912 p926-930
(28) The Theosophist April 1913 p109-114
(29) The Theosophist May 1913 p277-280
(30) The Theosophist Oct 1929 p77-78
(31) The Theosophist Nov 1929 p207-213
(32) The Theosophist Dec 1929 p345-347
In The
Twilight (1a)
first published Theosophical Review March 1898 v22 p78-82
The talk turned on suicide when a small circle of friends gathered
for their
twilight chat. They were wont thus to gather once a month, when the
sinking sun
invited all to share the quietness that falls on nature, when she
has drawn the
cloud-curtains across the door through which her lord has
disappeared - the hush of the gloaming that men lose in the hurrying town,
where nature's fairy bells are not heard as they ring for matins and vespers
day by day. Our little circle would discuss any point of interest that had
arisen within the ken of any of its members, in the worlds physical, astral and
mental; and the number of suicides that had been recorded in the daily papers
has turned the conversation to that gruesome topic on the present occasion.
“If one could only make these folk understand that they can't kill
themselves,”
remarked the Shepherd meditatively; “that they can only get rid of
their bodies
and are decidedly at a disadvantage by the riddance, maybe they
would not be so ready to make holes in their bodies or in the water.”
“There lies the difficulty,” quoth the Scholar. “The grim tales our
seers tell
us of the results of suicide in the astral world are not widely
known among the
public, and even when known are not believed.”
“They picture a very real hell, it seems to me,” commented the
Marchesa. “One of our seers told me a story the other day that was as ghastly
in its horror as
anything that Dante depicted in his Inferno.”
“Tell it again, O astral Vagrant,” commanded the youngest of our
party, whose
appetite for stories was insatiable. “Tell it again, and tell it
now.”
“Well, it was rather a ghastly story,” began the Vagrant meekly and
apologetically, “creepy, decidedly. There were two friends, some
hundreds of
years ago, half merchants, half soldiers of fortune, who for some
years had
travelled together through fair luck and foul. The elder, Hassan,
had saved
Ibrahim, the younger, from death by starvation and thirst in the
desert, having
found him lying senseless besides his dead camel, which he had
stabbed to obtain a last drink. Hassan, passing alone over the sands to rejoin
his caravan, came across man and beast, both apparently dead. The man's heart,
however, was still faintly breathing, and he revived sufficiently to be lifted
on to Hassan's camel and carried to safety. Ibrahim, wild, reckless,
passionate, became madly devoted to the man who had saved him, and they lived
for some years as brothers. It chanced that they fell in with a band of Arabs
and dwelt with them awhile, and here , as ill fate would have it, the fair face
of the chief's daughter
attracted the eyes of both, and the two men fell desperately in
love with the
same maid. Hassan's steadier and kindlier character won trust and
love where
Ibrahim's fiery passion terrified, and as the truth dawned upon him
the tiger in
the savage nature of the young man awoke. Wildly jealous, sullenly
resolved to
have his will at all costs, Ibrahim slew Hassan treacherously while
both were
engaged in a skirmish with an enemy; he then rode to the
encampment, rifled the
tent of the chief, and, seizing the girl, flung her across his
swift camel and
fled. For a brief space they lived together, a stormy time of
feverish passion
and jealous suspicion on his side, of sullen submission and
scheming
watchfulness on hers. One day, returning from a short excursion, he
found the
cage empty, the bird flown, and his house despoiled of its treasures.
Furious
with baffled love and hatred, he hunted madly for her for some
days, and,
finally, in a tempest of jealousy and despair, he flung himself on
the sand, cut
his throat, and, gurgling out a curse, expired. A shock as of
electric force, a
searing flash of lurid fire, a concentrated agony of rending
tissues, of tearing
part from part, and the quivering etheric form was violently
wrenched from its
dense counterpart, and the blinded bewildered man found himself yet
living while
his corpse lay prone upon the sand. A confused whirl of sensations,
of
struggling agony as of a strong swimmer when the waves close over
him, and
Ibrahim was in the astral world, in drear and heavy darkness, foul
to every
sense, despairful, horror-weighted. Jealousy, rage, the fury of
baffled passion
and of love betrayed, still tore his heart-strings, and their
force, no longer
spent in moving the heavy mass of the physical body, inflicted an
agony keener
than he had ever dreamed as possible on earth. The subtle form
responded to
every thrill of feeling, and every pain was multiplied a
hundredfold, as the
keen senses answered to each wave of anguish, the bulwark of the
body no longer breaking the force of every billow that dashed against the soul.
Ah! even in this hell a blacker hell! What is this shapeless horror that drifts
slowly near
as though borne on some invisible current, eyeless, senseless, with
ghastly
suggestions of gaping wounds, clotted with foetid blood? The air
grows heavier
yet and fouler as it drifts onwards, and is it the wind which as it
passes moans
out “Hassan ... Hassan ... Hassan?” With a scream strangled into a
choking sob,
Ibrahim leaps forward, rushes headlong, anywhere to escape this
floating terror,
this loathsome corpse of a friend betrayed. Surely he has escaped -
he had fled
with speed of hunted antelope; as he stops gasping, something
surges against his
shoulder; he glances fearfully round - it is there! And now begins
a chase, if
that may be called a chase where the hunter is unconscious and
hangs blindly on
the hunted, ever seeming to be drifting slowly, without purpose,
yet ever close
behind, run the other swiftly as he may. Down, down into depths
fathomless of
murky vapours - a pause, and the dull touch of the swaying
shapelessness with
the overpowering horror that hangs round it as a cloud. Away, away,
into the
foulest dens of vice, where earth-bound souls gloat over vilest
orgies, and the
crowding throngs will surely give protection against this dread
intruder; but
no! it drifts straight on as though no crowd were there, and, as
though
aimlessly, sways up against his shoulder. If it would speak, curse,
see, strike
a deliberate forceful blow, a man might deal with it; but this
blind silent
drifting shapeless mass, with its dull persistence of gray
presence, is
maddening, intolerable, yet may not be escaped. Oh! to be back in
the glowing
desert, with the limitless sky above, starving, robbed, betrayed,
forsaken, but
in a world of men, away from swaying senseless horrors in airless
murky viscous depths” -
The quiet tones of the Pandit broke into the silence into which the
Vagrant's
voice had faded: “That seems to make the pictures of Nâraka more
real. They are not old wives' fables, after all, if the astral world contains
such results of
crime committed here.”
“But Ibrahim will not always be hunter like this”, said our
Youngest, pitifully,
as ripples of the loveliest rose-colour played through his aura.
“Surely not,” answered the Vagrant, smiling at the boy. “Eternal
hell is but a
frightful dream of ignorance, following on the loss of the glorious
doctrine of
reincarnation, which shows us that all suffering but teaches a
necessary lesson.
Nor need every suicide learn his lesson under such sad conditions
as surrounded poor Ibrahim. Tell us about that suicide, Shepherd, whom you and
our Youngest helped the other night.”
“Oh! that's nothing of a story,” quoth the Shepherd, lazily. “It is
a mere
description. But such as it is you are welcome to it. There was a
man who had
got into a number of troubles, over which he had worried himself to
an
inadmissible extent, worried himself to the verge of brain-fever,
in fact. He
was a very good young fellow in his healthy, normal state, but had
reduced
himself to a pitiable wreck of shattered nerves. In this condition
he walked
over a field where, some sixty years ago, a roué had committed
suicide, and this
elementary, attracted by his morbid gloom, attached himself to him,
and began to instil thoughts of suicide into his mind. This roué had squandered
a fortune in
gambling and wild living, and, blaming the world for his own
faults, had died by
his own hand, swearing to revenge on others his fancied wrongs.
This he had done inconsequently by impelling into suicide people whose frame of
mind laid them open to his influence, and our poor friend became his prey.
After struggling through a few days filled with his diabolical promptings, the
overstrained nerves gave way, and he committed suicide, shooting himself in
this very same field. Needless to say that he found himself on the other side
on the lowest subplane of kâmaloka, amid the dreary conditions with which we
are familiar.
There he remained, very gloomy and miserable, weighed down with
remorse, and subjected to the gibes and taunts of his successful tempter, until
at last he
began to believe that hell was a reality, and that he would never
be able to
escape from his unhappy state. He had been thus for some eight
years when our
Youngest found him,” went on the Shepherd, drawing the boy closer
to him, “and, being young in such scenes, broke into such a passion of pity and
sympathy that he flung himself back into his physical body, and awoke sobbing
bitterly. I had, after comforting him, to point out that sympathy of that kind
was a little ineffective, and then we went back together and found our unhappy
friend. We explained matters to him, cheered him, encouraged him, making him understand
that he was only held captive by his own conviction that he could not rise, and
in a few days' time we had the happiness of seeing him free from this lowest region.
He has been progressing since and before long, probably within a year or so, he
will pass on into Devachan. Nothing of a story, as I told you.”
“A very good story,” corrected the Doctor, “and quite necessary to
take the
flavour of the Vagrant's horrors out of our psychic mouths.”
“To start another subject,” said the Archivarius; “here is a very
interesting
account from
persons. It is sent by one of our members.”
“Keep it for next time,” suggested the Scholar, “for it groweth
late, and we are
wanted elsewhere.” 1. The stories given in these monthly records
will be
authentic, unless the contrary be definitely stated in any
particular case; that
is, they will be real experiences. - A.B.
END
In The
Twilight (2a)
first published in Theosophical Review v22 April 1898 p177-181
When the friends gathered for their monthly symposium, there was a
general cry
for the ‘ghost story’ promised by the Archivarius, and in response
she drew from her pocket a bulky letter, saying: “The letter is from one of our
students,
Freya, who is often in Sweden, and it tells a story related to her
during a
recent visit. She says: ‘During the autumn of 1896, while traveling
from the
east coast of the island of Gothland towards the town of Wisby, I
was invited to
pass a night at the Rectory of D ----. The priest of this parish, a
man of about
fifty years of age, is a most earnest and devoted worker in the
interest of the
extremely fine Church which has fallen to his cure, and he desires
most
intensely to be able to restore this wonderful piece of
architecture in a way
that shall be worthy of it. He is most energetic in his efforts to
raise the
necessary funds, and loses no opportunity of furthering this
object. I was much
impressed by the face of this our friend, Pastor O ----. I thought
it peculiarly
benign and peaceful, with clear, expressive eyes which seemed to
tell me that
something more than ordinary vision belonged to them; the shape of
his mouth
also was firm and decided, but singularly sweet, After supper that
evening we
sat talking in one of the rooms adjoining his study. I had
discovered that the
rector was musical, but from music he wandered into the domain of
mysticism, and discussed things of a psychic nature. I found that my impression
concerning our friend was not mistaken, for when once on the subject he seemed
quite at home in it, and gave us numerous instances of his own psychic
experiences, not as if he thought them very remarkable, for it seemed that they
had belonged to him all his life. It is one of these which I am going to relate
to you, giving it, as
far as I can remember, in his own words: - "During some years
of my boyhood," he began, "I was at school in the Parish of
Tingstäde, and as my home was at some distance, I was lodged, in company with
another school-fellow, at the house of a resident named Fru Smith. This good
lady had a tolerably large house, and gained her livelihood by taking boarders
and lodgers; in fact, there were no less than sixteen people living there at
the time of which I am speaking.
Fru Smith also acted occasionally in the capacity of midwife and
was often absent. Late one afternoon in mid-winter she informed us that she was
going away on a visit, and could not possibly return until some time the
following day, so she arranged everything necessary for our meals, etc., and
bidding us to be very careful with regard to lights and fire, she left us, and
as usual during the evening we were occupied in preparing our lessons for the
next day. By half-past nine we were in bed, and had locked our door and put out
our lamp, but there was sufficient light in the room coming from the glowing
wood-ashes in the stove to enable us to see everything quite distinctly. We
were quietly talking, when suddenly we saw - standing by our bed-side and
regarding us most intently - the figure of a tall, middle-aged man looking like
a peasant, dressed in ordinary grey clothes, but with what appeared to us as a
big white patch on the left leg, and another on the left breast. My companion
nudged me sharply, and whispered, 'What ugly man is that?' I signed to him to
be silent, and we both lay still watching eagerly. The man stood looking at us
for a long time, and then he turned and began walking up and down the room, his
footsteps seeming to cause a rasping sound as if he were walking upon snow. He
went over to the chest of drawers and opened and shut them all, as if looking
for something, and after that he went to the stove and began to blow gently
upon the yet glowing ashes, holding out his hands as if to warm them. After
this, he returned to our bed-side and again stood looking at us.
As we gazed at him we observed that we could see things through
him. we saw plainly the bureau on the other side of the room through his body,
and whilst we were looking his form seemed gradually to disappear, and vanished
from our sight. The strangeness of this caused us to feel uneasy and nervous,
but we did not stir from our bed, and at last fell asleep. Our door was still
locked when we got up in the morning, but in mentioning what we had witnessed
we heard that the same ghostly visitor had appeared in every room in the house
- the doors of which were all locked - and that every one of the sixteen
persons sleeping there that night had seen the same figure. Moreover some of
these people who had been resident there for a length of time recognised the
figure as that of the husband of our landlady, a worthless sort of fellow who
had never settled usefully to anything, and had lived away from his wife for some
years, so that he had long been a wanderer on the face of the earth.
This strange coincidence naturally caused some of the residents to
make enquiries whether such a person had been seen anywhere in the
neighbourhood, and it was ascertained that the same evening a little after nine
o'clock he had called at a farmhouse two miles distant, and had asked for a
night's lodging; as there was no room he had been directed to the next farm,
which was across a field near by.
Upon hearing this the investigators at once looked in the snow for
traces of his
footsteps, and very soon they came across them. After following
them a little
way they came upon a wooden shoe, and a few yards further on they
discovered the dead body of the man himself, half buried in a deep snow-drift.
On turning the body over it was perceived that a large frozen clump of snow
adhered to the left breast, and another to the left knee, precisely on the same
spots where we had remarked the white patches on the clothing of the
apparition. Although I was but a boy when this happened, it made such a deep
and lasting impression upon me that the memory of it has remained with me most
vividly all through my life. I
have had other experiences, but this is certainly one of the most
remarkable
that has ever occurred to me." And if you had heard the story
as I did, told
simply and clearly, without any attempt at elaboration, you would
have no doubt
of its veracity.’ A very good and reasonable ghost story, I think,”
concluded
the Archivarius.
“He must have been an unusually visible ghost,” remarked our
Youngest. “Surely all the sixteen people cannot have had astral vision.”
“Etheric vision would have been enough, under the circumstances,”
said the
Vagrant. “The man would have just left the dense body and would
have been
clothed in his etheric. Many people are so near the development of
etheric
vision that a slight tension of the nerves will bring it about; in
their normal
state of health these very same people are etherically blind. A
friend of mine
at times developed this sense; if she were over-worked, ill or
mentally
distressed, she would begin ‘to see ghosts’, and they would
disappear again when her nerves regained their tone. She had a very distressing
experience on one occasion, immediately after the passing over of a much-loved
friend; the latter lady appeared as a ghost, still clothed in her
disintegrating etheric body, and this very hideous garment decayed away with
the decaying buried corpse, so that the poor ghost became more ragged,
ghastlier and ghastlier in appearance as time went on. Madame Blavatsky, seeing
the uncanny visitor hanging about the house and garden, very kindly set her
free from her unusual encumbrance, and she then passed on into a normal astral
life. Still, etheric vision is not sufficiently common to quite explain the
seeing of our Swedish ghost by so many people.”
“There seem to be two ways in which a ghost may succeed in showing
himself to people who are not possessed of either astral or etheric vision,”
commented the Shepherd. “Either he may temporarily stimulate the physical
sight, raising it to the etheric power, or he may densify himself sufficiently
to be seen by ordinary sight. I think we do not quite understand how the
ordinary astral person
materialises himself. We know well enough how to materialise our
own astral
bodies at need, and we have seen our Youngest materialise himself
by a strong
emotion and wish to help, though he does not yet know how to do it
scientifically and at will. But after what we call death, the
disembodied soul
does not normally understand how to materialise himself, although
he may quickly master the art under instruction, as may be seen at many
spiritualistic séances.
When a person shows himself after death to ordinary vision, I
suspect he is
generally dominated by some strong wish and is trying to express
it;
unconsciously he materialises himself under the play of this wish,
but the modus
operandi is not clear to me. Probably this man was longing for
shelter, his
thoughts turned homewards intensely, and this gave the impulse
which
materialised him.”
“He may have been vaguely seeking his wife,” added the Marchesa.
“Many a
vagabond who has made home unendurable comes back to it in trouble.
Probably he was less unpleasant in his etheric than in his dense form!”
“We should not forget,” said the Doctor. “that there is another
possibility in
such an appearance. The brain of the dying may send out a vigorous
thought which impinges on the brain of the person he thinks of, there giving
rise to a
picture, a mental image, of himself. This may be projected outwards
by the
receiver, and be seen by him as an objective form. Then we should
have a
hallucinatory appearance, as our friends of the SPR would say.”
“Earth-bound astrals are responsible for more appearances than
etheric doubles,” remarked the Vagrant. “It is very curious how they hang about
places where they have committed crimes.”
“Still more curious, perhaps,” chimed in the Shepherd, “when they
hang round
articles, as in one case I came across. A friend of mine had a
dagger which was
said to have the gruesome property of inspiring anyone who took
hold of it with
a longing to kill some woman. My friend was sceptical, but still
eyed the dagger
a little doubtfully, for when he had himself taken hold of it he
felt so ‘queer’
that he had quickly put it down again. There seemed no doubt that
two women at least had, as a matter of fact. been murdered with it, I took the
thing away to
make some experiments, and sat down quietly by myself, holding the
dagger. A
curious kind of dragging at me began, as though someone were trying
to make me move away; I declined to stir, and looked to see what it was. I saw
a
wild-looking man, a Pathan, I think, who seemed very angry at my
not going where he pushed me, and he was trying to get into me, as it were, an
attempt that I naturally resisted. I asked him what he was doing, but he did
not understand. So I looked from higher up, and saw that his wife had left him
for another man, and that he had found them together and had stabbed them with
the man's own dagger, the very one I was then holding. He had then sworn
revenge against the whole sex, and had killed his wife's sister and another
woman before he was himself stabbed. He had then attached himself to the
dagger, and had obsessed its various owners, pushing them to murder women, and,
to his savage delight, had met with much success. Great was his wrath at my
unexpected resistance.
As I could not make him understand me, I handed him over to an
Indian friend, who gradually led him to a better view of life, and he agreed
that his dagger should be broken up and buried. I accordingly broke it in
pieces and buried it.”
“Where?” demanded our Youngest eagerly, apparently bent on digging
it up again.
“Outside the compound at Adyar,” quoth the Shepherd comfortably,
feeling it was well out of reach; and he finished sotto voce: “I should have
broken it up all
the same, whether the Pathan had permitted it or not. Still, it was
better for
him that he should agree to it.”
“This month's ghosts,” said the Scholar, “are not exactly pleasant
company.
Surely we might find some more reputable astrals than these?”
“Really useful astrals are more often pupils busied in service than
ordinary
ghosts,” answered the Vagrant. “Let us bring up next month cases of
work lately
done on the astral plane.”
