Either I dreamed this story, or, as mystics might say I’d been through a psychic experience. To prevent any argument, let’s say I dreamed that I died in my sleep.
I, the ego, soul, or astral body, call it what you will, came out of its carnal covering and looked down upon its physical counterpart lying in bed apparently not breathing. This spirit-entity, identified as myself, experienced a feeling of great freedom; mixed with the relief one would sense when throwing away an old, stained, threadbare suit of clothes. My next thought was: “So I’m dead … now what?” There was not the slightest feeling of sorrow at being suddenly in a dimension entirely new to me. But there was some loneliness; which, at the moment, I attributed to a desire to mix with the living.
As I thought of people I had known I found myself with them. Without any sensation of transition; or going from here to there. In my new way of thinking, their petty problems were boresome to me. For example: I thought of Franklin D. Roosevelt, who had just been inaugurated to his second term in office (this experience of mine happened in 1937), and, as I thought of F. D. R., I was immediately projected into the White House. There he and Jim Farley were discussing the possibilities of a third and fourth term in office, and the second world war that was to come.
To me they seemed like children playing with armies of toy soldiers; -not men who believed themselves as shapers of destiny.
None of this was surprising to me … because I knew that the third and fourth term of office for F. D. R. had already come about; that death interrupted his fourth term; and the second world war was over with. It was like reading a week-old newspaper. I got the impression that the time element with the living was like a clock running slow. It seemed to me that they thought only in the past. Whereas, I was thinking in the eternal NOW. And could see the whole pattern, instead of only a part of it. Perhaps clairvoyants see only the NOW; but to others it seems like the future.
As this thought is somewhat involved, I would like to digress a moment to give an example: One evening we are admiring the beauty of a star twinkling down upon us from the firmament. To us that is happening then and there. But to a learned astronomer there is a different picture. Because he knows that particular star disintegrated millions of light-years ago, and we are only just perceiving its reflections.
Bored with the childishness of the living, I felt lonesome for some of my own kind … the dead. In a flash I was among them. It was just as if I had suddenly been deposited in Grand Central station; with “people” hurrying here and there; with others standing in small groups.
Moving over to a group of four, two men and two women, I discovered that three of them were trying to convince the one woman who couldn’t believe that she was dead. There was no actual talking as the living know it; instead, a form of telepathy was the means of communication. Mental-pictures were rapidly transmitted from one to the other. It was something like turning one’s television set from one station to the other, and immediately getting a picture. It was apparent to me that the barrier of languages was overcome here. Because the living had first to think in images, and then form these pictures into sounds that would be understandable to another living person.
The woman was very frightened at the thought being conveyed to her. This was evidenced by a blur of incoherent pictures; showing her to be bordering on hysteria.
To avoid confusion in the telling of this anecdote, I will hereafter write; he, she, or I “said” this or that, just as though the living were talking.
While among the living I had been an inveterate smoker. Therefore, while tuning-in on this “conversation” of departed spirits, I automatically fumbled for a cigarette. But, as soon as I felt the desire for a smoke there was already a cigarette in my mouth and a lighter in my hand. “This is going to be good.” I thought. “I have only to express a desire and immediately it is manifested. Hey! I’d better be careful of my thinking, or I’m liable to manifest something disagreeable; and not know how to get rid of it.” Lighting the cigarette, I took the first deep inhalation … but … there was no sensation. In fact, there was nothing but a picture of the smoke issuing from my mouth. Like smoking in one’s imagination. I thought: “If we carry over our desires … without the ability to satisfy them … brother!” This was going to be tough. But I did feel glad that I had not been an alcoholic or a dope-addict; that would be tougher.
All of these disembodied spirits seemed to be acting just like the living. Each was wrapped in his or her own personal problem. Or else was attracted into groups thinking along similar lines. Like “water finding its own level”.
As these souls hurried past me they were constantly changing clothes. Presumably, as they thought of what they would like to wear, that too became manifest, and they were clothed accordingly. And what a variety of costumes … it was like a masquerade ball.
Looking around, I saw a large mansion, built in all styles, from medieval to ultra-modern. Workmen were building additions to it. And there was no sound of axe nor hammer. It was like watching a silent movie.
Curiosity moved me to enter this monstrosity, and I saw that it was furnished in every imaginable way; from conservative to the bizarre. Inside there were many, many spirits sitting around on this polyglot furniture. They were “conversing,” and the gist of their subjects was their own frustrations while on earth. This made me think of some of my own; with a feeling of regret.
A very distinguished-looking old lady, dressed in mid-Victorian style, was sitting on a Turkish divan, leaning her chin on a gold-headed cane. Her piercing black eyes had been observing me. And she must have picked up my thoughts, because she said: “Don’t worry too much about the things you weren’t able to do while among the living. All of those things you can do over here. If you want to enough.”
“But how?” I asked incredulously. “They were matters that were only essential on earth. There would be no purpose to them here.”
She answered, “Young man, being new on this plane you have much to learn. Look around. Do you see such a great deal of difference between us and the living?”