A chorus of “Agreed” closed the sitting.
END
In The
Twilight (3a)
first published in Theosophical Review May 1898 v22 pages 274-280
“It is interesting to notice”, said the Vagrant, when the friends
had gathered
round the fire for their monthly chat, “how often we come across
stories of
sea-captains who have been roused and induced to change their
course by some
mysterious visitant. On one of my many voyages I travelled with a
captain who
told me some of his own experiences, and among these he related one
about a man
in a dripping waterproof who had come to him in his cabin, and had
begged him to
steer in a particular direction so as to save some castaways. The
captain did
so, and found a party of shipwrecked sailors, one of whom he
recognised as his
visitor. The best and most typical of all these tales is perhaps
the one which
Robert Dale Owen tells so well in his Footfalls on the Boundary of
Another World
- that in which the mate sees a stranger writing on the captain's
slate the
laconic order, ‘Steer to the north-west’. The captain, hearing the
mate's story
and seeing the written words, decides to follow the suggestion, and
by so doing
saves from a wreck a number of people, one of whom is at once
recognised by the
mate as the mysterious visitant. A somewhat similar story, though
differing
curiously in some of the details, lately appeared in one of our
daily papers,
and though this be an unverified one it is typical enough to put on
record. It
is headed, ‘Crew Saved by a Ghost,’ but the ghost seems to have
been the soul of
a man living in this world, clothed in the astral body, as is
normally the case
during sleep. Here it is:” “Many strange incidents occur at sea,
but none more
so than that which befell Captain Benner, of the brig
"Mohawk", a small vessel
engaged in the West Indian trade. After leaving
call, on one voyage the brig was steering a north-westerly course,
homeward
bound, beating up under short canvas again{st} high winds and heavy
seas
following in the wake of a hurricane which had traversed the
tropics five or six
days before. Her captain, who had been some hours on deck, went
below at
course then steered, and to call him in case of any change for the
worse in the
weather. He lay down upon a sofa in the main cabin, but as the
brig's bell
struck twice, became conscious of the figure of a man, wearing a
green
sou'wester, standing beside him in the dim light of the cabin lamp.
Then he
heard the words, ‘Change your course to the sou'west, captain.’
Captain Benner
got up and went on deck, where he found that the weather had
moderated and that
the brig was carrying more sail and making better headway. He asked
the mate on
duty why he had sent down to call him, to which that officer
replied that he had
not done so. The captain, fancying that he had been dreaming, went
back to the
cabin, but he was disturbed soon again by a second visit from the
man in the
green sou'wester, who repeated his previous order and vanished up
the
companionway. The captain, now thoroughly aroused, jumped up and
pursued the
retreating figure, but saw no one until he met the mate on watch,
who insisted
that he had not sent any messenger below. Mystified and perplexed,
Captain
Benner returned to the cabin only to see his singular visitor
reappear, to hear
him repeat the order to change the course to sou'west, with the
added warning -
“If you do not it will soon be too late!” and to see him disappear
as before.
Going on deck he gave the necessary orders for the change in the
ship's course
to south-west. The officers of the brig were not only surprised but
also
indignant, and finally determined to seize their captain and put
him in irons,
when, soon after daybreak, the look-out forward reported some
object dead ahead.
As the vessel kept on, it was made out to be a ship's boat. As it
ranged abeam
it was seen to contain four men lying under its thwarts, one of
whom wore a
green sou'wester. The ‘Mohawk’ was promptly hove to, a boat
lowered, and the
castaways taken in. The castaways proved to be the captain and
three men, the
only survivors of the crew of a vessel which had gone down in the
hurricane, and
they had been drifting helplessly without food for five or six
days. The green
sou'wester was the property of the rescued captain. A few days
later when he had
recovered sufficiently to be able to leave his berth, he was
sitting one day in
the main cabin of the brig with Captain Benner. He suddenly asked
his host
whether he believed in dreams. ‘Since I have been here,’ he
continued, ‘I have
been thinking how familiar this cabin looks. I think that I have
been here
before. In the night before you picked me up I dreamed that I came
to you here
in this cabin and told you to change your course to sou'west. The
first time you
took no notice of me, and I came the second time, in vain; but the
third time
you changed your course, and I woke to find your ship alongside of
us.’ Then
Captain Benner, who had noticed the resemblance of the speaker to
his mysterious
visitor, told his own story of that night. In most of these cases,”
concluded
the Vagrant, “the visitor is probably a pupil, serving on the
astral plane, but
occasionally one of the sufferers is himself the bringer of help.”
“That is so,” said the Shepherd, “but it is a very common
occurrence for one of
the ‘invisible helpers’ trained in our own circle to seek physical
aid in this
way for the shipwrecked. Sometimes a very vivid dream, cause by
throwing an idea
into the captain's mind while he is asleep, is sufficient to
persuade him to
take action, for sailors, as a rule, believe in the ‘supernatural’,
as people
foolishly call our larger life. The dream, followed by a prompt
awakening,
prompt enough to cause a slight shock, is often enough. It is often
possible
also to prevent an accident which one sees approaching - such as a
fire or
collision - by the same means, or by rousing the captain suddenly
and making him
think uneasily of such an occurrence, so that he may go on deck, or
look round
the ship carefully, as the case may be. A great deal more of this
work might be
done if only there were a larger number of our students willing to
live the life
which is necessary in order to qualify them for service when the
soul is out of
the body during sleep.”
“And the work is certainly its own reward,” answered the Vagrant.
“You remember
that steamer that went down in the cyclone at the end of last
November; I betook
myself to the cabin where about a dozen women had been shut in, and
they were
wailing in the most pitiful manner, sobbing and moaning with fear.
The ship had
to founder - no aid was possible - and to go out of the world in
this state of
frantic terror is the worst possible way to enter the next. So in
order to calm
them I materialised myself, and of course they thought I was an
angel, poor
souls, and they all fell on their knees and prayed me to save them,
and one poor
mother pushed her baby into my arms, imploring me to save that, at
least. They
soon grew quiet and composed as we talked, and the wee baby went to
sleep
smiling, and presently they all fell asleep peacefully, and I
filled their minds
with thoughts of the heaven-world, so that they did not wake when
the ship made
her final plunge downwards. I went down with them to ensure their
sleeping
through the last moments, and they never stirred as their sleep
became death.
One or two of them, it may be hoped, will not awaken until the
dream of the
heaven-world gives place to the reality, and the soul regains
consciousness amid
the light and melody of Devachan.”
“It is curious what tricks one's etheric brain often plays one in
these
matters,” remarked the Scholar. “I often find myself in the morning
recalling
the events of the night as though I had myself been the hero of the
tragedy in
which I was simply a helper. For instance, the other night up in
the hills among
the fighting, I was doing my best to avert a serious accident, and
in the course
of the work had to help one of our Tommies who was bringing up a
gun, driving at
a headlong pace down a breakneck sort of path, and it seemed to my
waking memory
that I had been driving the horses myself. And I remember one night
when I had
tried to drag a fellow away who was working in a building where
there was going
to be a big explosion, and had failed to make him move, that when
the explosion
came and I went up with him, and explained to him as he shot out of
his body
that it was all right, and that there was nothing to be alarmed
about - the next
morning the impression on my mind was that I had been exploded, and
thought it
was all right after all, and I could taste the choking gas and the
mud and slush
quite plainly.”
“Yes, you have an odd way of identifying yourself with the people
you help,”
commented the Shepherd. “It seems a kind of sympathy, making you
experience for
the time just what they experience, and on waking the brain mixes
up the
identities, and appropriates the whole.”
“Bruno used to describe our lower nature as an ass,” quoth the
Vagrant, “and
there really is a good deal of the ass in the body we have to use
down here, to
say nothing of the asinine attributes of the astral body, at least
until it is
thoroughly cleaned up, and confined to its proper function as a
mere vehicle.
But what was that story I heard a bit of the other day, about our
Youngest
saving a boy in a big fire somewhere? You tell it us, Doctor.”
“Properly speaking, the story is not mine to tell,” said the
Doctor. “I was not
present on the occasion; but as nearly as I can recall, it ran
something like
this. It seems that some time ago the Shepherd and our Youngest
here were
passing over the States one night, when they noticed the fierce
glare of a big
fire below them, and promptly dived down to see if they could be of
any use. It
was one of these huge American caravanserais, on the edge of one of
the great
lakes, which was in flames. The hotel, many stories in height,
formed three
sides of a square round a sort of garden, planted with trees and
flowers while
the lake formed the fourth side. The two wings ran right down to
the lake, the
big bay windows which terminated them almost projecting over the
water, so as to leave only quite a narrow passage-way under them at the two
sides. The front and wings were built round inside wells, which contained also
the elevator shafts of lattice work, so that when the fire broke out, it spread
with almost incredible
rapidity. Before our friends saw it on their astral journey all the
middle
floors in each of the three great blocks were in flames, though
fortunately the
inmates - except one little boy - had already been rescued, though
some of them
had sustained very serious burns and other injuries.”
“This little fellow had been forgotten in one of the upper rooms of
the left
wing, for his parents were out at a ball, and knew nothing of the
fire, while
naturally enough no one else thought of the lad till it was far too
late, and
the fire had gained such a hold on the middle floors of that wing
that nothing
could have been done, even if anyone had remembered him, as his
room faced on to the inner garden which has been mentioned, so that he was
completely cut off from all outside help. Besides, he was not even aware of his
danger, for the
dense, suffocating smoke had gradually so filled the room that his
sleep had
grown deeper and deeper till he was completely stupefied. In this
state he was
discovered by our Youngest, who, as you know, seems to be specially
attracted
towards children in need or danger. He first tried to make some of
the people
outside remember the lad, but in vain; and in any case no help
could have been
given, so that the Shepherd soon saw that nothing could be done in
that way. He
then materialised Cyril - as he has done before - in the lad's
room, and set him
to work to awaken and rouse up the more than half-stupefied child.
After a good
deal of difficulty this was accomplished to some extent, but the
lad seems to
have remained in a half-dazed, semi-conscious condition all through
what
followed, so that he needed to be pushed and pulled about, guided
and helped at
every turn.”
“The two boys first crept out of the room into the central passage
which ran
through the wing, and then finding that the smoke and the flames
beginning to
come through the floor made it impassable, our little one got the
other lad back
into the room again and out of the window on to a stone ledge,
about a foot
wide, which ran right along the block just below the windows. Along
this he
managed to guide his companion, balancing himself half on the
extreme edge of
the ledge, and half walking on the air on the outside of the other,
so keeping
him from dizziness and preventing him from becoming afraid of a
fall. On getting
near the end of the block nearest the lake, in which direction the
fire seemed
least developed, they climbed in through an open window and again
reached the
passage, hoping to find the staircase at that end still passable.
But it was too
full of flame and smoke; so they crawled back along the passage,
with their
mouths close to the ground, till they reached the latticed cage of
the lift
running down the long well in the centre of the block. The lift of
course was at
the bottom, but they managed to clamber down the lattice work
inside the cage
till they stood on the roof of the elevator itself. Here they found
themselves
blocked, but luckily Cyril discovered a doorway opening from the
cage of the
lift on to a sort of entresol above the ground floor of the block.
Through this
they reached a passage, crossed it, half-stifled by the smoke, made
their way
through one of the rooms opposite, and finally, clambering out of
the window,
found themselves on the top of the verandah which ran all along in
front of the
ground floor, between it and the garden. Thence it was easy enough
to swarm down
one of the pillars and reach the garden itself; but even there the
heat was
intense, and the danger, when the walls should fall, very
considerable. So the
two lads tried to make their way round at the end first of one,
then of the
other wing; but in both cases the flame had burst through, the
narrow overhung
passages were quite impassable. Finally they took refuge in one of
the pleasure
boats, which were moored to the steps that led down from the sort
of quay at the
edge of the garden into the lake, and, casting loose, rowed out on
to the
water.”
“Cyril intended to row round past the burning wing, and land the
lad whom he had
saved; but when they got some little way out, they fell in with a
passing lake
steamer, and they were seen - for the whole scene was lit up by the
glare of the
burning hotel. till everything was as plain as in broad daylight.
The steamer
came alongside the boat to take them off; but instead of the two
boys they had
seen, found only one - for the Shepherd had promptly allowed our
little one to
slip back into his astral form, dissipating the denser matter which
had made for
the time a material body, and he was therefore invisible. A careful
search was
made, of course, but no trace could be found, and so it was
concluded that the
second boy must have fallen overboard and been drowned just as they
came
alongside. The lad who had been saved fell into a dead faint as
soon as he had
been got on board, so could give no information, and when he did
recover, all he
could say was that he had seen the other boy the moment before they
got
alongside, and then knew nothing more.”
“The steamer was bound down the lake to a place some two days' sail
distant, and
it was a week or so before the rescued lad could be restored to his
parents, who
of course thought that he had perished in the flames; for though an
effort was
made to impress on their minds the fact that their son had been
saved, it was
found impossible to convey the idea to them.”
“That's much more dramatic than my little story,” observed the
Archivarius,
“though my people were certainly quite as dense and unimpressible -
more so,
indeed, than the camels they were using as beasts of burden.”
“Stop”, broke in the Marchesa, “we really must break up, or some
one will go
unhelped in reality, while we are telling stories of past
incidents. So let us
leave our Archivarius and the camels for a future occasion.”
END
In The
Twilight (4a)
first printed Theosophical Review June 1898 v22 p364-368
“It is all very well to talk about helping people out of their
difficulties, but
they are often very difficult to help,” quoth the Archivarius
plaintively, when
the friends gathered under a large tree in the garden, to which
they had
adjourned by unanimous consent for their summer symposia. “I had a
curious
experience the other night, in which, despairing of impressing the
dense human
understandings, I at last turned my attention to their camels, and
succeeded
with them while I had failed with their owners!”
“Tell us, tell us!” cried the Youngest eagerly. “We don't often get
an animal
story, and yet there must be plenty of things that happen to them,
if we only
knew.”
“Result of Rudyard Kipling's Jungle books,” murmured the Shepherd
sotto voce.
“He will be looking for the grey wolf and the black panther on the
astral
plane.”
“Well, why not?” said the boy mischievously. “I am sure that you
like some cats
better than some humans.”
The Shepherd smiled demurely. “We were talking about camels, I
believe, not
cats. Cats ‘are another story.’ Go on with yours, Archivarius,”
said he.
“It is a very little one,” answered the person appealed to, looking
up from her
seat on the grass. (The Archivarius was fond of sitting
cross-legged like an
Indian.) “I happened to be crossing some desert place, I don't know
where, and
chanced on a party of people who had lost their way, and were in
terrible
distress for want of water. The party consisted of three Englishmen
and an
Englishwoman, with servants, drivers and camels. I knew somehow
that if they
would travel in a certain direction they would come to an oasis
with water, and
I wanted to impress this idea on the mind of one of them; but they
were in such
a pitiable state of terror and despair that all my efforts were
unsuccessful. I
first tried the woman, who was praying wildly, but she was too
frantic to reach;
her mind was like a whirlpool, and it was impossible to get any
definite thought
into it.
‘Save us, O God! O God! save us!’ she kept on wailing, but would
not have
sufficient faith to calm her mind and make it possible for help to
reach her.
Then I tried the men one after the other, but the Englishmen were
too busy
making wild suggestions, and the Mahommedan drivers too stolidly
submissive to
fate, for my thought to rouse their attention. In despair I tried
the camels,
and to my delight succeeded in impressing the animals with the
sense of water in
their neighbourhood. They began to show signs familiar to their
drivers as
indicating the presence of water in the vicinity, and at last I got
the whole
caravan started in the right direction. So much for human stolidity
and animal
receptiveness.”
“The lower forms of psychism,” remarked the Vagrant sententiously,
“are more
frequent in animals and in very unintelligent human beings than in
men and women
in whom the intellectual powers are well developed. They appear to
be connected
with the sympathetic system, not with the cerebro-spinal. The large
nucleated
ganglionic cells in this system contain a very large proportion of
etheric
matter, and are hence more easily affected by the coarser astral
vibrations than
are the cells in which the proportion is less. As the
cerebro-spinal system
developes, and the brain becomes more highly evolved, the
sympathetic system
subsides into a subordinate position, and the sensitiveness to
psychic
vibrations is dominated by the stronger and more active vibrations
of the higher
nervous system. It is true that at a later stage of evolution
psychic
sensitiveness reappears, but it is then developed in connection
with the
cerebro-spinal centres, and is brought under the control of the
will. But the
hysterical and ill-regulated psychism of which we see so many
lamentable
examples is due to the small development of the brain and the
dominance of the
sympathetic system.”
“That is an ingenious and plausible theory,” remarked the Doctor,
“and throws
light on many singular and obscure cases. Is it a theory only, or
is it founded
on observation?” he asked.
“Well, it is a theory founded on at present very inadequate
observations,”
answered the Vagrant. “The few observations made distinctly
indicate this
explanation of the physical basis of the lower and higher psychism,
and it
tallies with the facts observed as to the astral senses in animals
and in human
beings of low intellectual development, and also with the
evolutionary relations
of the two nervous systems. Both in the evolution of living things
and in the
evolution of the physical body of man, the sympathetic system
precedes the
cerebro-spinal in its activities and becomes subordinated to the
latter in the
more evolved condition.”
“That is certainly so evolutionally and physiologically,” replied
the Doctor
reflectively, “and it may well be true when we come to deal with
the astral
faculties in relation to the physical basis through which they are
manifested
down here.”
“Speaking of animals reminds me of nature-spirits,” said the
Scholar, “for they
are sometimes spoken of as the animals of the Deva evolution. I had
a visit the
other night from some jolly little fellows, who seemed inclined to
be quite
friendly. One was a little water elemental, a nice wet thing, but I
am afraid I
frightened him away, and I have not been able to find him since.”
“They are naturally suspicious of human beings,” remarked the Shepherd,
“we
being such a destructive race; but it is quite possible to get into
friendly
relations with them.”
“Mediaeval literature is full of stories about nature-spirits,”
chimed in the
Abbé, who had dropped in that evening on one of his rare visits to
London. “We
find them of all sorts - fairies and elves, friendly or
mischievous, gnomes,
undines, imps, and creatures of darker kinds, who take part in all
sorts of
horrors.”
“It was a strange idea,” mused the Vagrant, “that which represented
them as
irresponsible beings without souls, but capable of acquiring
immortality through
the mediation of man. Our Maiden Aunt sent me a charming story the
other day
from Jacob Grimm's Deutsche Mythologie about one of the
water-sprites. Speaking
of the offerings made to them by men, he writes: ‘Although
Christianity forbade
such offerings and represented the old water-sprites as devilish
beings, the
people nevertheless retained a certain fear and reverence for them,
and indeed
have not yet given up all belief in their power and influence: they
deem them
unholy (unselige) beings, but such as may some day be partakers in
salvation. To
this state of feeling belongs the touching legend that the
water-sprite, or
Neck, not only requires an offering for his instructions in music,
but a promise
of resurrection and redemption. Two boys were playing by a stream;
the Neck sat
and played on his harp; the children cried to him; "Neck! why
dost thou sit
there and play? Thou canst not be saved." Then the Neck began
to weep bitterly,
threw away his harp, and sank into the deep water. When the
children came home,
they told their father, who was a priest, what had happened. The
father said "Ye
have sinned against the Neck; go back, comfort him, and promise him
redemption."
When they returned to the stream, the Neck was sitting on the bank,
moaning and
weeping. The children said: "Weep not so, Neck; our father has
said that thy
Redeemer also liveth." Then the Neck joyfully took his harp
and played sweetly
till long after sunset.’ Thus runs the tale.”
“That was a very easy way of saving him; generally one was expected
to marry the
sprite,” remarked the Abbé ruefully, as though recalling some
uncanny mediaeval
experience. “One had to accept purgatory here in order to gain for
the creature
entrance into paradise hereafter.”
A burst of laughter greeted this pathetic utterance, and some of
the mediaeval
ideas still persist; in a letter from Italy received the other day
the following
curious account is given: ‘At a village called Gerano, near Tivoli,
about
seventeen miles from Rome, it is the custom of the wet-nurses,
especially on the
Eve of St John, to strew salt on the pathway leading to their
houses, and to
place two new besoms in the form of a cross on the threshold, in
the belief that
they thus are protecting their nurslings from the power of witches.
It is
believed that the witches must count every grain of salt and every
hair or stick
in the brooms before they are able to enter the houses, and this
labour must be
finished before sunrise; after that time they are powerless to
inflict any evil
upon the children. In the Marche near Ancona on the shores of the
Adriatic, it
is considered necessary at all times - so I am told by the portress
here, who is
a native of that part - where there are children at the breast,
never to be
without salt or leaven in the house. Further, they must not leave
the children's
clothes or swathingbands out to dry after sunset, and should they be
obliged to
take them out after that time they must be careful to walk with
them close to
the houses, under the shadow of the eaves, and if crossing an open
place to do
so as quickly as possible; these precautions are also against
witches. I was
also told by the portress that one day her mother, after having
washed and
swaddled a little brother, laid him on the bed, and left the house
for a short
time on an errand to one of the shops near. On returning she found
the house
door open (this formed an angular space behind it), and on going to
the bed she
found it vacant. This did not at first alarm her, as she thought a
neighbour had
possibly heard the child cry, and had taken it into her house. On
enquiry,
however, no one had seen it or heard it cry, and this caused alarm
and search.
After some time the mother, on closing the door, found the child on
the floor,
face downwards, and almost black with suffocation; you may imagine
the
consternation. The fact was attributed to witches, and the sister
says that
during the whole of his life - which ended in decline when he was
about
twenty-seven - he was always unfortunate.’
“Poor witches! they have been the scapegoats of human ignorance and
fear from
time immemorial,” commented the Doctor. “It is well for many of our
mesmerists
and mediums that they live in the nineteenth century. But it is
quite possible
that we may see a modern witchcraft scare, if occult forces become
known and any
of them are used malignly.”
END
In The
Twilight (1)
first printed in The Theosophist, April, 1909, p78-84
A mighty banyan-tree, spreading level branches far and wide, and
roots
down-dropping, fixed pillar-wise in earth. Plants of variegated
foliage, grouped
together here and there, breaking the smooth expanse of sand. A
sago-palm,
rearing lofty head, with heavy tassels swinging slowly in the
sea-breeze of the
evening. A blue-black sky above, with heaven's eyes glancing
downwards through the leaves, with a brilliance unknown to the dusky twilights
of the northern island far away. A crescent moon, gleaming like a silver
scimitar in the zenith.
A soft pulse beating in the near distance, the pulse of a quiet
sea. Close by, a
lapping of water against a shelving bank. Sometimes the click of a
lizard, the
heavy beating of droning wings. Over all, through all, the
incomparable magic of
the East.
The circle has links with earlier twilight hours. The Shepherd is
there,
meditative, smiling, slow-moving, gentle, as of old. The Vagrant,
too, has
journeyed hither, vagrant all the worlds over, it would seem. The
rest are
new-comers to the Twilight Hour, but will introduce themselves as
time goes on.
zzzzzzz
The Vagrant threw the first ball: “There will be a regular outcry
among some of
our members when they see that the Twilight Hour has again daw ...
no, twilight
does not dawn; let us say, struck. ‘There!’ they will say; ‘we told
you so! the
reign of psychism has begun’. I wonder why people, who use physical
brains and
senses as a vehicle for their intelligence, throw so much cold
water on the use
of a somewhat finer brain and senses for the same intelligence, and
why they
object to the study of the astral world while they applaud that of
the physical.
We all, without exception, have to go into the astral world a few
years hence.
It does not seem unreasonable that we should acquaint ourselves
with it
beforehand.”
“Yes,” mused the Shepherd. “If one is going to India, one enquires
about
suitable clothes, visits an outfitter, buys a map, perhaps even
tries to learn a
little of the language, and that is called ‘making reasonable
arrangements.’ Why
should the ‘land on the other side of death’ be the only one about
which it is
better to remain ignorant until we reach it?”
“But people ask: What is the practical use of such knowledge?” said
the Lawyer.
“They are afraid that it may turn away our minds from the deeper
side of
spiritual truths.”
“It should not do so,” opined the Vagrant, “for it ever proclaims
the great law:
‘As a man soweth, so shall he reap.’ The student of life-conditions
on the other
wide is being ever reminded that this law is still operative in the
worlds
beyond death, and that much that we sow here is reaped there. It
makes belief in
karma and re-incarnation strong and firm. All religious teachers
have insisted
on the relation of heaven and hell to the life led upon earth, and
their
insistence must have been, presumably, based on their first-hand
knowledge that
such states existed; moreover, many of them go into considerable
detail in
dealing with the subject. Our objectors are in the curious position
of
reverencing the Sages of the past, who included in their teachings
an exposition
of these matters based on their own investigations, and of
denouncing all who,
in modern days, venture humbly to tread in their steps. Unless we
are content
with second-hand knowledge, we must either follow their example and
investigate,
or fall back on the much more undesirable methods of the
séance-room.”
“Some people say that such knowledge does not prove that the man
possessing it
is of high character,” remarked the Magian.
“Nor does the fact that a man is a fine chemist prove that he is a
philanthropist,” replied the Vagrant; “yet chemistry is none the
less a valuable
addition to human knowledge. It may, however, be said that personal
investigations into after-death states must inevitably re-act in
the
purification of character here, for no one who has seen the results
of evil
there will lightly commit it here. I remember a striking
illustration of such
results, though that was not a case of investigation, but occurred
at a
spiritualistic séance ...”
“Oh! a story, a story,” cried several voices, and there was a
little rustling of
expectation, while the large eyes of the Fiddler grew intent and
serious.
“Yes, a story,” smiled the Vagrant. “The Shepherd and I, once upon
a time, went
to a séance, at which a very small number of people, much given to
such
researches, were present, with a powerful medium. Almost
immediately after the
turning down of the lights, some rather violent physical
manifestations began;
attempts were made to pull away chairs from under the sitters, a lady
was
violently shaken, and so on. Needless to say, we were left
undisturbed, but we
became alertly attentive, presaging trouble. Presently, there broke
into the
silence a sound of wailing, indescribably painful, cries, sobs, as
of some one
in deadly terror, and then the unhappy creature from whom they
proceeded was
materialised. In ecstasies of fear, she crouched beside a lady who
was one of
the sitters, pressing up against her, seeking refuge, with piteous
moans and
strangled whispers: ‘Save me! save me!’ The cause of her terror
soon appeared on
the scene, a huge, dark gorilla-like form, monstrous of shape and
menacing of
mien, instinct with a cold and cruel malignancy, and with a certain
horrid glee
- too wicked to be joy - in seeing the agonised writhings of his
helpless
victim. An auric shield of protection was hastily thrown round the
latter, the
lady-sitter withdrew, considerably shaken and upset, and the
gorilla threw
itself furiously on the medium, flinging away his chair and hurling
him to the
ground; indeed only the protection of the Shepherd rescued him from
a
catastrophe, while I turned up the light. That night we sought the
unhappy
woman, and found her still fleeing before her horrible tormentor,
who, mouthing
and growling, pursued her through the murky gloom of the lowest
worlds. Swift
action scattered the malignant thought-forces embodied in the
frightful
creature, and his hunted prey sobbed herself to quietude.”
“But what was the cause of it?” asked the Painter.
“She had been a woman of evil life, taking delight in arousing the
animal
passions of men, and then setting her suitors the one against the
other,
laughing at their torments, when, tired of them, she flung them
off, finding
only enjoyment in their pain and their misery. More than one had
died because of
her, by duel or by his own hand, raving against her treachery and
her cruelty.
All their anger, their hatred, their longing to be revenged, had
become embodied
in this hateful form, bestial because it had grown out of bestial
relations.”
“But was this the embodiment of any of these people?” queried the
Lawyer,
puzzled. “For if so, was it right to destroy it?”
“It was only an artificial elemental,” said the Shepherd. “You see,
all these
thoughts of hatred and revenge became aggregated into one horrible
form; it was
not a normal living creature, which it would have been illegitimate
to kill,
however objectionable it might have been, but a thought-form, with
no life
outside the thoughts which made it, and the sooner those were
scattered and
reduced to their separate being as thoughts related to their
generators, mere
skandhas, the better for all the parties concerned.”
“Is it not rather dangerous to attend séances, if things like this
are to be met
there?” asked a dubious voice.
“Such very unpleasant entities are not common,” said the Shepherd
consolingly.
“But, you are right; attending séances is dangerous for the great
majority of
people, and I think it would be well that you should understand these
dangers.
They are more important for the westerns among you than for the
Indians, who
have very wisely kept entirely away from such things, since they
have, as a
rule, no doubts as to the continuance of life after death.”
“Tell us! tell us!” came in chorus.
The Shepherd settled himself comfortably for a long discourse.
“Well, it is this
way,” he began. “But I ought to say first that in the West, where
materialism
was triumphant, Spiritualism has done a great work in rescuing
millions of men
and women from disbelief in immortality. It has many and great
dangers, but the
good which it has done, in my personal opinion, far outweighs the
harm, for it
offered the only proofs materialists would accept that a man was
alive after he
was called dead; and that is a fact we should never forget, however
much we may
prefer our own system.”
“The fact that it was started by a Lodge of Occultists, who are in
relation, to
some extent, with the Great Lodge, as a weapon against
materialism,” said the
Vagrant, “implies that it would do more good than harm. You might
just mention
that.”
“Yes. An old Atlantean Lodge, in Mexico, which owes allegiance to
the White
Lodge, while going along its own lines, was the originator of
modern
Spiritualism. Seeing that while some could be convinced of
immortality by
intellectual means, others could only be affected through the
senses, these
Occultists resolved to help the latter class, which was becoming
more and more
numerous in the West. Personally, I regard the intellectual proof
as the most
convincing, but others can feel sure of the survival of their loved
and lost
only if they can see a tangible form, or hear an audible voice. The
majority of
people in the West, at the present stage of evolution, cannot grasp
theosophical
teachings, and for them the spiritualistic proofs of continued life
and progress
after death are valuable, especially in cases where materialistic
teachings have
weakened religious beliefs.”
“Well, the greatest danger in attending séances is really that of
believing too
much. The sceptic goes, finds overwhelming proof of the survival of
a dead
friend, and is apt to become suddenly credulous, so that such
attendance makes
for superstition. But that which is more commonly regarded as the
greatest
danger is that of obsession and haunting. This often begins at a
séance. At a
séance a person called a ‘medium’ is present, one whose bodies are
somewhat
loosely linked together; normally, a person who is living in the
physical body
can neither see nor hear a person whose lowest vehicle is an astral
body, nor
can the latter see or hear the other; with the help of the medium's
peculiar
characteristics, they can be brought into touch. There are three
ways - apart
from telepathy - in which the ‘living’ and the ‘dead’ communicate;
first, when
you go to sleep, you go into the astral world, and may communicate
freely with
your friends, but on your return, when you wake, you do not as a
rule remember.
Then, the ‘dead’ may appear, drawing material from a medium, and
building it
into their own bodies, and thus ‘materialising’, becoming visible
and tangible;
or they may speak through the medium, who is in a state of trance,
or write
through him, awake or entranced wholly or partially. In this case,
what is said
is much affected by the medium and his limitations, and speech may
be
ungrammatical and clumsy, though in some cases this is not so.
Mediums - though
with some marked exceptions - are drawn from the illiterate
classes, and they
are often re-incarnations from undeveloped races or types - Negroes
who had been
students of Voodoo and Obea, Middle Age witches, and the like.”
“Might not the vestal virgins of old temples re-incarnate as
mediums?” said the
Scholar (not the Scholar of the earlier series.)
“They were people of higher types, as a rule,” answered the
Shepherd. “But those
who were habitually thrown into trances or paroxysms by drugs might
thus return.”
“Are all uneducated?” asked the Lawyer.
“No, but most of them are, especially those who are paid. Mediums
of a higher
class generally restrict their work to small and carefully chosen
private
circles. Next, we must ask: who, from the other side, are likely to
use mediums?
Obviously those who are nearest to the earth, not in place, but in
density. And
these are mostly undesirables, frantically eager to come into touch
with the
world which they have left, and grasping at every chance. If a man
were bound
hand and foot and left in one of the worst slums, he would be more
likely to be
found by a thief than by a philanthropist. A medium is in that
position, and the
evil would be almost unmitigated, were it not for the
‘spirit-guide’, who tries
to protect the medium and to keep off the worst types. Of course,
these
unfortunate beings, murderers, suicides, criminals of all sorts,
ought to be
helped, but the séance is not the place for helping them. The
sitters there are
begged to be passive, negative, and hence are very easily taken
hold of.
Moreover, this condition of passivity is physically harmful, for
matter is drawn
from all of them. I once had a medium on a weighing-machine during
some
materialisations, and on one occasion it showed a loss of weight by
the medium
amounting to 44 lbs. I have seen a man shrink till he looked a boy,
with his
clothes hanging loose. Naturally, such conditions are followed by
frightful
exhaustion, and the unhappy victim often takes to heavy drinking in
order to
recover. This, again, re-acts, and encourages the lowest types of
obsessing
entities.”
“Would not physical matter thus drawn away be returned polluted?”
asked the
Epistemologist.
“Most certainly, and both the medium and the sitters suffer in this
way.
Moreover, the low-class entities who throng séances make desperate
efforts to
seize on the sitters, taking advantage of any weak points.”
“What sort of weak points?” queried the Youth.
“Nervous overstrain, or strong passions, such as violent temper or
hysteria. And
even if the sitter be too strong to be obsessed, the entity may
follow him home,
and seize on any weak member of his family. Fortunately, India is
almost free
from these séances, and, even if they come in your way, you should
not go to
them; the dangers are too great. It is only worth while to face
these dangers if
you are a materialist, and do not believe that personal life
persists on the
other wide of death. For you must remember that you cannot protect
yourself
against these dangers as can the trained student. Moreover, you are
very likely
to be deceived; unless you have studied Occultism you cannot
distinguish whether
the entity is what he pretends to be or not; any thing you know, he
can read
from your mind, or he may read from the empty shell of a friend who
has gone on.
Sometimes deception is done with good intent, as when a man in the
astral world
saved a broken-hearted mother from madness by pretending to be her
child, and
justified the deception as on a par with promising anything to a
delirious
patient. I have said nothing as to the harm done to many of the
‘dead’, by
encouraging them to remain mixed up in earthly matters, when they
should be
better employed, but reasons enough are given for not going to
séances. Thus if
we desire information we are driven back upon the writings of the
ancient or
modern investigators.”
“Can any instance be given of the way in which harm is done to the
dead?” asked
the Enquirer.
“The way now must be bedwards, please,” interposed the Vagrant; and
with that
the company parted.
END
In The
Twilight (2)
first printed in The Theosophist, May, 1909, p193-198
Said the Vagrant: “The Fiddler has had some very beautiful
experiences, which
would interest all of you. The delicate nervous organisation of a
fine artist is
an instrument on which vibrations from higher planes can readily
play, and in
this case we have a very beautiful fiddle - it would sound more
dignified to say
violin, or even lyre, Apollo's lyre - in the organism of our dear
Fiddler. But
let her speak for herself.”
The Fiddler began reading:
“When I was a child I once dreamed that I was shot out into space,
as it were,
and found myself utterly alone in a terrible black void. I seemed
to have a
footing on something like the summit of a pillar, but I could see
nothing
anywhere, and the darkness pressed upon me like a terrible black
pall. Straining
every nerve to see, I peered in an upward direction into the void.
It might have
been up or down for all I could discern, for the blackness was
everywhere the
same. Presently a faint greyness appeared far above me, standing
out clear in
the surrounding blankness. As I fixed my gaze upon it, it seemed as
if some
clouds rolled back, revealing clearer mists within. Through their
transparency,
gliding backwards and forwards, were white radiant figures of
unearthly beauty
and light. As I yearned outwards to them, they too vanished like
the grey mist,
and a deep blue space broke the blackness of that awful void.
There, leaning
out, bending towards me, a divine Figure was revealed. That man
seemed to embody
living light and color, but I could not describe Him. Words are so
helplessly
inadequate. Fixing my eyes with a tenderness that seemed to
dissolve the very
roots of my being, He beckoned to me thrice silently. Then that
wonder was
veiled again behind the gliding shining ones, and they again
enveloped in cloud,
and all was darkness once more, only with peace instead of terror,
Then I awoke.
That was long before I came into Theosophy - in this incarnation.”
“Did you ever see that vision again?” asked a voice.
“Not quite like that. I do not know who he is, but some one, and
some one great
in holiness and power, seems to be near me at times in a way I
cannot exactly
describe. I call him ‘The Warner’. I have seen him under every
possible
condition: suspended in midair, emerging from walls and ceilings
and floors, at
night, in broad noon-day, in sickness, in health.”
“But why that curious name?”
“Oh! because he nearly always appears when I am in some kind of
danger, and the
sight of that face always brings me to my stronger self with a
rush. Sometimes I
see the whole figure, sometimes only head and shoulders, sometimes,
even, just
that part of the face about the eyes. What eyes! grey-blue,
lightsome depths.
His expression is as that of a young man ages old. Often I have
seen him in
mid-air in big halls and theatres in
always easier to touch my audiences through the power he gave.”
The Scholar: “It must be a thought-form suggested by that vision.”
“Perhaps. I thought so too, for years. But lately I have had cause
to think
otherwise. Two years ago my brother left Balliol and came out to
India. At that
time ‘The Warner’ was my daily companion, if one may call such a
strange elusive
visitant by such a name. I began to see the face more clearly.