Looking around, I saw a large gold-framed mirror on the wall opposite me, but could see no reflection of myself in it. The little old lady had referred to me as “young man;” could it be that these entities only saw each other in the form in which the other soul was pictured in their thoughts? Because, when I left the body on earth it had been middle-aged. I might be a young soul, but I certainly wasn’t a young man.
As I turned to look at her again I found that she had changed into a young, and very beautiful woman.
“Don’t look so surprised,” she said, smiling, “You thought of me as being old, first because of the style of dress, and second because of the elderly manner in which I was addressing you. There is no age here. We are as young or old as we think we are; or as another soul thinks of us. When I passed over, it was in the era that this type of dress was worn; therefore I feel more at home in it.”
My new-found friend continued, “The problems you brought over here, you alone will have to work out on this plane. We all have free will. Now we have a greater freedom for its expression. Without the cramping, misleading influences of our earthly five senses; and without the pressure that was brought to bear on us by other living people.”
As she talked I again had the desire to smoke. And went through the same materialization performance with a cigarette; with no sensation of enjoyment.
Noticing this. My lady friend said, “Now you are experiencing one of the things I refer to. Unless you eliminate certain earthly desires from your soul-mind, you will continue to try to do them over and over, endlessly; with no sense of satisfaction. Look over there at that man pouring liquor into himself. On earth he could have obtained a little escape, so-called, in that manner. And see that fat woman gulping greedily at the food on the table in front of her. She cannot taste anything; any more than the liquor-drinker can; or you with a cigarette.”
I thought to myself: “This cannot be the paradise that the living describe so beautifully. It must be some form of purgatory.”
My friend again picked up my thoughts. I had yet to learn how to control them so that others wouldn’t get what I didn’t want them to.
“Yes,” she said. “This is a form of purgatory. On this plane there are what the living call earth-bound spirits. They stay here for as long as they choose; or until they learn how to raise their vibrations to a higher level. As there is no time nor space in the Cosmic, many remain in this state until they are forced to reincarnate back into a living body for another opportunity to try and learn their lessons in the earthly school.”
Thinking of her high-type of mentality, I asked, “Are you also one of these earth-bound spirits?”
“No,” she answered. “I commenced here but was able to attain a higher state of consciousness. Now, part of my work is to help newly-arrived spirit-entities to adjust themselves to this environment. While in the flesh I lived in a mansion (part of this building was materialized by my thinking when I first arrived here), and I was filled with the beliefs of family-heritage. Egotisms and self-centering ideologies controlled me so much that now I am trying to work out my problems, or karma, by helping these bewildered souls to help themselves.”
With a little sigh, she continued, “I feel that soon I am about to reincarnate again. The thought makes me rather sad; knowing that I will be leaving all these children. In spite of the weaknesses they carry over with them, through the law of cause and effect, I find that I have gained compassionate understanding, and love for them. And my work here has made me see the over-all pattern of the why and how of things on earth. I pray that I will be able to bring some trace of this thinking into my next carnate form. Not that I expect to remember what happened here consciously, but in some flash-back, or dream, or so-called psychic experience, I may be brought to the realization of the futility of my form of self-expression in my last incarnation.”
As this very beautiful lady expressed her innermost thoughts to me, I was wondering what form of expression there was between the sexes over here. And whether there would be any sensation in a kiss; or would it be just as tasteless as my cigarette? Either she was too wrapped in her own thoughts to pick up that one of mine; or else she ignored it as being presumptuous on the part of a newly-arrived, earth-bound spirit.
A little ashamed of my earthly way of thinking, I said, “Tell me. How do I go about lifting myself to a higher state of consciousness?”
As I said this I felt a rumbling vibration throughout me, that developed into a deep, sonorous, voice. As words formed out of these vibrations, the voice said: “You are going back …” It couldn’t have come from my beautiful lady friend. Because she had disappeared. In fact, everything around me had faded into nothingness; and I felt myself shrinking as though I were being compressed into a funnel. Trying to fight off this overpowering force, I shouted: “I won’t go back!” But the power forced me down; until I found myself back at my cast-off body, and entering it against my will. In the body I sat up in bed. There was cold perspiration on my forehead, and my extremities were cold and clammy. My first gesture was to reach to a table by the bedside, where I kept my cigarettes and lighter.
I lit a cigarette. And this time I got the familiar sensation out of the first drag on it. I started making notes about the many truths I had learned in my dream; so as not to let them slip away from my conscious mind into the dusty pigeon-holes of my subconscious. While doing so I was thinking deeply about the beautiful lady I had manifested. And how wonderful it would be to meet her again in this world. Then I realized that, even if she reincarnated now, she would be starting life again as a new-born babe. And though she had thought of me as a young man I was still middle-aged. Time doesn’t stand still on this earth-plane. And I thought of Dr. Faustus, when Mephistopheles showed him a vision of the beautiful Marguerite, and promised him his lost youth if he would but mortgage his soul. Looking at the ash on my cigarette, smoldering between my fingers, I said: “I’d better give up smoking … one of these days.”
From Mystic Magazine – August 1955