Before I only
used to see something resembling a dark outline against a flash of
brilliant
light. But now the coloring became fairly clear, and I was not a
little
surprised to see a fair skin - like that, say, of an Italian; hair
with a touch
of gold (or wholly golden, I cannot say which), and falling in long
ringlets,
when it was visible; a tall slender figure, exquisitely poised -
the shoulders,
slight but square and strong, and the long delicate hands
especially struck me -
garbed in a flowing greyish robe, seamless on the shoulders, with
long loose
sleeves and reaching nearly to the feet, underneath which there was
the
suggestion of a white linen garment. Sometimes the head was covered
- more often
than not - with a dull cloth that rolled back in a narrow coil low
down over the
brows, and hung loose on the shoulders, throwing into clearer
relief the long
sharp nose, delicate nostrils, the strong, tender, firm-held mouth,
and the
beard which scarce concealed the power of the chin beneath. I was
puzzled. In my
ignorance I had believed - never having visited India - that there
were no
Indians with fair skin, blue-grey eyes, and golden hair. In fact, I
had for
years daily and deliberately imaged my ‘Warner’ as dark-skinned,
dark-eyed, and
black-haired. So it seems as if the thought-form explanation would
not fit the
facts, for when I began to see more clearly, the image I had built
so long and
so ardently was absolutely contradicted, even to the queer roll on
the turban. I
wrote off to my brother, asking him to tell me if there were by any
chance
persons answering to that description in India. ‘Yes’, he answered,
‘Prince
-----, who is staying with us just now, tells me that yours is an
exact
description of a Kashmîri Brâhmana.’”
“But the description does not fit the only Kashmîri Brâhmana among
the Masters”,
remarked the Vagrant. “It seems to me,” she went on, turning to the
Shepherd,
“that it is a good description of the Master S. His hair is of pure
gold, and He
has that extraordinarily clear-cut face, ascetic-looking. He was
the One who
came so often during the last days of the President-Founder.”
“Yes”, assented the Shepherd, “it might very well be He. And the
turban seems
more like the Arab head-dress than the Indian turban.”
“Like this?” said the Maratha, twisting a cloth round his forehead.
“Yes, just that”, answered the Fiddler. “I have never seen one like
it in
Well, the visits continued till I came out here. Now I see him
sometimes, in the
cocoa-nut grove at sunset, especially, but not as then. I have seen
‘The Warner’
in another way. I have an old faded picture of another, which came
into my hands
years ago. I am very fond of that picture, but it bears no likeness
to the One I
see, except, as it were, a general similarity of type. One can
imagine almost
anything with a photograph and half-shut eyes, so I used not to be
surprised to
see my ‘Warner’ looking out at me, sometimes, from this picture.
But one night,
some two years ago, I found that it might not be all imagination,
as I had
believed. I was writing something - a defence of a friend against
people who had
said most bitter things; trying to write impersonally, above the
turmoil of
dispute, and my own hot feelings would come between me and the piece
of work to
be done.
At last, after laboring for days and getting no further, I sat down
in my room
one night before retiring to sleep, and took out the old picture
and gazed at it
with an intense half-despairing wish to see things from the nobler viewpoint.
Now, I was not trying to see my Warner in the picture. I was
looking at it in
full lamplight with wide-open eyes, and I was far too engrossed in
painful,
vivid thoughts, to indulge in dreams and fancies. Suddenly the
picture changed;
the rather full cheeks became hollow, the forehead assumed the
magnificent upper
development of the wellknown face, the beard thinned, the mouth,
too, became cut
in those exquisite fine lines, chiselled but tender - and the eyes
began to
lighten and flame, until my own, rivetted upon them, could bear
their intensity
no longer. They had become as miniature suns, and I could have
gazed at the sun
itself more easily than have kept my eyes upon them. I looked away,
conscience-stricken. As usual, He had brought me to my better self
- this time,
by sternness. I sat thinking of the face - looking rather, at its
impression on
my mind. It was awful in power. The expression in those eyes was of
oceans and
worlds and living infinitudes of knowledge - ripe, immediate, and
commanding. I
turned again to the picture - the Warner had gone?”
“Very strange”, remarked the Enquirer.
“But practical. I wrote that article,” said the Fiddler.
“Have you seen other such figures?” asked the Lawyer with interest.
“Yes, there are others. Once at a sermon of the Rev. RJ Campbell,
at the City
then I saw, faintly outlined, One standing behind him on the left
side. It
happened at the beginning of his sermon. He preached magnificently.
Once when
our President was lecturing in
in such bad form. She struggled on for some ten minutes or so, and
then quite
suddenly, with that kind of ‘swirl’ in the atmosphere that
accompanies these
things, a great white light appeared behind her, on the left side,
a little
uplifted from the ground, and in the centre a figure, the outlines
of which were
most lovely and imposing, but more than that I cannot describe, as
the
brilliancy of the light made the form appear like a dark outline
against it. The
speaker stopped short, half hesitated, and leaned slightly back, as
if listening
for something” -
“Very unusual for our Lady”, smiled the Shepherd.
“Yes, that is the interesting part of it. Then her voice completely
changed; she
took up the thread in a mood as certain, calm, and exalted, as the
other had
been tired, forced, and uninspiring, and - well, were you at that
lecture?”
“No.”
“Many said that it seemed as if Jesus Himself had spoken through
her. The
listeners were more than moved. They were carried right into the
presence of the
Master, and the whole wretched tangle of all that had happened
since He was
withdrawn from amongst us seemed like a forgotten nightmare. There
were many
weary, hardened men and women of the world who saw nothing, but who
yet will
never forget the power that spoke in their hearts that night. But -
was He not
there?”
“Very likely”, said the Shepherd, as the Vagrant remained silent. “I
remember a
lecture - one of those on Esoteric Christianity, in which the
Master Jesus came,
and stood behind the lecturer, enveloping her with His aura. There
was a curious
incident connected with that; the Archivarius1 was sitting near the
lecturer,
and she was conscious of the Presence but did not clearly see the
Figure;
however, she saw clearly, and described with perfect accuracy, the
Greek pattern
embroidered along the hem of His garment - a partial vision which
seemed to me
curious and unusual. Seeing that so clearly, why did she not see
the rest?”
As, naturally, no one answered the question, the Fiddler resumed:
“There were several of these Shining Ones at another lecture in the
large
Queen's Hall. You can always tell when They come. The air is
charged with force,
and enthusiasm reigns. It is not what one sees in these visions
that makes them
so much more real than ordinary life. It is the peace and love and
joy with
which they suffuse the soul. They melt the ‘stone in the heart’.”
“Tell us what you feel on these occasions,” urged the Youth.
The Vagrant smiled at him: “It is not so easy to say, and it is not
always the
same. Sometimes, I am conscious only of an enveloping Presence,
that of my own
Master - blessed be He - which raises my normal consciousness to an
abnormal
level, so that although it is wholly ‘I’ who am speaking, it is a
bigger ‘I’
than my small daily affair. At other times, thoughts seem to be
poured into me
by Him, and I consciously use them, knowing they are not mine.
Sometimes, when
the Master KH utilises me, I find myself full of beautiful imagery,
metaphors,
curiously musical and rhythmical phrasings, whereas the influence
of my own
Master induces weighty, terse, impressive speech. Occasionally, but
very rarely,
I step out and He steps in, for a few sentences, but then the voice
changes, so
that the change of speaker is perceptible; on those occasions, I
stand outside
and admire! I remember that on the occasion referred to of the
Presence of the
Master Jesus, I was not quite at ease at first, as His influence
was new to me,
and I had to grope a little at first to catch His indications. But
there!”
concluded the Vagrant, laughing, “audiences have very little idea
what queer
things are going on upon the platform sometimes right before their
eyes.”
“As it has come to this, I may as well put in another strange thing
of a similar
nature I saw,” said the Magian. “It was when the same speaker was
lecturing on
the ‘Pedigree of Ma?’. Of course there was some great Presence,
there is no
doubt as to that; but the strangeness comes in here - the feeling
was not so
much that of peace and joy and uplifting that I have often felt,
but an
intellectual enlightenment that beggars description. The only
theosophical book
I had tackled was The Secret Doctrine and I enjoyed it often, but
during the
lectures it became so illuminating, things became so clear, so
simple; but after
a week it was different; then there were certain descriptions, like
the
formation of globe D - our earth - etc., etc., which were simply
magnificent in
their vividness. During such descriptions I noticed that the
lecturer was gazing
in a peculiar manner into empty space, but I felt sure she was
observing
something. I heard her say, some time ago, that during that course
the Master
presented before her astral pictures, looking at which she went on
lecturing,
and that without them the series would not have attained the great
success it
did.” Anon 1. One of the group who talked in the old Twilight.
END
In The
Twilight (3)
first printed in The Theosophist, June, 1909, p359-366
“The following details of a somewhat strange phenomenon were
related to me by an eyewitness,” said the Superintendent. “During the
Brahmotsavam festival about thirty years ago a certain Sannyasî was staying
near the Ekambareshvara Tank at Conjivaram. His manner of living and the wisdom
of his speech attracted crowds of hearers, and even Brâhmanas of great learning
were often to be seen among his
audience. One day the conversation turned upon the subject of the
lower classes
in
attitude of the Brâhmanas towards other castes. This caused great
offence to the
Brâhmanas present, and they spoke very insultingly to the Sannyasî.
For some
time he remained silent, and they, misunderstanding this, became
more and more
abusive and aggressive. At last the Yogî, feeling the situation
impossible,
determined to put an end to it. Seeing a child of about five
standing near, he
called him, gave him a banana and made friends with him. In a few
minutes the
little boy assumed an appearance of great brightness and
intelligence, and began
to speak in Sanskrit - a language which of course he had never
learned. The Yogî
turned to the Brâmanas, and said: ‘Gentlemen, you are dissatisfied
with what I
have said to you; instead of speaking further to me, put all your
questions to
this child. He will answer you fully, quoting appropriate texts
from the
scriptures whenever necessary.’ The incredulous pandits showered
questions upon
the boy, but as quickly as they could ask came replies that
confounded them by
the depth of thought and knowledge of the sacred books which they
displayed.
Finally the Brâhmanas prostrated themselves before the Sannyasî and
begged him
to pardon their rudeness, and departed to their homes sadder and
wiser men.”
“Is such a thing as that really possible?” enquired the Fiddler.
“Oh yes,” replied the Shepherd, “there are several ways in which it
might have
been done. We are not told what the Yogî was doing while the child
was speaking;
if we knew that, it would help us to decide which method he
employed. He may
simply have hypnotised the boy, and so made him speak whatever he
wished.”
“But no passes of any kind were used; I particularly enquired about
that from my
friend who told me the story,” objected the Superintendent.
“That would be quite unnecessary,” answered the Shepherd; “The Yogî
gave a
banana to the child, and that might easily have been the vehicle
for any amount
of influence. A little child, too, would have less will-power to
resist than a
grown man. But the Sannyasî may not have employed hypnotism at all;
he may have
used the boy as a medium or mouth-piece, and spoken through him
himself. In that
case he would be unable simultaneously to speak through his own
body, and it
must have appeared as though in deep meditation. I should think
that that is
most likely what he did. But if he were active and speaking in his
own body at
the same moment as the boy spoke, we should have to assume that
some one else
controlled the child-body. That also could quite easily be
arranged; any dead
pandit could do it, if the boy had been thrown by the Yogî into a
passive and
mediumistic state. I myself once saw a baby about twelve months old
take up a
pencil and write while its mother held it in her arms - write an
intelligible
sentence in a clear and legible hand. Of course that was a case of
mediumship;
the mother herself was a well-known medium. But it is a phenomenon
of somewhat
the same nature as that described by our friend.”
“Talking about hauntings” said Chitra, “I can tell you of a rather
curious case
where the people who haunted a house are still living, instead of
long dead, as
is usual.”
“Some years ago after an illness caused by overwork I spent a few
weeks with
some friends in order to regain strength. Their home was a large
brick house
built by an old retired admiral; its long passages all communicated
with each
other and were made as much like the alley-ways of a ship as was
possible.”
“I occupied a bedroom the door of which was directly opposite that
of the large
dining-room, a passage running between. A door at the end of this
passage and in
the same wall as my bedroom window opened out on to a verandah, so
when we all
retired for the night I was practically alone at that corner of the
house. My
room was comfortable, its atmosphere peaceful, and I grew well and
strong. The
fact that I had no one near me did not disturb me at all, as I am
not in the
least nervous. I slept the deep sleep of the convalescent and knew
naught of the
night.”
“A year or so after this my hostess with her husband and children
visited
England partly for her health; and while away they let their home
furnished to a
young couple who appeared in every way desirable and were reputed
wealthy. My
friends returned in a year, the lady very much worse in health than
when she
left home. For months she hovered betwixt life and death and no one
was allowed
to see her. As soon as I might, I called to see her, and it
happened that I took
with me a friend. When we came out of the house this friend, who
was somewhat
sensitive, exclaimed at the dreadful psychic atmosphere she had
felt there, and
expressed the wish that I had not promised to go and spend some
days there. I,
thinking the oppression which I also had felt was due to the
illness of the
hostess, laughed at my friend's fears and in due course went to pay
my visit.”
“It was early summer and still cold, so night after night we sat
round the
dining-room fire, ensconced in big cushioned armchairs. The first
evening while
we were sitting thus, I was considerably disturbed by a feeling
that something
was fighting at the further end of the room, behind me. I could see
nothing, and
the sound was scarcely physical; it was as though shadows were
scuffling and
fighting. I said nothing, and I did not care to attract attention
by repeatedly
looking round, so I read on till we retired for the night. I had
scarcely closed
my bedroom door when I knew I had company, shadowy company, silent
and yet in a
certain way noisy. There was a sound as though an unseen riding-whip
of hard
leather tapped against the door; it seemed as if it might be
hanging from an
invisible nail on the upper part. The venetian blinds rapped
sharply upon the
window-frames, though there was no breeze; and while doing my hair
I was patted
and lightly slapped more than once. I examined the door; there was
no mark of a
nail, and all was newly painted and varnished. I examined the
blinds; there was
nothing to cause a movement. I smiled to myself and, addressing my
unseen
companions, said ‘I wish you would be quiet and let me go to bed.’”
“Into bed I stepped, extinguishing my light and drawing up the
bed-clothes.
Flop! came something on my feet; ‘A cat,’ thought I. I struck a
light and
looked; no cat, no anything!”
“‘Humph!’ I said. I put out my light and lay down again; at once
flop! came
something on my feet once more. Again I struck a light and looked;
nothing was
there, but there seemed to be a depression as if a cat had lain
there. I passed
my hand over the place, but felt nothing, and indeed I knew there
was neither
cat nor dog in the house. I lay down to sleep again, but was
several times
pushed and touched before I succeeded.”
“In the dining room the next evening I again felt and heard the
shadowy scuffle,
and looking round saw two light, mist-like and semi-transparent
forms at the
further end of the table apparently fighting. I somehow knew they
were a man and
a woman, but how I knew I do not understand, for they were simply
mist-wraiths.
I said nothing to anyone, as I was afraid of disturbing my hostess,
whose nerves
were still greatly unstrung, and had I told my host he would
assuredly have
thought I was going out of my mind.”
“On retiring to my room the next evening the same phenomena
occurred and I began
to feel decidedly uneasy, as I could in no way account for them.
Again the
invisible whip tapped on the door, again I was patted and pushed,
and again flop
went something on the foot of my bed when I lay down. Once more I
relighted
candle, and felt over the place where I saw the depression, and as
usual found
nothing, so I slept a broken sleep, being frequently disturbed and
touched.”
“On the third night while reading before the fire I again felt and
heard the
phantom fight and as I left the room after saying goodnight, I
distinctly felt
something walking beside me. It breathed a warm breath full of the
odour of
port-wine on my neck and cheek, and I felt sick. It entered the
bedroom with me
and disturbed the whole atmosphere; again things were moved and I
was patted and
pushed. I sat on the edge of the bed laughing uneasily and with
decidedly
quickened heart-beats, and was lifting my feet up towards the bed
when over my
bare left foot glided something that felt soft, plush-like and
boneless. I
laughed aloud, all fear gone, and said: ‘You little creatures, I
wish you would
be quiet and let me sleep!’ I saw nothing, but the touch was not
unpleasant and
I felt sure it was only a tricky little elemental. This time when
the flop came
on my feet I sat up without a light and felt the bed, but of course
nothing was
there, and that night I slept well.”
“Next afternoon I told my friend, and as soon as I asked ‘What is
there in this
dining-room that we cannot see?’ she said ‘Hush! don't let my
younger daughter
hear you; she will never come into this room or your bedroom alone
if she can
help it even in the daylight, and we are trying to laugh and talk
her out of her
fears.’”
“I then related the whole thing, and asked: ‘Who was in this house
while you
were away?’”
“‘Well, this is strange,’ was the answer; ‘we let the house to a
very
fine-looking young couple whom we thought were all that could be
desired. They
seem to have lived only in this room and your bedroom. They fought
nightly, and
moreover they left the ewer in the bedroom half-full of port-wine,
which was
still there when we returned. My daughter senses the fighting and I
do not know
what else, but we have discouraged her and tried to cure her of her
ideas, so
please say nothing about it to any of the others.’”
“I did not, and as I have never asked permission to tell the story
I have
suppressed all names. I am certain there was nothing of the kind
there on my
former visits, and I always had the same bedroom. As far as we
know, the young couple who are the cause of all this are still alive and, I
think, in England.
They are still quite young.”
“But,” exclaimed the Painter excitedly, “how is it possible that people
still
living can haunt a place?”
“They don't,” replied the Shepherd placidly. “That is not a case of
haunting in
the ordinary sense of the word, though as far as the discomfort to
sensitive
visitors is concerned it comes to much the same thing. There are
instances of
real haunting by a living person, but that is not one of them.”
“Then what was it that happened?” said the Painter.
“Evidently the squabbling of that unfortunate young couple had
produced a strong impression upon the astral matter there, and that impression
was still clear
enough to be perceptible to sensitive persons, though not quite
able to
influence ordinary people. You see that Chitra and the younger
daughter of her
hostess received a strong, yet not perfectly clear impression (for
the forms
were misty), while the visiting friend had only a general idea of
an unpleasant
psychic atmosphere, and apparently the hostess herself and her
husband felt
nothing.”
“When you speak of an astral impression I presume you mean
something different from the ordinary record.” observed the Scholar.
“Yes,” answered the Shepherd, “the permanent record belongs to a
much higher
plane, and only occasional pictures from it are reflected into
astral matter.
This is quite a different phenomenon. Every emotion makes an
impression on the surrounding astral matter. It is hardly worthy of the name of
a thought-form;
perhaps we might call it an emotion-form. In all ordinary cases
that impression
fades away after a few hours at most, but where there has been any
specially
violent outburst, such as intense hatred or overmastering terror,
the impression
may last for years.”
“Mr Stead expressed the idea very well in Real Ghost Stories,
though he calls
the impression a type of ghost. He says: ‘This a type of a numerous
family of
ghosts of whose existence the phonograph may give us some hint by
way of
analogy. You speak into the phonograph, and for ever after as long
as the
phonograph is set in action it will reproduce the tone of your
voice. You may be
dead and gone, but still the phonograph will reproduce your voice,
while with it
every tone will be audible to posterity. So may it be in relation
to ghosts. A
strong emotion may be able to impress itself upon surrounding
objects in such a
fashion that at certain times, or under certain favorable
conditions, they
reproduce the actual image and actions of the person whose ghost is
said to
haunt.’ He describes there exactly what happens.”
“I may instance a little experience illustrating this which I
myself had years
ago. I was walking down a lonely road in the suburbs of London - a
road where
only the curbstone was as yet laid. Suddenly I heard somebody begin
running
along this curbstone desperately, as if for his life. Somehow the
sound of the
footsteps conveyed to me a vivid sense of the mad haste and
overwhelming terror
of the runner, and I turned at once to see what was the matter. The
footsteps
came rushing straight up to me, passed under my very feet as I
stood upon the
same curbstone, and dashed away on the road behind me, yet nothing
whatever was
visible! There was no possibility of any mistake or deception, and
the thing
happened just as I describe, and left me much startled and perplexed.
With the
light of later theosophical knowledge I now understand that some
one had been
terribly frightened there, and that the impression of his fear
still remained
sufficiently strong to reproduce the noise which he had made as he
ran. Here
only the sound was reproduced, but sometimes the form is seen
also.”
“The same thing happens with a less vehement emotion if it is
frequently
repeated, or if it lasts for a long time. I remember a house where
a child had
lived for years in a state of constant fear and repression; the
astral
conditions there were so bad as to react upon the physical body of
a sensitive
and cause violent sickness. An instance of the persistence of such
an impression
for many years is to be found in the prosaic locality of the
Bayswater Road,
close to the Marble Arch. Any sensitive person who will start from
the Arch and
walk westward on the south side of the road will soon be conscious
of something
excessively unpleasant, as he passes the place where for some
centuries stood
the horrible gallows called Tyburn Tree. Of course even the
strongest of such
impressions must fade in time, but under conditions favorable for
it it may
last, as you see, for many a decade.”
“Another point that we must not forget is that elemental essence of
a gross type
likes such coarse and vivid vibrations, so that in every place
where there is
such an impression as we are considering, a kind of astral vortex
is caused for
that particular type of matter only. The astral atmosphere becomes
thick; it
corresponds to a sand-storm or the worst sort of
is such a preponderance of the coarsest kind of matter, the low or
gross
emotions which utilise such matter are very easily aroused there;
there is a
special temptation towards them, as a Christian would say.”
“Yet another detail. There are classes of nature-spirits at a low
stage of
development which revel in the vibrations produced by coarse
emotion, and rush
from all sides to any point where they can enjoy it, just as London
street-boys
converge upon a fight or a cab-accident. If people who quarrel
could see the
unpleasant-looking creatures that dance in the stormy waves which
their foolish
passion is radiating, they would calm down instantly and fly from
the spot in
shame and disgust. Do not forget that such creatures do their best
to exacerbate
anger or hatred, to increase jealousy or terror, not in the least
because of any
evil will towards human beings, but because they delight in the
violent and
highly-colored vibrations which are caused. These entities throw
themselves into
such emotion-forms, ensoul them and try to perpetuate them to the
utmost of
their power, and it is largely due to their action that centres of
this kind
last as long as they do.”
“But are there never centres of good emotion? Must such things be
always evil?”
asked a plaintive voice.
“Certainly there are centres of good emotion; every temple, every
church is a
case in point. What else is the feeling of reverence that comes
over even a
Cook's tourist when he stands in one of the grand mediaeval
cathedrals than the
effect of the persistence of similar emotion felt by thousands
through the
centuries? And naturally a higher type of elemental essence and a
higher class
of nature-spirits avail themselves of this opportunity just as the
other kind do
of the less desirable centres.”
“I have come across such good centres in my roamings,” said the
Magian. “One
such, and a very typical one, is the Elephanta Caves. Very
health-giving and
exhilarating magnetism seems to be stored up on that spot, and a
great rush of
something pouring in which brings peace and joy is often
experienced. This is
especially marked at a particular spot where a great Lingam of
Shivâ stands, and
a quiet meditative mood is very helpful there in bringing a sort of
an
illumination one but rarely comes across. Of course a proper
attitude of mind is
necessary, and I do not think one who is sceptical about
superphysical
influences will derive much benefit through his picnic trip. It is
an unique
spot, and I have observed and heard some strange things there.”
“There are still many such spots in various parts of India,”
remarked the
Shepherd. “That is one of the many reasons which make it the
pleasantest country
in the world for the residence of sensitive persons.”
END
In The
Twilight (4)
first published in the Theosophist, July, 1909, p504-508
“Last night I dreamed of Brahms,” said the Fiddler. “He is my
beloved in music.
I always longed to meet him, but he passed over before I went to
Germany.
Strangely enough, though, I have never once dreamed of him all
these years,
though I have played so much of his music. But lately I hear sweet
sounds at all
kinds of odd times, indoors and out of doors, when I am busy or
when I am idle,
and yesterday night I lay awake for an hour or more listening to
them. It was a
long drawn chord of A without the third: soft, still, piercing. I
cannot
describe the effect in physical sound. It was all pure tone. That
is the nearest
I can get to it. And there were no breaks. It went on solidly for
over an hour.
To make sure that it was not mosquitos, I tested it against wave
and wind
sounds. You remember how rough it was last night. There were no end
of nuances -
pianos, fortes, crescendos, diminuendos - in the nature sounds. But
when the
wind was loud, my music grew no softer, and when it was still, it
grew no louder
by comparison.”
“But what about Brahms?”
“I'm coming to him. The music must have put me in touch with him, I
suppose.
Anyhow I saw him vividly. I never saw him like that before. There
he was, short,
stout, and fiery - and furious with me because I had lately been
playing the
first movement of his fiddle concerto too slow. He was trying to
show me how it
should go, and to do it on a piano! Of course he failed horribly,
and seemed
quite upset over it. Why do astral folk try to make our clumsy
music when they
have their own far subtler methods, I wonder? I suppose he thought
I would not
be able to understand them. What music there will be when we do! I
had the
audacity to dispute the tempo with him, but he insisted emphatically
- and he
was right, of course.”
“Did you see astrally when playing in your concerts?”
“I saw our President once towards the close of a recital I was
giving in
Melbourne. Some way down the hall there was an empty patch, and
there, right in
the middle, so that there could be no mistaking her for somebody
else, she sat
in her white dress looking up at me. I was somewhat surprised, and
looked away
that I might not be distracted from what I was doing; when I looked
again, she
was gone. Another time, she stood beside my bed, and I awoke and
saw her there.
But I was too stupid to understand what she was telling me.”
“Yet again I saw her - taller than she is in the flesh, and
radiant, sweep down
into the room where I sat talking about her to a friend, give me
one strong
look, and off again in an electrical swirl! Oh! and many other
times, in the
body and out of it.”
“You dear imaginative artist-folk let your affections run away with
your
judgement sometimes, I fear,” said the Scholar.
“Well, but I only state the fact. Suppose it imagination, even.
What is the
difference between imagination and the ‘reality’ when the former is
as real as -
if anything more so than - the latter? Anyhow, I have a tale that
imagination
won't account for.”
“When I was a little girl I used to hear the grown-ups round me
talking a good
deal about Mrs Besant. They would go to lectures, and then discuss
them
afterwards, and as I never led a nursery life, I heard it all and
longed to know
this wonderful lady with white hair. That was the only fact I knew
of her
personally. - that she had white hair. One night I dreamed that I
was in a
crowded hall listening to a speaker. Well, I need not describe her
to you! I saw
her in the dream exactly as she is. Afterwards I found myself in a
small room
full of people behind the platform, and the white lady bent down
and kissed me.”
“Next morning a friend came in who had a spare ticket for a lecture
in Queen's
Hall. Another was unable to use it. Thereupon I begged to be
allowed to go.
‘Little girls must wait until they are older’, and so on. However,
I got my way.
When we arrived, the lecture had already commenced. At once I
recognised the
speaker as the lady I had seen the night before. When it was over,
some friends
took me behind to be introduced. There was the little room, there
was the crowd,
and there the white lady, who bent down and kissed me.”
“Is this chance? The last time I played in public, I had no notion
it was to be
the last, no notion that shortly after I should enter the
theosophical movement.
I chose a piece that ended abruptly - in fact, that had no proper
ending, but
broke off. I had never before done such a thing. I made my first
public
appearance with Mrs Besant. And at the end of my performance, I
felt an unseen
hand push my head down upon my instrument as if to sign ‘It is
finished’. A few
weeks after, it was.”
“Any more musical stories?”
“Yes. But this is a horrid sordid one, and I scarcely like to tell
it ... Well,
for the story's sake you shall have it, but do not ever speak of it
to me again,
for I do not like to think of it.”
“It was in December, 1904, when I re-appeared in London at the
Queen's Hall
Symphony Concerts, not having played there since my childhood. I
was down for
the Beethoven concerto. It was a great occasion for me! The
Beethoven concerto
is, as you know, the summit of a violinist's ambition, and I had
worked at and
pondered over it for some seven years or so. Add to that that it
was practically
a début at the most important concerts of the largest metropolis,
and you can
fancy ‘poor little me’ was unphilosophical enough to think it an
important
event.”
“The date of the concert was December 10th. On about the 3rd or 4th
- I forget
which now - I dreamed that my violin was broken and that I took it
to a certain
repairer in the United States, who had dome some excellent work for
me when last
I was out there. I was trying to give him the instrument, but a
great black dog
kept leaping upon me and stopping my way. The dream was so vivid
that, next day
being the American mail day, I wrote to my friend the repairer,
beginning my
letter to the effect that ‘I dreamed of you last night and I am
impelled to
write.’ About that time I visited Oxford and played the Beethoven
concerto at
the Public Classical Concerts there, and the tone of my violin was
then in that
brilliant condition which thrills a fiddler's heart. Well, to make
a long story
short, just before my London appearance, that tone suddenly went.
There was no
recalling it. I was in despair. I cannot give you the details of
those two days
- the 8th and 9th - without involving persons. I can only tell you
that some one
had deliberately injured my instrument. I know who did it - a
fellow-artist.
With whatever motive he did so - through hatred, jealousy or the
mere
competition for a living which drives so many to crime - I must
have earned it
in a past incarnation, by some such devilish act of my own. It was
impossible to
borrow an instrument, as my hands are too slender to manage any but
a violin
specially mounted to suit their size. It was impossible to draw
back. Violins
are exceedingly sensitive things, and the weather having changed to
thick London
fog, it was quite likely, I reasoned, that this was the cause of
the poor tone
(for I never thought of examining the instrument, which had but
lately come out
of the hands of a trusted repairer), and I could not make mere
weather an excuse
for disappointing the Managers. So I went through with it. Needless
to say that
the tone was, as one or two of the papers afterwards described it,
‘microscopic’. Mr Henry Wood, with his usual tact, held down the
strength of the
band to a mere feather-weight. But that appearance was a fiasco. I
worked harder
than ever before or after, and produced - well, not quite nothing,
but very
nearly! So that a party of Oxford people, who had come up to town
specially for
that concert, looked at each other in amazement: ‘What can have
happened to her
since last week?’
After the concert I collapsed, so great had been the strain, and
did not touch
my violin for two days. After that time, the sun was out again; it
was my
brother, still fuming over this incomprehensible business, who took
the fiddle
into the light and examined it.
‘Should the sound-post of a violin be upright or slanting?’ said
he. (This is a
small piece of wood which is held inside the instrument between its
back and
front, and to move which a hair's breadth makes a change in the
resonance).
‘Upright, of course’ said I. ‘Well then, it is fifteen degrees off
the
perpendicular now - and, by Jove! there's a chip out of the edge of
this ƒ
hole,’ (an opening by which the sound-post is reached) ‘and - wait
a bit - look
here - ’ he peered inside the violin, ‘my dear girl, some one has
pushed the
sound-post out of its place with a pencil; there's the mark. Look
at the graze
on the wood inside where it has been dragged along!’”
“We took it to an expert, who had to use force to get it into
position again, so
tightly had it been rammed out of its place. No wonder that the
vibrations had
been stopped! His opinion was that the injury could only have come
about through
a bad fall or, as he guardedly put it, ‘in some other way.’ My
violin was with
me day and night. It had had no fall, of course. But I traced the
cause of that
injury, easily, to the one who did it. His scheme had succeeded.
That appearance
dealt a blow to my professional career which it took several years
to recover.”
“Shortly afterwards, my American repairer-friend visited London,
and called at
my house. In the course of our talk he asked if I could remember
what I had
dreamed which had caused me to write to him. I told him. Then he
told me that on
the same date he had dreamed the same thing, so vividly that he
repeated it to
his son at breakfast, who asked him to note down the day.”
“While in London he worked at my violin and got it into order
again, so that a
few weeks later, when I gave orchestral concerts in the same hall,
the papers
wondered at the ‘strange and sudden improvement in this young
violinist's
tone!’”
“I was wondering, too - how there could be so much hatred in this
beautiful
world.”
“It was a pity that you were not impelled by the dream to examine
your fiddle,”
said the Vagrant, “especially when you noticed the lack of tone.
You must either
have seen the failure beforehand on the astral plane, or else some
friendly
visitant must have tried to impress you with the fact that your
success was
menaced by some enemy symbolised by the black dog.”
“There is a good case of a successful interference given in
Invisible Helpers,”
said Chitra, “by which two little children, left orphans in the
care of a
landlady in a strange town, were found by a relative who dreamed of
their
address.”
“When I was a child,” said the Fiddler, “certain sounds used to
make me feel as
if I were rising up into the air - half a yard, three feet, or
more. It was a
delicious sensation. I didn't think anything of it at the time. It
happened so
naturally that I fancied every one must have the same experience. I
do not
understand the relations between sound and gravitation, but
certainly ‘to be
uplifted by music’ is no mere metaphor.”
END
In The
Twilight (5)
first published in the Theosophist, August, 1909, p608-616
“We have heard of many and varied experiences,” said the Scholar,
“but it seems a long time since anything was said as to the work of the
invisible helpers. I suppose it is going on just as usual?”
“Yes,” replied the Shepherd, “that band of workers takes no
vacations; its
activity is unceasing, but it does not always lend itself to
picturesque
description. Thinking over what has been done lately, I remember
one story which
may perhaps interest you, though it is certainly very
unconventional; besides,
strictly speaking it is not yet finished.”
“But its novelty will make it all the more interesting,”
interjected the Youth;
“and we can have the conclusion when it occurs.”
“Well, I will tell it to you,” said the Shepherd; “but I must first
explain the
heroine, for though she is one of my best workers I do not think
that I have
mentioned her to you before.”
“Her name is Ivy. She was during life a member of one of our Lotus
Circles, and
her work now is a fine example of the good which such circles may
do. She was a
bright and lively girl, musical, artistic and athletic - a clever
elocutionist
too; but above all a thoroughly good girl, kindly and affectionate,
and willing
to take any amount of trouble to help others; and a person who has
that
characteristic on the physical plane always makes a good helper on
the astral. I
feel sure that she would have led an exemplary and useful life on
this plane if
her karma had worked that way, but it is not conceivable that in
that case she
could have found the opportunity even during a long life to do
anything at all
approaching to the amount of good which she has even already done
on the astral
plane since her death eighteen months ago. I need not go into the
details of
that; it is enough to say that when she was scarcely eighteen she
was drowned in
a yachting accident. She came straight to Cyril, who is her special
guru, as
soon as she recovered her consciousness, and as soon as she had
comforted her
relations and friends she demanded to be trained for regular work.
It was one of
her most pleasing characteristics that although she had great originality
and
ingenuity she was yet very humble about her own qualifications,
most willing to
be taught exactly how to work, and eager to learn and understand.”
“She is especially fond of children, and her field of usefulness
has lain
specially with girls of her own age and younger. She has been
keenly interested
in making thought-forms for people, and has acquired exceptional
powers along
that line. She takes up cases of children who are frightened at
night, and of
others who have besetting thoughts of pride, jealousy or
sensuality. In most of
these she finds out the child's highest ideal or greatest hero or
heroine, makes
a strong thought-form of that ideal, and sets it to act as a
guardian angel to
the child. Then she makes it a regular business to go round at
stated times
revivifying all these thought-forms, so as to keep them always
thoroughly up to
their work. In this way she has been actually the salvation of many
children. I
know of one case in which she was able to check incipient insanity,
and two
others in which, but for her ministrations, early death would
certainly have
ensued, besides many others in which character has been improved
beyond all
recognition. Indeed, it is impossible to speak too highly of the
good work which
she has done in that way.”
“Another of her lines of activity will appeal to you if you have
not forgotten
your own childhood. Perhaps you know how many children live
constantly in a sort
of rosy day-dream - ‘telling themselves stories’ they sometimes call
it. The
little boy fancies himself the hero of all sorts of thrilling
adventures - the
central figure in scenes of glory, naval, military or athletic; the
little girl
fancies herself being adored by crowds of knights and courtiers, or
thinks of
herself as gorgeously attired and in positions of great wealth and
influence,
and so on. Now Ivy makes a speciality of taking these day-dreams
and vivifying
them, making them ten times more real to the delighted dreamers,
but at the same
time moulding and directing them. She gradually turns the dreams
from
selfishness to unselfishness, guides the children to image
themselves as helpers
and benefactors, and influences them to think not of what they can
receive but
of what good they can do, and so by degrees entirely changes their
characters.
‘As a man thinketh in his heart, so is he.’ and this is true of
children also;
so that one who understands the enormous power of thought will not
be surprised
to hear that quite incalculable good has been done in this way, by
taking the
young at the most impressible age.”
“Nor has she neglected more ordinary lines of work. For example, a
young girl in
whom I am deeply interested had recently to undergo a long and
wearisome
convalescence after a serious illness, and I asked Ivy to take her
in charge. I
believe my young friend had not a dreary hour during all those
weeks, for Ivy
kept up a steady stream of thoughts of the most delightful and
absorbing nature
- stories of all sorts, scenes from different parts of the world
with
explanatory comments, visions of various creatures, astral as well
as physical,
music of superhuman sweetness - more ingenious devices than I can
remember, to
help to pass the time pleasantly and instructively.”
“But all this general description of her work is only an
introduction to the
particular story which I am about to tell you - which, I think, you
will
understand all the better for having some acquaintance with the
character of the
principal actor in it. It is a case about which she is very eager -
in fact, for
the moment it is her principal interest, and she is very triumphant
at having
carried it to a successful issue so far.”
“I will tell the tale briefly, and will try to put it into
chronological order.
It came to me all upside down, beginning with an acute crisis which
is really in
the middle of the story; and the earlier part (which accounts for
all the rest)
I learnt only three days ago. It seems that long ago Ivy had a birth
in Rome -
also as a girl - and on that occasion she had a school-friend whom
we will call
Rosa. The two little girls were very devoted to one another, and
grew up as
almost inseparable companions. Rosa was strikingly handsome, and
was scarcely
more than fifteen when the inevitable young man came into the
story. Through
trusting him too far she had to run away from home, fearing to face
disclosures.
Ivy, though much shocked and pained, loyally stood by her friend,
hid her for
some time and helped her to get clear away. It seems, however, that
Rosa was not
to escape the consequences of her misplaced confidence, for she
fell into bad
hands and died early under rather miserable conditions.”
“Rosa and the young man who was involved seem to have had a birth
together
(without Ivy) somewhere in the Middle Ages, in which they did
practically
exactly the same thing over again - just repeated the previous
drama.”
“In this present life Rosa was born rather later, I think, than
Ivy, but in an
entirely different part of the world. She was, unfortunately for
herself, an
illegitimate child, and her mother died soon after her birth. I do
not know
whether this was the karma of her own proceedings along similar
lines in
previous births, but it appears rather probable. The mother's story
had been a
sad one, and the aunt who brought up poor Rosa never forgave her
for being, as
she put it, the cause of the death of a dearly loved sister. In
addition this
aunt was a stern old puritan of the worst type, so you can imagine
that Rosa had
a miserable childhood.”
“Into it about a year ago came that very same young man - a
wandering artist or
angler or something this time - and they diligently played out
their play along
the same old lines. The man seemed a nice enough young fellow,
though weak - by
no means the sort of designing ruffian that one might expect. I
think this time
he would have married her, though he could not in the least afford
it; but,
however that may have been, he had not the opportunity, for he got
himself
killed in an accident, and left her in the usual condition. She did
not know
what to do; of course she could not face such an aunt with such a
story, and
eventually she made up her mind to drown herself. She wandered out
one day for
that purpose, having left a letter for her aunt announcing her
intention; and
she sat down on the bank of the river, moodily looking at the
water.”
“Up to this point, you will understand, Ivy had known nothing whatever
of all
that I have told you, but at this crisis she arrived on the scene
(astrally of
course) apparently by the merest chance; but I do not believe that
there is any
such thing as chance in these matters. Of course she did not
recognise Rosa as a
friend of two thousand years ago, but she saw her terrible despair
and felt
strongly attracted towards her and full of pity for her. Now it
happens that a
few weeks ago in connexion with quite another business I had shown
Ivy how to
mesmerise, and explained to her under what circumstances the power
could
legitimately be employed. So she put the instructions into practice
here, and
made Rosa fall asleep upon the bank of the river.”
“As soon as she got her out of her body she presented herself to
her as a
friend, showed the deepest affection and sympathy for her, and at
last succeeded
in arguing her out of her intention of suicide. Neither of them
knew exactly
what to do next, so Ivy, taking Rosa with her, rushed off to find
Cyril. But as
it was broad daylight he was quite on the physical plane and busily
engaged, and
so not available at the moment for astral communications. This
being so, Ivy
brought her capture over here to me, and hurriedly related the
circumstances. I
suggested that for the present at least Rosa must go home again,
but nothing
would induce her to do that, so great was her horror of her aunt's
cold cruelty.
The only other alternative was the very risky one of going out
vaguely into the
world - since I made her renew her vow not to go out of it by
suicide. Since we
would not permit that, she seemed willing to face the difficulties
of beginning
a new life, saying that it could not possibly be so miserable as
the old one,
even though it led her to starvation. Ivy approved and
enthusiastically promised
to help her, though it did not seem quite clear to me at the moment
what she
could do.”
“It was eventually decided thus, because there seemed no
alternative, so Rosa
was sent back into her body on the riverbank, and fortunately when
she woke she
remembered enough of what she called her dream to recoil with
horror from the
water, and start off to walk to a neighboring town. Of course she
had scarcely
any money - people never have on these occasions - but she was able
to get a
cheap lodging for that night and a little food, and during her
sleep Ivy
cheered, encouraged and comforted her in the intervals of
prosecuting a vigorous
and determined search for somebody who could be influenced to help
on the
physical plane. By this time Cyril was asleep and she had secured
his
co-operation; and fortunately between them they were successful in
discovering a
delightfully benevolent old lady who lived alone with one servant
in a pretty
little villa in a village some miles away, and by unremitting
effort they made
the two people (Rosa and the old lady) dream of one another, so
that there
should be a strong mutual interest and attraction between them when
they met on
the physical plane.”
“Next morning Ivy directed Rosa's steps towards the village where
the old lady
lived, and though it was a long and weary walk for her it was at
last achieved.
But towards the end of it extreme physical fatigue laid her open to
depressing
influences, and she began to be virtually conscious that she had
now only a few
pence left, that she did not know in the least where to go or what
to do, and
that, after all, the hope and cheer that had buoyed her up during
the long day
was based only upon what seemed to her a dream. At last in sheer
exhaustion she
sat down upon a bank by the road-side looking the picture of
misery, and it was
there that the old lady found her, and at once knew her as the girl
whom she had
loved so deeply in her dream. Their mutual recognition was very
strange, and
they were both profoundly surprised and moved, yet in a certain way
very happy
about it. The old lady led the girl forthwith to her pretty little
home, and
soon drew from her the whole story of her trouble, which aroused in
her the
keenest sympathy. She at once offered shelter and help at least
until after the
birth of the expected child, and it is by no means improbable that
she may
decide to adopt Rosa. At least, Ivy is working in that direction,
and has strong
hopes of success; and when she makes up her mind about anything she
generally
carries it through.”
“That is how the matter stands at the moment. Up to this time
nothing whatever
has been heard of the cruel aunt, and it would seem that she has
made no enquiry
whatever after Rosa. She must suppose that the suicide has taken
place, but
perhaps she is glad to be rid of what she regarded as a burden.”
“A delightful story,” said the Countess enthusiastically. “What a
clever,
capable girl Ivy must be?”
“She is,” assented the Shepherd, “and she is developing every day.”
“One thing strikes me as new and curious,” remarked the Scholar,
“and that is
the persistent way in which Rosa and her young man repeat the same
action in
three successive lives. Are any other instances known in which
anything like
that has happened?”
“I do not remember an exactly parallel case, but there are many
which evidently
belong to the same category,” answered the Shepherd. “You recollect
how often in
the lines of lives which we have examined we find that those who
have close
kârmic relations with one another return together to work them out,
and how each
retains his characteristics, and sometimes even quite the details
of their
manifestation.”
“In the first series of incarnations which were examined we found
that the
artistic tendency of the Ego showed itself in almost every life in
some form or
another; and we had another case in which a prominent member was a
sea-captain
in three successive lives, and twice out of those three times he
took up the
study of philosophy when he retired from the active work of that
profession.
Perhaps the nearest approach to Rosa's case is that of two people
whom I know
who were so strongly attracted to one another that they were born
together
twelve times out of thirteen successive lives, and though they are
not
physically in the same country in this present birth, which is the
fourteenth,
they are constantly meeting astrally. In six of these twelve cases
the two were
husband and wife, and on yet another occasion one of them was the
rejected lover
of the other. Of course the constantly change sexes, and so reverse
their
relationship, and in some of the intermediate lives they are father
and
daughter, or uncle and niece, or sometimes merely friends, but
always together
in some way or other.”
“In Rosa's case the two people principally involved are by no means
bad in
reality, unconventional as their actions have been. Rosa herself
has been too
innocent and confiding, but so far as I can see nothing worse than
that can be
laid to her charge, for she was on every occasion actually ignorant
of the
impending danger. The young man was selfish and self-indulgent; he
followed the bent of his passion without thought these three times, but I am
inclined to
think from what I have seen that this third lesson has been
sufficient, and that
he will not do it again. Twice he acted altogether without
considering the girl
at all; this last time there was this much of improvement, that he
did consider
her when it was too late, and meant to marry her. But what he did
not consider
was their future life, for he had no means to support her. Twice he
had not even
thought of marriage; this time when he did think of it, he was not
permitted to
carry out his design. Perhaps next time, if they try the same
experiment, he may
be allowed to marry, and then he will find that true happiness is
not based upon
passion, but that a real spiritual affection is also needed. But perhaps
by that
time Rosa will have learnt many things, and she may be his
salvation also, for
she loved him truly enough as far as she knew how. At any rate, it
is a curious
glimpse of a little fragment of evolution, and may perhaps serve to
help us to
understand that much more of its working.”
“That reminds me,” said the Prince, “that I had the other night a
very vivid
recollection of being engaged in work much of the type of that done
by the
invisible helpers.”
“Please tell us the story,” cried several voices.
“It emerged from some other impressions of which I cannot make much
sense,”
explained the Prince. “I found myself watching a party of people
who were making preparations to go to some kind of entertainment. The party was
very mixed, for it comprised several members of the Theosophical Society and
many others, including a grand-uncle of mine who has been dead six years. I
watched them with interest, but took no part myself in any of their
preparations. Then a short time elapsed of which I have no very distinct
memory, and I found myself
floating about the town in which the entertainment was to be held.
It seemed to
be late evening, and men were sitting about at cafés in the usual
way. Suddenly
I saw long slender curls of black smoke issuing from a two-storey
building, and
when I turned my attention to it I seemed to see through the walls
that there
was a fire raging within, which was endangering an upper storey
where a large
number of soldiers lay in deep sleep.”
“My first impulse was to try myself to extinguish the fire, but I
did not know
how to set about it; then I thought of giving the fire-alarm, but I
was somehow
impressed that this country had no such modern improvements as
that. I then
thought of finding the commanding officer and telling him about it,
and I was
somehow directed to a park where a military band was playing for
the benefit of
a gay holiday crowd of officers and civilians, some of whom were in
a
restaurant, some on the terraces, and some walking about engaged in
conversation. I found the officer (I think he was a colonel) in the
company of
several ladies, a few younger officers and some civilians. I tried
hard to
impress my thought on him, but in spite of all my efforts he would
not move from
the side of a certain lady in whom he was interested - the wife of
one of the
civilians, a prominent man in appearance. Another younger officer
was indicated
to me as he was entering the restaurant, and he responded almost
immediately to
my call, excusing himself to his surprised companions and starting
off in
haste.”
“Though I was not visible to him I had no difficulty in guiding him
to within a
few yards of the house, when he stopped and reproached himself for
a fool for
coming out here near midnight without any obvious reason. I could
not induce him
to go another step, and in despair I made a very strong effort,
which caused a
sort of sensation of being pushed. Suddenly I saw myself, and he
also saw me,
and was evidently much astonished. I ran to the house and with my
full weight
burst open a door, through which poured a sea of fire. The officer
quickly led
me to another door which gave access to the room of the sleeping
soldiers. He
seemed to be in some confusion, and I caught his thought of
helplessness, and so
instantly determined to act myself, I saw a bugler approaching, and
I at once
ordered him to play the alarm. This quickly aroused all the
soldiers, who sprang
up, threw on their clothes and snatched their rifles, which I
particularly
noticed were short ones with bayonets turned downwards. The officer
soon
regained his equilibrium, and led the soldiers in full order out of
the burning
building, Just as the last man filed out the flames burst through
the floor in
several places, and the officer pointed them out to me as he
hurried me out of
danger. I woke with severe pain in my back and the back part of my
head, which
lasted nearly two days.”
“A most interesting experience,” commented the Shepherd. “Were you
at all able
to recognize either the place or the uniforms of the soldiers?”
“I am not quite sure,” said the Prince, “though there were certain
general
indications. The uniforms were dark, with yellow shoulder-straps.
But I can tell
you more about it when I have made some enquiries, and if I am able
to discover
anything I will gladly communicate it to you.”
END
In The
Twilight (6)
first published in the Theosophist, Sept, 1909, p750-756
“Here is a letter from our Vagrant,” said the Shepherd, “with one
of the best
authenticated records of a warning from the other side and the
accident which
followed. She says: ‘You know about Julia's Bureau, established by
Mr Stead
under the direction of his other-world friend, Miss Julia Ames. On
Whit-Monday
evening a lady connected with it, staying in the country with her
mother,
received a message from a gentleman whom we will call Lionel,
warning a lady
well-known in society, whose name is in my possession, of an
impending motor-car
accident, and asking her to put off her intended journey. The lady
sent on the
message to Mr Stead, who received it on Tuesday morning. He at once
dictated a
letter to the person concerned, giving the message, and the letter
was posted to
Dunmore, and arrived on the same day, about 6 pm. Three people knew
of the
letter - Mr Stead, the stenographer and Mr King, a Bureau official;
the
letter-book also shows its posting. The letter duly arrived, but
the lady
concerned had left. In consequence of a strong presentiment she cut
short her
journey, but returning through London on the following day a
motor-bus skidded
and crashed into her car, slightly injuring the occupants. On her
arrival at
Dunmore Mr Stead's letter was handed to her, too late to be useful,
but offering
an unassailable testimony to the accuracy of the Bureau
information. Lionel
states that he succeeded in slightly turning the omnibus, thus
preventing a
fatal accident, but was unable to stop it altogether. It is
interesting to
compare the efficient and direct communications obtained in the
Bureau, where
proper conditions are afforded, with the clumsy and laborious
cross-correspondences loved by the out of date SPR. That society
promised well,
but it seems as though what Calvinists called “judicial blindness” had
fallen on
it since its wicked treatment of our HPB’. A good story,” concluded
the
Shepherd.
“We were speaking last time,” said the Scholar, “of the
reappearance in one life
of characteristics that had been prominent in a previous one. It
seems to me
that a very good instance of this is to be found in the later
incarnations of
our late President-Founder. Remember how he repeated in this life
in his
Presidential proclamations and in parts of Old Diary Leaves the
very style of
his rock-cut inscriptions when he was King Asoka; and even those
were equally
repetitious of certain edicts which he issued as Gustasp in favor
of the
Zoroastrian religion. His first book in this life was upon the
value of the
plant sorghum, which he was instrumental in introducing to the
notice of the
authorities in the United States; but he had done the very same
thing with the
very same plants thousands of years before, when he was employed by
the
Government of Peru.”
“Yes”, assented the Shepherd, “I think the Colonel may fairly be
quoted as an
example of the permanence of certain characteristics. You may
recollect, too,
how in another of our series of lives the artistic tendency of the
man showed
itself again and again, varying its expression according to
surrounding
conditions, but always there in some form. But, turning to the
business of the
evening, has any one a story to contribute?”
“I have something that I think will be new to you,” said the
Inspector. “My
daughter was once attacked by a disease known in Samskrt as
Dhanurvâyu (a
disease which makes the body bend like a drawn bow). This disease
is commonly
pronounced incurable; in this case it first manifested itself,
oddly enough, in
a slight swelling on the big toe. She felt, at times, quite
excruciating pain,
and skilful treatment by expert European as well as Indian doctors
was of no
avail. In compliance with the wishes of my mother, I took her to a
temple
dedicated to Hanûmân at Kasâpûr, near Guntakal, to whi persons
suffering from
fell diseases resort in the pious belief that they will be cured by
the favor of
the presiding Deity. For three days her mother worshipped the Deity
in various
ways on her behalf, as she could not do it herself, being
physically weak. On
the night of the fourth day, she dreamt that some one came and
stood beside her
and told her that she would be cured, if a certain leaf called
uttareni was
crushed and mixed with turmeric powder and applied to the part
where the disease
originated. On the same night a servant of the temple dreamt a
dream quite
identical with the patient's, in which he was told to go and fetch
the leaf
himself. Accordingly, he got up and went into the fields in the
neighborhood,
plucked some leaves and brought them home and, after crushing them,
asked my
wife for the turmeric powder, relating his dream parenthetically.
My wife was
surprised at the remarkable identity of the dreams and applied the
leaf herself
to the patient's foot. The application took effect almost instantly
and in less
than ten minutes the patient felt indescribable relief and
recovered perfectly
soon afterwards.”
“I suppose it must have been a case of some sort of convulsions,
probably
produced by the bite of some poisonous creature. Anyhow, the facts
are
interesting,” said the Shepherd, “and they remind me of the giving
of
prescriptions at spiritualistic séances. Sir John Forbes, for
example, was one
who frequently gave them in that way. But is a cure always effected
at these
Temples?”
“Not invariably,” replied the Inspector; “but sooner or later a
dream always
comes to the patient, either telling him how his disease can be
cured or
informing him that it is incurable and that it is useless for him
to stay any
longer. Vidurâswatham and Nanjangod are two other places in this
Presidency
where similar cures are said to be effected. I myself suffered for
several years
with a pain that recurred at intervals of from one to six months. I
went with my
wife to the Kasâpûr Temple, where after three days she dreamed of a
prescription
which proved effective, curing me entirely, although the doctors
had failed.
Then, again, a relative of mine, who was a white leper, went for
two years to a
Temple at Vidurâshwatha, and was completely cured, no trace of the
disease
remaining, nor has it since returned.”
“I was never exactly cured by a prescription given in a dream,”
said Chitra,
“but I have received very curious warnings in that way. When quite
a young girl
I heard one day of the serious illness of a girl-friend, and that
night I
dreamed that I was standing on a path looking towards slightly
rising ground. I
then noticed that there were three mounds or very small hillocks on
this rise,
and that the grass covering the whole place was unusually long and
juicy in
appearance, and of a very vivid green. Suddenly on the farthest
side of the
first hillock to my right I saw my sick friend, looking very pale.
She appeared
to be climbing the hillock on the side hidden from me. When she
reached the top
she stood for a second looking towards the third, then walked
steadily,
seriously forward, stooping to gather great handfuls of the
luscious, green
grass as she walked. She climbed the second hillock, and by that
time had quite
a large sheaf of grass - an armful. She descended the further side,
and then I
noticed that between the second and third hillocks there was a
small round pool
of intensely black water. Reaching the edge of this pool she looked
at it as if
measuring the width, then stepped over it, climbed to the top of
the third
hillock and disappeared suddenly, as if she had dissolved. My
friend died soon
after.”
“Ten or twelve years afterwards during my school-holidays - greatly
lengthened
that year, because of an outbreak of typhoid fever in the school -
I was lying
awake one night wondering how many of the children would die. Some,
we knew,
must; and thinking how thankful the Manager of the Institution and
his wife
would be that their son, lately a school-master there, had been
transferred
before the fever broke out, I also found myself wondering where he
would spend
his holidays, as he was rather weak from overstudy and I felt sure
his parents
would not allow him to come home. Thus thinking, I fell sound asleep,
but was
awakened by hearing his voice distinctly call my name three times.
I sat up
startled, and listened, but not a sound was to be heard. I woke my
sister and
told her, but she was too sleepy to listen and said it must have
been a dream. I
at once went to sleep again, but was roused again by the same call,
this time
louder, so I rose, went down stairs and opened the door. No one was
about, so,
feeling very uneasy, I returned to bed, only to be once more roused
by the same
call. Then I again awoke my sister and said ‘I am sure so-and-so is
ill, but why
is he calling me?’ ‘Well, you can find out in the morning, but not
now,’ replied
my sister. In spite of my anxiety, I slept directly my head touched
the pillow,
and I found myself looking at those same three green mounds which I
had seen
years before, so I was not surprised to see my teacher-friend
climbing the first
one just as my girl-friend had done. He went through exactly the
same movements,
walked steadily along, gathered grass till he had a great sheaf,
crossed the
black pool, climbed the third hillock, and disappeared. I awoke
feeling sure he
was dying or dead, and wondering if his people knew. Directly after
breakfast I
saw his brother entering a chemist's shop, so turned and asked him
if John were
ill.
‘What made you think of that?’ he asked.
‘Oh, I dreamed of him’.
‘Yes,’ he replied, ‘I am afraid he is dying. He would come home for
his
holidays. He took the fever, but recovered; but he caught a chill
and now has a
relapse and we have very little hope; come and see him this
afternoon if you
wish.’”
“I went and, while sitting in the room next his with his mother,
was greatly
startled by three loud raps made upon the wall near the ceiling, as
if by a very
heavy stick.”
‘Won't that startle him dreadfully?’ I said.
“His mother, looking at me strangely, said ‘Come and see.’ We
entered the sick
room on tip-toe, and there, lying quite unconscious on a low bed
against the
opposite wall from that on which the knocks sounded was the
invalid. His mother
and I looked at each other and tip-toed out again.
‘That has been happening at intervals ever since the relapse,’ she
said, ‘that
is why we have taken everything off that wall. Did you notice it
was bare?’
Suddenly I heard the servants noisily rolling up the oilcloth from
the front
door, down the passage to the door of the sick room, and said:”
‘Why do you let them do that? won't it startle him?’
“Again she gave me that strange look, and said ‘Come and see’. Then
I remembered
that I had noticed before that the floor was bare; the oilcloth had
been taken
up a week before.
‘That noise too,’ she said, ‘comes every day, and sometimes several
times a day.
None of my girls will come to work in this passage, they are so
afraid.’ I asked
his mother if he had called me and she told me that at three
o'clock that
morning he had repeated my name in a whisper three times. The
noises may have
been caused by entities who followed his father home from
spiritualistic séances
which he attended.”
“Still later on, I dreamed that I saw the baby of a visitor to the
school at the
same three mounds and doing as the other two had done; this baby
also died, but
not of typhoid.”
“A few years ago, when very weak and ill myself, I dreamed I once
more faced the
three mounds and the black pool and said to myself as I looked ‘I
wonder who is
going to die now!’ No one came. so I myself climbed the first and
second mound
and gathered an armful of grass, but when I came to the pool I
stopped and
looked at it, not feeling any impulse to go on; then I awoke. I
cannot
understand why, even after relating this dream to others and
catching the look
which passed between them, I did not apply it to myself, but the
fact remains
that I did not; and when a few months later I had to undergo a very
serious
surgical operation because of a hurt I had accidently received, and
was warned
by my doctor that I had but one chance of recovery out of ten, my
dream never
crossed my mind. Not until months afterwards when a friend reminded
me, saying
‘I knew you would not die because you did not cross the pool,’ did
I think of
it.”
“One night,” said the Doctor's daughter, “in a dream, a threatening
skeleton
appeared to me, saying he was ‘Death,’ but I told him he should
take no one from
our house, and broke him up. Two days later the coachman's mother
died. Another
time I dreamt I leaned too far over a pool and fell into it and was
drowned; and
the next day a housemaid in the next compound fell into the well in
the same
manner and was drowned.”
“I had a curious dream,” put in the Fakir, “when I first came into
touch with
Theosophy. I was very deeply interested in a French movement of a
semi-occult
nature when one night I dreamt that I was seated in a carriage
bearing its name.
I waited a long time, but the carriage did not move, no horse
having been
harnessed to it. I was becoming very impatient, so, another
carriage came
swiftly past, I jumped into it - and found that it bore the name
‘Theosophical
Society’. The first Society still exists, but apparently has not
yet found a
horse.”
“I knew a lady-member who had a similar experience, but she was
awake, not
dreaming,” said the Scholar. “She was in the office of a
semi-magical Hermetic
Society, actually waiting to fill up her form of application, when
she
distinctly saw a face and heard a voice say: ‘This is not your
place.’ She
excused herself from joining, and shortly afterwards came across an
advertisement of a theosophical lecture, which she attended.
Afterwards, seeing
the portrait of HPB, she recognised in it the face she had seen at
the time of
the warning voice.”
“Another incident of the nature of a death-warning was related by
my mother. She
awoke one night to find the astral counterpart of my father leaning
half out of
bed with an expression of horror upon its features. They had news
the next day
of his brother's death, which took place at the very time when my
father was
leaning out of bed. There seems to me to be some sort of
communication in this -
telepathic we might call it, in the widest sense of the term.”
“One hears so much about the telepathy of sight and hearing,”
remarked the
Fakir, “that the other senses seem to be left out in the cold,
which isn't fair
to them. A curious incident happened to a dear old lady-friend of
mine in whose
hospitable home I have spent many a holiday. No dreamer of dreams
was she, but a
stout American matron, a sorely tried mother, a model of
housewifely perfection.
She usually spent the season in Paris, but had a seaside villa in
Brittany,
which was, at the time of my story, in the charge of a single
housemaid named
Irma. One afternoon my friend startled the household by suddenly
bustling all
over her Paris flat with a handkerchief to her nose and a
much-aggrieved
expression, poking under sofas and behind cupboards, and taking
everybody to
task. ‘Had they no noses?’ They sniffed their best, but all
protested they could
smell nothing. There certainly could be no dead rats about. They
had not seen as
much as a live mouse. That awful smell haunted my friend for half
an hour or so,
and then subsided. A couple of hours later a telegram came, from a
friend in
Brittany ‘Irma found dead in room - letter follows.’ The letter
came next day,
and made everything clear: the servant not seen for several days;
the house
found locked from inside; the breaking, first into the hall, then
into the
servant's bedroom upstairs; the rush of putrid air making the whole
party recoil
a moment; and finally the finding of the neglected corpse - all at
the very time
when my old friend, three hundred miles away in Paris, was haunted
by that
fearful smell.”
“Well,” remarked the Scholar, “it seems to have been a case of
telaesthesia, but
it certainly was not telaesthetic.”
END
In The
Twilight (7)
first published in the Theosophist, Oct, 1909, p121-126
“Nearly twenty years ago,” began the Doctor, “while on a visit to
the distant
home of my childhood, I had a peculiar experience. Having a desire
to view once more a small valley that lay beyond the hills in a neighboring
township, I
started, one fine morning, to make the journey. Taking my horse and
carriage as
far as was practicable, I left them at a farm-house on the hills
and proceeded
on foot in the direction which I had often travelled long years
before,
expecting to strike into a bridle-path with which I used to be
familiar. I had
not gone far, however, before I found that time had made great
changes in the
face of nature, and that the upland (where I expected to find the
bridle-path)
had become thickly covered with a growth of evergreen trees -
spruce, hemlock
and balsam fir - the low-hanging branches of which nearly covered
the ground.
After spending some time in a fruitless effort to follow a definite
course, it
gradually dawned upon me that I did not know in which direction the
right course
lay - in fact I was lost.”
“As I was still wandering on, there suddenly appeared before me a
very large
brown dog who rushed up to me with great friendliness of manner
and, rearing up,
placed his paws on my shoulders and looked me in the face, but with
such
expressive eyes as I never saw in any dog before or since. They
seemed to
radiate a depth of affection and a breadth of intelligence such as
I had never
thought possible in any of the lower animals.”
“He soon assumed the position most natural to all quadrupeds and
trotted off a
few yards and then looked back, wagging his tail, as much as to
say, ‘Come on’,
so I followed him without the least hesitation. He led me some
distance through
the thick growth of young trees, and I kept quite near to him, when
suddenly he
vanished from my sight, just as I was nearing an opening where I
soon saw the
summits of the Green Mountains, and was able to take the proper
course. But the
dog was gone, and though I made every conceivable effort to find
him, it was
without avail. On my return in the evening I took a different, though
a longer
course, and on reaching the farm-house sought to obtain some
tidings of my
friend and guide the dog, but evidently such a dog was not known in
that
locality.”
“I have often pondered over the question of the sudden appearance
and
disappearance of the four-footed friend who did me so kind a
service. Where did
he come from, and where did he go so suddenly, thus frustrating my
hopes of
future companionship with him? The pressure of his paws was plainly
felt on my
shoulders, which shows that he was not a mere apparition; but what
puzzled me
most was the fact that I did not see or hear his approach or
departure. He
seemed suddenly to flash into visibility, only a few feet in front
of me, and to
vanish as suddenly, when near by, after accomplishing his mission.”
“There are several possible explanations available,” said the
Shepherd. “If
neither the appearance nor the vanishing occurred actually under
the observation
of the spectator, the dog may have been an ordinary physical
animal, belonging
to some passing visitor. It seems probable that some friendly dead
person
noticed the narrator's predicament, and offered assistance; then
the question
arises, how could that assistance most easily be given? If a
suitably
impressible animal happened to be within reach, to use him would
most likely
need the smallest expenditure of force. If not, no doubt a
nature-spirit could
assume that form, but that involves the additional labor of
materialisation, and
materialisation maintained for a considerable time. Another
possibility is the
use of hypnotic influence; if that were employed neither dog nor
nature-spirit
is needed - a strong impression upon the mind is enough.”
“I remember an occurrence somewhat similar, but less dramatic,”
remarked the
Painter. “A girl-friend of mine lived in a country suburb about a
mile from the
station. It was a lonely walk which she always avoided taking alone
after dark.
One evening, however, she was obliged to return home late, without
any
companion. She was a timid girl and she was very nervous, but she
had scarcely
left the station when a dog came up to her in a friendly manner.
She patted him,
and he turned and trotted along beside her till she reached her own
gate, and
then turned off in another direction. She told me that she felt
quite secure in
his company, and felt as if he had been sent to her.”
“No doubt he had,” commented the Shepherd.
“These cases seem not uncommon,” said the Prince, “though the
details differ in
each. A lady who resided in the suburbs of Philadelphia was
detained one night
in town and had to return home much later than was her custom. She
was obliged
to carry an unusual amount of money, which she thought must have
been known to a
depraved-looking man who followed her into the street car, and
descended from it
at the same time that she left it to walk through a lonely street
to her home.
She watched his movements with anxiety as he followed her at a
distance, and (as
she had feared) approached her menacingly just at the loneliest
spot. As he was
about to touch her a large S. Bernard dog suddenly appeared and
growled fiercely
at the ruffian, who turned and fled instantly. The lady recognised
the dog as
her own, and welcomed him with effusion, and he walked at her side
all the way
to her own door, where he suddenly disappeared even as she was
looking at him
and fondling him. Then for the first time (having been too upset
and terrified
before to think of it) she realised with an awful shock that the
dog had died
two years before! This recollection seems to have frightened her
even more than
the man had.”
“Yet it surely should not have done so,” remarked the Shepherd,
“for nothing
could be more natural than that the dog should still remain after
death near the
mistress whom he had loved, and should defend her when the need
arose. How he
was able to materialise himself so opportunely we cannot know; it
may have been
only the strength of his own love for the lady and his hatred of
the aggressor,
but perhaps it is more likely that some invisible helper or some
protecting dead
friend chose that way of interfering for the lady's defence. An
animal is much
easier to influence than the average human being.”
“I know a very remarkable animal story which I should much like to
have
explained,” said the Platonist.
“I remember, ten years ago, a college friend of mine told me a
story of an uncle
of his, a great Shikâri, who had spent many years in India - a
healthy,
matter-of-fact kind of person, who had neither any leaning towards
the occult,
nor any skill in the invention of fictions. It was his uncle's
great anecdote,
by that time thoroughly polished by many years of after-dinner
service.”
“One day the uncle, whom we will call Colonel X., was out in the
jungle after a
panther. After a good deal of beating about, the beast was tracked
to a dark
cave in the side of a hill. Colonel X. approached the mouth of the
cave with
great caution and looked in, ready to shoot, of course, if anything
happened. As
he peered into the darkness, the light of two flashing green eyes
shone out from
the further end of the cavern and the Colonel was, all of a sudden,
petrified to
hear a human voice, thrilling with misery and anguish, call out to
him: ‘For
God's sake shoot me, and release me from this hell!’ What the
Colonel replied I
forget; but, at any rate, the voice - which came from the beast at
the end of
the cave - went on to inform him that it was the soul of an English
lady which
somehow or other had become imprisoned in the body of the brute,
that she was
suffering unimaginable torments and that, if he would effect her
release, she
would be eternally grateful and ever afterwards watch over him in
times of
peril. She told him that, whenever danger might happen to threaten
him, she
would appear to him in the form of a spotted deer; and that he must
remember
this and always be ready to take warning.”
“The Colonel, said my friend, raised his gun, as in a kind of dream,
and fired.”
“Years passed by, and he had almost begun to look upon the whole
incident as a
strange hallucination. People naturally laughed at him when he told
the story,
and sometimes he felt a little inclined to laugh at himself.”
“One day, however - again when out in the jungle, shooting - he was
just about
to turn down a little side-track through dense undergrowth, when
suddenly a
spotted deer passed a few yards in front of him, looking at him in
a meaning way
- and disappeared. This brought the previous adventure back with a
rush of
recollection to his mind. He felt there must be danger. So he
proceeded to
reconnoitre with the assistance of the beaters, and soon
discovered, in the
grass of the jungle-path down which he had been preparing to go,
and only a few
yards in front of where he stood, a huge cobra coiled up and almost
concealed.
Had he gone on, he would certainly have trodden upon it.”
“Again, some years later, but this time in England, he happened to
be walking
along the outskirts of a large field, bounded by a thick quick-set
hedge. Being
anxious to get through into the next field, he was looking for a
gap in the
hedge. At length he found one - a largish hole, with a section of
hollow
tree-trunk bridging the ditch which divided the two fields. He was
just stooping
down to crawl across when, in front of him, in the next field, he
saw a spotted
deer! Once more he remembered his former experience; and, knowing
that deer of
this kind were not to be found in England, he drew back quickly and
proceeded
along the side of the hedge until he came to a gate some way
further down. Going
through the gate he returned to examine the gap from the other
side. On doing
so, he discovered in the hollow trunk a large hornets' nest!”
“On one or two other occasions the spotted deer appeared to him,
always to warn
him at the moment of danger. I was told these by my friend, but I
have forgotten
them in the ten years which have passed since I heard the story. At
the time of
telling it, Colonel X. was still living and was ready to swear to
the facts
which I have related.”
“A most remarkable story,” commented the Shepherd. “It is of course
possible
that the years of polishing of which you spoke have added somewhat
to its
marvels; but if we are to accept even the broad outlines as true,
it needs a
good deal of accounting for.”
“But is it in the least possible that a woman could be imprisoned
in the body of
a panther?” asked the Painter.
“Possible perhaps, but not in the ordinary course of events very
probable,”
replied the Shepherd. “Long practice in matters occult has taught
me to be
exceedingly cautious in affirming that anything is impossible. The
most I ever
feel justified in saying is that such and such a case is beyond my
experience,
and that I do not know of any law under which it could be
classified. But this
particular instance is not utterly inexplicable; suggestions may be
offered,
though we should need a great deal more information before we could
speak with
any approach to certainty.”
“What suggestion can you offer?” asked the Platonist.
“If the tale be true exactly as we have it,” said the Shepherd, “I
think we must
assume some very unusual piece of karma. You may remember a little
article of
mine in the Adyar Bulletin on “Animal Obsession,” in which I
indicated the
various ways in which we have found human beings attached to and
practically
inhabiting animal bodies, but this case does not fit quite
comfortably in any of
the classes there described. The lady may have been a person who
found herself
in the grey world (to borrow a very appropriate name from a recent
novel), and
in a mad effort to escape from it seized upon the body of a
panther, and after
awhile became horrified at this body and desired earnestly to free
herself from
it, but could not. Or of course she may have been linked with the
body as the
result of some gross cruelty, though we know nothing about her that
would
justify us in such a supposition. Or (since the thing happened here
in India)
she may have offended some practitioner of magical arts, and he may
have
revenged himself upon her by imprisoning her thus.”
“But again, is that in the least possible?” interrupted the
Painter. “It sounds
like one of the stories in the Arabian Nights.”
“Yes, if there were a weakness in her through which such a magician
could seize
upon her, and if she had intentionally done something which gave
him a karmic
hold upon her; but of course it would be a very rare case. But
there are other
unusual points in the story. I have never heard of an instance in
which a person
linked to an animal could speak through its body; nor, again, would
it under
ordinary circumstances be possible for a dead person to show herself
as a
spotted deer when the intervention of a guardian angel was
considered desirable.
If the details are accurately given, the young lady must have been
a very
unusual person who had somehow entangled herself in unfrequented
bypaths of
existence. You may remember a ghastly story of Rudyard Kipling's
about the fate
of a man who in some drunken freak insulted the image of the deity
in a Hindu
Temple. There are often men attached to such temples who possess
considerable
powers of one sort or another, and while we know that no good man
would ever use
a power to injure another, there might be some who, when seriously
offended,
would be less scrupulous.”
“May not the Colonel have been to some extent psychic?” asked the
Epistemologist.
“Nothing is said to imply that.” replied the Shepherd, “but of
course if we may
assume it, it clears up some of the minor difficulties of the
story, for in that
case the deer may have been visible, and the voice of the panther
audible, only
to him. But a man who is psychic usually has more experiences than
one; and this
Colonel hardly seems to have been that kind of man. In the absence
of more
precise information I think we must be content to leave the story
unexplained.”
END
In The
Twilight (8)
first published in the Theosophist, Nov, 1909, p252-260
“Some years ago, nearly thirty I think,” said the Tahsildar, “one
evening at
twilight a friend of mine and I were walking along a road when we
saw a bright
light under a tree, about two hundred yards away across a ploughed
field. I was
curious to see what it was, as it did not proceed from any source
that we could
see, but appeared to stand in the air some two feet from the
ground. The light
was wide at the base and tapering upwards like a flame. I went to
the spot, but
as I approached the light disappeared and I found nothing but a
naked man
sitting under a tree. There was nothing by which I could account
for the light,
- nothing which would have caused me to imagine it. My friend,
being elderly,
had not come with me but remained on the road, and when I turned to
him I saw
that the light was there just as before. We now both went to the
spot, but with
the same result as before, The light again disappeared and the
strange man sat
there motionless, taking no notice of my enquiries. We both tried,
in all the
languages we knew, to attract his attention; I even took him by the
shoulder and
shook him, but it was of no avail. We went back to the road and stood
some time
looking at the light, which again appeared, and wondering what it
could be. It
had of course now become quite dark, and the light seemed therefore
much
brighter; but we could obtain no explanation of it, so we went to
our quarters
in the dâk-bungalow in which we were staying, both of us being
officials out in
camp.”
“Next morning, as I was returning from my work at about ten
o'clock, I saw,
sitting upon a sort of rubbish-heap close to our quarters, the same
strange man
whom I had seen under the tree. I again spoke to him, but he gave
me no reply. I
offered him something to eat, but he would not take it. I called my
friend's
attention to him, and he and others who had collected spoke to this
strange man,
but none received any reply, nor did he give the slightest sign
that he heard
us. We then left him, and next day returned to our own village some
eighteen
miles distant.”
“Two days later a peon who was employed in my office, who had seen
the man
sitting on the rubbish-heap, came and informed me that the same man
was in our
village, near a Muhammadan resthouse or makân. I immediately went
to see him and
found that it really was the same man. I invited him to my house,
but he would
not come then. However, two or three days after he did come, but
still without
speaking a word. I think he accepted a small quantity of milk on
that or the
next day. From that time on, the stranger stayed in my house,
without however
speaking a word, or explaining who he was or what he wanted,”
“At about three o'clock one afternoon a day or two later the
postman came to us
bringing letters. Several gentlemen were then with me, and among
them the
District Munsif, who was a relation of mine. At this time my wife,
who was about
to be confined, was in Madras, and I was expecting a letter from my
father-in-law on the subject. There were a few letters for me
which, in
deference to the company of my friends, I at once put into my
pocket without
reading. The Munsif, however, asked me to open the letters,
suggesting that one
of them might contain the information which I was expecting, and as
he was an
elderly gentleman, so that I did not like to displease him, I took
out the
letters. Now, before I could open the letter the strange man, whom
we had begun
to call the Mastân, and who had not until now spoken a single word,
looked at me
and said in Hindi:
‘Munshi, I will tell you what is in that letter. It contains news
that your wife
has given birth to a female child.’”
“This greatly aroused our curiosity, and I at once opened the
letter, and found
that what he had said was correct. As soon as I had finished
reading it the
Mastân spoke again:
‘There is another letter now in the post, which announces that the
child has
died’.”
“We were all much surprised, and decided to meet again next day;
which we did,
and the postman brought me another letter confirming what the
strange man had
said. The wonder rapidly passed from mouth to mouth through the
neighbourhood,
and people began to pour in in large numbers day by day in order to
see the
strange man.”
“One day, when I was alone with him, the Mastân told me that my
wife was
partially obsessed or possessed by a being on the inner planes,
who, however,
was not at all repulsive or dangerous, but still not necessary or
desirable. He
offered to make for her a charm which I was to send by post. I
agreed. ‘Bring me
a small plate of gold’, he said. I obtained the small plate of gold
and brought
it to him. He wrote something on a [[piece of paper and said tat a
goldsmith
must reproduce it on the plate. All this I had done - and here is
the plate that
you may see it.”
At this point the Tahsildar handed round a small gold plate about
one and a
quarter inches square, bearing the following inscription on one
side: (graphic)
“Perhaps the Scholar can tell us what it means,” suggested the
Shepherd. The
Scholar eyed the small charm critically, as though he had known
such things from
his youth up.
“One may safely say,” he surmised “that for the most part the signs
are Arabic
numerals, those signifying two and eight being frequent. The first
word looks
like ‘saz’ and below it I think is ‘tun’. As we do not know in what
language
they are meant to be, it is difficult to say with certainty what
these words
are. The Arabic script is used for Persian, Hindustani and Malay as
well as
Arabic, and there are several different sound-value for the same
letter. If the
words are Hindustani they represent, as I said, ‘saz’ and ‘tan’.
Several of the
signs which I take to be numerals are very badly drawn, so as to be
hardly
recognisable as such. One must remember that these were roughly
drawn on paper
and then copied by a goldsmith to whom these signs were absolutely
foreign.
Hence the difficulty of deciphering some of them. Evidently the
signs themselves
are not endowed with any mystic force, or they would need to be
more accurately
reproduced.”
“That I don't know,” continued the Tahsildar, “but some power it
certainly
possessed. Before the Mastân gave me the charm he kept it by him
for several
days. Sometimes he kept it in his mouth. At others he placed it
beneath his
thigh as he was sitting upon the ground, though usually he sat upon
a chair,
with a small fire kindled beside him on the ground. A third place
in which he
kept it was the bowl of a pipe in which he smoked, not tobacco, but
a substance
called ganja.”
“He did not bring this pipe with him. In fact he had no possessions
at all
except a stick or staff. But a Muhammadan peon who was attached to
my office,
whom we called the fat peon, was an habitual smoker, and he one day
offered his
pipe to the Mastân, who at once accepted it and thenceforward had
it frequently
prepared for him.”
“Now in our place was an American Baptist Mission centre, and it
happened that
two missionaries, one of them elderly, =came to my house to see the
strange man
of whom they had heard. The Mastân sat there smoking, and the
missionaries sat
looking at him for some time. Presently the elderly missionary said
to him:
‘Why do you not give up smoking? Do you not know that it is a very
bad thing for
a man to smoke ganja?’ - and turning to me he continued: ‘Here you
reverence
this man and consider that he is a great being and yet you see the
fellow
smokes, which is very dirty and bad.’”
“I remained silent, but our Mastân replied in Hindi:”
“‘Ah, you miserable pâdre; yes, it is true, it is a bad thing to
smoke. I
challenge you. I will give up this bad habit if you also will give
up one of
your bad habits.’
‘What bad habit have I?’ asked the offended missionary.”
‘You drink alcohol,’ replied the Mastân.
“The pâdre looked uncomfortable, but he rejoined: ‘Oh, but I never
drink to
excess; besides, liquor does no harm to a man, while your ganja
will kill him.’
‘Do you say so?’ cried the Mastân. ‘Come now, I challenge you
again. Order in as
much ganja as you are sure will kill me; I will smoke it if you on
your side
will drink as much liquor as I think will kill you.’”
“Incredible as it may seem, the missionary at once accepted this
extraordinary
challenge, and ordered a very large quantity of ganja, and a number
of people
were employed in preparing it and filling and refilling the many
pipes which
were very soon brought in for the occasion. The man was contained
in a basket
considerably more than a foot in length, in breadth and in depth,
and the amount
of ganja was quite incredibly large for one man. The Mastân drew
great breaths,
reducing a whole pipeful to ashes in one pull, so that in less than
an hour he
had disposed of the whole quantity. Then he quietly turned to the
missionary and
said:”
‘You pâdre; here I am, you see, and not dead.’
“The missionary looked sick, but the Mast n was relentless, and
continued:
‘Now it is your turn to display your ability in your evil habit.
You must drink
the liquor that I shall now have brought.’ But the missionaries
quickly got up,
made a bow to the strange man, and fled?”
A smile went round the company, but the Painter interrupted its
full expansion
with an eager query: “But what about the charm?”
“Oh, that must have been quite effective, for my wife from that
time till her
death, only a few years ago, was quite free from any sort of
possessing
influence.”
“Ah,” exclaimed the Countess, sympathetically “that was good. Then
he must have
been a great man, although he smoked so badly.”
“Not necessarily very great,” replied the Shepherd, “for in many
cases it does
not take great power to remove a possessing entity. But while I do
not of course
defend his smoking, I may point out that it is just possible that
the habit may
have been assumed precisely in order to give those presumptuous
missionaries a
lesson which they well deserved and badly needed.”
“It was not only the missionaries, though they were the most
insolent, who
scoffed at this man whom we now regarded with reverence and
gratitude,” went on
the Tahsildar. “The news reached the ears of the European civil
officer of the
station under whom I happened to be serving at the time. He very
often spoke of
the Mastân, calling him a madman; yet he often said also that he
would like to
see him. Now it happened one evening that the Mastân and myself
were walking
along the road which led past the civil officer's house, and that
he and his
wife were coming in the opposite direction, so that we met. The
officer asked
me:”
‘Is this the madman you have been speaking about?’
“I told him that this was the Mastân who was a guest in my house.
He then asked
me to enquire of the Mastân when he would be promoted in the
service, saying:
‘That will prove whether your prophet is any good at all.’ The
Mastân replied:
‘You will never be promoted, and further, you will very soon leave
India for
your native country.’
‘These statements,’ said the officer, ‘convince me that this man is
mad, because
I need only be in the service a very short time longer to ensure
promotion;
besides, I have only recently returned from England, as you know,
and there will
be no need whatever for me to go there again for some time.’”
“So we parted. But only a few days later the civil officer was
ordered home by
the doctors, and had to go on a long furlough to England, and I
heard
subsequently that when he returned again to India a medical officer
pronounced
him defiantly and permanently unfit for the climate, so that he was
forced to
retire altogether from the service.”
“Many people came to the Mastân in order to be cured. Among these
was a Vaishya
gentleman who had had asthma for a long time. The Mastân said to
him:”
‘If you will do as I tell you, you will be cured.’
‘O, yes; certainly I will,’ said the gentleman.
‘Well then,’ said the Mastân, ‘On the sight of the new moon you
must go alone to
the sea-shore, carrying with you an unlighted lamp, some ghee and a
wick. You
must prepare these, and having lighted the lamp on the shore, walk
round it
three times. You will then be told what to do next.’
‘But,’ said the gentleman, ‘who will tell me what to do?’ ‘Never
mind,’ replied
the Mastân, ‘you go and do what I say.’
“Now it was about eight miles from the village to the sea, and the
Vaishya
gentleman was afraid to go alone in the dark, but at last he
managed to screw up
his courage, and went. He told us afterwards that as he was walking
round the
lamp on the second turn the Mastân suddenly appeared beside him,
patted him on
the back and said:”
‘Go on. Finish the third round. You need not fear anything at all.’
“After the ceremony was completed the Mastân walked with him
towards the
village, but disappeared as soon as they approached it. The
extraordinary thing
is that all this time the Mastân was with me in my own house! The
asthma was
cured and did not return.”
“There was a medical officer in the township, who was also
something of a
photographer, and as we particularly desired to have a photograph
of the Mastân
we asked him to take one. He consented, and after a good deal of
persuasion the
Mastân sat before the camera, after we had thrown a cloth about his
body. I must
tell you that the photographer was also a scoffer, Well, about
seven plates were
taken of the Mastân, but each time when they were developed they
certainly
revealed the body of the Mastân - but no head! The photographer was
certain that
all these failures were not due to accident, but considered it a
rebuke, on the
part of the wonder-worker, for his previous scoffing; so he went to
him and
humbly begged his pardon.”
‘Do you still regard me as a madman?’ asked the Mastân.
‘No; I am very sorry that I abused and offended you’, he replied.
‘Well then,’ said the Mastân, ‘you may have a photograph.’
“So he sat once more before the camera, and a beautiful photograph
was the
result. This you may now see, though it is a little faded. The
Mastân told us we
must not take more than three copies and the plate must be
destroyed; but I must
confess that after a time we disobeyed that order and produced some
further
copies.”
The Tahsildar here handed round the photograph; a reproduction of
it appears
upon the opposite page, but the photograph is so faded after all
these years
that the reproduction is a very poor one.
“After having stayed with me for about three weeks the Mastân
expressed his
intention to depart. I and other friends accompanied him to a
village about
twenty miles distant. Here we had arranged with a friend for
accommodation, and
he prepared for us a certain house - the only one available in the
village - a
house which was reputed to be haunted. This house had been built
three years
before, but the owner had lived in it only one day and part of one
night, for on
the very first night he slept there he was carried up bodily, bed
an all, and
deposited in the middle of the road outside! There was supposed to
be some sort
of demon in the house; so it had been lying vacant for three years.
We came to
the house, and late in the evening we all fell asleep in the room
where the
Mastân still sat in his chair, as was his custom. In the middle of
the night I
was awakened by the voice of the Mastân calling out:”
‘Murshad, Murshad, he is too strong for me; come and help me.’
“Now Murshad means Guru. I found the Mastân standing near the chair
and speaking
to somebody in an angry voice. I heard only one side of the
conversation, and I
could neither see nor hear anyone to whom he was speaking. After a
while the
Mastân sat down, saying:”
‘After all I got rid of the nuisance, although he was a very tough
customer and
I had to call my Teacher.’
“The Mastân then told me that the house had been haunted by a very
bad and
powerful demon. Next morning we induced the owner to return to his
house, and
there we stayed with him for three days to see that he was at ease
and
unmolested. The same afternoon the Mastân, after some chanting,
took us out to a
tree about a mile from the village, and there with some more
chanting he drove a
nail into the tree, which he said would fix the demon there. He
said that nobody
must ever sleep under the tree.”
“The time came for the Mastân to proceed upon his journey, and he
told us to
bring him a pony. We brought a very small pony, ready saddled and
bridled. Then
he told us to remove the saddle and bridle, and seated himself on
the bare back
of the animal with his face towards the tail. The pony started off
and went
along as though it were actually being guided by a bridle, while
all of us
walked behind conversing with the Mastân. After a time we all
turned back and
went home, and that was the last I saw of the Mastân.”
“I can add a pendant to that story,” quietly remarked the Model of
Reticence.
“In 1882, during the month of May, Colonel Olcott and Madame
Blavatsky, after
forming a branch of the Society at Nellore, went by boat on the Buckingham
Canal
to Guntur. On the way, at Ramayapatnam, they met a friend of mine,
the
Sirastadar of the Ongole sub-collector's office, and while
travelling by the
same boat HPB, seeing a bandage on his leg, asked him what was the
matter. He
explained to her that he had been suffering from a sore for a very
long time,
and that even the English doctors were not able to cure it. Then
she told him
that one year later he would meet a great man who would cure him.
Just about one
year later this Mastân, about whom our Tahsildar has been speaking,
came into
that district. Seeing the sore, he asked the Sirastadar about it,
and then
rubbed some of his saliva upon it and told the patient to go and
bathe. The sore
began to heal at once and was entirely gone within two days. So
whoever this man
may have been it is obvious that Madame Blavatsky knew something
about him.”
END
In The
Twilight (9)
first published in the Theosophist, Dec, 1909, p390-396
“Has anything been happening lately among the Invisible Helpers?”
asked the
Youth. “Naturally something or other is always happening,” replied
the Shepherd; but the work is not always picturesque enough to merit special
description. However, I have in mind one or two incidents that may interest you.
One evening recently I was dictating in my room a little later than usual, when
one of our younger
helpers called (by appointment) in his astral body to accompany me
on my night's
round. I asked him to wait for a few minutes while I finished the
piece of work
upon which I was then engaged, so he circled about the neighborhood
a little,
and hovered about over the Bay of Bengal. Seeing a steamer, he
swooped down upon
it (in mere curiosity, as he says) and almost immediately his
attention was
attracted by a horrible grey aura of deep depression projecting
through the
closed door of a cabin. True to his instructions, on sight of such
a
distress-signal he at once proceeded to investigate further, and on
entering the
room he found a man sitting on the side of a bunk with a pistol in
his hand,
which he raised to his forehead and then laid down again. The young
helper felt
that something ought to be done promptly, but being new to the work
he did not
quite know how to act for the best, so he was in my room again in a
flash (and
in a great state of excitement) crying: ‘Come at once; here is a
man going to
kill himself!’
“I stopped dictating, threw my body on to a sofa, and accompanied
him to the
ship. As soon as I grasped the state of affairs, I decided to
temporise, as I
had to return and finish the work upon which I had been engaged; so
I strongly
impressed upon the would-be suicide's mind that this was not the
time for his
rash act - that he should wait until the middle watch, when he
would not be
disturbed. If I had impressed the thought of the wickedness of
suicide upon his
brain he would have begin to argue, and I had no time for that; but
he instantly
accepted the idea of postponement. I left my young assistant in
charge, telling
him to fly at once for me if the young man so much as opened the
drawer where I
had made him put the pistol. Then I returned to my body and did a
little more
dictation, bringing the work to a point where it could be
conveniently left for
the night.”
“As twelve o'clock approached I returned to relieve my young
helper, whom I
found in a very anxious frame of mind, though he reported that
nothing
particular had occurred. The would-be suicide was still in the same
state of
depression, and his resolution had not wavered. I then proceeded to
investigate
the reasons in his mind, and found that he was one of the ship's
officers, and
that the immediate cause of his depression was the fact that he had
been guilty
of some defalcations in connexion with the ship's accounts, which
would
inevitably be very shortly discovered, and he was unable to face
the consequent
exposure and disgrace. It was in order to stand well with a certain
young lady
and to make extravagant presents to her that he had needed, or
thought he
needed, the money; and while the actual amount involved was by no
means a large
one it was still far beyond his power to replace it.”
“He seemed a good-hearted young fellow, with a fairly clean record
behind him,
and (except for this infatuation about the girl which had led him
into so
serious an error) a sensible and honorable man. Glancing back
hurriedly over his
history to find some lever by which to move him from his culpable
determination,
I found that the most powerful thought for that purpose was that of
an aged
mother at home, to whom he was dear beyond all others. It was easy
to impress
the memory of her form strongly upon him, to make him get out a
portrait of her,
and then to show him how this act would ruin the remainder of her
life, by
plunging her into inextinguishable sorrow, not only because of her
loss of him
on the physical plane, but also because of her doubts as to the
fate of his soul
hereafter. Then a way of escape had also to be suggested, and
having examined
the captain of the steamer and approved him, the only way that
seemed feasible
to me was to suggest an appeal to him.”
“This then was the idea put into the young man's mind - that, in
order to avoid
the awful sorrow which his suicide must inevitably bring to the
heart of his
mother, he must face the almost impossible alternative of going to
his captain,
laying the whole case before him, and asking for a temporary
suspension of
judgement until he should prove himself to be worthy of such
clemency. So the
young officer actually went, then and there, in the dead of night.
A sailor is
ever on the alert, and it was not difficult to arrange that the
captain should
be awake and should appear at the door just at the right moment. The
whole story
was told in half-an-hour, and with much fatherly advice from the
kind captain
the matter was settled; the amount misappropriated was replaced by
the captain,
to be repaid to him by the officer in such instalments as he could
afford, and
thus a young and promising life was saved.”
“But here arises a very curious and interesting question as to the
working of
karma. What sort of link has been set up for the future between the
young helper
who discovered his predicament and this officer whom he has never
seen upon the
physical plane - whom it is not in the least likely that he ever
will see? Is
this action the repayment of some help given in the past, and if
not how and in
what future life can it itself now be repaid? And again, how strange
a series of
apparent accidents led up to the incident! So far as we can see, if
it had not
happened that I was working that night later than usual, that
consequently I was
not quite ready at the time appointed, that my young friend,
instead of
endeavoring, as he might well have done, to pick up the purport of
the matter I
was dictating, should choose to circle round in the neighborhood,
and happen to
see that steamer and be impelled by what he called curiosity to
visit it - had
any one of these apparently fortuitous circumstances failed to fit
into its
place in the mosaic, that young man's life would have been cut
short by his own
hand at the age of three or four and twenty, whereas now he may
well live to an
honored old age, bringing up perhaps a family which otherwise would
have been
non-existent. This suggests many an interesting consideration -
most of all
perhaps that there is probably no such thing as an accident in the
sense in
which we generally use the word.”
“To show the diversity of the astral work that opens before us, I
may mention
some other cases in which the same young neophyte was engaged
within a few days
of that described above.”
“Every astral worker has always on hand a certain number of regular
cases, who
for the time need daily visits, just as a doctor has a daily round
in which he
visits a number of patients; so when neophytes are delivered into
my charge for
instruction I always take them with me on those rounds, just as an
older doctor
might take with him a younger one in order that he might gain
experience by
watching how cases are treated. Of course, there is other definite
teaching to
be given; the beginner must pass the tests of earth, air, fire and
water; he
must learn by constant practice how to distinguish between
thought-forms and
living beings; how to know and to use the 2,401 varieties of
elemental essence;
how to materialise himself or others when necessary; how to deal
with the
thousands of emergencies which are constantly arising; above all,
he must learn
never under any circumstances to lose his balance or allow himself
to feel the
least tinge of fear, no matter how alarming or unusual may be the
manifestations
which occur. The primary necessity for an astral worker is always
to remain
master of the situation, whatever it may be. He must of course also
be full of
love and of an eager desire to help; but these qualifications I do
not need to
teach, for unless the candidate already possessed them he would not
be sent to
me.”
“I was on my way one night to visit certain of my regular cases,
and was passing
over a picturesque and hilly part of the country. My attendant
neophytes were